Poem | |
Caressing a precious moment around my tender skin.
Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "I AM" gone with the wind
The idea of love,
broken like yesterdays wishbone.
She is leaving
her arms, my shelter
her teardrops gone forever.
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have is one last memory
tracing what is left
one last breath
washing away the pain.....
At Last Now I See!
Under the drunken stars
I had an epiphany
Striking like a match
A sunken treasure
At Last I Knew
you don't belong
you were there for the taking
Weak and sick, no longer sane
Memories lost, no longer -her
What has become of her?
You're a demon, who played us all
made us cry, while you slowly took her away
the way you ravaged her body
nip napped both her legs
fed her through others
the way she rapidly forgot
I hate you Alzheimer
I hate the way you took her the first time!
I hate you Death
I hate the way you took her that final moment!
Sleepless nights and pillowed feathers,
Caressing a precious moment around my tender skin
Pretending my mother tucked them in
Anything to help me get past my sleepless nights.
Poem | |
I saw you yesterday
I saw you yesterday, your features grinned,
some silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind;
our images, that in the fields imbue.
I saw tempestuous, around me shades,
the rain's persistence had engraved your name
upon the slate, around she formed cascades,
inviting flash amid the drops, and flame.
I saw flash yesterday, inside the rain,
how beautiful it was, her kiss of dew
your words became my sails on trip arcane
the clouds, your messengers, 'mid skies to strew.
I sensed the crooked line reticulate,
the sulfur acrid smell and pale flame's hue,
transmuting to abderian road skate,
zigzagging on a water copper tube.
The flame transformed to runnel flowing laughs;
the rustling of droplets on the leaves,
combined the bright and shapely drawing graphs
with clouds to form above, celestial eaves.
I saw flash yesterday, my features grinned,
like silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind:
two images, amidst the fields imbue.
© G. V., 10-21-2013, All Rights Reserved
Poem | |
Floating down with grace and ease
Carried off by the Autumn breeze
Rich in hues of orange and red
Landing in the flower bed
What once was buzzing full of life
Now succumbs to the pruning knife
Staring up at the wilted rose
Another season comes to close
Looking for memories of this day
Not forgetting her fun filled stay
Lying amongst the rocks and sticks
I'm the one the little girl picks
Hurries home with the one she took
Placing it in her poetry book
Poem | |
Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.
Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.
This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.
This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.
This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.
This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.
This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.
Poem | |
Thank you for being patient,
Thank you for understanding I'm human after all.
Forgive me for all the mischievous prank calls.
Much of what I said and done, was out of fun.
Now, I sit on this rocking chair getting old.
Reminiscing over the beauty and honor it has been
Passing this land we call "EARTH."
Reminiscing over the beauty and honor, yes-------------- REMINISCING!
Sorry if I repeat the same beat a thousand times....
You see, I sit here everyday thinking this world is mine....
Trying not to forget, who I truly AM.
Every moment there has ever been or ever will be,
Finally is taking a toll on every single feeling and memory.
Time, Yes------------------ TIME!
The wrinkles on my face will never describe how many birthdays I celebrate.
The wrinkles on my face are stories reminding my readers,
Where I've been and come from.
How consistent, and fortunate I've been,
Babbling about my past, present, and future;
The only advantage of the word "TIME."
-- It helps fade hurting moments away--
You see, time is the essence of memories.
"Growing from young into old, was not as easy as it sounds."
Please be patient with me... Wait..... I said that already....
Thank you for understanding what I’m going through.
Please just listen, please, be patient with what's burning deep down inside.
It's almost dinner time --once again, I mention the word "TIME!"
I'm not hungry right now, the food just isn't the same when fed through a straw.
Besides, have you seen the garments ''they'' have me wearing.
Never thought I'd live to see myself in old fashioned nightgowns.
Time, keeps adding silver to what used to be pretty reddish brown hair.
Time what have you done to me?
Please excuse if I can't work a remote or function the TV properly.
What has happened to simple technology,
When everything came with only "ON and OFF" buttons.
Try to understand what I’m going through, my legs never felt this tired before.
I can't seem to keep myself on the same path,
I lose track of time when navigation issues on my own.
Take my hand, lead the way and understand I can't see as before.
Time, please allow the joy to take its time when my end is near.
Thank you Time, for all the loving moments we shared...
Thank you Time and please be kind and end my life with love.
End my life with love-----
End my life with love-----
Wait..... I said that already....
Thanks for having patience.
The Little Old Lady Across the Street
Poem | |
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Poem | |
The ship in the habor on silvery seas
Lay vacant outspread 'neath the glassy moon
Drifting in cold whispers of the night
Like a drunk man shriveled on clasping knees
In the loud echoes of the crawling winds
The brave ship nods its old head
Restless on the empty stage of the bay
When lonely stars bleed their light
On what was once earthly sublimity
Now silence and haunt lingers there
A graveyard of bones and sadness
Beside the desolate harbor
Rustling in the cold distance
Laboring with a haunting melody
That invades me in shivers of night.
