Best Your Own Making Poems
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"Amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs; "
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Where demon seed, long cast o’er hallowed ground
pierces the death hardened soil,
thorn and bramble gather over darkened culverts
as a magpie peers from a barren branch,
seeking chain and splint, shards of the past and refuse
cast along greasy curbs, urine stained and flocked
Street lamps flicker, spitting kerosene among
dampened dreams of misty prophecies,
dripping senseless feelings ‘pon
fractured sidewalks while muted footprints wander,
muddied tracks woven in the darkness
of another’s hope, disappearing beyond the rusted gate
And I, fearless in the cold, frigid winds
gusting towards a tomorrow’d passion,
a bough of moss creaking along desolate twigs,
tortured thoughts and worried chapters,
leafless in this winter of no vacancy
and spoiled apples call…
for I am the Night Keeper, the harbinger of moons,
restless on this eve of starless wishes,
broker of destitute destinations, waiting in
these jagged shadows of your own making
midst crying vestiges of failures found,
to lead you into the depths…
…of your deserved delusions
11/22/19
Writing Challenge 3, November - Any Form
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wisshkobi Ode
In chains, did he complain —
this man of sorrows?
He wore his stripes well.
Freedom for all! Freedom for all!
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
Encircled by snarling beasts —
they mock and strike
like venomous serpents.
Can you hear the cruel heartbeat
of angels who weep?
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
How vulgar our tongues!
They rage feeling sorry for themselves.
But, look in his loving eyes —
what do you see?
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
Did he stand before saints?
Did they seek the truth?
Every last one was out for himself.
But this man looked to release,
to relinquish the chains even of kings.
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
He sees the one in terror, the lonely,
the poor, the sick and lame. He showed
us who can heal all infirmity.
Surprise your dim eyes — lift them up
to the light.
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
If he returns today, how will he find you, my friend?
Will you bare your teeth or crumble at his feet.
Are you about cursings or blessings?
How do you feel about life and death?
Looking into his eyes, would you dare
to compromise?
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
Saints are former sinners, under his righteousness not wrath,
wrapped up in a robe of glory, under his glorious wings.
Saints “one another” as in:
love one another,
forgive one another,
do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
Are you caught in a snare of your own making?
Do you judge and stare at the others made in God’s image,
same as you?
Look into his soulful eyes! See the Spirit’s wings!
Follow the cross, the bleeding tree.
This holy man, he wept for you and me.
Kim Rodrigues © 7/5/2018
I wouldn't bother
alchemizing language
into golden press releases
of your own making.
It never works long anyway,
grapevines get better reception.
A dog knows who flinches.
Moss grows where one lingers,
even silence
leaves thumbprints.
Say nothing. Say too much.
Either way—
they’ll know you.
One more year before the wild bird flies her coop.
Not bad. Bravo. Wise one.
You are more than enough.
Your optimism shines throughout your poems.
You know yourself.
Any idea how rare that is?
There are seventy-year olds who have no idea of themselves
They live a life set down by others
Follow a path
not their own
They do not realize there was a choice
No one said it
Whether miserable or barely happy, they do not complain
Knowing no better.
One more year before you leave the family nest, my friend
Your words will carry you to great heights,
You will write poetry to help save the others
It will come more naturally and completely
as you sleep in a nest of your own making
With pillows you choose and a comforter that
makes you feel safer than you had ever dared dreamed.
A mere 365 days until you can be fully, utterly, diabolically you.
Live spontaneously! Enthusiastically kick around your joy.
Take risks. Love people no one else ever would or could.
Bring home stray puppies. Dance your dance. Sing your song.
You are on your way. Only 365 days. I am so proud of you.
I see the optimism and enthusiasm in your poetry, and I smile
realizing you are heading toward the biggest adventure of your life.
I love this for you. Take risks. Have fun. Fear no one.
Enjoy yourself like you have never enjoyed yourself before.
Happy birthday. It is almost time....
1. The Rap Sheet
At your age
you should have put aside
the relentless rounds
of self interrogation
and found some plateau
of peace washed by
warm memories, acceptance
and absolution.
But just when you thought
you had been granted freedom,
the mind's Stasi finds you
and the forensic questioning
continues under the glare
of guilt. The same
rap sheet - you were never
good enough
to be a citizen of the State.
Only now you are slowly losing
the strength to hang on
to what little you have
and not confess.
In the end it is not
a matter of who is right
and who is wrong,
it comes down to survival.
2. A Confined Space
Finally it becomes inescapable -
the accumulations of a lifetime
solidify into a cell. Every fear,
every avoidance, every step taken
to withdraw cements a brick
in place until you have imprisoned
yourself within four walls. Then
you close the self locking door.
