Best Weakly Poems
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
She felt his presence by her side
Her first reaction – unimpressed.
She turned her head, a toss of hair,
The situation she assessed.
Maybe it was the dauntless smile
Perhaps the wicked twinkling eyes
The self-assurance in his poise...
Do warning bells ever suffice?
She sipped her drink and options weighed
He praised her looks and wispy gown
His flavoured words - delicacy
Her guard she weakly lowered down.
Till late at night beneath the stars
They danced to music, hands on hips
If ever doubts had crossed her mind
Erased they were by burning lips.
She found him suave and debonair
His face, ethereal, divine
Attentive eyes looked deep within
His lips still tasted of sweet wine.
The music played; he held her tight
Each sense alive and needing more
She whispered breathlessly to him,
"There's more to me you must explore."
Behind closed doors, he lay her down
And kissed each part that he undressed
Before her nakedness was shown
Her face he tenderly caressed.
"I will not take what is not mine;
You will not be a one night stand."
"My love," she said with bated breath,
You'll guide my life; I'll guide your hand."
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
A merciless rhythm haunts him
in the chill, indigo night
thrilling scales move restlessly
inside his tormented mind
aching to be released.
He stares outside the rippled windowpane
vacuous trees are scattered shivering
lifeless leaves swirl about in listless clumps
yet the breath of revival awaits.
If only his fingers could move again
to feel the luxury of strong fingers
dancing over the keyboard
releasing compositions
from the flaming desire in his soul.
The ache of longing overwhelms him
weakly, he hums an intricate tune
as the cerulean frost collects
on high arched windows
angels listen with rapt attention.
Sir Homophone came to meet the maid that somehow stayed so slim.
Her feat was to stay chaste to him and yet by his feet be chased by him.
She had recently lost some weight by refusing to partake in evening sup.
It seemed the more that she pared down the more likely to be paired up.
All night the weak maid prayed so meekly for the Knight that she sees.
But the Knight preyed to be made thrice weekly and she at night to seize.
She hoped he would meet and see her and then choose to wed,
But it was the supper meat that saw the sear that he chews instead.
She sewed her dress then pared the wood and the holy altar made,
He sowed distress when he prepared his wood to wholly alter the maid.
“Maid please tend to me now you’ve said you weekly have sordid sex.”
“Knight please you misunderstand I said I weakly have sorted sox.”
She begged, “Please be discreet with what it is that we’ve discussed.”
He shrugged, “You are awfully discrete in what it is that you disgust.”
But love conspired to steal, his heart soared and they were off to wed,
Then lust transpired to steel his hard sword and they were off to bed.
He was happy because of her sighs and she was happy because of his.
This concludes my good Knight tale and all of this good night tail biz.
You read it didn’t you? Shame on you, I had to read it because I wrote it
but you had a choice. Benny Hill would be so proud.
Got such sharp pain in my heart,
feels like it will never go away
I'm dying on the inside,
sadness eating at my soul like a cancer
Boxes full of tissues,
empty bed is missing you
Toss and turn every night,
under the covers, I witness
my wasting away life
Shocked by your sudden disappearance,
traumatized by your mysterious vanishing
You made a move so unusually cruel ...
didn't even tell me that our love got stalled
at a relationship railroad crossing
This train wreck wasn't no accident,
to Occupant is where your Dear Joan got sent
Letter said embryonic love died with no name;
no need to cry, no one's to blame
Nine months later, I still ain't the same
I'm filled with shame, baby, only shame
If I didn't do anything wrong,
why ain't my health getting right
Simply put me out of my misery,
got the pox of tears since we parted company
Doctor says I'm in critical danger,
recommends emotional euthanasia
Painless injection to the heart,
gonna make all my hurt go away
Expected from you a sympathy card,
don't hold your breath my friends they say
Now I'm so desensitized,
can't seem to form feelings anymore
When I see someone who looks like you,
I just weakly smile and turn away
It's hard to distinguish blue from gray,
guess that's the side effects still pumping through
Should feel something, at least be a little sore ...
nah, no red eyes,
every tear duct is dried
What's the point in being alive,
when you have emotionally died
Clouds hang low, muffling the maple-covered mountainside.
Fog rises from a saturated earth, weakly wetting a soft breeze.
Mist maintains the connection 'tween earth and eternity.
Within the gloom, where barren treetops scrap the sky, twigs green.
Hope springs with random bits of color to the opened mortal eye.
Soon, soon, a brighter pallet will appear, light will live.
A gray day lies upon the wane and weary eye of morn.
Soon, wind-born blossoms wipe the cinders from the pale eye of sol,
melting the chill of fog and mist, warming the home of man.
