Best Reopens Poems
DRY MASCARA
Nobody sees through the shadow and the color of my eyes
The times I've cried are the only time you notice the trace down my face
This time,
The sorrow at heart is deeper than anything I've ever penned or spoken of,
an atmosphere of dark film and Revlon
Many times I allowed myself to die, only to return to the living
The numbness of my soul delivers weight nobody can lift
Talk of black eyes, the tale of my life reopens every scar
On good days, the sun seems to stray from where I lay,
Only to reveal the paste that drowns my face
At times I blank out the pain,
the depression compiles the close quarters of my room
Even then, I can't escape every past wound I covered up
Hiding was never the problem, the healing process was
Institutionalized, no longer able to function as a whole
Each cell inside replicates a tight thick wall with no escape
The laughter of nothing sinks into a gulf of tears
With moods more melancholy than most
I press the pain that echoes hard within my head
- I weep
Deep sadness flows with no mercy, no reason
Nothing to cancel out the voices that hush my inner being
In a whisper, I ask for H E L P,
- I bleed
Nobody sees me, nobody hears me, NOBODY.....
The mascara ruins another fake mask
Grief is somber,
a constant reminder to my soul that it can't hide forever
Silence - callous
Until I can't feel anything...
Empty - detached
I felt myself become numb
Emotions gone
I laughed at the end.
The photos stopped
when you were 10 or 11.
Around that time, you started refusing to
have your pictures taken.
A few candid shots are all I’ve
managed since then.
In them, the look on your face is growing inward,
as a cocoon slowly encloses you in a
translucent mystery,
turning you into a dark silhouette
as you start to construct your
own parallel universe,
in a tug of war with a thousand things
you are just starting to learn the meaning of,
morphing into what the world will know,
what I will, with any luck,
recognize only with squinted eyes
when the cocoon reopens.
For now, I can’t see you.
All I can do is wait.
T~he minds eye closes and envisages the overflowing of true love from one's
H~eart, gravitating to thy One and Only;
E~scaping in conjunction with
B~rackish water adjoining to thy feet; taking note of the wind whispering
E~ver so seamlessly through thine ears while striding upon the seashore.
A~ccompanied by incessant love; keeping hold of hands on no
U~nearthly occasion of relinquishing. Kissing til nightfall loses its color
T~o the openings of daybreak; swimming amongst the creatures of sea
Y~earning to never part, til the extent life ventures to vanish...yet...
O~ftentimes the minds eye reopens to reality; though
F~or the time being
L~et's live every moment as
O~ur last, tracing God first and
V~ersifying our lives to that of the world as such...
E~veryone shall witness and behold The Beauty of L~O~V~E.
Pace, G.
INK-U-SCRIPT
08-06-2012
Outside, the moon is alone in the sky
and floats bright white in the ocean
of the great black-blue on high.
It illuminates slightly my surroundings,
giving everything the soft pallid hue
that makes everything something familiar,
though some things I have never seen.
All things being equal,
under the bright white moon,
I see the waves of grass
in neighboring lawns that I’ve never trod,
and I see the soft waves of the moon
dancing off the rooftops of houses
that I’ve never been welcomed in,
that contain neighbors that I’ve never met.
It’s cold out…
if the sun gives off heat in the day,
does the moon radiate chills at night?
The moon sheds its cold, emotionally bankrupt light
on everything I see.
Is this how I should be?
If this is how all emotional attachment ends up,
should I even bother?
Or better yet, should I wait for the moon,
that reopens my wounds just by shining on me?
Every time it comes into sight,
I can’t help but think of all the times
it left me dark and cold.
Should I wait for it to change,
or should I move on?
I can’t see why I should waste my time,
when there are other things that
can radiate a brighter and warmer light than this.
If I see it shining its light on others;
what light does it have for me?