Your life now is a confined space
and your only hope of salvation
has become a small crack
in the wall through which
the universe shines through
in such exquisite detail
and brightness and is made
more so by your own dark.
3. Staring Fear In The Face
You are a good practitioner,
a cultivator of fear planted
in the fertile soils of childhood.
You have grown the most grotesque
blooms whose perfumes paralyse
and waft for years without
a loss of potency. Some stick
in the throat and send panic
clamouring for breath.
And so here you are, old man,
wearing the disfigurement
of your own making, the contorted
masks of fear. You stare
into the mirror, past the horror,
shame, the loathing, the lifelong
condemnation and shrink
before an illuminating light
whose source you fear,
who sees you and yet
still loves you.
Would run you a hot bath
Bubbles up to your chin
Bottle of wine chilling
If you'd let me win
Would ask a sexy hunk
To sponge your back
Say sweet words in your ears
Bet you'd like that
Please can I win.
After the bath a nice massage,
By A film star lookalike
Any extras can be charged
Wink wink now can I win
Can make a video or two
You as the dream girl
A leading man with a bit of rough
Being sensual with you
Please please let me win
How about a two seater sports car
With a lean mean chauffeur
He can take you far
Journey of your own making
Please make my poem a star.
When your day is through
You can go on having fun
In a big bed for two
Now can I have that crown
One more trick up my sleeve
Would you like a Pentax 645x Camera to keep
I understand it's not cheap
But would be worth buying you,
if you let me win.
Penned 25 September 2015
You try to make sense of what happened
But it’s always the same
Bad news hits hard
The cruelest part
Is the lingering doubt
That things could have been different.
In your heart
You know that
You need to hold on
You’re running out of time
Like a drunken sailor
Lurching
From one disaster after another
None of your own making.
Alone, at night your imagination is on overdrive
Nerves stretched tight
Restless
You want to do something
But there is nothing to do
You evaluate your life
The first thought
Is outright denial
Of what has happened
Followed by anger
Regret
Then an uneasy acceptance.
Life, which so often disappoints
Could have been better
Perhaps if you worked harder
Or studied longer
It might have been different
You have fallen down so many times
On the long road of longevity
That you smile
At your own stupidity
Reasoning
That it could have been worse
Or it could have been much, much better
But who is to say?
You survived
Wind
Rain
And storms
Life was not perfect
It was what it was
As you face the winding roads
It gets a little easier
The rough parts are behind you
Your life has already taken shape
And you could not call any of it back
From your life of long ago
Or sense how badly you missed the days
When you were young.
Don't lie to me. Don't half-truth to me,
like some craven jar, wide of mouth and
full of capricious weather. And never sing
to me tunes not of your own making
I am not yours to pawn, as a wastrel parts
with heirlooms hard won.
I may be your grey, but I am not your palette.
I may be your shoe, but I am not your sole
You may try to stand me next to many,
but I stand alone, tethered to stark
isolation.You gift me a nuance of cheer,
like a catcus gifts colour to a desert,
only to rescind it and fortify it beyond all approach.
My only light shall come from giving. As receiving of
you brings me nothing but shadows within shadows,
where light remains an unreachable horizon
Each charitable memory may be owned by you, but they
shall never be ascribed to you. They fly tainted upon the
wind. You demand my will, my beating existence, like the
Laird demands his tithe and insufferable Prima Nocta
So, I choose supplication as my sword, lest my tempest
rage beyond the pail and call false my humility and mild manner
Let yours be the kingdom of hubris and jurisdiction, as
mine shall be to serve and tender. For, one day I shall
rightly inherit that which is mine.
So, don't use me, don't bruise me, nor bring me down whole.
Don't cut me, don't gut me, nor rip out my soul.
For I am Pax. The Kiss of Peace and witness to the Crucifixion.
Forgiver of your sins in the present and yet to come.
You may own the earth, but I await your soul
V- iolence found in the hand of one who claims
“I- must be god!”
O- watch your back when you think you can attack the
L- iving God.
E- veryone will bend. You drop to your knees, loudly weeping.
N- ettles of your own making. Would that you
C- all out to Jesus, who can free you from
E- ternal damnation. This is a clear warning. Change direction.
10/26/2021
And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force. Matthew 11:12 NKJV
Benson commentary from biblehub.com:
The spirits of men are so excited and animated by a desire after this kingdom, that it is, as it were, attacked like a besieged city, men of all sorts pressing to get into it, with a violence like that of men who are taking a place by storm. As if he had said, “Multitudes are flocking around me, to be instructed in the nature of my kingdom; and some, who were formerly of most licentious characters, and looked upon as utterly unfit to be subjects of the Messiah’s kingdom, are resolutely set on enjoying the blessings of it.”
