Best Drag On Poems
I can’t see the muses,
Before they steal my heart.
There are simply no excuses,
For the wonder they impart.
I can’t see the wind,
Before it attacks the calm,
Leaving me resigned,
For storms who recite their psalm.
I can’t see the change,
Before it calls out my name,
It can feel so strange,
For change, at times, will blame.
I can’t see the song,
Before it soothes my soul,
Making me feel like I belong,
For a song can surely console.
I can’t see the dawn,
When Winter erases the sun,
Causing the gray to drag on,
For the frost to have its fun.
I can’t see the godsends,
Even though they’re everywhere,
Many times, they come as friends,
For hearts who smile a prayer.
I can’t see the reality,
When someone tells a lie,
It takes a while until I see,
For wisdom breathes a sigh.
I can’t see the timeless beauty,
In a heart of gold,
She shines like it is her duty,
For kindness has much to behold.
I can’t see the spring,
As autumn changes the scene,
But it’s such an amazing thing,
For the sun to erase the green.
I can’t see the night,
When the dawn rises to reveal,
All the wonders so bright,
For this joy of daybreak is surreal.
I can’t see the love,
That flows inside a twinkling,
When feelings rise above,
For the devotion in an inkling.
I can’t see the grace,
God’s only Son came to bring,
This is surely God’s embrace,
For His love is a wellspring.
I can’t see the way,
Beyond the ache, the tears,
But, He makes everything okay.
He silences all my fears.
I can’t see beyond this life,
But I know One who can see it all,
And He is the answer to my strife.
For His grace is there when I fall.
I can’t see so much in this life.
Often, I’m disillusioned by loss.
So He revealed to me, the afterlife,
For love, I laid it all at the cross.
I can’t see through the clouds,
Making out those blessings so sweet,
Even though I’m surrounded by crowds,
For the moment, I feel so very complete.
I can’t see everything, but I know
When I reach out to Jesus, the Son,
The glory of God will always flow,
For His love has only just begun!
I can’t see Him,
Yet He abides with me.
Just like an old, old hymn…
Therefore, I’m forever free.
Forever, yes forever – I will see!
In the darkness of the night,
with the beautiful stars above.
There's a lonesome Whippoorwill.
Calling out for his Dear love.
Crooning songs he sadly sings.
Wishing she comes back to him.
Memories of her by his side.
Pained his heart way deep inside.
Each night he wonders why?
She doesn't answer or replies!
Minutes turned into hours,
there's no response!
"Oh please Dear Love answer
me, just once!"
"Oh, where my Darling are you
tonight? I've been searching for
you day and night!"
His little heart can't take much
more! It is she who he adores.
Evenings drag on as he still
waits. Time will tell his coming
fate.
He called out one last time.
His last thoughts were of her,
on his mind.
While he looked for her. He did
not know. His precious love,
another Whippoorwill stole. His
precious love, another Whippoorwill
stole.
Sadly on that tragic day, from a
broken heart he passed away..
From a broken heart he passed
away.
There's a little nest that is tucked
away. Where his heartache ended,
and now he lays.
Later on his love returned. Saw
him laying still, and began to mourn!
Her cries were heard throughout
the night and in her grieving heart
he now resides.
Each day and night she sang to him,
and hoped to God, He was listening.
In the darkness of the night, she
breathed out one last sigh, and
forever closed her eyes.
She found herself on Angels wings,
and heard calls for her, singing.
She quickly flew to him in Love, to
start their new beginning.
If you listen closely and the night is still.
Up in the Heavens you can still hear,
the loving calls, of two Whippoorwills.
Maria Williams and Husband Ron
will put these Lyrics to a Music
Video. I will ask her to Post it on
Maria's Poetry Soup site where
all her videos are. She is and Ron
the one's who turn Lyrics into
Magical musical amazing
creations. You can see her new
video on her Site or on YouTubes
Poetic Rythms. Her latest Video
Serenity, From Fall to Freedom,
is an exceptional video I think
you would all enjoy. I want to
thank all my lovely friends
that commented, you are all
Special and you make this world
a better place. God bless you all...
Everything around me is still
The soft lights ward off the cold
My worried heart is unsettled
Every minute makes me old
Time seems to drag on and on
Not sure I can take much more
I’m waiting for my angel
to walk in through that door
There is nothing to do but wait,
so I wonder about her day
but what’s taking her so long?
Did she somehow lose her way?
I think about my visit
My first time to see her place
In my glimpse into her life,
a weariness I can trace
She flew away to this isle
to try out her angel wings,
and in following her dreams
she untied the home spun strings
“Our children are not our own.”
