The chair sits empty on the alter floor
Its arms holding memories unseen
Once carrying prayers, uplifting souls
Now a silent witness waiting in sacred stillness
A core hollowed where mercy stood
Longs for the return of the humility of Christ
A muted longing, poised for grace
Where absence rests seeping out into Alberti’s space
The alter listens as prayers of devotion rise
Filling the void with hope
Holiness prepares to pour back in
Like dawn returning after the thinning tortured night
Fullness shall dwell where emptiness reigns
Strength flowing upon the embroided papal cushion
The sun brushes the valley of the nave
Rosy light spills a quiet promise
Into the incense filled smoky sadness
A renewing earth breathing words still unspoken
Is alive in prayer
Lifting promises beyond the veil of death
Into the warming morning air
The chair sits empty on the altar floor,
its arms long held memories lost from sight.
Once carrying prayers, uplifting souls,
a silent witness to life now waiting in muted space.
As too my heart and soul are emptied
of the fullness of the humility of the living Christ
An empty silence stands where mercy stood,
a throne calling out to be restored in grace.
Yet in this disquieted quiet the voices
of the dearly loved homeless and un-fed are heard
As the altar watches prayers of devotion rise,
in the emptiness prepared for God to realize.
And His world shall pour its holiness back in,
like dawn returning after the night air has grown thin.
Fullness shall lay on the cushion where absence now sits,
filling the hollow with dignity and strength .
As the sun rises across the valley of the nave
of this incensed filled smoky sadness
A golden rosy light flows through upon the marbled vault,
as a quiet promise of a renewing earth.
Morning air is poised to carry prayers still unsaid,
as promises rising from beyond the dead,
And hope is reborn in radiant glory
out of a now breathing silence into a new unfolding story.
entry for Charles Messina's "Fourtle" contest, September 17, 2025
no stair, light blown
climbed chair, broke bone
the cat chair was loved from 1962 to this day
It was purchased with lots of moola by my Aunt Fay
At the time it was shocking, nothing other women would buy
She was ahead of her years, she conformed to no woman or guy
Aunt Fay loved the cat chair, it was reserved for her alone
We did not dare sit in it, even to talk on the phone
For it was her domain, her favorite furniture piece by far
Her next favorite possession was her two-toned Riviera car.
I am nearly asleep in my chair
my simple life is honest and bare
I do not have a worry or care
borrow no money and take no dare
If you want to join me, pull up a chair
please enjoy with me the sweet country air
life seems incredibly accurate and fair
as you fall asleep in your own comfy chair
Resting in front of me, a giants chair.
It, I know well
It, is built with despair
12 feet tall made of steel.
High back covered with stains
of immorality, dishonesty and incredible pain
Old and rusted through the years
a formidable and thunderous tone it produces
still within me
Empty now, with weak knees and an
apprehensive look I envision those
who reigned before
A mother who sells her son
A man with fists of thunder
A false counselor of god
A tremble of discomfort within my own skin
all the years I could never shake
Tho the comfort I feel as I lay bare
flakes the giants chair.
The closer knee to ground
quakes the chair to a minor resemblance
And as I open my whispers to prayer
my tone destroys all that is left of it
With prayers placed in my sling
twisted metal and steel
lay before me to rummage through
What once urged it into existence
Is made plain.
A boy, an innocent, a light, a purity
has been recovered
I hold their hands
I lead them away
There, a new chair
To Him, who sits at the right hand
Of the father
they sit him down like a tired old man
in that throne of leather and iron—
old sparky, they called it,
like it was some friendly dog.
they strap the wrists, ankles, chest,
tight enough to stop god himself—
one last insult to liberty.
the sponge is wet, because dry
means fire, and lawsuits.
the mask goes on—black as every sin,
but it’s the switch they love.
fingers twitch, a nod from a judge
who’s eaten too much for lunch.
then—crack.
a snap of light no eye can see.
his body lifts like a puppet on strings
jerks, clenches, convulses,
the legs slam the frame,
his tongue thick in his mouth.
smoke rises from scalp and thigh—
a scent like roast beef
and shame.
they wait.
they juice him again.
and again,
until he stops pretending to be alive,
smoke wafts from every orfice in her body.
Imagine this
An empty chair
And opposite
Another there
You choose to sit
You have a choice
No movement. No whisper.
Just silent voice
You wait a while
You close your eyes
To calm the spinning..
