Biting cold night
Tears on a rose
Her petals turn gray
Death sucks her life away
She stands alone in feeling
No one knows her secret cries
She has shed away her hopes
Her beautiful soul holds memories
Of times sunshine kissed her face
Now darkness swamps her world
On the grave where they have laid her to rest
An Intended syringe
by Frank Daub
There is new intent in words today –
A syringe quality in what they
Say.
Injecting soul-aimed death –
a truer death than before,
When the possibility of Hope
bore
The possibility of escape
through laughter,
An understanding of soft-intended
humor.
A softer spirit in Meaning, then.
Now comes the specter of control,
A meaner chase against the soul.
All Indications point UNREPENTANT.
What did Paul’s letters warn?
Read gentle understanding –
Before eternal Morn.
Silver and rust flash
clash, crash
in the steam-drenched air
Muskets fire, reload, re-fire
deadly pea-shooters
drowned out by cannons’ roar
Blood-stained, smudged tatters of uniforms
soak up a blazing sun
in shimmering mists of collision
Trumpets' blare swallowed in air
fiery tempers, outsized nostrils flare
'bravery's' spelled F-O-O-L-I-S-H out there
Orders barked, flail, fall
flat upon sagging shoulders
of men, like dogs, tongues panting
Still the silver, yet the rust
high above the fray
where 600,000 dead men lay
_______________________________________
Various sources cite total soldiers'
deaths as low as 400,000-something
and as high as 800,000-something.
The most common estimate seems
to be about 620,000 deaths.
We
Never
Quite drew out
A plan or map;
We both just let life
Take us down a river.
Everyone thought us fickle,
Wishy-washy, unfixable,
But we were running free, taking what
We could of our short lives and living them.
The few things we had set in stone - oh,
My brother in all but our names -
Would be eroded away
As soon as we said them
Between each other,
Just memories
Of times where
We felt
Heard.
Death has no bells; he has no arrival ceremony.
He comes to take the lives of all who inhabit the earth.
He is quick and subtle; he stirs a river of tears among the living.
He knows no color or status, no evil or good.
Who has the wisdom to prepare for him, or to whom has it been revealed?
For centuries, mankind has searched far and wide, yet many have never succeeded.
There was a Man who lived and died, who was crucified upon a cross.
Yet He cheated death, rising after three days.
Death! Who in Jesus trembles before you?
For you have a Master to whom you must answer, who is the Christ.
For through death we enter paradise and behold the Savior's face.
Repent, all people, for you have sinned against God and His righteousness.
Turn to Jesus, for in Him is eternal life.
Seek His face, for sweet is His presence.
For easy is the way to unrighteousness,
but straight and narrow is the way to life.
If the "Hare" really cared
To give the "Timid Tortoise"
A fair scare, and tapped
The "Tortoise's," tight-lipped shell...
Brother, I'm here to tell ya...there'd be Hell!
And, If the "Timid Tortoise" dared,
Peak a glimpse of the coming dawn,
On the lawn, who would find his head,
On the "Chilly-Willy" chopping block?...
"Hear Ye," "Hear Ye!"..."Hare" today!..."Mock Turtle" soup tomorrow!
I am the child,
that emerges from the womb,
and merges with the light!
I am a speck of dust,
on an endless horizon,
that sinks with the sunset!
I am that quiet calm,
and yet, the broken glass,
that's shattering my scone!
I am the juggernaut,
remiss of any restraint,
that rattles and chafes my bones!
I am a beacon,
against the swelling tide,
I "am" that safe harbor at night!
I am the ghost,
of my past and present,
I am your...whispered delight!
I am the vision,
amid this lustrous illusion,
that binds or blinds my sight!
I am all these things,
encompassed in a closet,
surrounded by whitewashed walls!
I am...all of you,
I am...the stained stitch,
we "are" all one!....w e a v i n g a w o r l d w i d e w e b !
Dear A,
“Do you remember John McLean?” you asked
“He died of an overdose this week past,”
If I remember John McLean? I can see
Him in fractured shadows of memory
Edges curled up with whisky and cigarettes
Our midnight quests for sleaze and side-effects;
While we talked of escape and sought new thrills
Beyond the tollgate and home’s confining hills,
When we searched that night so determinedly
For pills in the nervous light of a pharmacy
Perhaps our adolescent raving dimmed
Some destiny already struggling in him?
Like Eve’s fossil footprints pressed in the dune
On mustard shores along Langebaan lagoon,
All our choices leave their trails, faint remains
Of petrified memory through time-hewn veins
And the blue-black susurrus of his blood
Dried up like Eve’s footprint before the flood.
Ending so sudden, abrupt, unforeseen.
But yes, yes, I do remember John McLean.
Yours sincerely
M.