Oh, great Gibran*, can’t you see?
My precious 18 year old,
Will always belong to me!
Oh yes, she may live elsewhere
Have a family of her own,
but she’s my little baby
and in my eyes she hasn't grown
I wait and wait and wait
Please, God, let her be alright!
I look out of the window
at the blackness of the night
I think of all those mothers
who wait for their children dear,
whose tired and aching arms
long to hold their loved ones near
The wait for them is fruitless
Its end is a tragic woe,
for death holds back their loved ones
The "Wait of Pain" will not go
My heart shares in their sorrow
My soul weeps for their plight
For though my daughter is late
She’ll be coming home tonight!
For Waiting Contest by James Rogers
September 9, 2015
*Khalil Gibran was a Lebanese-American artist, poet, and writer of the New York Pen League. There recent move, The Prophet, was about him.
While I blew on my hands and held my tongue
A startling star swung out of the sky,
And though to gravity need not comply,
Descended to ledge where envious clung.
Of course we all would climb to the summit
To leap from the acme, fly with the winds,
But not all have wingspan: some just have fins.
Some blaze aria, others but hum it.
If toe-hold needs gained, deny temptation
Its perilous urge to drag on the guide,
But rather find core of stillness inside
And trust to Sherpa, not own impatience.
I lie beside you
Trying to keep still
Yet…this need is eating away at me
I sigh
Sure that my desire
Is working its way out of my body
Glowing out through my pores
I’m sure it will hover over you
And entice you with it’s aura
Pulling you awake…
And I wait….
The minutes drag on
My thoughts consumed
By images that sear into my flesh
What could be….
I can’t quench the fire
Sleep is impossible
Not now
“Wake up!” My mind shouts
Yet my lips are sealed
My breath comes in muted gasps
“Please…wake up”
“Selfish, selfish!”
My mind cries
“Let him sleep
It’s been a hard day
He needs his rest.”
I acquiesce
I toss and turn
In my mind I converse with you
“It’s been awhile
Surely…you want it too
I don’t know what to do!
How can I sleep
When I desperately want you?”
A movement on your side
I hold my breath
Hoping it’s true
The craving that will not sleep
Forces me to speak...
“Touch me!”
My most sultry voice
Breaks the stillness of the night
Your heavy breathing is stilled
I feel an awakening
Emboldened
I guide your hand
To my waiting breasts
Which I’ve bared for some time
In readiness
In anticipation
Waiting to bring me pleasure...
You pull me to you
And your lips close over them in turn
Making all my dreams come true
The open window carries out the sound
Of our frenzied sleeplessness
My every womanly sense
Is taut….alive
Wanting
Needing
Demanding
Pleasing
Energy born out of insomnia’s rage
I blaze through these moments...
Satiated…I sigh
The tenseness wanes
My body goes lax
My eyelids heavy
As a plant a kiss on your lips
I slip
I slid
Into that land
Of sleepful bliss.
July 3, 2013
For the Sleepless Nights Contest
Leonora Galinta
It’s,
That time.
Zombie like,
I cold shower,
Gulp down breakfast and
Dress. I’m late and run for
The Bus (full of noisy school
Kids). I’m stuck in traffic with a
Headache! At work, I apologise:
Monday morning blues before nine o’clock.
Think my watch has stopped, time is standing still.
Wonder why weekends go in a flash;
Work days drag on like time torture.
Yawning, bored, hungry for lunch,
Hot, thirsty, lethargic,
I splash cold water
On my face. Then
I see her
Text, and
Grin.
Jack Horne
Our days are broken
The nights drag on
How many have paid the price
For your self serving song
You will not scare me
I have nothing to lose
Moving ahead
We will play by the rules
I have learned from a master
How to maneuver his charm
Accountability will reign and decide the cost of harm
I did not want this
I loved you dear
You became greedy without any fear
And now
Our days are broken
And
The nights drag on......................
Beatnik Snaps
Onomatopoeia-topia
(poet sits on a stool in the café and begins)
I could onomatopoeia all day daddio
With cool sounds in the iambic pandemics sphere out there.
“Far out man…far out… Onomatopoeia all the way” (The crowd shouts and snaps fingers in approval.)
On the down winds jive below slow jazz notes I go
Goatee Joe eats the avocado on the down and low
Basements bottomless souls measured tuna outlet cries out
The bongo boys drag on the joint while munching on the tacos loco
Cigarette smoke lays down a cloud…talks to the humming bird
Laying down some heavy tones to the bones with the smooth sax
Cats calling in the alley way cruising on the cat nip trip
Waiting on a little miss kitty called Pussy Meow
She’s a no show Joe. Man, that’s no way to go.