Don't promise me or say things that you don't really mean
Don't say that you love me and then start to act obscene
Don't promise me a fairytale, and that I will be your Queen
Don't say it's forever then run off with some young teen
Never get my hopes up and then dash them to the ground
I might not get over it if you kick me when I'm down
Never promise and not deliver there is no 2nd round
One day you may look for me and I'm nowhere to be found
Don't play with my feelings I am not your pocketbook
Then try to walk away as if I let you off the hook
Don't promise me you'll repay me so I finance your chores
Then leave me alone without a home because I helped with yours
Maybe your intentions were well meant as you once said
But your word was never heard except inside my head
Promised me the light then left me in the dark
Feeling like the jackalope that did not make it to the Ark
Once your word is spoken, it should not be taken back
Your given word is not lightly heard so best you keep track
One day it may mean the difference between someone’s life or death
But if your word isn't worth a turd their life won't be worth jack
People are pretenders dressing up for their own games
One day they find their in a bind and still push anyway
Maybe they will read this or perhaps their time has past
They play their play and go away - forget what happened last
If your Word is worthless, said only for your own gain
A trail of disappointment, do you even feel ashamed?
It is of your own making and there is no one else to blame
Start right now repair the trail and redeem your family name
If you promise someone - you should try to follow through
Do your best - put it to the test this isn't something new
There was an old saying that I've heard a thousand times
You are only as good as your word, THE WORD YOU STAND BEHIND
I have a game for you. “Why not!” you say.
A beer or six here, a hit or two there,
Many others play this game every day.
A few more and you'll be better than square!
A dance of wild thrills, a dance just for fun,
You can turn and walk if it gets sticky.
Dance all by yourself, dance with anyone.
In time, you don’t bother to be picky.
Don’t flatter me, I know I'm compelling;
The dream I dangle, just out of your reach.
Sniff, sniff. Whiff of putrid scent you're smelling?
Leviathan floundering on the beach.
Pale tales of restraint you have been telling.
Talk all you want, we both know it’s too late.
You’d already bought what I was selling
The first moment you nibbled on the bait.
It's just a trap now, no more scraps of cheese.
Worse to struggle in my steel sleeper hold.
You thought you could leave whenever you pleased,
Tight Chinese finger puzzle for your soul.
Maze of mirrors, the exit eludes you.
Optical illusion you can’t unsee,
Should you get out, crimson game is not through.
It will never end, my trap is in thee.
Can you feel the romance? It feels you too.
You want to touch it, relieve the tension.
One more sweet taste, what’s the worst it could do?
Sucks you back to the zero-th dimension.
Spiritual riddle, your heart breaking.
Soul-murdering beast, and yet you feed it.
A dank, bleak prison of your own making.
What was that something you knew you needed?
Tell your children to avoid me, but I’ve
The sweetest candy, shiniest balloon
I lay in patient wait for them, here’s why:
With stealth, I know they will be mine, and soon.
3/19/16
For my kids, in the hope that they will make better mistakes than I did.
Give Yourself a Break
Come on, it’s time. Give it a rest
and stop beating yourself up
about things that are over and done with
when you know you did the best you could.
He’s gone now and you miss him,
and you think you were this, that or the other,
not patient enough, you were selfish,
you didn’t go on his walks with him
and you let him go by himself sometimes
when he had to struggle so to do it.
You went out to a poetry group at night
and left him when you should have
stayed at home with him for company.
You spent too much time with household
chores and sometimes by yourself writing.
He was the one with the health problems,
trouble walking, falling sometimes
when you weren’t there, and he never complained.
Now you look back and blame yourself
when you know, yes, you know,
if you just allow yourself, that you
did the best you could.
It was years that you took care of him,
encouraged him, helped him dressa
and walk, put up the metal ramp
when he went outside and wheeled
him to the car, put the chair in the car,
took him to appointments, got him
into the wheelchair and reversed the way home.
You washed him and changed the bed and
cooked what he liked and watched television
with him and really did give up things
you loved to do and tried to get him to
go out to events you thought he’d like.
Yes, you could be short, maybe impatient
sometimes, and said some things
you wish you hadn’t said.
Give yourself a break. You’re human
and not perfect. Remember how many times
he thanked you for all you did for him.
Remember the good times -
how many times you were gentle with him,
tried to encourage him, hugged him
and told him how much you loved him;
the nights you came down in the night
because he needed help, and you
always told him you didn’t mind,
that you’d go right back to sleep;
hours and days sitting in the hospital
waiting for him to get better enough
to come back home again.
