We cannot lean too heavily on words.
They buckle under what we mean to bear.
Too many mouths stand open in the air,
And still the air is torn by what we say.
You told me I misrepresented us.
I asked you how. You said you never wished
To leave. I asked you why you did. You said
You feared that I would stay.
How quickly language makes a blade of breath.
We speak to spare ourselves, and cut instead.
What mercy is there in explaining fear?
Bring wine, my dear. Let silence have its turn.
I will not press the wound to make it clear.
Sit here. I will listen to your staying.
My shadow dances to the rhythm
of a lonely tune.
It dances gracefully and with love
though in a sad mood.
Tell me, my friend, how does she sway?
Is it slow and true?
Or exuberant and wild?
Does he love you as I loved you?
Does he care as I cared for you?
Does your shadow dance too, my love?
Look at my exciting dance,
do you see it in your dreams?
Does it give your conscience twirls?
Does its tune hum in your head?
'Twill be all in vain, my dear,
for now, my shadow has learned
to dance all by herself.
Now it's but a ghostly shadow
which you cannot attain.
It matters not for me
if your shadow dances in regret.
Go on and dance the dance of youth.
Let not your bones buckle under the strain.
I wish you peace and happiness,
but my shadow will continue
in the glimmer of moonlit nights,
to dance alone.
He called your nation a 'fiction'
wishing you chaos and pain.
Like a savage grizzly intent on
your utter destruction.
He thought, so naively, that
you will buckle under his missiles' rain
triggering a new biblical exodus.
with a leader weak and tenuous
playing the NATO blame game,
harboring ambition of Soviet reclaim;
took his cues from Hitler's pincer attack,
backed by his convoy of artillery and tank;
hedging his bets on a Russian blitzkrieg
with little worries of his soldiers' fatigue.
Must watch Chaplin's Great Dictator
begging mercy from the creator.
You've now taught him a new word, Quagmire
familiar with his army's cold campfire.
his generals Know now the price of invading
a heroic nation praised the world over as outstanding;
your valor and sacrifice,
your blood and honor
turning history's dice.
Glory to Ukraine, to your
steadfastness and resolve,
to your triumph in this bloody brawl.
Liberal and poetic translation of an extract from the verse portion of Lotus Sutra, Chapter 25 (Avalokitesvara Chapter).
Sentient Beings mired in myriad hardships,
Who toss and turn and buckle under
Relentless anxieties, the fog of uncertainty,
Shall find relief in the miraculous wisdom of
Avalokitesvara, whose name dissolves all difficulties!
The wondrous sound of Avalokitesvara!
So pure like serene waves, peerless in this world,
Who could afford to ignore it?
Cherishing each chant with true faith, the pure
And Sagely Avalokitesvara, the rock all may lean against
In their hour of need and day of peril.
Replete with merit, and eyes of benevolence,
Blessings boundless like the ocean, worthy of reverence!
All rights released into Public Domain
The Office Of A Prophet
The office of a prophet
is not an easy task
for many times it is the prophet
God uses for evil to unmask.
We all know that evil loves the darkness
and always hides from the light
so when God’s prophet comes into view
you know in the Spirit there is going to be a fight.
What kind of people then does He choose
to fill this kind of place
surely their looks are of no concern to Him
it is only man that looks upon the face.
It is the heart of a man or woman
that God’s light searches out so well
will they do what He commands
will they speak what He has said to tell?
Will they buckle under the pressure
and try to save their own skin
or will they speak, “Thus saith the Lord”
and possibly a whole country for Christ will they win.
Would they lay their all at His feet and say as Isaiah
“Here am I Lord, send me”,
can you use this clay earthen vessel
then search me out Lord, come and see.
My God, You know that I am willing
to go anywhere for you
and if the Office of a Prophet is my job, Lord
then for You I promise that it I will gladly do.
Written by: Marilyn Jennings
1994
To see clearly
Over a cold Nordic coast a seagull flies
between the island and the mainland by ferry 20 minutes
but time is of no interest to a bird.
It was an old seagull it knew me when I was a cook on
the ferry and it waited for me to throw scraps overboard
it shrieked fiercely I took that as a thank you.
