It wasn’t who I was;
I had become a stranger in my own skin.
No one was willing to help me;
I was under the shelter of gathering darkness.
It wasn’t who I was;
I could barely afford a good meal.
It felt like climbing a steep hill,
A journey through a withered meadow.
My son didn’t want to come close.
I turned to look at him and saw him turn away.
I sat alone on the porch at twilight;
Sadness weighed down the boat of my being.
I soar on the wings of dawn;
I walk into the morning light, filled with awakening hope.
A slow sink is not a shadow symphony,
If only hope could be buoyed from being submerged.
This poem is an Acrostic Monorhyme
C onstant fear tactics are employed
O vertake the many freedoms once enjoyed
N ever any love there is a void
S ystem is so broken our souls so often toyed
U nsavoury propaganda regularly deployed
M any regulations are you feeling much annoyed?
E very government organisation, ethics so devoid
R eturn to honesty joy and laughter society would be buoyed
S eek a haven all these shackles to avoid
I laid down a heavy burden called yesterday,
another called tomorrow,
and finally one called today.
Afterward I felt an infinite lightness surround me
buoyed by the breezes embracing the eternal present
which never leaves and which we leave
at our own peril and to our own dismay:
There is not another
just the one that is us and our own self
resting in the embrace of timeless praise.
Christopher M. Swan 2008
Back around Time's corner, no comfort
To concede looking in
On which buoyed plane, laughed up and down is
Past a street's re-mounting.
Nothing there but provokes of a more
Absurdness in a sigh
In what, weary intoned, out-whimpers all
On graveyard winds that die!
Yester-place shimmers. Only what gives
Its gold's foil-light suggests
To the Earth proper have not plunged these
Thunder-moods; lightning-zests.
Exiled from home,
My heart is heavy
With an ever-present ache
Only family can heal
Clinging to the hope
Of being whole,
I spend each hour
In silent anguish
For grief has carved fresh wounds
Where waves of sorrow flood,
As I sink ever deeper
Into darkness
But as despair reaches
To pull me under
With her cold, unfeeling hands,
My soul refuses to drown
For I am buoyed by a love
That can never be taken,
And can never be broken,
Even as my heart breaks.
The sun mounts over crumpled roofs and streets,
Beats from machetes and trombones disconcerts the air,
Brides and husbands-to-be bosa nova where joy and gossip meet.
Little ones run run past stalls,their joy sharp as knives,
Grandmas share gossip,drinking Joko Tea in chirped mugs.
While dear uncles sway,remembering old wasted lives
Smog billows from grills where meat roasts and fry,
Fires burn,mixing ululations and cheer,
Even the emaciated township dog pauses,ears to the sky.
Hubands-to-be jive,hats tilted,praising feats of might;
Ladies-in waiting in skirts that sparkle under sun.
Every furtive glance a nod and a story of delight.
As night comes,lanterns flicker in houses and alleys;
Music is tender,hearts stay buoyed and awake-
In hoboland love and joy endure amidst the pain.
Tomorrow waits beneath the hush of dawn's first flush.
It listens for the promise of a guiding hand.
To cleanse the taint of all those yesterdays panned.
Hope strikes a match that burns away the remnants of regret.
A flare of faith that last night's darkness has extinguished.
Knowing that the sun will rise afresh tomorrow as well,
In the cycle of timely rebirth that comes every day.
I fear no wrong, knowing I learn from my mistakes,
that I can submerge and lock away, beneath the covers of night.
As I sail forth, buoyed and excited, by what could go right.
"Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow
is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"
HATE’S MONGERING GRIEF
(A Couplet Quintet)
Hate attempting to destroy love,
Has yet to realize loves permanency:-
While Hell’s fires have their longevity,
They’re no match for the waters of love:-
Remember, Pontius did not wash hands with love,
As did Jesus with the washing of his brother’s feet:-
Buoyed and/or swimming in waters of love,
Will always surpass burning in the fires of hell:-
In every experience in the life we live,
Where love resides, hate cannot abide:-
The brooding moorland
Is windswept and desolate...
And gives nothing back.
In this vast, hushed upper-land...
A very dreadful beauty!
-------------------------------------
Inside that wide void...
A resounding emptiness
Which fills the whole sky.
For never greater volume
With such solitude than here.
-------------------------------------
Strange, shrill calling birds
Above the rippling heather;
Their ragged shadows
Buoyed up on combing waves
Pushed out with each surge of wind.
--------------------------------------
Buoyed up by the syntheses of the past,
idyllic murals of green hills open paths
to a healing truth.
What say the brown camels of Casablanca
to assassins nursing festered wounds of
new Karma?
Yesteryears recline on the shoulders of
a greying age, chanting songs to a
departing future — quicker on the heels of potentates.
Drums fade atop lonesome, hollow-crested
landscapes, accompanied by the invoked,
naked past.
Chess Ahoy!
Upon an ivory-blue
ocean, oil pastel paints
the canvas
aboard the deck floats, buoyed
surfing foamy shores
a blurred realism
hoarding its cargo—
cobalt sea glass
squares in place,
chiseled chess pieces
ride the tide
ebbing and flowing
Sent are your gallant knights
lowly pawns
the King decrees—
God save the Queen!
The world needs a little
Good news everyday
Just look on the bright side
It's better that way
Kick up your heels
Say howdy my friends
Just smile at a stranger
Your woes you'll transcend
On the verge of disaster
Show them there's hope
To look at this world
Through a much larger scope
It may be contagious
You'll start a new trend
Who knows it might happen
You'll make some new friends
I know that the cynics
Will laugh and they'll scoff
To think that us humans
Past sins we can doff
We've got to start somewhere
So why not right now
The world will stop fighting
And wars disavow
Just call me a dreamer
I welcome that name
Don't need any medals
No fortune or fame
The best compensation
A world filled with joy
Where everyone's happy
And spirits are buoyed
We can't let our efforts
Just end up in vain
We must see a world
Where happiness reigns
It's crucial for us
To succeed in this quest
Else mankind will perish
My case I do rest
Let the words of my mouth have backbone
Buoyed by the sinew of thoughtless thoughts
May they be freely formed and fashioned
On the smooth surface of an unyielding anvil
Hammered in the heat of passion’s angst
Molded in the flame of sightless vision
Nurtured by the touch of unfelt hands
Polished in the innocence of love’s longings
For how else will they be my words
If stolen, reshaped, reworked, weakly rekindled
Would I not be but a chirping echo
Scratching at a stained-glass soul
Would that my words and meditations
Be the reflection of my heart’s belief
Set free within the moments calm
To stir a gently passing breeze
We sat on the porch in the tranquil of the night,
Our hearts strung to each other,
Our hearts buoyed by the beauty of the night,
My inspiration finds a pathway between serenity and silence.
Fireflies traverse the sky,
Their glow lights up the stygian night,
We’re absorbed in the view,
The sickle-shaped moon stands on its podium.
Time has taught us the salient lessons,
Some of which are hidden in the chambers of nature,
We launch into the deep to know and flow in the revealed,
Walking in the meadow of the half-revealed.
She turned to look at me,
Her eyes glowed with the mist of love,
Fireflies in the sky and us in the moment,
Nature streams with wonders and beauty.
February 14, 2025.
Songs from my mother’s room at dawn,
Lawns of mercy with twilight gone,
She seeks for goodwill in the light,
Glee is not a stranger at night,
At her fingertips is wisdom,
That which is buoyed by the kingdom,
Moderation is her golden rule,
Libation, she calls a whirlpool.
February 13, 2025.
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