The borders fell like fever from a long-tormented frame,
No steel was turned, no legions marched, no decree spoke their name.
For when the node of silver wood began its quiet rise,
The phantom lines of sovereign pride dissolved before their eyes.
The ancient ghosts of territory, of fortress, and of crest,
Like winter frost before the sun, sank deep into the breast.
The pain that once had armed the hand and built the concrete wall
Was opened to the anchor node, unmetered, shared by all.
A mother’s cry in Sector One, the drought of Sector Four,
No longer stopped at checkpoints or the barricaded door.
The collective mind, in empathy, received the bitter sting,
And wove the ache of centuries into a single string.
Where once the barbed dividers stood to guard the hollow grain,
Now surged a tide of healing hands to wash away the stain.
The map of old Vaeloria, where blood-bought nations bled,
Became a tapestry of care, by quiet mercy fed.
No citizen was left an island, stranded in their grief;
The shared scar of the species brought its ultimate relief.
House on the hill barricaded by brick, placed in 1981.
Sheltered by the flood, but bound and bathed
With the anguish of the mourning there.
Mostly by the caretakers of the children,
And then too the children as they grow older.
But they swore never to be like them, and that they would move away.
Across state lines in houses shielded by a sea of forest.
They would stay in touch, but just enough to get away with it.
Just enough to stay out of the mouths of those they ran from.
But close enough to not feel guilt for cutting ties.
One day that house won’t be ours.
It will return to the hill as it was made,
And remain a living relic in the stories we tell, and in our hearts.
Not for the suffering it kept shut inside,
But for the nesting it provided, and the memories that took the shape of us.
The roads I never followed
In the crossroads each of the paths stare at me
One directly leads to success
No lessons learned of hardships to overcome
The other curls and winds around the dense forest
Rocks cover the path and bushes hug the air
Yet the others cry darkly
My feet throw me toward the barricaded road
Thorns tear my skin and rocks trip my steps
While the other goes straight, it is full of fake things
That road I never followed shines brightly through the wooded path I endure
If I were to walk down the meaningless path it would kill me
But now I am running through my clouded visions
Running for my future beyond this road
And running away from who I was
Whittled skittled Bazball skint
Belittled lost the glint of Clint
Have a dig make my day big hint
Whatever they say never skinflint
In every stint we will always sprint
Hope dope blueprint trope's mint
The jibber jabber about the Gabba
White knights or ghoulish frights
Stagefright day night under lights
Highlights or more foolish flights
In the ascendancy have that tendency
Heresy or do they deserve clemency
Jealously let them preserve their legacy
Lose again barricaded in the Embassy
Stokes blokes smokes with their high jinx
Ben’s mens sneaky kinks find the chinks
Bazball minx in sync with cheeky winks
Glasses clinks as fans sinks their drinks
Nearly boys ploys bring us back from the brink
What do you think ..will our envoys annoy shrink
Another pity ditty in a sweltering city.. sh**ty stink
Or blink ignore the noise....spurred on by the slurs
Purrs like the Psychedelic Furs..joys of Pretty in Pink?
An ominous water tower
Stands tall in Starin Park
Barricaded by a spiked fence
Iron clads the stained-glass windows
A steel door bolted shut
What secrets lie within its walls?
On the night of a blood moon
Witches shrouded in crimson robes
Conducted a satanic ritual
To call forth a demon from hell.
The ceremony was a success, but at a cost.
Hellborn claws slew the High Witch.
The remaining members stood firm.
Combined their strength to subdue the creature.
Calling forth the spirits of nature,
The witches configured a tower
To confine the bloodthirsty beast
So none shall meet an unfortunate end.
They say on a full moon night,
You can hear otherworldly growls
Echoing throughout the tower
Rattling the bravest of souls
Who'd dare to venture forth
To the Witches Tower.
Living in a false vision,while creating illusions of bad decisions.In my past when my footsteps became ashes,I was stealing for others who really need it.I position myself in danger countless times for strangers with smiling faces who take advantage of kindness,weakness,and talents.But now that Im polished in my craft,Im well balanced surrounded with solid knowledge and display my wisdom that pays attention and listen before I solved them.With tunnel vision deciphering through the rumble and rewritten for those who gets misguided.Cause in my experience language is the true connection of us breathing,while others sleep and dream about living,manuevering through life in a empty body suit in flesh,that dont bleed or shed.Barricaded themselves in there own prison,even there reflection denies its own visit.Its ashamed many dont realize in life we have options to disengage derange or grab on tight to what feels right.I tend to go down memory lane,visualize those precious moments in the past,were all lies,giggles and laughs.But now that I found God,I disgarded my mask,to show my true demeanor and pave my positive mission everlast.
To the lady who sees me as I am,
To the lady who sees me as a book,
Turning through my pages,
Straightening its dog ears,
Reading between the lines.
To the lady to whom I stand as a mirror,
Reflecting beyond my charm and calm,
Reaching for the hidden part of me,
Seeing the night that comes to my room,
Knowing that I add stars to its sky.