First Published by Mused: BellaOnLine Literary Review 2015
In the wasteland wilderness of disappointed love
I find you
Haggard and famished
Ravaged by the blazing sun
I find you
Spent and on the verge of death
I find you
I kneel beside your still form
I wet your parched lips with my tongue of truth
Your eyes flicker open
And I see the fight for life dawn
With my hand behind your neck
I gently lift your face to my breasts of nourishment
Weakly, you start to feed on my love’s sustenance
I speak softly to you, words of hope and courage
Slowly, some strength returns to your frame
Knowing the need for solid food to survive
I lay open to you the scrumptious feast of my body
A rich faire of succulent meat in abundance
More than enough to bring life back to your wasting limbs
I call you to eat...
In a frenzied need for survival you devour
Tearing into flesh, you satiate your starved body
You feed, you feed, you feed
Engorging yourself on my love
Insatiable, unstoppable, indefatigable
You feed the demon of your hunger
The memory of your near death fuels the frenzy
There is no pause in your love feast
I give, I give, I give
Still in the onslaught of your primal savagery
Knowing this ravaging repast
Will bring life to your bones
I give
Until you finally lick your fingers and lips
Satisfied
The cool of the night approaches
I languidly make you drink from my fountain
the frenzy replaced by fantasy
the fervor for survival by dessert of desire
Refreshment for the journey head
I let you regain your strength
As you then slumber on my pillowed breast
Your last night in the wilderness of disappointed love
Reaches an end with the dawn of a new day
As I hold your hand and lead you away
Out of the wilderness
and into verdant oasis
Of my love
Eileen Manassian
Child like Journey
On a gurney.
It’s not funny.
For the money.
Its not phony.
Room for Bunny.
Not be naughty
Must go to potty.
No much folly.
Fell into gully.
Must be worldly.
Were is mommy?
Feel so cuddy.
Gives me plenty.
Full of jelly.
Knows my belly.
It’s not silly.
Brother a Bully.
My noise runny.
My feet muddy.
My friend Holly.
I remember honey.
Makes me jolly.
Like toy trolley.
It wants hilly.
About my tummy.
It’s so bloody.
Feel so weakly.
I am Sleepy.
Were my buddy.
Would be lovely…
I had seen - her calm, cool, composed - like a soft soothing breeze,
Though she could turn tempest or tornado or weakly wheeze;
Like a formless cherub in an endless garden of love,
She covered the earth while racing on cloud-Morgan above…!
Lovely you are! I said to her, Love's living conqueror!
Aren't you, yet, noisy nomad, gypsy, or mere wanderer?
I am vagrant sure, she said, and a tireless traveler,
I have jailed you, yet, in my sachet, like a prisoner…!
It was when I moved much away from the maddening crowd,
And when pondered over her bewildering words aloud;
Enlightenment dawned in me like the wisdom of Buddha,
Many great truths got revealed slowly like Brahma Chakra...!
True as very truth is my brief existence in the breath,
Who on this earth exists, devoid of her, from birth to death?
She murmurs, whispers, commands, demands, like Divine Spirit,
She creates! Destroys! Takes to zeniths! Grants highest merit…!
Soft, serene like nectar secreting in a rose flower,
She sleeps in; grows glows like a flower on a green bower;
Consciously conscious! Unconsciously unconscious! Solace!
Plows through the interiors, like Yacht through water, flawless…!
Shifting my state of mind, working like a leaven within,
Sleep, wake - like my mother - in feasting and fasting she's in;
She is the beginning! End! Center! Whole! Totality!
She is the starting and ends of the whole humanity…!
What an engulfing like a fiery inferno and smoke,
What an empowering and overpowering soul-stroke!
What a change, like unique bloom! Great is the life-giving breath!
What Calm! Peace! Tranquility! Bliss! Awesomely saving meth…!
With her, no stress! No strain! No phobia! No mania!
Her free-blow within free from frightening insomnia;
Abandoned to her eternally evolving Spirit,
Body and soul reach zenith beyond the mundane limit…!
Growing high, I gladly come to the realization,
That I'm part of the classic universal cognition;
Wherein my inner unity freely fondly extends,
And to the external eternal harmony, it tends...!
Knowingly? Unknowingly? Willingly? Unwillingly?
Breath has adopted me - calmly, cutely, and cautiously!
Has made me a flute, lute, melodious rhythmic consort,
I play on! I am played on! Till I reach restful retreat…!!!
16 September 2021
Life’s never easy when you are riding the range
You grow use to hard times waiting for things to change
Sit around a campfire singing an old western song
Cowboys don’t cry, they just keep moving along
Long hours and hard work are just part of their routine
Callused hands and dust are part of the American scene
He’ll take a stand against things that he knows are wrong
Cowboys don’t cry, they just keep singing their song
Cowboys won’t tell you when they are feeling bad
They never complain when things make them sad
You’ll never see teardrops, holding onto their pride
Cowboys don’t cry, they keep their feelings inside
When their journey is over and their life is at end
St. Peter will greet them and say welcome home my friend
They’ll smile weakly knowing they’ll no longer roam
Cowboys don’t cry, they know that they’re going home.