"...The Secret of the Golden Flower is not only a Taoist text of Chinese yoga but also an alchemical tract. (...) it was the text of The Golden Flower that first put me in the direction of the right track." C. G. Jung
"The Golden Flower alone, which grows out of inner detachment from all entanglement with things, is eternal." Richard Wilhelm
does it bloom in the subatomic quark neuron
a flower petals deranged
burning with green rage
dark firmament pullulating infinitesimal quasars
unpeeling layers of nuclear fusions fissions
the blue-blackish greenish-blue haze
is this the eye looking at the eye
which I
between the crushed ajña-eyebrows
under eyes straining to envelope reality from afar
spotty bright grains pulsating in a velvety ink-blue-black throbbing screen
thoughts racing forwards and backwards in time
childhood slights deprivations unrevenged hurts
throbbing thriving on treacherous jabs by of-all beings friends
those who profit from taken-for-granted confidences
the women who dun-you-in
thoughts of a nature to make you hate fate
then the pulsating roving churning dismembering coalescing screen
dissolves
and in the pale fringey opening white furry stripes on the blue-black greenish bulgey bed of velvet
whose I
lights the frigid fire burning dynamo
whose eye
shrivels
reopens brightens
what is it an eye
which stares
shrinks sharper by the fractioned second
closes and opens again
and again
till the pinpoint galactic blackholing centre
bigbangs
the myriad diamondlights buoyed on a myriad-petalled dryburning flowering sun
shedding golden glory
expelling all thought or is it mere doubt
the intense unrelenting feeling of
is it joy
or a fumbling stolen fear
the mental orgasmic relief
the sense of deep other knowing power come face to face
refreshing retreading the worn-out neuron paths
then the return
after the wearinesses
or is it nonplussednesses
to this world
to words
to wars
to waste
to wickedness
a world without wonder
without womb
a world dying
dead
a tomb
see only what you should see
words see only what eyes make belief
even when words don’t mean what they see
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 3, 1997[Revised May 2003] -from longhand notes: a binding of poems. 1997
ocean sounds
I pass a conch
from my ear to hers
monsoon dusk
the flood carrying
my shattered dreams
long rain
the homelessness
reopens the school
holding tight
to the hand of my child--
on the iPad
my mother talks and talks
of returning roles
standards fall
infinite divisions
of a space call
for creations base
" eat me "
the waters taste
of completion
Aellopus delivers
revelation
a connection
reopens
and a field explodes
in subtle elation
an ocean
births a generation
" opposites attract "
answers
a burning question
" and the beauty of a point "
marks
the equation
it's the holy graphic
of a single
calculation
Once the eye's are close, the spiritmind reopens.
Once upon a time within the stroke of creation, I
flew beyond the vast of many star's and each of the
plantedss-ss impress me so remarketably, I thought that
life truly has no ending, "if we are rewarded with life's ever-
lasting......token...(which is) living and what is not to be Broken.
"One night I dream, I-IIIii-iiee thought I was imperial to never be
depented on a another human-being .." But, like everything else
which was not so annointed in my life. Myself...(yes) the - theee...
"Dream Chaser... I just felt compel to act improverish to life most com-
pelling subject________"why not constrict us toward so many questions
and not enough answers..? "Not to broken, in my dream I'm chasing after
the illusion of manhood,(WHY)..??"
WHY...."(Wweeell-lll)llleed I am a man....and that in itself - {means} that the
perils of all of my earthly strength shall tell..You..(!!!).." "(T)TTTha-ttt I am no
Good, and if I could if I would seek to change that perception, butso being a man,
my weakness is made to tolerate this misconception. But that dd(DD)Dreammm
that I seem always to strolled through (my head) places me to a far away place,
a place that has significant value, and there,,,,,(O)Once the eyes does now close,
there I find answer'ss..but thereso I find more problems, and which can not be solve,
US horizons shine
In jubilation
For today, is the 4th of July
As cracks of guns and fireworks
hearten
To celebrate American Independence!
This freedom loving nation
A bastion of heart warming citizens
Today, sing in unison so valiant
Despite dozens in streets protests rippling
Under the sunny emblem.
Now, too, coincide, it reopens
The Great Statue of Liberty, an eye opener
Of the sacrifices proud in wars without and within
The Great Defender and very raring Westerner
Resplendent of its glorious past with
armor despicably shining.
Oh, America, my country, My motherland!
You are one up to this day till end
Come our way , addressed and destined
Followed by allies ,enemies and among nations
Truly unwavering and caring at its helm.