“A life leaving traces after death . . .
a blessing we extol with every breath.”
__by Poet
So many years ago my parents passed,
each leaving well before considered old.
And so, for them, my sorrow yearned at last
to know that they live on, as scriptures hold.
At their two graves, I stood and wept goodbyes
and then each night prayed long for God to say
that they were safe with Him in Heaven's skies;
please have them show me in their special way.
My prayers were answered by a dream she sent.
Dear Mom, with twinkling eyes, threw me a kiss.
Then, forming hugs with arms embraced, she went
among the clouds, assuring me her bliss.
Years later, when my Dad had passed away,
a rose upon his coffin ended strife;
by chance, within a book was placed to lay
upon some words that proved Eternal Life.
Two loved ones leaving traces after death!
This filled my heart with comfort through the years.
And now, I hold the truths displayed in depth;
so thankful that these answers dried my tears.
O' brief bright voice of Victorian days
Raised amid Guernsey’s winds, on Finedon’s green
At Eton you walked the unstraight ways
Found God's judgment at the age of Nineteen
(Like Burns, Byron and Shelley (before you)
The inspiration that burns like lust
Into the beast's belly (which implored you)
The rage's torrent perverting the trust)
Bridges preserved the music of your art
(You’ve crossed the bridge to another plane)
Though Welland’s waters stilled your youthful heart
Your verse outlived the fame of your name
Romantic visions, sacred longing, spring
Through lines where love and shadows vine
Nineteen short years, yet still your poems sing
In our minds even though they’re frozen in time
O' Dolben, lost before your dawn was through
Your poetic legacy still flowers anew
Why can’t I give enough?
And when I do,
why does it always end up worse than it did before?
Why is it when I ask those who need help they all of a sudden get worse?
Why is it when I ask for help it’s a burden for those around me?
Why do I only talk about me and not the ones who truly need to be talked about?
Why do the people I love keep drifting away?
It’s like I was the avalanche to the Titanic and the people I love are the people on the ship.
They got away but they die in the end.
am i the problem?
“yes. yes you are.”
Life is a struggle to fight
Life is a challenge in plight
Joy and grief or success and failure
You can enjoy or endure.
Whatever ! Life is vibrant-
may turn dull or brilliant
or may be static or stagnant
But on the whole just restless more or less.
Most powerful is your instinct
manifesting your yearnings
Mind and brain come in conflict
Quite possible, Life becomes full of turbulence
whirling in vortex.
Life may be comparable to a DAY
Originating at dawn .
Midday shows enthusiasm
budding youth, slowly in senile decay
and sinking at eve of the day.
As life transcends to death….
All quiet on western front.
Tranquility prevails.
Cool calm and eternal sleep.
There to seize the day, ten thousand strong
Thru ramparts ravaged, by savage throngs
So they raised their flag, and sang their songs
Ten thousand soldiers, would march along
In cadence count, on account of wrong
The Colonel shouts, Boys! we'll march till dawn
With heartened hearts, meshed with steel sarongs
Ten thousand soldiers, that march like Kong
Their shadows shortened, like the day is long
Soon nearer death, but now the Colonel's gone
They were not so clear, where they belonged
Bewildered soldiers, lost voice for song
Swore to fight the fight, but thought it wrong
As a fearsome force, awaited dawn
Still, they breached the fray, ten thousand strong
Only one tin soldier...marches on!
Birth brings joy to the mother, the father, and the family — an innocent newborn, pure by nature and instinct.
Death, however, in fact, completely different! To/for poeple death of a great person brings deep sorrow, whereas the death of a vile, evil, rotten is a great mercy and a source of immense joy!
What did you do? What did you take? What did you give? How did you spend your life? How did you acquire your wealth, and how did you spend it? Were you a human being or a devil? For/to you, this is the very heart and essence of life!
Your hairstyle, skin color, place and ethnicity are of no value.
Core, heart, mind, soul. That is it all!
Black fur, bright sun
The superbolide that kept the night away
Green fields, brown eyes
A happy smile that blazed bright
Brighter than the endless blue skies above her
Home safe in familiar grass
Though riddled throughout and stiff of limb
I'll keep the peaceful smile in mind forever
Sleep tight, my love
You've got friends waiting for you
You've fought long enough
And earned a pleasant rest
Of earth and sea 'neath starry sky
She sleeps in spots most favored
Resting in the endless grass
And bathing in the peaceful stream
Drink deep of the mountain sun
And cool off when you're ready
Play with friends until sunset
And rest beside the fire
I wish I could make yesterday last until the sun died
To rub your fuzzy belly whilst you placed your paw on mine
I'll miss you dearly K, so sleep now without worry
And to my own passing day, you'll be warm inside my memory.
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