That which hurts is so easy to say
but that which comforts
needs careful consideration
we can blurt out what hurts
but what comforts
needs time for some thought
the one is always loaded
ready to fire
the other needs priming
consideration and thought
the one is delivered
with forcefulness and thunder
asking no quarter
the other
with a tentative smile
and that obligatory affirmation
“Nooo, I mean it.”
the one tears deep
the other uplifts
we know this
because we all have been
bedevilled by both
we have delivered both
and we have received both
yet nothing has changed
one cannot help thinking
that it never will change
why is that
I wonder.
"Polaris Sigma Octantis"
hypnotised
we look to the heavens
a sky full of hope
to chart a course
home
which one?
where to begin?
in such a dazzling
kaleidoscope
Alpha Ursae Minoris
the bright northern star
intercepts our vision
we are lost in the
grandest theurgy, magnetised,
illuminating steadfast beacon
poles apart
ensconced in darkness
a silent watcher
barely visible to the eye
Sigma Octantis
outshone
almost motionless
waits to be called
some other time
some other Morning
the See
is bedevilled
like a heart has its storms
like a mind has its imagination
the ship must list eventually
swim, sink or
walk on water
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside”
Simple Simon was not really his name,
A nom de plume, of poetic fame.
Each poem he composed, he carved backwards on wood,
Then printed on foolscap as fast as he could.
For halfpennyworth, he sold every one,
As all of his poems, were written for fun.
Where Simple Simon was doing no harm,
For each misfortune, was bedevilled with charm.
But Simple Simon did not go anywhere,
Or tried to snare an elusive wild hare.
Nor rode on an ass, for he already knew,
That the hare was jugged, in an earthenware stew.
1 / 23 / 2022.
In a tear of morning
on the fig tree leaf
lies the dream about the bird without wings.
Bird who
sang the silence of aborted memories,
drunk the sweat of bedevilled paradise
and surrendered to drown
in a tear of morning
on the fig tree leaf.
Silver and gold in a black Pellegrina cape
He moved like a bat flapping to escape
The thurible swinging as the smoke trailed out
His words floated across the congregation in a shout
The altar bedecked with cross and flowers
The priest played his part in the Church’s hour
Be-smocked and bedevilled his figure stands
A leader of the church that loyalty demands
These scenes of the church are so faithfully rendered
But truth has a way of being upended
And all I can see in my mind
Is a child hanging by a door knob so very unkind.
© Paul Warren Poetry
""""*,, ,,*""""
!!
Melting hearts amid your flames
Salem white wigs black cloaks their
Pain these cannibals indigenous child
Catching sight mother as father's blood
A cruel sudden spilling cries echoing about
Her startled forest tears of ancient and creation....
One thousand years is but a day: this journey's doorways
Ushering in his manifestation's final play their destiny ill omens
Living breathing documents slay the abomination she screams hysteria
Sacrificial time lifting it's dagger her infants eyes; sadism's, satanic tithes bedevilled.
Waking unto another day as Babylon and deep inside you know...
That it's going to be the same; trying to manufacture joy, from pain ?
Yet afore his sun ascends while shadows cling highnoon this rattling their
Chains of perdition; left screaming amid these tombs ? Tis everclear the tears
Bedevilled her brew his crimson's crew ? Gnawing, at your brain; with broken fangs.
"A man will give up
everything
for his life,"
Said one man in a book I
once
read.
That man was married to
a
foolish and wicked wife,
Who desired that he
should
meet his end.
"Are you still holding on
to
your integrity?" She
asked.
"You are talking like a
foolish
woman." He replied.
For He was bedeviled
with
pains by a fiend;
Despite that, he didn't at
all
utter a single sinful word.
This man was also very
unfortunate and
wretched;
For he had three
unsympathetics for
friends.
"May the day of my birth
perish." He cursed;
Because no one could
heal his
pains, not even his
friends.
He cursed and cursed the
day
of his birth again,
That day: may it turn to
darkness,
And may God above not
care
about it again.
Upon it, let there be murk
and
blackness.
Oh! how terrible it was
for that
man.
Fame and fortune were
once
his friends,
But all things for him are
now
vain.
Foolish wife, lost wealth,
bad
health, unsympathetic
friends.
Dear Passenger
Dear “Passenger Under The Train”,
Tell me, how did you get that way ?
You were a person before you travelled,
Not even a corpse now, you are bedevilled;
A passenger, to where, nobody knows,
But to the Underground, there another one goes.
Time does not exist—
I look ahead and behind
I was there-here I am-I will be
See! It isn’t time that changes
It is me.
© Harry J Horsman 2010