Best Plagued Poems
I hear a little girl laugh
and see her sweet face
recall the days of play
the sweet cuddles and kisses
then, I am taken to her name engraved
and remember my sisters death
in childhood . . .
I can hear a baby crying in my dream
and it is my baby
in the dream I am running
on a path that leads me to his grave
engraved, baby boy son of...
and I am weeping again
as I do each time
my fathers death rocked my world
I was not ready daddy
going to his work shed that day
I sat with his tin cans of nails
and the dust that floated
writing a poem of this shed and dad
and in that moment I found my poetic voice
I could talk to my mom on any subject
we were mom, and friend
oh, how I miss our adventures
driving out into the country and getting lost
stopping at out of the way places to eat
shopping and going for lunch
so many things about my mom to love
when she was facing death the doctor asked
do you want to turn off life support
with tears I said yes
I have dreams asking my mom
for forgiveness
it was me mom, I was the one that said do it
now, she is another name engraved
oh, grandma, I miss you every day
you are the reason that I am a writer
for you said write it, write it for the world to read
and I did grandma and I do
rest in peace dear soul, your work is done
and in my dreams my cats with angel wings
visit me with their sweet meows and kisses
we had to leave mommy
we were just on loan from heaven
oh yes, I am plagued with memories
some deeply sad
others beautiful ...
Like an albatross enfolded around my silencing throat,
squeezing ever tighter,
asphyxiating on sins not of my own.
A scarlet letter has been placed upon my weeping chest;
without hesitation, punishment has been handed down.
Rusted shackles placed around pleading ankles.
"I'm innocent," I whimper,
yet the hushed cries land on deaf ears.
Led to my provisional prison,
an iron-wrought door slams shut.
The glow of a makeshift torch illuminates the dirt floor.
As my eyes adjust, I see it's covered in blood and hay.
Suddenly, surges of panic course through me.
Collapsing to my knees, I vomit,
while tears of anguish slide down my cheeks.
Like an out-of-body experience,
I'm transported back to that fateful night—
his menacing presence looming in the shadows,
following footstep for footstep.
I run faster, no time to look back,
but I feel this is all for naught.
The more distance I try to put between us,
the more I feel his putrid breath on the back of my neck,
until he is on top of me.
My mind dizzies as I black out,
waking up as the rain descends upon me.
I'm back in my cold prison,
plagued by memories that are still unclear.
The gallows await me, for transgressions of a monster's doing.
In the splendorous sapphire space of my pristine heart,
shimmering in the sanctified radiance of the indigo night,
you gleamed like seraphic sequins of argentine moondust,
making me feel fascinated as I sensed your cerulean sheen.
My heart morphed into a mesmeric turquoise lake,
where the rose petals flying from my garden floated
with the reflection of the facsimile of your floral face.
My soaring spirit engraved the beauty of heavenly intuition.
My heart swathed by the silver streaks of stardust sparkle,
pulsated at its crescendo with the concerto of ecstasy,
where the beauty of your enticing ballet I saw imaged.
Suffused with moonshine my mind mirrored your charm.
My mind became resplendent replica of memory montage,
as the platonic pattern of heavenly love’s perception
configured the enticement image in kaleidoscopic collage.
where the unsoiled mirror of my heart reflected your beauty.
My yearning blazed in the inferno of your essence,
with the winged blizzard of winter the flame flew away,
turning the mind to extinguished embers of afflicted past,
piling up in debris of remembrance, swathed by gloomy ash.
On the weary wings of the winter of dire discontent,
wafting in wilderness on the polar winds of despair
the wilted leaves of my languishing longing
blew away rustling into the obscure realm of nowhere.
My yearning turned into glacial embrace of aggravation,
you flew away from the congealed fold of beleaguered love.
Forsaken in the freezing darkness of the arctic nest,
I live with the frozen feather you left in my plagued memories.
Cursed
I am plagued by things of the now: daily
physical aggravations for which
doctors have given me no cure.
Memories can’t afflict me
the way my body has
been bedeviled by
ailments which do
not even
have a
name.
I
suppose
I can say
the memory
of a physician
having injected me
four times with a substance that
gives some people dire side effects
haunts me to this day. Cursed is this world
by doctors who are meant to do no harm.
Plagued by the memories of insoluble illusions
that hang on the tapestry of yesterday
where mythological masks were worn
in another time, another place
and are relived in pictures
hanging on my mind's wall of sadness and loss
when dreams of moonlight madness
remind of love's longing
the remembrance of faces and places
stay in tortured realms, trapped in my soul
heartfelt reminders of crumbling bouquets
that turned yellow in their slow decay
of unrecognized existence, dissolving away from reality
that nothing lasts but memories
that come in the stillness like a rush of wind
before a storm brings a darker shade
of thoughts that echo through time
leading me to pause and remember
the emotional upheaval of lament
The night stood,
veiled like a nun.
