Best Cast Aside Poems
abandoned in field
one thousand tiny new chicks
willing hands save them
based on newspaper story over the weekend
02~20~17
Sat where it’s sat since chauffeured in gently
No driver now for the rusty old Bentley
Its tyres and battery equally flat
A rusted up den for an old ally cat
Manicured lawns, bindweed infested
No gardener now as hardship suggested
No tourist, no fan, nobody interested
Intruder detection no longer tested
Inside, a rocking chair, no longer plush
Creaks like the bones of the wizened old lush
Who stares at the walls of the now peeling flock
And pays little heed to the un-ticking clock
Newspaper clippings lay where they fell
Sometimes she grins at the stories they tell
But just as though they were still pinned to the wall
She picks up not one, she remembers them all
They’d urged her to dance, they’d begged her to sing
But all of a sudden the phone wouldn't ring
Now cataracts sully the stars In her eyes
And stubbornness stifles her arthritic cries
The phone once rang often, to her recollection
But now she just listens to check the connection
No point in a phone when you're no longer known
And the sound of alone... is a dialling tone
Dancing for Hollywood bought her the world
But one willing bint and her stardom unfurled
A word of advice for which she will vouch
You’re born but you die on a man’s casting couch
And as she sits there in her old rocking chair
With her makeup undone and her unkempt hair
Now she succumbs to Hollywood’s ills
As she rocks back and forth with some gin and some pills.
In the depth of the shadow that stretches when words are made sense of and then cast aside,
Silence dresses over our dreams, ethereal strands subtly strung and pierced through,
Desire boils and yearns to be noticed, forgetting through its inferno, the purity of thought,
On the throne of self-abandonment, philosophy is sidelined, silently, clandestinely sold.
Love, we demand it as though a royal due, with an often blind and reckless zeal,
At times, we pierce hearts that shared with us undoubted affection,
On humanity's altar, their blood is wastefully spilled, ritually, without intoxication.
Romanticism, we wish for it as a companion to an unbounded love,
Even when aware that vipers peddle deceptive elixirs, glittery and deviant,
Run from the whisper that seems too sweet to be true,
When words sneak in clad in golden garments, yet prove to be hollow.
Thirsty for the pure essence, not the empty sweetness,
Reveal love in bodies that plant deeds, not ephemeral rhymes,
In places that respond not with passwords, but with fearless truth.
Find success in hearts that weave good unmoved,
Not in deceitful whispers, but in hands that tirelessly sow respect and beloved.
So, wander in chasms where words bring about no dress,
In dimensions where feelings are woven into bodies, in gazes that know to speak wordlessly,
Not in rose petals that detach at the slightest gust,
But in souls that show love not in words but in desires that blaze at dawn.
Waiting for way too long
cast aside and forced to dwell here
SAVE ME
I've been crying out those words out in vain for so long
BEATING
I've been beating on these walls for what seems like years
BLEEDING
I've been waking up with blood across my face
and scars across my back
ESCAPING
planned to escape from this hell everyday
but I can't find a spoon big enough
to tunnel my way through
HOPING
my hope diminished like a withering a flame a long time ago
THE END
the end will be coming for me soon
ANGER
all the anger has fled
and now the spell of sleep is crawling upon me
Curse you...
curse you all for doing this to me...
CURSE YOU! ! ! !
My heart grew feeble and I fell,
enraptured by illusion's spell.
My fingers lost their grasp - the hilt!
The sword has fallen; blood has spilt.
And it seemed so sweet to give it up,
in exchange for passion's cup.
Drunk, I stumbled to the night,
swaddling myself in shadowlight.
Dark and dead though it may be,
still, it seemed to shine to me,
until clear words from purer hearts,
reminded me just how death starts.
With cold despair, I gazed down,
at midnight robes and an onyx crown;
How had I, then, come to this?
Layer 'pon layer to shroud all bliss?
Resolve, at last, came back to me,
and I recalled my destiny.
Yon black cape I cast aside,
in hope that I might save my pride.
And with steps slowed by hellish fear,
I walk from shadows and appear,
within the blaze of glorious light,
that burns me with its righteous spite.
Though my eyes drip tears, I sing,
in joy, knowing that the sting
is melting down impurity,
that bars me from eternity.
And I arise and grasp the sword,
blazing with his Holy Word.
22 August 2018