So stop purposely wallowing
in a misery of your own making
and take back your good sense.
Remember the love.
YOU ARE MY STYLUS
MY BLUEPRINT EMBEDDED
WRITTEN IN THE SMALLEST PARTS OF ME
YOU DREW ME FORTH
AND MY DESIGN
WAS TO CARRY OUT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS
YOU TRACED OUT MY FRAMEWORK
FILLED IN MY OUTLINE
YOU DIVIDED MY FORM
CONSTRUCTED MY MOLECULES
AND EVERY CELL WITHIN THEM
INLAID WITH THE VAST ARRAY OF POSSIBILITIES
YOUR GLORY THEREIN IS DECLARED
THE VESTIBULE OF MY FABRICATION
MY SHAPING AND TRANSLATION
THE PERFORMANCE OF YOUR OWN
DIRECTION
THE AUTHOR OF MY ORIGINS
YOUR MEDIUM NURTURED ME
IN THE WOMB OF LIFE
BROUGHT FORTH MY BEING
AND CLOTHED ME
MASTERFULLY
WITH EVERY DESIRABLE ELEMENT
YOU COULD GIVE
YOUR HANDIWORK AMONGST
ALL THAT YOU HAVE CRAFTED
YOU HAVE WRAPPED ME
WITH YOUR OWN ELOQUENCE
DRESSED ME WITH THE FABRIC
OF YOUR OWN MAKING
THE SETTING OF YOUR OWN TREASURIES
HAVE BECOME MY GEMS
THEY ARE A PRAISE THAT EXALTS
THE WORKS OF YOUR OWN HANDS
YOUR BLESSINGS ARE WITHOUT NUMBER
AND YOUR RICHES ARE TO VAST TO COUNT
FOR MY DESIRE IS SUBJECT
TO ALL THAT YOU HAVE LAID
BEFORE ME
YOUR OWN WORKMANSHIP HAS
ADORNED
ALL THAT IS TO BE TREASURED
YOUR OWN PENCIL HAS LEAD ME
TO THE DRAWING OF LIFE
THE PATTERN LAID OUT BY YOUR
ONLY BEGOTTEN SON
AND WE ARE THE WORK OF HIS HANDS
Poetry of Providence
All rights reserved 2015
Ps 119:73 Ecc 11:5 Is 29:16 43.:1 44:24 Jer 1:5
Imagine being so
compelled by circumstance
that you must wrap yourself in a tight cocoon
of your own making
just to survive.
Surrendering your life,
as you know it, to some unknown
future form that you cannot see because
your mind is blank and your body
is eating itself alive.
Until enough time passes,
in isolation, that all your cells
have turned themselves inside out
and been altered into an alien
gossamer shape.
Feeling trapped by
the silken shell you have woven
around yourself, you chafe against your confines
with your newly winged being,
slowly breaking through.
Surviving
your extreme makeover,
you carefully unfurl your shimmering sails, waiting
until you are strong enough
to catch the wind.
A Prayer for Michael (the one who sent me here)
I said a prayer and called your name
It was a prayer for you
You are my friend
I called your name with tears
My eyes are rivers in your grace
I cannot see the bottom of this pit
Upon whose rim you stand
But I release you from the wretched place
I break your spell and kill your witch with my golden cold spike of love
I have no tools
My ways are simple
But I throw them over to you with every inch of strength you have given me
I only have a small closed heart that’s broken
But it wishes to be strong and large
Like you can be too
Like you were as a child of light
Like you are still, but only blinded and stunned
You are like a brother and father and guide to me
In one stroke of kindness you gave me hope
My broken heart holds magic
It knows your pain
And in its lock a golden broken key of love you turned
You made me stronger
And like a starfish
Now I have a thousand keys forming to give away
I offer one to you my new friend
My love is yours to use and keep
Hold it in your heart
Be warm
I pledge my friendship
In the times your heart is cold and lonely
Drink to me the cup you throw away
Remember I will keep you warm inside of me
Your memory will not fade, I know your name
Take strength in knowing those you heal
Demand of you as well that you should rise again
Rise and take your place
Stand in recognition of what you must be and are even now
Walk forward again in the light of your own making
Have half the hope you have given
Rekindle it
You have no shame
And no wrong did you make
It was right to love so freely
With such pure honesty and trust and lust
No matter that anyone should hurt you
This was only a test and strengthening
Use the hurt to remember your mission
Let its fading embers grow warm again and not fester
Fuel that fire with the wind of your desire to heal
And love again without restraint
As you know you always will and must
I release you from the spell
No fear is yours to bear
Stand up and walk out of those old shoes
In health, without fear, I set you free