Somehow, the deluge of cloudburst
unwraps my flesh pallid, as if to spill
holy water--maybe thickened dew—just
to give a name to lapses of my unheard cries,
while an insolent breeze fails to listen
as I howl in utter despair of life's requiem:
The thistle of wet soil chains my feet
anchored unto the swell of memories' bend;
remaining distant in an unknown,
vacant cemetery nourishing a loneliness
only vagrants like me could bear:
A scream of rain compels a thirst
to feed on abrasions of ghastly pang...alone,
isolated from new moonlight's lodging
my solitude, my invisible frame starts to sigh
behind the roughest of rain's marbled stone---
How can fresh mornings be so darn bleak?
It ought to light up my being
With the color and passion
Of its crisp, browning magic
It ought to bring the sounds
Of fire crackle, warm abrasions
And unlimited clinks to hearths
Of every size and flavor
It ought to turn down the heat
Turn up the chill
And turn on the love
It ought to renew our sense
Of joy, togetherness and those
We wish could walk through the door
Just once more
It ought to gather all the lost sheep
Whether dislocated, disaffected or disowned
Into a herd, bonded with purpose
It ought to create human nature
Along the same lines as Mother Nature
Turning green with envy into
Subtle tones of peace
It ought to allow pumpkins
And turkeys and trees and menorahs
To dance the dance, and hug it out
It ought to be autumn..
(10/21/17)
when I last looked
snow sprawled in
like an embrace from a foreign world
outdoor walk suspended
by squabbles of sleeted wet
unappealing chords
of ice pellets that stand hair on edge
to coat a hatless head in splinters
force that shapes a winter's pace
implanted temper
abrasions
in tracks of snow
as February squeezes into loins
an ache
my icy fingers
trace the window, vaporized
a shield of separation
a pledge of freedom re-booted
like green paths rising
a shifting focus
till March tramps into place
month of mis-rule
ornamental promise
that a turnstile world
clangs change
when I next look
to turn the page
Poem written February 23, 2023
The corners the cornerstone of the spectrum is none;
The validity of the spiral quantum some;
Virtual highways run;
Horizontal pathways spun;
Caveat abrasions;
Baptismal conversions;
On slots liaison;
Realities conversions;
Darken tunnels?
all she ever wanted to be was one with herself
and yet here she was disunited and fragmented
seeking what seemed out of harmonious reach
heart choked in a stranglehold of noosed reason
razor wire punctured her emotions and feelings
rational distortion shackled a delusion of truth
I just want to hold you safe and keep you insane
better the bevel you know than a slope you do not
a few abrasions won’t ache but passion will hurt
the mind banned foreign intrusion by sentiments
dangled a carrot of undefeated logic and thoughts
undermined every effort to feel emote and sense
it took great supremacy battles and mental afflictions
for her to raise a heart shaped brain from the dead
but her new union with Self defeated all loneliness
01rd March 2021
Scratches and abrasions sensate,
stalking, doxing, ghosting drones
have pinched, clawed, and marked.
I remember the sharp edges of yesterday
but cannot recall the moments
when the bumps and bruises occurred,
yet here is the evidence beneath my skin
boiling up today as if another I
had fought his way through an avalanche of time.
I bathe my spectral wounds in virgin olive oil
and elderberries,
soak tender thoughts in aloe, the essence
of echinacea -
yet still nothing to see
and I wonder
if this jagged land is so wrongly put together
and I am so loosely stitched,
so easily in the way of its daggers
then I should not venture another day
of being in this worlds way.
A thesis, ascertained through abrasions of
decubitus ulcerations of existences austerity.
The colluded effect of unbeknownst
certainty.
Preluding the path of non precluding.
Additioned to the implausibility of unintended
effect.
Multiplied by the multiplicity of ignorant
ignorance.
Divided by the hidden figures of plausible
deniability.
Equaling the copiousness of insurrection
and egalitarianism.
Smaller stones
breaking down
larger stones,
life is a deluge
of abrasions;
flesh no match
for streaming
elements--
clouds gathering
becoming storms--
they know the ritual,
and time’s eroding power
(Yet, no one can convince me
that love is not omnipotent--
and that I, somehow, am
not part of her
eternal flow)
Pushed by waters,
molded by churning
I sense a spirit within,
and from such mystery
I sense that I will
ultimately rise
ever higher
with greater consciousness
out of the sediments
of my mortal passing….