The ferry was sold to an African state after the bridge was built
they used it for contraband, and I think of my spotless kitchen.
The gull moved to the outer island, and anyway scraps of food
thrown into the sea is against the law.
Waste food is good for the life at sea I can`t say the same about
plastic wrappings were floating about the inner harbour.
The day is clear I`m a seagull and can clearly see the past but
need glasses to see the future I see those who took up arms
against the tyranny of the exceptional capitalism.
Falluja is the name the downtrodden took up arms, they lost
but showed the world we need not buckle under USA`s
weaponry, you can`t kill faith.
The old seagull flies beside me now harshly shrieks the way
we seagulls greet each other.
When you came into my life, you gave it all to me
You promised love and said it all could be
You stood on the edge, girl you say, you can come or you can stay
But if you let me go my dear, this will never be as clear
Your body was like no other
So pure, So White, So very delicate at night
Your burn was deep and sharp
I felt the pain and knew just then, I would die for you again and again
My soul I threw away to you
My stranger inside me grew stronger
I felt my knees buckle under
You said your recipe is real and undeniable
Try me once baby, its like your on fire
We lived the life
I chose the night
Just you and me running through it all
We slid, We cried, We walked, We lied
We gave it all away to them
No more pretties to call our own
Oh lover, my whitelover where are you now
Did you crawl deep into another
Or have you to fallen for the lover
I tried that once to bring you back
Addiction threw your body down in lust
All you have to say is, Im sorry little blue eyes but do I know you?
My body,
ripe for the taking,
filled with shames voice.
Plunged into the fiery depths of self mutilation.
My sense of self lashes out, and when threatened,
curls inwards to my very core.
The stress creeps upwards,
as if failing to reach the freedom of a hill top
filled with weeping willows,
that sway with the loaded failures of my past.
Disintegration comes when I buckle under
the stress of reliving these failures.
My shoulders pull back and settle into my body
opening up vessels of hope.
I take one step at a time
as if walking the line of steadiness.
Standing against the world facing reality.
Finding that weakness becomes a fatality.
It’s never easy being strong.
It is not an option, to be wrong.
The weight of the world can bring you down.
The weight of it will push you around.
And it falls on me like endless waves of burden,
In an ocean of difficulties.
But I will not let it get to me.
I will always be, this strong and free.
I will take pride and stand tall.
Though I may stumble, I will not fall.
I will be unburdened by the weight of it all.
I will push through, when the walk becomes a crawl.
I will stand and face whatever may come.
I refuse to let this world make me cold and numb.
I will not buckle under.
I will not run at the sound of the thunder.
It is a product of my thick hide.
It doesn’t take that much to bring out my fighting side.
7/17/1999
Sarah Comstock
sleepless nights, reckless days
moving swiftly through this faze
not slowing down, shooting from the hip
black and blue cause it kicks a bit
one step forward and two steps back
praying for guidance when I'm off track
it seems no matter what I do
all trails lead me back to you
fighting the urge to buckle under
when dreams return from nights of wonder
always with the mornings rays
the memories of why I pulled away
Pickled percolating bile
Prances up my prickled throat
Whiskey guides my exile
While arrogance digs a moat
Brain reeking like a dog pile
Mighty flush to spin that float
Jackhammers ravage my brain
As my eyes toil to flutter
Elements of vast disdain
Yelp out within this clutter
Bacchus yanks me on his chain
While I glide in my gutter
Bruises pop out everywhere
Witnessed in that cracked mirror
Vomit caked-up in my hair
Revolt doesn't flash clearer
Locked within my distressed stare
Oblivion creeps nearer
What is this taste on my tongue?
Flavor sticks like a bar floor
Profusely coated in dung
Or perhaps scattered with gore
From my decimated lung
Snubbing to fight anymore
Heaves wobble within my chest
As my legs buckle under
Intestinal aches protest
My ever-loving blunder
Jameson's uncouth houseguest
Possesses me to plunder
I lack triggers of restraint
Base urges strive to throttle
My dim sanity's complaint
Longing shrivels to twattle
Before my spirit grows faint
I reach out for that bottle...
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.