What is there to say
When there’s red
Running down your body
Like a downpour
Blindingly searching
For a storm drain
And the comfort you seek
Is looking back
At you
Like a colorful painting
Being stripped
To a blank canvas
The fear
In our pupils
Were mirrored
Yet my blood
Was wet
On my hands
You fiddled
With your jacket and keys
Like the excuse to leave you wanted to find
I was
Naked with the goosebumps
Rising in the draft
Under
The dark golden glow
Of the kitchen light
Clutching
Myself like a blanket
While you hurried out the door
Leaving me with the warmth
Of my being
Pulsing out of my mind
disappointments
hurt the soul
with the most
resounding consistency.
For me, it was my father’s
little broken promises
that crack on pavement
like little glass figurines
that no one can hear, but me.
How, at almost 40,
when I should feel objectively
and not subjectively
like a child, during
our short conversations
do I revert to
a disappointed
twelve-year-old
in her mom’s
Mickey Mouse
maternity tee shirt
asking her dad
to come play outside
because her sisters
are younger, and of course
annoying.
I’m writing this at 6:40
in the morning.
My husband is strutting
around the kitchen,
purposefully,
making 8 o’clock coffee,
with the pour over
in his blindingly hideous
red Bills sweatshirt.
“Now that is a laugh
I love. Wait a minute,
are you poking fun
at me in this one?”
“No….”
“Let’s go back to Lake Lure
this summer.”
They're smiling leniently don’t be silly
You can’t be apolitical these days
I’m smiling back I don’t trust them initially,
It doesn’t fall under a criminal offence
I’m fascinated by the incongruous lines
Just look at those familiar shapes, distorted
The early cubist paintings make them shine
Not blindingly, but just how you would want it
Ambiguous light of green and brown hues
Strict and fastidious lines, this is my politics
No one’s deprived, humiliated or abused
You’re in your favorite chair watching pics
It’s a spiritual job, not quite a passive leisure
Those pictures move in time can’t stay the same
They grow on you without any measure
Until your mind will get the best of frame
You hang out in the school of old escapers
The shooters cannot see us with their drone
Tomorrows ash deploy yesterdays papers
Don’t ask of yesterdays old girls – all gone.
Why has natural human beauty
Been deemed as not enough
Faces plastered and glued
With artificial, unnatural stuff
False eyelashes glued on
The length of camels plus some
Faces orange or unnaturally brown
Not touched by natures sun
Lips injected and pumped
Botox faces unable to move
Veneered teeth blindingly bright
Faces with so much too prove
It is so sad that young girls and women especially
Believe they are not beautiful or enough
Without wearing their artificial painted masks
Their natural beauty disguised and hidden…. behind the bluff
On a shiny day
In a shiny afternoon
I saw you being so prudent
Your moss green t-shirt was your gradiant
Such a pretty thing
Who knew you'd be something
Every evening became a day dream
When you showed up in front of me
For a while
Just for a while
My haunted house felt like garden
With your steps only for a certain
Though you were so special
I knew our ending
Still I surmised we would be something
So many nights I spend to think
I could never make your mind sink
All the thoughts
All the regrets all the pains
Went on vain
Untill you showed up again
Just to remind me you're not mine
Just for a while
just for a while
I surmised we were something
Key-chains remind me of you
My November boy turned into a statue
Your voice still scramble my neck
But now I can't look back
I hope you can be happy with her
Even though my prayers doesn't matter
Just for a while
For the seck of a blindingly bright morning
I remembered your sign
I felt it would have been fine
If you were mine
Alone my world is somber & unfeeling.
I exist with cold indifference hidden well with optimism,humor,a life lived fast & loose.
To view my pain as unimportant
Turned my soul into a pitch dark bottemless pit where light and love withered and died.
Yet you endured.
Your love pierces through the void as an ember.
I will tend and protect into a roaring fire,warming me,
Lighting my way to a blindingly bright tomorrow.
a blindingly foggy day,
powdery wind blowing it's whistle
without cease.
out in the blizzard,
a man in his vehicle,
immobile in the deep snow.
he's plucked out
of the brutal mercy
of the winter storm.
seeking refuge
in a good samaritan's garage;
teeth chattering,
body trembling,
frequently shaking
frost-bitten hands;
hurricane of anguish
churning
at the pit of his stomach.
he's sipping hot cocoa
ah, relief!
Winter Storm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
Date written: 1/4/2023
Sitting here wishing I was dead,
Fearing the thoughts running through my head.
