Best Beckoned Poems
If ever beckoned by the broken glass
I offer instantly these scarred hands
And bleed
Embracing sharpest, cruel edges,
most exquisite lines
And bleed
upon piercing, jagged, penetrating points
brilliant with dancing sunlight
And bleed
poured out into a universe benign, hard surfaces
warm in crimson puddles of all I was
And stand
And bleed
And know then –
Broken glass does not love back.
In the depths of Winter one December night
As my thoughts slept I awoke in delight
For at the end of my bed was what I'd always dreamed
He was tall of stature, just as my hopes seemed
His outstretched hand beckoned my rise
Standing before him looking into his eyes
I could see he had passion and a warmth for the dark
When he touched me so, he left his mark
In a broken dialect, with a Latin trace
I could sense gestures of welcome as I stand in his grace
~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~
We sit together as his language turns to mine
Declaring me his second for now it's our time
We must summon his legions from the depths of this earth
To do this we must sacrifice to make the dark worth
He touches me again as my birth voice turns to black
A change in me I now feel, my allegiance to never lack
This devil so called to me immaculate to any man
To extinguish the light to be his master plan
As we step into the night, the earth opens like deep sores
His masses now march to spread darken spores
~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~
Standing together we are, whilst his legions look on
Above us ravens and crows circle, deterring the light from being strong
He raises his fist drawing black clouds from the blue
Whilst his flocks of dark angels into the distance they flew
For they are his eyes as they patrol darkening skies
To seek out the light of which we despise
This man now my master turns to his legions and declares
If it shines like a light, no one is to be spared
The hill we now stand on, glows of crimson red
For the day has come that the earth has dread
~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~
On chariots of fire winged serpents follow
Spewing out their flames, many villages swallowed
Silhouettes combust in momentary capture
Whilst the dark march on, in death plunder rapture
His ultimate aim is to turn day into night
Extinguish the light and turn the dark to the right
Heaven and Hell to be absorbed for the one
I am no longer second, for I am his son
Days, weeks and months, turned into decades of fear
Earth now lies spent, too arid for tears
Written 10/7/2010 4:51:00 PM
beckoned by sun's radiance at the end of nature's tunnel of trees
Written Dec. 5, 2015
Israel Beckoned...In A Dream
This secular skeptic beheld,
eyes hallucinated, harried, felled
and haunted by
holographic images gelled
that didst silently scream herald
ding exhaustively
roaming, schlepping, meld
ding and trudging across
elapsed, nor quelled
blinkered, bloodied dead souls
across fractured wartorn veld,
where bludgeoned ghastly
eons of pain did weld
throbbing inside my
scepter templed mount, aye
vicariously experienced
cumulative historical grief
past to present anti
semitism I decry
incomprehensible genocide, (though
not necessarily exclusive domain
of Moses troopers), nonetheless I
find mine existence
ably linkedin sigh
lent lee to the
bosom of Abraham,
no matter such
quasi confession doth fly
in the face, despite devout atheism,
a genealogical kinship inherently
peppers the genetic
mind of this
questioning (authority type) guy,
whose lack of
religion cannot dispel
no matter fuzzy, gauzy,
hazy, et cetera,
asper the existence
of heaven or hell,
and no idea what
will become of
Matthew Scott Harris, when bell
doth toll mine death knell
though methinks, i.e. this fell
low will merely decompose
forever oblivious to
global pell mell,
whose corporeal essence will spell
reincarnation relegating molecular
composition of this aging
ordinary physical being
whose existence particularly,
poignantly, and plaintively
punctuated with delicately
framed psychological housing
twilight years echoing
punitive hardship just barely shaking
free, whence adolescent
aborted suicidal effort
near cleft flickr ring,
anorexia almost got life
extinguished, gut wrenching
yank key undergo wing
life and death struggle rattling
the long gone souls
figurative rusted empty cages,
whose legacy aching Diaspora, ages
ago scattered tribes, especially sages
Exodus to Babylonian Captivity,
(c. 12th to 6th centuries BC),
proud unknown forebears rages
against contemporary
Hebrews existential wages
of experienced unfair recent gauges
(recording heinous twentieth century)
opprobrious persecution quashing
valuable vital and voluminous
absent contribution Jews
never written pages
forever hidebound historical legacy
unfairly demonized ever since pre
Biblical epoch anonymous stages.
Beholding bountiful compassion-blessings of God* beyond bankruptcy…
Brothers and sisters, let’s be braced-up, becoming better
bouncing against bitterness borne by crises’ bondage
breaking free from backsliding midst burdens
built-up now: healed heart, soul and body
bowing to the Saviour Lord, blissful
beckoned toward hope’s beam.
Bestowed with bread and butter from the Creator’s barns …
Beloved, let’s share, battling against selfishness’ bouts
Blowing away boastfulness in stewardship business
beautified along faith-blooms of love’s benefits
buttressed upon biblical belief
besieged by divine boldness
bringing service best.
*2Samuel 22:47 The LORD liveth; and blessed be my rock; and exalted be the God of the rock of my salvation.
December 19, 2020
1st place, "Alliteration" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper; judged on 12/22/2020.
Many busied minutes have been spent upon my brow....
As formed of sweat that be hanging on down as if not enow.
A toilment of movement has haunted my graying cloud about my head...
Following oh following b'neath my dread.
Will'st this dread bring about my unlying day reckoning of being dead? ...
Watching and waiting the spread of dread, whilst it does do change
into it's renewed spreading dread.
That clock on yonder wall does well haunt me...
Ticking it's unconcessive sound well ached to ear.
How will i manage to unbitter this sounding well resounding attacked
to my one good ear? ...
Haste to thee these all wasted many year.
Alas i must bid not one good fare thee well as not...
Hence my choice to die and proceed straight into that dismal hell.
Death still mocks me as i sit and dwell...
I shan't ever feel safe as well.
Death promises to me a long yearning respite...
This in the end to me will finally delight.
The icy peak beckoned
Sun easing itself into bed
Tendrils of fingered shadows fled
Our guide was busy chatting
Seeking favored secrets
Prompting subtle whispers
Our snow-capped trophy
Caught a tinge of sunshine
Shed a raspberry tear
I kissed its frozen face
Licked my lips
With a slurping smile
©7/15/2023