Best Seeped Poems
The handwriting became darker,
And I imagined your hands pressing upon the page,
Wavering whether to write your thoughts or not
Soon, sure, the wavering became conviction,
And in your mind you decided to write,
“Always yours”
Tears sprung from my eyes,
As convicted as your burdened letters
I condemned myself to love again,
How cruel the ink seeped into my marrow
To flitter and flutter upon mere words on a page
Words with promises, confessions, and affection
I could barely read through the gasps of my soul,
The screaming of my mind, and the bleeding of my heart
“Always yours” . . .
Do not inflict me like the plague, oh destroyer!
Do not soon crawl into these open arms
That would not dare push you away
I will love you till the days swallow me whole,
Till the light in you bellows cold with indifference!
We are words, my corresponding dear,
Deepening upon a page about to break
We are words, nothing more,
That are always,
Always Yours
Somewhere deep inside my swirling symphonies,
In the blades of silence and the clouds of chaos,
I find you ,
The rhythm of your rhymes,
The syllables of your sorrows,
The luminosity of your limericks,
Cumulating into a concoction of violin vibrancy,
A dangerous beauty making words glide far better than olympians on ice,
It is there,
Seeped elegantly , in the effortlessly executed flows,
Your feverish humor and intoxicating zest garnished in a sea of marble magnificence ,
A magical mind of a musical marvel,
You, the aura of rhymes! What a breeze of blessing you have become,
to this bruised being that shelters a wounded heart,
to this drained dreams that fears the fire that flourishes my art,
Thank you to your weaves,
The words you wrap around me like a warm horizon,
Setting a smile to those who look upon the breathtaking creature you craft.
Maid of the Myst
I lie in repose
Under the falls
In a tranquil pool
Of turquoise blue
He left me for another
This I could not suffer
My pain already drowning me
I fell from the falls
Spectacular was the news
Young girl with the blues
Dives to her cherished death
My lover left me for I was on meth
I was confused and skin so bruised
Misused and tears seeped from my veins
No one at all could know this enduring pain
So now under the falls I enjoy the rain
My soul lies deep
Under waters so very steep
I wait, and I wait
To be alive again
From the skies
Not another… but I see a phone that dives
Floating downwards upon my weary breast
A chance you see, finally I was blessed
I call from the depths below
Like a spirit I begin to glow
Daddy daddy is that you?
From below I call to say a proper adieu
Found inside her pocket
I miss you daddy
I love you so much
Forgive my wild youth
Remember me as I was in your arms
Long ago with my pony tails
Your little cuddly pumpkin
Love you daddy
Blood of Christ did seep from every pore
as in Gethsemane he knelt to pray.
Who can know the suffering He bore?
He struggled; to His Father he did implore.
With crimson drops He all our sins did pay.
Blood of Christ did seep from every pore.
Can any have endured this labor more?
He agonized, and on his face dew lay.
Who can know the suffering He bore?
He wept and pled for man both rich and poor
while friends slept on, and one would soon betray
the blood of Christ, which seeped from every pore.
Even when His flesh with nails they tore,
'twas night when schemes of Satan he would slay.
No one knows the suffering He bore.
And we must not his martyrdrom ignore,
nor be as Pharisees with feet of clay.
Blood of Christ did seep from every pore.
Who can ever know the suffering He bore.
July 10, 2020
for Brian Strand's Strand Completely New (8)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
We lived in a crooked house.
Built on a muddy mound of hope with the corpse of yesterday half buried beneath
Sad eyes and smiley faces. A gilded countenance to pair the four walled fiction – Painted thin; only just enough to cover our cracks.
Widening like morning eyes; a mirrored reflection.
Dancing in a zigzag to the tune of the tremors. An ugly soundtrack coaxing ugly art.
Those damp walls. The cracks swallowing torrents from eyes in the sky
Wide eyed boys watching sliding droplets crashing into droplets. Swallowed like pride.