The pain I feel is more than I can stand,
Falling through hell in fire I land.
Everyone I love wishes me gone,
Everything in my life is wrong.
So how do I fix what's broken beyond repair,
And why should I bother if nobody cares.
Everything hurts and I want to explode,
When it comes to pain I've hit the mother load.
With all of this I can not deal,
Nothing in life feels real.
I'm fighting a battle I can't win,
Everything I do an unforgivable sin.
I'm dying inside and can't save myself,
And to all of of those I trusted none will help.
A bullet to the head sounds like a good ideal,
Because pain is all that I can feel.
Emotions run rampant and blindingly so,
Spinning in circles with no where to go.
Stuck in my head standing over my grave,
I was the one I couldn't save.
Sitting here wishing I was dead,
Fearing the thoughts running through my head.
The pain I feel is more than I can stand,
Falling through hell in fire I land.
Everyone I love wishes me gone,
Everything in my life is wrong.
So how do I fix what's broken beyond repair,
And why should I bother if nobody cares.
Everything hurts and I want to explode,
When it comes to pain I've hit the mother load.
With all of this I can not deal,
Nothing in life feels real.
I'm fighting a battle I can't win,
Everything I do an unforgivable sin.
I'm dying inside and can't save myself,
And to all of of those I trusted none will help.
A bullet to the head sounds like a good ideal,
Because pain is all that I can feel.
Emotions run rampant and blindingly so,
Spinning in circles with no where to go.
Stuck in my head standing over my grave,
I was the one I couldn't save.
Intuition flares,
prancing in ostentatious circles,
feather-tip proud.
Lugubrious grey wigs
speckle gregariously
bedecked by flamboyant gems:
they flicker frustratingly
in stifled Regency ballrooms.
Our embers, in contrast,
are quiet. Shushed.
They wallow in dark corners,
hidden from prying eyes.
Predators.
Our collective eyelid
flutters closed:
too shy, subduing to privacy.
A silent tear streaks
our collectively cold face.
Science ensnares our senses,
making ordinary life dim -
blindingly darkened;
teetering on Boredom’s knife edge –
we long to carve it free;
infuse new scarlet veins
into its unthinking, meaty flesh,
stoking a smothered fire,
rekindling its earthy,
endearing embers.
Perchance, I gave to you flowers of glass,
That glitter when held to the glaring sun
And sing, to spring, a song of mourning bass
For as the buds around them dance as one,
They stand tall in unerring solitude.
If these blooms, I offered to you, my sweet,
With hues and colours blindingly subdued
That should I drop, would shatter at my feet,
Would their cold, fragile buds bring you unrest
Or unforgiving edges make you bleed
Or would you, instead, hold them to your breast
And make them, as you would, mere common weed
Would you hold them and kiss them with love of me
And with that love, let them bloom merrily.
Baking, broiling, blindingly bright, blistering sun,
Super scorching, sweltering, sizzling sand
The kabob that is my body skewered, searing
Deceptively blue skies devoid of any deliverance
No cavalry of clouds coming to convey compassion
Rising balloon-like bubbles of hot air
Causing distant objects to ripple and dance
Shimmering in the atmospheric boil
Falling to my knees, I detect in the distance
Glimmering patches of blue and green—Mirage!
A maniacal mime of molten mockery
Deriding my dreadful demise
Pin picks of light
Seek me out
Blindingly pure they excite
Holding back a need to shout
Truth in light is well known
What would we know
The seeds are grown
Holding the truth ahead will it go
The jigsaw is solved once the pieces are found
Placed together for all to see
Discovering the picture well bound
Longing for more of the truth smiling proudly.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Image and emotion connect forcefully
Bubbling steadily from the core
Landing lightly on the mind
The expression on the faces change
As visions of the world reflect
Into windows blindingly
As closed doors open softly
The paintings look different
As new colors are perceived
wanton moments secure the thrill of riding
waves of multiple convergence points
reality just ain’t what it used to be...when
there was light and then there was not...
attitude breathes her fiery breath of creation
planets birth, first blush of remembrance
existence happens to each, forfeiting strong
words and emotions embedded in subtleties
framing everything occurs when stoppage is
engaged as moments coalesce past their
reduction points...strength occurs when integrity
blindingly recognizes the disparity between
two or more objects attempting to become
something other than what is perceived
force engages the tempo aligning the fanned
rays of emergence. Fire ignites the notion
that we are not all one rather part of the whole
perspectives confuse the mind of the holy
if one drop is that...isn’t it all?
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