In the wild thick woods of words working on his behalf
The half past 1952 Johnny, goes marching home
Alone down Bluesville Avenue in a zoot suit out back Jack
Slick black jacket looking for some chicks on the beatnik clicks
Snap!
Notes raining down on the sax as some jive time chumps
Get busted by some jive time cop
Flat foot flopping down the street with some flat foot beef to pound
Drowned on pounding grounds outside
Down in the drip drop flop of day….Grazing on the rain.
“Shows over Jack and Jill.”
“It’s been a thrill.” (More finger snaps from the beatnik crowd)
Debaucheries Departure
Sooner or later we gotta blow this café gig…..Dig?
Slurred speech measured beats by bongo boys bid a retreat
In matters like this …..tipping matters….and meter matters…My meters dry man.
We tapped out our tab long ago so….One last drink!
What’s your poison my onomatopoeia friend?…He retorts; “You’re right.”
“ I don’t want to pay it either”…. but we gotta get out of this joint.
What kind of iambic pandemics beatnik friend do you think I am?
In deed briated with liquid libations I guess….. (Snaps)
Hear my people shout, the shouts of despair
See my people’s faces that no one can bear
Feel the songs they wail, the wails of the night
C’mon people, come along
On this trip to Calvary
Here on the mountain our tribe dwells
With its rocky little lane, and the spring way swells
When the first light of hope dawns another day
The faithful dogs breakfast on the master’s bones
The ash of last night corpse feeds life into the leafy plots
The shrieks of a child for a missing toe play the first song of the hood
So hear my people sing, sing the song you’ve never heard
With lyrics that burns us out, that numbs us through
So hear it a bit more and hear us out
Then you’ll see what this is about
Once a fortnight the scorching begins
They burn our homes; they kill our child
They put us in chain, and rock us to death
They call us witch, child of devil
They put us on the run that never ends
Let me ask you, what fault do we people bear?
We the victims of fate, the victims of God’s examples
If things happen for a certain cause
For what cause do we happen?
Why for us the life is darker than the night?
We have skin but we can’t touch
We have nerve but we can’t feel
We have voice but no speech
We have sight that’ll soon be gone
But with our hearts still beat fast
We have love and we feel pain
We have hope like everyone
We are scared as all men
Where’s the justice that we seek?
Where’s the kindness that we crave?
We are named as living dead
We are cursed by the Gods
We are damned by the King
We are the outcasts, the forsaken
So drag on people! DRAG ON!
Through the ash and debris
Through the pain and sorrow
Through the mourns and sufferings
Hold on tight people! HOLD ON!
The tide is coming
We’d be washed through
We’d be freed
March on people! MARCH ON!
Till we rest in the God’s chambers
So raise the flag
And roar the song
As we go to Calvary
Dedicated to my son Dustin
It’s been since Christmas of 2013
Since I’ve seen his goofy smile
Still
Every day I drag on farther
Trying to stay strong so that maybe
Just maybe
I might get to see him again
I’m hoping
And I’m dreaming
But every time I see his face
Whether a picture or a dream
I breakdown
Losing him is one of the worst things
That has ever happened to me
It breaks my heart knowing
That it is my fault.
It’s my fault Why I can’t see him
And this very month
The month of September
The 21st
The day of his birth
His first birthday
And I’m going to miss it
It IS one of the worst feelings in the world
And just knowing
Just knowing that it’s my fault
Makes that feeling even worse
And my smile fades faster with each passing second
And I fall deeper into the darkness
Of the farthest bit of space
Away from the light and from happiness
From all the pain I have caused myself
How am I supposed to forgive myself?
When I miss his very first birthday
And there is no way I can change it
And it’s all because of the mistakes I’ve made
It’s just too late
And I can’t turn back
And it is just getting worse
Am I only meant to suffer?
Am I meant to lose everything?
And everyone
I care about
Am I not a loud to move on?
Or
Am I supposed to forget about him?
And be that horrible father I am bound to be
Why should I care?
Why should I have my heart ripped out
By a little boy
Why can’t I move on?
My dreams won’t move on
And they haunt me of all my mistakes
They haunt me of my blue-eyed son
and how I lost him
Some days aren’t so great.
They drag on like the heavy chains of sinners, and every dark emotion fills my being.
On those days, I question everything.
People whose friendship has proven true to me.
My family.
My peers.
Myself.
But then, on those days,
If I’m lucky,
I see a glimmer of hope.