Doors jammed in water seeped jambes. Knotted and gnarled. A need for a greave
Trees weeping at what they witness from the outside looking in. Shedding leaves for tears.
Oft trampled floor boards creaking and crying in solidarity with those that walk its back
Whisper and scurry light-footed like mice in a hurry so easily scared by the wall breaching wind
Trying hard not to wake the monster sleeping downstairs - Breath held like tongues, voices low
Like the swing in the garden tied to the tired branch of the hunched tree. Seat sunk in mud. Ashamed.
A tip toe down the slippery stairs; in fear of drowning in the basement swimming pool. A watery hell
Festering in the bowels of this building ever since the burgeoning moat breached the ramparts of this faux castle.
Lopsided family photo frames hanging by a thread. Nailed to crumbling walls. A slipping semblance of home.
The rising cigarette smoke staining the walls like those words from the same pursed lips from the mind so hard to rid
A cloudy plume with no silver lining; an excuse for eyes to water; blurring those family portraits.
That poisoned smog escaping through the chimney. Blown out over spluttering trees aghast at what this house concealed.
The wind once blew from the west. The house had many faces then but when the east wind struck its walls, the face it pulled it stuck. Doubled over, bent and crooked.
The trees perished like dreams and time brought change
But this crooked house remained the same.
Standing by her hospital bed, I didn’t feel the pain
Instead, I felt sorrow that she looked so very frail
Like a rose that’s been sitting in a vase far too long
Slowly losing petals that leave it looking like death
And I knew that it was her time to leave this place
Her strength had always been apparent to her family
She didn’t ever stop except to take a slow drag from
Her Winston, something many believed would kill her
Yet, she didn’t die from smoking, but from living longer
Than she might have expected to live when she was young
As I stared down at her closed eyes and remembered
Dread seeped through my veins, making me tremble inside
Leaving me with a melancholy that would lead me toward
Depression, then despair, and back into fear and tears
That rain down on my soul like a shower pours over the earth
I was drowning in my own words which would not come
Words of compassion and warmth, wailing out a echo of hope
That she might live through this mysterious illness that left her
Feeling like she couldn’t even open those bright expressive eyes
Which had always shown with compassion and insight and wisdom
When I left her there that night with a light kiss on the cheek
I didn’t know it would be the last time I would see her here
On this dismal ground where she had left me to live my life
Despite her death and the grim reminders of her beautiful spirit
Which color me in hues of blue, like her eyes, fiery blue
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(6),any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
July 6, 2020
The tree of my ritual was old and tall,
though not a true giant;
the next one may be, but needn't.
It possessed consequence in its bough
and the places around it,
which may have been occupied
for one of any number of reasons.
It was a fine tree, and my ritual was,
I hoped, appropriately reverent.
Respectful, yet uneasily godless,
my incantations whispered
with the light and gravity of the shade.
Hopeful, yet sorrowfully faithless,
my supplications revolved patiently
and drifted irreversibly into the air,
seeped deep beyond the bark,
sank into the soil and the root.
Godless as I was, I would not pass up
a fancy of random thought;
if it was a fancy of still unknown truth,
it would need nurture,
dutifully I would nurture.
Only such a tree could be worthy
of such faithless supplication.
18th October 2018
Love songs and empty words curled
Around ideas of what love
Should be, like horns that ram the unsuspecting,
Shaking and shattering bones
And all expectation of the
Normalcy in past, weak coals that don’t smolder.
Life as it should be intrigued
My mind, kindled my spirit, and
Sizzled my heart as he seeped into my pores.
Head-strong and stubborn, he carved
The strict laws into his essence.
He obeyed these principles as religion,
And like a lamb he followed
The world’s ideology of
Perfection deeper into the demise he
Designed himself every time
He bleated for a white ewe,
Not out of his love of crisp snow, but the world’s.
Form:
With sadness, that never ceased,
I watched your Father shot on live television.
I was living in Chicago and Elena, a baby
in my arms asleep.