Wherever she looked,
She saw a hooded assassin,
staring at her with eyes like fireballs.
Leaving aside
the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
of that fearful night
like spirits, from another world
came
to haunt
her once again.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons,
of fear,
she choked
for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn’t move.
Should she drink to the lees,
the dregs
of the bitter potion
once again?
She couldn’t wink an eye.
Like serpents
u
n
c
o
i
l
i
n
g,
fears came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So, she kept staring,
into the awful
darkness, wide eyed!
Enough’s not enough
Plenty won’t do
I need some more stuff
To feel, good as you
Things are just things
I’m certain of this
Scars are just dings
I still dismiss bliss
I feel things, intense
Or nothing at all
It doesn’t make sense
I’ve hit a brick wall
The vibe’s not the same
Sensations aren’t right
I can’t find the flame
Despite the fight
I feel so strange
I can’t quite adjust
Refusal of change
Can hurt, so much
Please take it easy
On my particular, self
Though I pray, life will please me
I’m plagued with bad health
I see you there
weaving in and out of shadows
flickering like the moon
obscured by thick clouds
hoovering overhead
as the incandescence light
of a new dawn breaks
in crimson streaks
across this sky
I feel your breath
brushing against my ivory flesh
in labored sighs
like a storm's rise
of quickened gusts
and i quiver
within the cold
of fear and death
your name
falls in whispers
behind the masks
of silenced lips
who care not to speak
of your wrath
from bended knees
my hands reach out
in pleas of prayers
hoping to see an end
to this world's despair
many join together
their songs of praise
in hopes to see
a flicker of light
break through the duskiness
of this unmerciful plague
swirling around them
alone they feel defeated
together they feel strength
in one certain belief
'Roses from all nations
scintillate in complete harmony'
March 17,2020
Poetic lines contest
sponsored by Silent One
ending line credit ….'Roses from all nations scintillate in complete harmony'
A Rose by any other Name - by Maria Williams
I am plagued with this curse
it is like physical spite
I feel it in my soul
and the resedue
comes dripping out my eyes
I wish I could grip this feeling
and tear it out with my magical
pliers. But than these feelings
that I have for you would die
and I do not won't that either.
This pain I welcome it
because what most people don't get
is that I see you in my dreams.
Like a never ending freddie movie
when I'm around you I come apart
at the seams.
Life is inherently challenging
Emotional memories,
leave deep traces
Unpleasant sensations,
from the past
A pre-existing element
of everyday life
An interconnected web of
experiences and events
Overwhelmed by emotions
It should never have happened
Unprepared,
for future ruminations
Can't control everything
There is no escape
Inevitable,
getting rid of the memories
- Ongoing,
twenty-four hours a day
With unexpected stressors
and challenges
Each of us
carries an imprint every day
Chained in memories,
will I ever be free ?
1.
I am in love with pain.
Simplicity's mode has never been my gain,
but I see you standing there in the rain,
and I fain.
2.
I am in love with darkness.
A self-absorbed alchemist obsessed with the farthest
as I weep over the death of softness,
"You were deathless."
3.
I am in love with knives.
Who do I speak to as I take these lives
poetically? Harbingers flow from my skies;
my mind dives.
4.
And I am in love with you:
Perfected Cornerstone, Dejected Riverstone--skip to the lieu,
the glue that breaks my iron heart anew,
and casts a spell on doom.
But now that you, too, are ascending on,
my dirge is renewed;
the future is carrion;
a geode's depression
trapped in an everlasting nightmare pillow
embalmed by a hiss:
"The corners of my love return unto this."
0.
When Heart and Truth yet again go to war,
the winner's side rarely holds the victory score,
and is instead owner of that midnight vortex door,
shivering minutely at the Nor' Easter sure,
down into the realm of nevermore.
Germane generic geeky guy
five sixths enroute
to complete lxiv luxurious Earth orbits
experienced chronic, demonic,
physiologically hegemonic...
irritable bowel syndrome
without shadow of a doubt,
yet aforementioned plight
the following lines of poetry
will not be about
problematic posterior plague.