The happy spaces of my mind
Then your sweet kiss would descend
Oh... your sweet kiss would descend
As a fragrant memory
Thawing the pain
In the frost of my heart.
My soul beckons your presence
But silence became my loyal friend
And Emptiness -
The sorrowing of my hours
That slithers through the night
As the brave ship nods its old head
Crackling and desolate
In silvered breaking waters
'Neath moon's limpid eyes
My hands descend
With crimson buds of April's flowers
To rest upon your tomb
Of eternal silence.
''Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.''
Poem | |
It is thirty six years ago, and I am with her in the garden,
where July is a picnic of egg sandwiches, cress-stippled,
the fuzzy down of peaches, acid-yellow tang of lemonade.
Her fingers have the delicacy of dancers
as she deftly mixes paint on a palette blue as the sky -
blobs of acrylics bright as sweet shop candy.
Summer is a sizzling colour wheel, spinning in its heat hues -
cadmium orange, pyrrole red, gold ochre -
those fever flames that blaze across her page.
My small world is warmed by the sun in her smile.
Russian vine stitches a delicate doily over the shed roof.
The heat-glazed garden shimmers and buzzes.
There is a twilight world under sweet clusterings of lilacs:
a cool shock of shade, pendulous-legged black flies
hovering in the murky mauve.
China white stars of jasmine light my way.
Please keep me close. Let me stay.
It is twenty six years ago, a morning of mourning,
and the notes of the dead bells toll
as, mist-muffled, they roll
through November's sleet streets.
I close my eyes and the sun in her smile parts the clouds.
Sober-suited people crush and cluster in pews;
row upon row of perylene black, winter-pale faces titanium white.
Stained glass windows filter and warm the ash-grey light
until her coffin is a vibrant palette of rainbows.
There are stories - lots of stories - anecdotes,
a crimson-backed journal she wrote,
a painting she painted, coffin-propped,
a poetry reading - one of her own -
Tapestry is a wondrous thing, in it the lovely colours sing. . .
Creamed rice-colour roses heap sweet
on her stone - a slate plate serving up a dead name -
and carnations splash cadmium scarlet
like blood throbbing from the gash of grief's raw wound.
It is now, and I am alone, taking a short cut home
through evening's rich palette.
Elegiac elms shed viridian tears,
and the sky is a burnt sienna explosion.
October's umber seeps into November's sepia tones.
My mind is coloured with her and then.
I hold a small cameo box that held
the colourful spill of her pills: kaleidoscope planets
orbiting my loneliness, spinning off into nothingness. . .
Dark figures fill the park: silhouettes, shadows
following me home; spirits stepped from her portraits,
faces pushed down into coat collars, crinkled with frowns.
Paint-pinned people in their primaries and pastels,
on canvas, under glass; stopped heartbeats of the past.
Trapped moments on paper and boards.
I close my eyes and see the sun in her smile,
recall how, since her passing, life has become a free fall,
a parapet leap without parachute.
And the smudged charcoal lines of memory
are beginning to blur, fading like her watercolours. . .
in memory of my grandmother
Poem | |
She’s just an old memory of a younger man’s dreams
An image of love hard to find
I can still see her eyes, taste the joy of her lips
In the deep recesses of my mind
Hair that was flowing, a smile that was glowing
An angel with earthly charms
Felt her heart beat in the tropical heat
Got lost in her loving arms
Sometimes I wonder if it was only a dream
An old sea story that I told
But I remember those eyes like a radiant beam
A treasure greater than gold
I wonder now if she waited on shore
With the fire in her heart still burning
And I wonder if there were tears in her eyes
Realizing I would not be returning
She’s just an old memory that haunts me today
A storybook love affair
A blanket, a beach and two bodies entangled
On a tropical island somewhere.
Poem | |
The house slumps against overgrown yards
Where gardens wilt against the ground,
Begging for sleep beneath gray skies.
Vines move through weeds
Like brittle fingers,
Reaching toward a sagging door
Where paint peels like weathered skin,
Curling in agony against the grain.
Once vibrant, now fading
Like all doorways to yesterday.
This is where memories flee,
Lying in wait like dormant ghosts
That walk through the walls of my mind
As I walk through the door.
The hinges creak in protest,
Rusted by the rain of forgotten days.
The floors squeak in upset,
Unaccustomed to my timid feet.
The dust is stirred, the silence snaps
Like twigs used for kindling
To spark my tepid heart.
A decade becomes a moment.
A moment becomes a lifetime.
This is where memories live,
Trapped in time like restless ghosts
That walk through walls and haunt the halls
Of doorways to yesterday.
Though broken, they open
To swallow me whole.