Break bonds. Break ties
Pretty soon
You're feeling seen
Such clarity
Not like a dream
Sat in the dark
Creative light
Invades your soul
Joyful and bright
The shadows
Are no longer there
No doubt or shame
Just love and care
Everything
You've tried to own
Is taken back
To find it's home
Just you
And love
A peace personified
Like a dove
Pure and white
Creative thoughts
Spread wings..
Take flight
You're seen
And there will ever be
A harbour in
The stormy sea
A friend, so keen
An advocate
A place to rest
Through garden gate
Where peace resides
And love, of course
To meet you in
This still discourse
A chair. A bench..
It matters not
Just find that space and
Book your slot
Bring all you have
Your gifts and more
The broken things
Love can restore
Just come
No need for preparation
That empty chair
The invitation
Why do we call the good old days,
good?
Grandma was always talking,
talking about the days that had passed.
I wonder if they were really that good,
or does our mind play a trick on us?
Grandma loved sitting on her porch,
looking out over her land in her rocking chair.
Now the old rustic white fence,
is falling down from the last storm.
Her once beautiful flowers are all dead,
dead just like her.
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find,"
sits an old tan and orange alley cat.
Oh how she loved to feed her stray cats,
then play with their furry kittens.
Will the squeaky old gate find a new tomorrow,
or be torn down and rebuilt with cement?
In awe I lay upon the verdant knoll,
mesmerised by the silent starry sky,
a mirror gleaming deep within my soul,
reflecting timelessness, I barely know.
Venerate Venus dances in reverse,
spinning our musings under mulberry moons,
when we chased illusions, beneath the Queen’s chair,
through realms where reasons dared not delve,
our hearts lost in a cosmic haze.
in this wilderness of mirrors,
I hanker headlong into hallucinations,
peering through perfect panes of promises,
or is it prisms of pretences,
till stars themselves begin to speak
“She shall shatter your sureness”
and you will gather
the pieces like fallen constellations,
too sharp to hold,
too sacred to leave behind.
Life in a rocking chair
in a room bereft of air
Labored breath provides a scare
Rock back and forth, ever harder
what good to die a martyr
Pull up a chair for grief right now and let her sit beside you
She’s come around to hold your hand so let her in, she’ll guide you.
She’ll be with you throughout your loss
She’ll be your only comfort.
She’ll wipe your tears and hold your heart while all things fall apart around you.
This empty, hollow. silent pain
will also be her burden
Allow her in to share your pain allow her all the sorrow
For it is grief who helps us all to get through this day so we can face tomorrow
Grieve as much as often every day and she will be beside you.
The view from the chair
Hey You
Over there
Do you remember
The times that passed
You know
The ones that last
The view from the chair
Hey
You over there
The view changes
As I view
Sometimes old
Sometimes new
But always the same
My Love for you
Hey You
Encased in Stone
Always in my line of view
Shackled with no name
Been a Slave far too long
Always without fail
Blocked out
Praying to the Heavens
How long?
The Sun beats high and strong
I have been told I don’t belong
I have educated my mind
Read books of endless chapters
Darkened theory
Beaten and torn
How Long?
Night skies being my Race in the day
I run but it is like slow motion
I try to cry but no tears drop
Created from High above
Heaven to think of
Goodness and purpose
How Long?
Dignity and Pride
When will it Truly Arrive?
Determination on whole
God being my threshold
Looking for a Blessing
When?
Tremble and Scare
No one wants to listen nor care
The foundation is on my shoulders
Strength to withstand
All on God’s land
The world sees only what they see
There is no freedom
Trapped within a square and circle
Stuck in but can’t get out
I must bear
Praying, praying and endless praying
Trying to be still and wait
Within is a hesitate
One day the moment, I will be free
A world that shall be judged
Tomorrow will finally arrive
A glorious kingdom and togetherness shall be
Hallelujah Shout
God will brought me out.
A breeze did slide in under eaves
and stirred inside the air that grieves,
my children grown my dreams have flown,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
My chair in front of window bare,
I look… but husband’s soul elsewhere.
Beneath my feet the floorboards moan,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
Each day I rock the same tic tock
and change not from my sleeping frock.
Once soft my face now turned a crone,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The length of cobwebs measure time
they speak no secret sing no rhyme,
but air that’s stirred does tend to drone…
alone, I sit my rocking throne.
I pray to rock myself to sleep
as old-age-chains do rust with weep.
These tears from seeds of sorrows sown,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The run of beads and crucifix
will not unfix life’s mix of tricks.
A rosary my rope and stone,
alone... I sit my rocking throne.
Of God I beg relief from grief,
unbind my mind from mortal sheaf.
This plea endures like sun bleached bone—
alone I sit my rocking throne.
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