SUPREME EMBLEM, TODAY, the
4TH of JULY OUR INDEPENDENCE!
Motor skills machine in charge, thinker, planner
Decision maker, The Judge, Yes and No, court always in session
Running the show, 2 sides, left - right, dreamer at night
24 hours on the job, no rest, unlimited GB, human memory,
Hail to the Brain
Process feelings, press send, messages sent,
Message received, feel pain from scratch, indeed
Correct again, bow for brilliance, thoughts keeps all in line
Manifest, high surveillance, quick rewind
Technically defined
Flip side of coin, Yin & Yang, devastating virus
Low vibrations to brain, transmit from other beings
Spider wed décor, stress, worry, internal pain
Frustration, dark mist of smoke, muzzled roar
Suicide pending, neuse to choke, temptations of giving up
String of bad luck, quick sand, black cat
Propeller grind sounds, May Day! Red alert
Light bulb plane is going down!
Brain is comatos
Atrophy sets in; depression cloud, migraine spin
Wrapped in cloth, idea’s of new, hidden cave, sealed tomb
Buried alive…Human cries…for a new life
Complete submission
Miracle takes place
Removal of entrance door, light shines on face
Love fills the air, hands meshed in prayer, Human weeps
Who’s there?
Soothing voice speaks
It is I my child, creator of all, servant to Humans that call
Here to release thee from evil’s constraints
Clearing of barriers that may stand in your way
I hold a canvas, for a mural we shall paint, together
A Life you desire, casting away fear, leaving only a fire
Burning inside, heart is your guide, letting go of ego and pride
It reopens, serving thee with unconditional love, never to be broken
When breath was placed in body, I was reborn, in you
Purity holds true, blood of me runs through each drop
Gently grab my hand, let’s walk, outside, and sing
Titled, "Forever You’re Wingman"
Ascend to paradise, arms interlocked for safety
Convey to me, all dreams, remembering my words
Ask and you shall receive
Human you are saved…
In the stillness of the night,
In the ambience of blurred light,
I'm awakened,
My prowess is strengthened.
My muse comes to me,
Inspiration flows like the sea,
It’s an encompassing tide,
Nothing can hide.
A door opens,
I walk out of the woods,
I'm no more cloaked by gloomy moods,
The waning door reopens.
A tranquil moment,
I'm in an unperturbed element,
Bloom stays,
Gloom frays.
April 1, 2023.
Writing Challenge - 'Q'' Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
So many doors open before me,
infinite options
~ tantalizing me with their
connections and concoctions
Pathways stretch before me,
all roads lead to gold--
Life's at my fingertips
~ I can dare to be bold
As selections I make,
closing doors once open--
My world tumbles downhill
~ No more wishing and hoping
Yet just as I reach the last door that's open,
a funny thing happens to keep me from moping--
Each entrance I closed, now like magic
~ reopens, granting new life to
my old wishing and hoping
Spring marches its way south, inundating
the winter steeled earth struggling to drink
the season’s flood. So I bide time, waiting
for thirsty trees to flourish red and pink.
Yet when the heavens seal their divine doors
and the portal outdoors reopens wide
the red-pink promises of spring are floors
of brownish, brackish sludge when rain subsides
The birds are singing, or are they crying?
The mud is clinging to every footfall
Grasping with desperation, decrying
walks in the woods, holding me in its thrall
So I yield to the season’s iron will
and listen to the songbird’s somber trill
The sun had risen atop a flawless sky,
The morning we heard Our Lady cry.
She stood as always proud and tall,
As she watched her beloved towers fall.
Our eagle hovered as time stood still,
The morning God tested our will.
Frightened friends fled through the mire,
As they stared above at our twins on fire.
Families watched from miles away,
Praying their loved ones would be okay.
As the last wall dropped and smoke filled the air,
We all watched in horror as they tried to.repair....
our city on high, our country now low...
the recovery will be painful and slow.
Almost a year past...so many were lost
The war will be won, whatever the cost.
As Our Lady still stands, our eagle still soars,
And our beautiful city reopens her doors.
My heart smiles at your every word
With a love I feel which is unsurpassed
Love this game of writing down words
That reflect my innermost emotions
My wish from the start is to touch every heart
As each soul in heaven reopens