I was a child, peering down,
down into my soul’s abyss,
a sterile kingdom by the Dead Sea.
She was also a child, my loveless alter ego
a glass jar not even half full.
Our love was too vacuous to harbor affection or hope.
My alter ego, Lissa Marie.
She was a child, peering upward, upward,
delving more deeply into my spirit’s stunted reach.
The proverbial babe in the woods was she,
harboring the dour rude awakenings
of the great prophets and sages.
She stirred in me all that is sacred,
and inspired and true.
Yet her flame diminished
into smoldering embers—no Phoenix rising.
She departed as she entered, a demure lady.
She came to me as lady light,
departed as lady death.
I shall retain my love for her, my
alter ego, 'til my last breath
Our souls entwined
Yet the angels show their jealously
So divine was she, coequal.
Her essence upon me,
love worn weary,
I’ve become one
with Lissa Marie.
“The Dead Life”
(Sleep is the Sister of Death, so I am told)
Wake every morning take a break from death. From the life I live inhaling immortal breath. Uncontrolled vision of lives lived in my head. Most nights are dreamy, some nights are sad.
Fears of our days under lights brightly shining. Return to us in quiet of solemn memos reminding, _ ponderings of undertakings stood above ground. Distant plains amid hasty travels vastly abound.
I’ve drowned many times almost in the same place. Searched for mother who vanished without a trace. I remember this building, vaguely the name of that street. Rippled roads, posing people, infirm ground Beneath my feet.
Of curious consciousness, tis fateful demand whilst I sleep. Wander as a babe in the woods, it’s meaning Lost as sheep.
(If I live the life above in the valley of Death as such, I am doomed to be a restless soul. So far I’ve learnt to not go/turn back it causes the ripples in the road. Keep moving forward. I must remember this upon my return!)
A glint in the black, like stars
Pearly, polished, pointy peaks of a fiend
Fangs of self-deprecation, puncturing every effort
Coursing the flow of doubt, discouragement and defeat
I may not see your face, beast, but your teeth betray you in darkness
Dripping with the blood of my best effort and intention
Inexperience and ignorance, clotting ...
I am but a babe in the woods of poetic expression
Searching like Hansel, for crumbs of excuse and artistic insight
Oh, I see your vestiges, hear the gnawing of your dismal disregard
And your umbra shades every scribble ... every keystroke
But I know you well ... I know who placed you there
Yet, with a sword forged in kind encouragement and friendships, rare
I will stand on the battlements, and fight to the end
And should you gain the last word, it shall be inscribed ... in my blood.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Plucking the Poisonous Parrot" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
The old man
Sits alone,
A babe in the woods
Dead duck easy prey
A soft touch is offered,
I take the old one home
"Are these you're last days?" I ask,
He nods unknowingly
A shot of bourbon is given
Gratefulness he gives
With deep set eyes.
Sleep away now.
I'll never forget to remember
I too could be this old man,
On any given day.
Sleep away old man,
Sleep where you may.
Old man
Sits alone
A babe in the woods
Dead duck
Easy prey
Offer a soft touch
I do
Take the old man home
Is this your last days i ask?
He nods unknowingly,,
A double shot
Of bourbon i give,
Gratefulness given
With deep set eyes
Good-night old man
Sleep away,,,
Sleep in comfort
Where you may..
I'll never forget
To remember?
I could be this old man
On any given day
Seek comfort now
Old man
Seek it where you may,,,
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