Like the tiny sparks preceding a roaring blaze.
Taking form in a conversation.
An exchange.
A smile.
Those days, I am reminded of my experiences.
The horrors behind me.
The journey of healing ahead.
And most of all, the promise of a new beginning.
It’s out there, and maybe one day I’ll find it.
Those days project a multitude of colors encompassing the beautiful spectrum life has to offer.
Today was one of those days.
(In a 19th-century legal judgment studied by all who
learn the English common law, Sturges v. Bridgeman,
the court found in favour of a "nice" doctor over a
"common" manufacturer, for reasons of pure snobbery.)
The Candyman Can’t
Some legal battles have the power to thrill,
while others never have, and never will.
Some touch on human themes which really matter,
and some do not. We’re dealing with the latter.
This present case is hardly OJ Simpson:
it lacks dramatic shape, and simply limps on
listlessly, with abstruse reasoning,
no sex or violence to give it seasoning.
One Mister Bridgman manufactures sweets,
in premises where Wigmore crosses/meets
its neighbour, Wimpole. Eighteen seventy-nine
of our salvation, two lives intertwine
when Doctor Sturges takes consulting rooms
around the corner. Disagreement looms,
for Bridgman’s grinding, pounding candy line’s
destroying Sturges’ peace, fragging his mind.
The law of nuisance really is quite funny.
It says, “he did you harm? Well, here’s some money”.
What if you’d rather dodge the damage, and
defer the dollars? How to countermand
the duty-breach-then-damages regime?
Suppose we interpose a better scheme?
Instead of “you must suffer, he must pay”,
we stop the harm? The problem goes away!
This ruse is known as “equity”. It functions
by granting prior relief (they’re called injunctions).
So Sturges stemmed stentorian sweetie sounds
by order of the court, and Bridgman found
his business gagged and bound by hoops of steel,
for no good reason. What to do? Appeal!
(For thus advise the lawyers. Such affairs
drag on for years. The lawyers? They get theirs!)
Said Bridgman: “I’ve been cranking out jujubes
for decades now. It’s all gone down the tubes
because some quack dislikes the earnest hum
of my devices. Why, then, did he come
to Wimpole Street? He wants tranquility?
Go hang his shingle in Highgate Cemetery!
I have a remedy for Doctor Sturges:
it’s swallowing his antimony purges!”
But Bridgman lost. One cannot help but feel
that making toffee wasn’t quite genteel
enough. Their Lordships said behaviour
that’s unacceptable around Belgravia
can find a home in Bermondsey. The latter
has lots of lowly types. It doesn’t matter
if they have noisome noise, and have to live
in filthy fumes – for they’re not sensitive.
1975
we sat silently on the porch
I was outta breath from running
children ran in those days
some of us would wait on the porch for the sky to stop
I was wearing a light blue jacket
you were on my arm
we watched the sun calculate its position
and the sound of the pretzel man returning
watching you on my arm watching me
alone
digging up the bones of birds I buried last week
carrying my clipboard
sketches
of the newly planted trees
who's leaves were stars
I had markers, pens, pencils and chalk
all the time
I was so thin then
when the days of our lives would drag on
and the gravity of summers would destroy time passing
Poets stumble over half written sonnets
find themselves trapped in dark poetic throes
Not for the lack of interest, but they often wilt
as petals wither on the stem of a plucked rose
Their Haiku go on hiatus; lingering on vacation
Romantic writings drag on without decent rhyme
They are not procrastinators, but often tumble
down a mountain side they cannot seem to climb
Writing sharpens the points of dulled memories
black ink is splotched by an onslaught of tears
eyes blur as their hands tremble from sorrow
pens draw deep scars across hearts like shears
Long held melodies keep playing across their minds
unfinished lyrics that lay resting in regions of nether
tunes haunting them until tears rain and lips quiver
Impossible to complete when shackled by love's tether
Truth is, I'm terrified
Of the craggy pedestal that I've been
Living on
That threatens to pitch me into the
Salty, ebony sea
The rope is there for me to grab
To pull me back up to the
Shore
But do I dare to turn back now?
Do I dare to go so far?
I pity the buds that,
In spring, were once in full bloom
Were lush enough to nurture
At least, if need be
Now the pair have regressed to baby
Bubbles resting on my chest
Shiny, but with childish luster only
Innocent
Yet too much so in age
I thrive on the hollow pride
That drags along my hollow stomach
I flourish underneath the truth
Of my demise
In my disease, I become comfortable
Skin just right and not too
Stretched
Too tired to drag on but thus content
I am haunted by the thought
Of ever being fed