The Tree
A tree stands tall,
in the forest is blended
I sit and admire it's strength,
simply splendid
For each of us has had time to take heed
Time to be fruitful,
give, and time to need
The wind picks up
I hear it call in a distance
It's the path I once chose,
the one with the most resistance
Oh woe, to my life of trouble and despair indeed...
as the wind redundantly shakes the branch with one last plead
Storms come and the rain soaks into the ground
The lightning, the memories
flash all around
Like a breath, in an instant
the calm sets the atmosphere
Don't look at the storm, what was
look at what has appeared
Some of the branches are left weakly unattached
It's the part to let go,
the part of the past
The sunlight now shines on the tree,
it drinks the rain
Ready to grow, flourish and blossom;
remembering no pain
She felt his presence by her side
Her first reaction – unimpressed.
She turned her head, a toss of hair,
The situation she assessed.
Maybe it was the dauntless smile
Perhaps the wicked twinkling eyes
The self-assurance in his poise...
Do warning bells ever suffice?
She sipped her drink and options weighed
He praised her looks and wispy gown
His flavoured words - delicacy
Her guard she weakly lowered down.
Till late at night beneath the stars
They danced to music, hands on hips
If ever doubts had crossed her mind
Erased they were by burning lips.
She found him suave and debonair
His face, ethereal, divine
Attentive eyes looked deep within
His lips still tasted of sweet wine.
The music played; he held her tight
Each sense alive and needing more
She whispered breathlessly to him,
"There's more to me you must explore."
Behind closed doors, he lay her down
And kissed each part that he undressed
Before her nakedness was shown
Her face he tenderly caressed.
"I will not take what is not mine;
You will not be a one night stand."
"My love," she said with bated breath,
You'll guide my life; I'll guide your hand."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
Mighty strong nation
Truth be told
I am not sold
On the lies that be
I hope you take no offense to me
Open your eyes
The revolution will not be televised
Open your eyes
The revolution will not be deterred by lies
I can’t give up a little freedom for safety
That would be weakly
That would be hasty
Fight for the truth to be brought
To the light
Put your fists up and fight
It’s not about the color of your skin
It’s about freedom in this country we live in
To be a revolutionary
Is to be considered a radical extremist!
Don’t get caught up in the lies
Just open your eyes
III.
But I had a much higher purpose now,
damned or not, I would serve the True God,
for thirty years I served with my brothers,
upon a humble path I faithfully trod.
Maybe I wasn’t a miracle worker,
though I saved lost pilgrims in my time,
age etched lines in my brothers’ faces,
but it had no effect upon mine.
The abbot swore newcomers to secrecy
about the truth of my vampiric fate,
and I guess I believed I’d just go on
serving an eternity in this way.
But one day as the sun started to set,
I looked out upon a terrible sight:
A small girl running, screaming in fear
as a wolf closed on in for a bite.
I hesitated for just a moment,
the sun was high enough that I would burn,
but the terrified cries of a five-year old
were not something from which I could turn.
I sprinted out with unnatural speed,
instantly my skin erupted in flames,
raced past the girl, thrust my burning hand
to the wolf with jaws of snapping rage.
The fire seared both myself and the beast,
with frantic yelps of pain he then ran off,
I staggered back, my pale skin burned to black,
bits of flesh had flaked off and were lost.
I made it back to the small gatehouse
and I collapsed in the shadows within,
the abbot ran close, with my fading strength
I weakly tried to say goodbye to him.
But he just looked down, said,”We need blood.
Run to the chapel and fetch me the wine!”
A brother raced off, returned with the jug,
made no sense to my greatly pained mind.
He filled a chalice, look to the Heavens,
said,”Lord, I know that I am no priest.
But if he must die, let him drink of Your blood,
let him take part at last in Your mercy.”
I felt this would be a fitting way to die,
burned by the holy blood of my Lord.
But when I drank I did not feel the fire,
in fact I didn’t feel pain anymore!
I didn’t see it myself, but they say
that the charred skin beat a fast retreat,
and through the haze I managed to feel
a deep breath and a steady heart-beat!
When I sat up the sun came through a window
and it fell harmlessly upon my skin,
I felt true hunger, thirty years overdue,
by His power I once more was human!
They said In Him All Things Are Possible,
and I suppose I am the living truth,
strangest of all I still looked a young man,
blessed with the power and passion of youth...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
I'm looking for the dejavu
that should be caught to contemplate
the miss, near miss of circumstance
the hand that brushed us by, by chance
I'm looking for the accident
that blew up seconds after us
with cars colliding and the rest
(it's just a brush with introspect)
I'm feeling back for that one time
an undertow, the killing kind
nipped weakly with the tip of tongue
I passed it by, for I was young
And what about the storm of storms
(it swirled to heights above the norm)
and yet our house was still untouched,
I think of it, but not that much
I'm really bent on days of you
when we were one instead of two
As all the wonder came and went
I left you there by accident...