Sometimes words thin, then spread out.
There just isn't very much to talk about
that hasn't already been talked about.
What lies in the soul of silence becomes paramount.
Do you hear hummingbirds whirling about
or blue buzzards of regret and self-doubt?
Do you hear silverware crashing the halls
or bells of a country church decorating homespun walls.
Do the quiet tones turn to sweet memories
or a platoon of goblins chasing hobbled dreams.
Silence can be a hand holding, dear friend
or stompers wishing for your bitterest end.
On my darkest bitterest days
I don't believe you will be there for me-
in times of depth and sorrow
when anger comes in flames
and disappointment lingers-
I don't believe you will be there for me.
What may come is a haunting truth
of self-guilt and torment
Wondering if I'm ever going to be 'good' enough -
What about me?
Am I to neglect myself?
Strive to be someone I'm not?
Answering endless questions
without knowing what love really is?
Am I to shrink myself to your approval?
When you don't even see yourself?
Am I to thin myself out to nothingness
so that words are what's left of me?
Am I to quiet myself-
so that you can breathe more peacefully?
The truth is
to be deathly afraid of love
takes the most courage.
"Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life." ~ Pablo Neruda
I sail through citrine waves of the moon’s pulse,
weaving my spark from sea-stars
numb to the blaze of a dream-lashed gaze ~
mute to the masked mist of ghosts,
as somehow between the seraphic sighs
of rising Luna and the aching sun,
there I found my muse crawling and cradling~
clouds of love bathed in luminous lavender…
So tonight, must I heed black-magic mantras,
spelled in neon gold by lips that lie,
or shall I wade through caramelized clarity,
for I’ve long homed hues of blooming twilight,
brushing the wistful heart of waning dusk,
drowning fiery flares within vain veins,
while the wind assumes I’ll touch no sand,
anchored by timeless traces of poetry...
As I walk each day through fire,
The burning bridges in my wake;
I set aside the loneliness,
And take what I can take...
There's no more easy answers,
Many questions burn the page;
The despair of all my broken,
Leaves me wandering through this maze...
Another day, my mind it aches.
My soul now draped By the bitterest of cold,
The memories stay frozen;
With all my life's, many mistakes...
As I walk each day through fire,
The more bridges I take;
, As now I stay consumed,
By the loneliness that now gives me,
All that I hate...
The pains of those ailments that grab us at will
Once better, like stalkers, can linger on still
But it’s patently true that life’s bitterest pill
Is the pain when it’s someone you love that is ill
When struck down, bedridden, we try to be brave
Though we feel our survival might be a close shave
But we’d gladly accept our God’s beckoning wave
If that keeps our loved one away from their grave
*
And so when I hear that slight tremor of fear
No hug and no words for the one I hold dear
Can bring forth a smile full of genuine cheer
And that forehead kiss… conceals my own tear
At night, to the God in whom I don’t believe
I sheepishly say, “I don’t want her to leave.”
I snuggle up close, I’m not ready to grieve
And I smile in the morning as I hear her breathe
The doctors I’ve trusted I must trust in still
For they’ll mend her again; I’m sure that they will
But it’s patently true that life’s bitterest pill
Is the pain when it’s someone you love that is ill
I strip in the solitude of my room.
the mirror reflects secrets that I keep.
All the silent screams of my faint life’s doom,
visible unhealed scars that hurt so deep.
Still I dream of you, naked in silence,
Nosy fingers deepening on my skin.
Scared of your rage when love stays in suspense,
Before your decree I hide with my sin .
Because I know you and how do you think.
It is not your fault life made you like this.
Crying in despair swallowing this ink,
so your eyes don’t see holes in my abyss.
In pain I must gulp the bitterest of drinks:
When flawed looks are heavy the ship of love sinks.
Another war, another truce
Israel leaves so many ends loose, and yet
Dozens die, so Thousands may live
The horrific result full-scale war might give
The Jewish State pulled out of Gaza in 2006
As thanks, it's had aught but terror attacks since
Yet, retaking Gaza with a punishing all-out assault
Of that, Israel is not (at all) convinced ...