"The sweetness of summer,
Blooms from the darkness of winter
Plants pulled from the earth,
By the sun, proving it’s worth
Life flows,
Bees sow
Pollinating the gifts we receive,
From plants and trees
A bounty of goodness, juicy and sweet,
Amazed by nature and this feat
Year after year, the cycle of life,
Each summer bearing fruits just right
That sustain us by marking time,
Creating memories divine
Of that perfect peach,
The best one just out of reach
Each berry better than the next,
Blackberry is my favorite, I confess
It’s berry defended by gnarly thorns,
Providing scratches to adorn
My arms and hands,
Payment that the canes demand
So to in life’s conceal,
Our efforts are revealed
Bruises and bumps,
Or the occasional lump
From trying our best,
No matter how difficult the test
But there is satisfaction in your reward,
So the abrasions are ignored
With the fruit of our labor,
And its success we savor"
I fear our next encounter;
haunted by your sight.
Your presence penetrates my heart like a knife.
Your not a man but an intruder,
forcing your way, judge and juror.
Hand down your penalty, much we must take.
Abrasions, contusions, are your biggest mistake.
Hugs and kisses, only come from jerks,
"I LOVE YOU - I'M SORRY",
your BANDAIDS don't work.
Brute force.
Torn at the seams.
Dare to move.
Dare to scream.
Noise not permitted,
take it, be silent.
Withhold your tears in his judgement.
Is there a thin line between DISLIKE and HATE?
Can you define where one begins and the other one waits?
Buried Alive
These walls....
they laugh at me but no one else hears
They steal the very breath of me
...but no one seems to notice
They blare a suffocating silence
Leave invisible abrasions from unseen restraints
These walls I once called home
These walls have become my coffin
~FJ Thomas
Most of us run through varying emotions at times. It helps to jot them down and get them out ;) These walls can be emotional or very literal. Usually the one causes the other to collapse in along with it.
The important thing is to remember that there are others who very much understand how you feel; you are not alone. So never give up!
My autopsy room is a confessional,
where killers in absentia divulge
their sins through bodies
rigid and frigid, mutilated and mute.
Graffiti of abrasions, contusions and lacerations
reenact without deceit or reservations
a catalogue of perversions and violations.
Rage, hatred, greed, jealousy, sickness
explode and leave behind vandalized anatomies,
a *********** of naked emotions
in the topography of vacated husks.
Silently, they talk.
With my eyes, I listen.
They confide in me about themselves too,
these chatty cadavers,
about their public faces and private hell.
Tattoos speak of loves and obsessions,
silicone breasts betray insecurities,
medications reveal internal insurgencies,
needle marks give away muffled screams,
cirrhosis lets on alcoholic dreams.
A hundred foibles preserved by the
candor of rigor mortis,
each corpse an abridged,
unfinished biography.
By the end of their final confessions, the departed
have parted with their burdens of secrets.
In death much more than in life,
there is honesty.
Still, I take comfort in the lies of the living.
I am alone and I have set boundaries
Like these islands separated by water.
Alone, not lonely, for my heart is at peace,
I'm free and complete in my solitude here.
My existence breathes without the abrasions
Of demands and constraints that burden so.
For a time I gave, losing self in relations,
These drained me so much, that I had to go.
No regrets plague me now, I like the freedom,
For we do not have to fear the word "alone".
Strength and independence, whatever comes-
Is what I found alone, what I now own.
Copyright © Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~09.09.17
AND one hand clapping against
the shuttered storm cellar doors is
never a reason to deny ability:
like mushroom clouds as falling
tears splatting fragments of
dusted minds – by parched perched
gills of neon fossils; the signs are
here, there, and within the ? of
a hungry-starved dying youth/
/-->the ordered degree of chaos!
By opened minds the wheels turn
As curving fanning windmills churn;
Abrasions of mental collisions
As rough as life and art
(and smooth as death and data)
as all atheist and scientist know
who cares if the tree makes a sound
when it dies AND I say “hello” to
a black void but no reply, ergo:
AVOID.
:: 06-29-2017 ::
quick gestures
times seem subdued
though somehow not alert
moments begin to intrude
captured by phrases
never seen abrasions
mute
intentions fade as time is payed
fools wage's are waisted pages
redundant as it seems
tongue will find means
as it wrestles with the ink
gives the mind time to blink
worth in word's bakers dozen
love and blood are second cousins
just another farce
wrote just this
side of th dark
..
.
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