Your Father, Robert had just won California
and “on to Chicago” was his mission.
Sirhan-Sirhan., anti-Isreal, pro-Palestinian ,
shot your father in the hotel’s kitchen, near dead.
I sat in Chicago, in tearful disbelief, and all I could
feel was profoundest grief!
Screaming crowds wept as deep crimson-
warm, blood seeped from your father’s head.
And here you are now with your lovely wife and
actress, Cheryl Hines, about to follow in your
Father’s footsteps!
Your voice may sound strange as you are
affected by spasmodic dysphonia.
I am just an extraordinary American because I
do not think one party is a religion whose
Ordinances must be obeyed and kept.
For anyone, who would like to see
Robert Kennedy Jr. Mon, October 9th!
Soupmail me.
Thank you!
On a bright sunlit morning, washed brilliant with clover,
the day was alive with complacency, as color.
The day had no reason to quiver off course.
A cat in a tree, was stalking a bird,
and people were rising, to go off to work.
No one was thinking of nuclear things.
Below, in the trenches, a watchman has wandered,
checking a gage, and turning a page, of an old manual cover.
He scratches his head, and ponders a problem,
wondering how numbers could be out of order?
His heart rate goes up, his blood pressure rises.
He is wise to a problem and soon he's alarmed
He sets off the buzzers, but knows much too late,
the tremor he felt, was not only his own.
But instead, is the syndrome, we've always ignored,
Something horrendous.........Oh, God, what will come,
of the innocent families who live in the zone?
People arising, beginning their day
who scurry their children, in a rush off to school.
and husbands who carry a lunch in their pail,
punching a time clock, to work at the mill.
Just an ordinary day, in the lives of the men,
women, and children who live 'neath the hill.
"The Hill", that will bring them the end of the world.
Living their lives, on a tightrope so thin,
daylight begins, but how will it end?
A tremble so mild, invisible wave,
has seeped from the waste, with a radiant hand,
to swollow landscape, and burn with the sun.
As heart rates get higher, blood pressure rises,
the tremor we feel, is that of our own.
Oh, God, what becomes
of the innocent targets who dwell in the zone,
men, woman, children......who live 'neath the hill?
"The Hill" that will bring them the end of their world.
___________________________________________
The China Syndrome For Contest: "Equations"
On the bank of the James River,
Virginia Colony,
a proposal was conceived to constrain the African fire.
The ploy, a real achievement in the West-Indian settlements.
In Rome, bodies were paraded along the byways,
to make a statement.
My Massa used ropes.
We dangled by our necks like roosters in a slaughter house.
When the pining for liberty was stirred up in the marrows of our bones,
we set ablaze a few bungalows,
and murder some dumb beasts.
The statement we made was called an uprising.
The fields were abandoned, the livestock ran wild,
and the slothful young mistress had to breast-feed her own child.
The scheme had the ingredients of breaking a mule,
and Virginia Colony was the first lab for creating fools.
A prophet’s blessing was given to the merchants,
and black diamonds were shipped;
they were purged of the soil of the mother land.
A new being was fashioned, dependent on Massa.
A man was set against his consort and his seeds,
and the whips wrote rules on our backs in their faces;
our pride drained from the gorges in our hides,
and respect slowly seeped from their eyes.
The bond was broken;
a ***** was concocted
without the spirit of Ghana, the Warrior King,
and the Ashanti, the pre-colonial backbone.
Should we not push as a woman in nativity for the renaissance?
Soundly you sleep, your insides at ease. Beside
you, I surge an uncharted storm of fearsome break for
it thunder-threatens my own sun’s velocity melt. Your
breathing is even and bears no concern, no fear or
resentment squeaks to rust your dream’s churn. All my
wishes wish it would; I want it to rob you, break your peace
to pieces, rough up all your pleases and scatter your calm.