What's the best way to handle this stubborn impasse
Time has a way of coming to the rescue --
Look! Egyptian and Israeli soldiers ~ friends at long last*
________________________________________________
*Nearly fifty years after the deadly Yom Kippur War of 1973,
Egyptian and Israeli soldiers, once the bitterest of enemies,
embraced publicly, openly weeping in each other's arms, at
a 'joint ceremony' at Ben Gurion Airport in 2022.
He returned with peevish looks,
a condescending demeanor,
Vaunting as though his bones were made of rocks
and his sinews of brass,
bottled up acrimony burning from his bowels,
A prideful face, and a visage adorned with rage,
forty years of fury fueled from afar,
none could tame the lion,
cloaked with pretenses and false affiance
resentment buoyed, angst unrelenting.
the bitterest gall wells up like lava,
none could cure the brain malady,
The threath, the venom of a vermin.
Still Lurking,
though kept away by distance.
See the sun as it rises in the sky
Watch the clouds nonchalantly pass by
Feel the warmth of the heat upon your face,
Release the tensions of the daily rat-race
Breathe in the scent of salt and ozone
As the breeze transports memories of times past and gone
But our thoughts are forever unique to us all
From the sweetest of sweet to the bitterest of gall
Rejoice in the coming of the dawn of the day
Twilight diminishes, no more to delay
And the fingers of sunrise break up through the cloud
And once more the earth sheds her nightly dark shroud
There's a train lies awaiting
For my daughter and I
Areal in the making
Warm tears in my eye
The most precious of hearts
The purest of souls
As Oliver Twist
Our bare Begging bowl
Chorus
It is Love eternal rafts my tome
No house no flat to call our home
Friends near and far
A treasure each one
In a world not worth li ing
His Will Be Done
To trust un another
Who falls short as a Dad
Who's sisters and brother
Consider him mad
He does all he's able
Only God's on his side
As Jesus his saviour
Condemned, crucified
Chorus
Crucified, yet unbroken
On Calvarys Hill
Olanzipine dreams
The bitterest pill
For a cure to be found
Help me carry my cross
No lights on the shore
Lord, I'm struggling and lost
So take your best shot
In a world worth the living
No ifs, buts nor maybes
Know that you'll be forgiven
With God on your side
Climb your Calvarys Hill
And know in the end
What you've done is His will
Chorus repeat
Borne away on winds of music
to realms of peace, of enchantment
where thought streams flow swiftly
where dream bubbles merge, then fade
For want of parachute, of cushion
our return to the world mundane
blurred by tears of bitterest pain
though's never forgotten the gain
As now into a holy mountain my soul makes
Pilgrimage to your side,
My heart unto your lips ascends,
For it is my heart that bears its kiss,
And in that swift-footed moment it
Trembles there, a captive sparrow,
Who'd taste of an eternal nectar,
A sweet elixir of bitterest joy
And thusly drunk take flight
To the very reaches of Love's
Full orbit.
To either family The Land is God’s Gift:
A Divine Portion plus Trophy to lift,
All trespassers to quit making it swift,
Another day to never towards it drift …
A Land The Talk of legal documents gone through
And newspapers armed with Truths mixed with The Untrue;
An entry into the tussle of a busy-body spend-thrift
Making it a plot about which death should be sniffed
And from which one could Man’s folly rift.
But they’re two uncaring families
Impatient for The Bitterest Rift
And for same cancelling their homilies
And appearances for Talks briefed …
Two family disputants over prized land
Not wanting to hear that it is mere sand.
A face with the bitterest frown,
For long years expecting a crown;
Now in prickly sweat bathed
And A Tongue is scathed …
It’s really an awful spectacle,
Facing no challenge, no obstacle,
As reported by his mirror
Doing so without error;
Ability he’s got and Agility
And all his life no infirmity.
So, why is he, Chief Favor
Facing Monarchical Disfavor;
For long years living for a crown
And it’s public knowledge in a far-off town?
Entangled in a web of my own making,
Wrapped in arteries and veins forsaking
Their true purpose to enrich my heart,
These like pulsing vines tearing me apart
I cry out in bitterest anguish for my life,
Possessed in these last moments of strife
Free me from these strangling, barred jails,
And let me embark anew in billowing sails.
written December 9, 2021
for prompt in All-Poetry contest
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