To the lady who said I do,
Despite my shades and fades,
Polishing my weathered surface,
Waiting for my shrivelled meadow to bloom,
Anticipating the sprout of my feeble boughs.
To the lady who knows my mother has a pride of place in me,
She has read the ode I wrote to my mother,
But still knows that she’s not barricaded from my heart’s door,
The fragrance that pervades my room,
She’s the purple flower in my garden.
April 29, 2024.
#5: The Morning After
Shifting affects all their pulled souls; constant,
seized stares engage dawning crystals; bred views.
Child-like cherubs guide giggling stars; enchant,
Pegasus prepped and harnessed; controlled crews,
sprawled winged bats whorl descends barricaded,
midnight submerged shades Admiral cool blues.
Swamp aroused, croaks, leaps, buzzes, and waded,
Luna merged descension, picturesque views,
a deserved tired town, abandoned lagoon,
cows standing in their beds as the grass grows,
a milkman's leaving whistles a suite tune,
farm life kickers, kitchens light flicker glows.
Cherubs hook up the small wagon and hold,
as Sol draws the reigns; Chariot of Gold.
I smoke a blunt
barricaded from the harsh sunlight
by a striped canopy.
You're taking a shower,
I daydream of full-length mirrors,
and soapy brown skin.
The post card in my hand
depicts the Roman Colosseum.
Gladiators are still hopelessly fighting time.
It's 1985
the world, as usual,
spins on like a tossed coin.
Make love while you can.
Find the lady in the shower,
wherever she is,
don't just sit there!
Closed off halls of my heart,
how locks long to open;
I know they are starving
fueled by foolish half smiles;
Is it worth believing?
Closed off halls of my heart,
barricaded so tight
ignoring every need;
Ridden with painful shots,
arrows will always bleed;
Closed off halls of my heart,
a sure hand ran me through;
Broke them into pieces;
I’m fearful of the pain
yet desire blood splatter.
Farewell, au revoir, goodbye, convivial summer.
The day is late now, and the breeze is warmer.
A vacant ocean-side barricaded motel.
Wild geese are soon flying in lines as well.
Vacation homes drop their literate barricades.
This rich sweeping green tone will soon fade.
In this season, buds and fruits are abundant.
Melons and garden load are ardent.
Tanned skin, sailboats, and folded linen suits.
When the world is more positive than disputes,
Pollen irritates the sinuses of sensitive patients.
Now they've fled to the farm, the coast nascent.
Stop their passing endeavor at escape.
The Ferris wheel in LEGOLAND is agape.
The Cape no longer trades in quirkiness.
A glum family descends from the murkiness.
To welcome their offspring back from camp.
Mature year, scarlet maple boughs, raised scamp.
Sunburned shoulders disappear at summer's end.
Goodbye to the peasant's headband.
Goodbye storms and dirty white shoes.
Goodbye summer friends, pants, shorts, and cruse.
Farewell, tennis peculiar desire to be difficult.
Farewell picnics, ice tea, and plane trips, munificent.
Written: August 19, 2022
I wiped a tear from my eye
Didn't know I still could cry
Thought I was too jaded
My heart, near barricaded...
Today I saw an Arab hug a Jew
Enemies back in '72
Forgotten now, what caused their hate
~ We humans are all soul mates
Barricaded in cellars
as falsehoods rock the landscape
Truth sequestered, fragments
~ devolution to the Age of Apes
Life leaves scratches
her fear of limitations
in an unwieldy gait
uncertain in her body
self wisdom that wounds
knowing missed chances
what to value, what to preserve?
her edifice cracked by misfortune can be restored
and every fragment isn't a puzzle
at age sixty, a bootleg feel for indulgence rises
flowered dress to fuel her traction
as shoebox isolation fades
new force of will
to seize joy like a ring toss hoop
to drop the faithful security of mask
a jump off fences
she follows the river's path to a seniors' dance,
skirting forlorn alleyways,
to a hall decorated welcome, like the wave of circus flags
as melodies rising, loosen barricaded thoughts
to the beauty of aged embracing
in a slow dance that doesn't feel one sided
movement that sways in touch
a dash of spice
movement that blooms
the space around her
Poem revised July 27, 2022
Held unyielding in your narrow mind
is the ignorance which keeps you blind.
Building dams will only hold you back
from accepting that white is not black.
Like a slow moving, barricaded stream,
your thoughts clot like curdled cream.
Thin skin has need to slough rejection,
Your rigid stance in mirrored reflection.
Break open the dam across the estuary
that hinders your vision. It's necessary
to move in sync with malleable fluidity
instead of sputtering words of stupidity.
Shedding skin will allow you to breathe.
Release your potential from its sheathe.
Even a snake slithers out from its skin
to crawl from where it once had been.
Little is the chance you have to accept
new ideas if they are not circumspect
to the fault of having such a closed mind.
Throw off the veil that keeps you blind.
Don't become stagnant and decompose
by turning your back, continuing to oppose
any idea with which you just don't agree.
You'll drown in arrogance, acting so lordly.
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