Yesterday morn, the same ever alarm was greeted by our dual
yawns. I poured your coffee, you jellied my toast, we teased
about who loved the most versus who knotted our bed covers
tossed. I heard the garage jerk and bolt, the squeal of reverse
being forced and grinned that life so ordinary was actually a
fulfilling choice.
Later I chanced upon blemish, a day scar drama erasers can’t
touch, time can’t discard or blow into bits a kind wind might
take far. Even hours gone, with eyes closed, I cannot look away.
My insides toss green, then turn blue-black. My heart is cramped
and crumpled uneven, and my doubt is sure love-innocent trust
will never come back.
Our longtime love is not mere try or habit or lie, I know you want
me at your side, so why not a plan more focused to better secret
your sordid? Why carelessly litter dramatic change that my feet
must step around or in? You sleep unaware of my awake seeped
with betrayal:
Passionately you kissed another, gifted eye
smiles on the street to each other,
while I was framed in the window
of our local and favorite grocer.
The trumpet will play
a sweet prelude, to earth's last tired breath
but Gabriel shall not call me
I shall leave long before his dance of death
The distant drums are what I hear playing
across the sea and through the storm
a calm rumbling surrender
like the two kings that went before
If I could just lay down in my killer's blood
then I may see hope for what it is
Revenge sometimes loses out to cowardice
the weak of heart are tricked to feel dismissed
Long ago when we were so green
we wished away the day
not realizing we were the lucky ones
like sand in hands all seeped away
Yet these things all come to an end
even for them who ignore the faintly call
or those who wait around, joining one of many
who fear the first melody of the horn
Then it's too late and dance you shall
to the rhythm of panic and real fright
you've prayed for the first and last time
yet you still succumb to the light
A world sat wrapped in blue, while red takes rest
oh how it once could save you
One card staining black the entire deck
just carry on, try to play through
It means nothing now or when you wish
for the sun to shine like it did before
Burn and press, never rest
confusing the remedy with the cure
The Captain bellowed out the order,
soon after the midnight bell;
He said, "batten down the hatches boys,
we're in for a night a hell.
Seems storm force winds were brewin,
a Nor-easter in all it's might;
Sweeping down hard from Labrador,
with no shelter in plain sight.
The Deckies scrambled with precision,
and gave each dog an extra heave;
And never waivered from their duties,
amidst the pounding seas.
The water seeped in where ere it could,
and the cookie stored the mess away;
We all silently knew one truth,
there be no last meal this day.
The skipper yelled, "Hard into er",
as the wheelsman yanked the helm around;
The Mate watched into the blackness,
so no rogue wave would bring us down.
She blew herself out by mornin,
and ragin seas became gentle rolls;
And we silently gave thanks at breakfast,
for we never lost one soul.
Through shadowed forest glade she rode
'Midst grey and gloomy chill
No single thought of safety did
A moment stay her will
The mist clung to her nostrils as
She charged into the brush
The creatures of the forest paused
In terrifying hush
Foreboding seeped into her bones
Ghastly, from ages spent
Urging her mount to breakneck speed
Resolve would not relent
To slow would mean downfall into
A consequence of dread
She knew if she but lost an inch
He lover would be dead
This morn she was awakened by
His servant at her door
And with his last breath utterance
Fell bloodied to the floor
It seems a tartan wearing clan
Appeared in red and green
‘Tis true that a more fearful sight
Is rarely ever seen
Unwittingly, they’d crossed the line
Into the Fraser realm
It was then they were set upon
In stand of noble elm
So, now she raced to intercede
Upon her love’s behalf
To beg for mercy from the chief;
That he withhold his wrath
The secret she had hidden would
Surely offset slaughter
It was true she had been born the
Fraser Chieftain’s daughter
She’d fled her home ten years before
With young Lord Cameron
The rival clan’s incumbent heir
Her lover and champion
She’d not been sorry up to now
For following her heart
She knew the toll her love would take
Right from the very start
But this would be a sacrifice
She'd never wished to make
That for his life she would exchange
Hers for the clan to take