After contemplating discomfort
linkedin with said medical condition,
yours truly realized aftermath
of Hurricane Ian concerning
those who weathered category storm
suffered a fate much worse
subsequently, I took a brief hiatus
typing lines of impossible
to understand questionable verse
challenging proclivity of one
yawping wordsmith being terse
yeah right you probably think
crowning glory upon
mine nonestablishmentarian literary endeavors
hands down majority of anonymous readers
would immediately qualify
his swiftly tailored prolix harried style
unquestionably, obviously, and irreverently
imposing expansive vocabulary as perverse,
no doubt hurling expletive donned curse
at me with every stinging breath they took.
The previous writing endeavor
attached catchy title
at outset intent to brook
unspoken protocols analogous to river,
which overflows banks swallowing
entire metropolitan areas
categorized as biblical flood
believed to occur once
every five hundred year
exhibiting impact greater
than storied facebook
(as personal side note,
said creation a markedly popular
social media platform)
influencing great swaths of populace
allowing, enabling, and providing
user trademark friendly look,
which ineluctably draws innocent naif
into webbed wide world,
where coders fashioned
innocuous virtual pitfalls
many a stalwart devout
online interoper figuratively snagged
courtesy tempting virtual,
lock, stock and withal
ingenious (some might chime in –
nefarious, opprobrious, pernicious...)
neigh vee tailhook.
I swear I was an innocent bystander
when the mirrored metallic hotdog crossed the planes
of surreal and subconcious.
I witnessed the takeoff faster than a time touched
woman in a suburban grocery store
when the last carton of milk with that later date is taken
from the mirrored door, reflecting her greed;
carried away to the late night Bingo games
and trips to the Cadillac dealership
and soon to that comfortable wooden box,
methodically placed in the swiss cheese soil.
We cry out,
the little girls with clay knees and puzzle-touched dresses
we cry out,
the little boys with bloated bellies and sunken eyes.
We cry out,
Red Cross, refugee camps, blood diamonds and Darfur.
Limbs become scattered by
a government tattered with Public Service announcements and our safety is now measured
by a color.
We call out to injustice with our broken generation.
struggling identites with wasted souls and plagued memories
of fallen twins and combustible buses.
We call out to injustice.
oh, memories
of a childhood friend
I couldn't forget
if I tried
he lived just two blocks
away from me
it was as if
he lived next door
we attended
the same high school
studied and played sports
t o g e t h e r
even courted
the same girl
fought about it
eventually laughed about it...
friendly rivalry, you see
one fateful day
he disappears
from my life
unheard from
never seen again
memories of him
I drag along in my mind
as if
a cumbersome ball and chain
around my ankle
years and years go by...
and I still wrestle
with beasts of regret
p l a g u e d
by what-ifs
what if....
I never embarked on
my tour of duty?
would my decision
have made any difference?
I came back
on furlough
after Navy boot camp graduation
only to learn
he's gone out of dodge,
for good!
I waited for his call
to update me
of his whereabouts
his new address
the call never came
why?
why?
confusion and anger
eventually morphs
into acceptance;
I understood...
he's moved much too far
to maintain contact,
I surmised.
today, I hold on
to only the fond memories
I pray that he's well
and thriving
wherever he is
I thought the layers of dust had settled
over what used to be the togetherness of 'us,'
and buried were our last tarnished traces.
But today, I found your pictures in an album
and my emotions started playing tricks on me.
Thought I heard echoes of your timbered voice
and even imagined your footsteps in the hall
and then it stopped...
When I recalled that you'd fallen again, by choice
but this time I continued walking,
leaving behind the memories of 'me and you.'
They'd returned unbidden as they often do
after being hidden away for years.
Your barks of bitter words were spoken in haste.
Each epithet laying waste to what had been love.
Verbal daggers were lethal weapons
and your voice threw them in brutal battle
and then it stopped...
Because I'd left, but emotional scars remained.
I thought of them as gravestones,
each marking the end of 'me and you.'
We've both moved on since those dismal days
but there are times when I still feel you near
like when I hear piano notes in a song
about a love like ours, gone miserably wrong.
It hurt when I tried tearing you from my heart.
For years I tried to drown out the sound
of your laughter, the touch of your hand
and then it stopped...
My emotions were swaddled in melancholy blue
remembering the music you composed for me...
the unfinished symphony of 'me and you.'
Now, sometimes I wake, and the night is too quiet.
By habit, I reach for you across the bed
then hang my head and bite my lip,
licking the sanguine drop, I've drawn.
The taste of salt is on my fingertips
after wiping away tears I thought were done.
On nights like those I shudder in angst
and then it stops...
When I remember why I finally walked away
and relive in my mind what you had done
the night you fractured the memory of 'me and you.'