In chambers of the mind, we store each day,
Each lesson wrapped in wonder, fear, or joy.
What matters most will never fade away.
The smell of chalk, the light at morning's ray,
First bicycle, first book, beloved toy
In chambers of the mind, we store each day.
Not facts alone, but how they came to stay:
The teacher's smile, the moment of deploy
What matters most will never fade away.
Through neural corridors, memories replay,
Some bright as copper, some we can't employ.
In chambers of the mind, we store each day.
The brain selects what's worthy of display:
Love, laughter, fear, emotions that employ
What matters most will never fade away.
So when we teach, we must find ways to weigh
Not just content, but context to enjoy.
In chambers of the mind, we store each day,
What matters most will never fade away.
I embarked on a journey,
In search of something that was not written,
If it was written, perhaps only in part,
With missing pages, if it ever existed.
I traversed meadows,
Sojourned across turbulent seas,
Tunneled through the night,
And walked through the heart of the deep.
I was relentless in my search,
Undaunted in my pursuit;
I encountered the strange,
Almost cloaked by the unknown.
In my exhausting journey, I met a sage,
Who understood my plight with just a few words.
He told me that mysteries are not found in caves or mystical staffs,
Nor at the distant ends of the earth,
But within humans and their chambers of secrets.
January 23, 2024.
("Outside Looking In Merit Badge" - MB #40, 2011, original oil)
Echo Chambers
'Everybody’s talkin’ at me
I don’t hear a word they’re saying
Only the echos of my mind….'
And so it is, and so it goes.
Everyone in their own worlds
Safe and secure within the confines
Of confirmation biases
Building castles made of sand.
Meanwhile the tide swells,
Waves come as they always have,
And always will, as everything we believe in
And hold dear will be washed away.
And still we dream
Secure in the folds of our ignorance
Of the rightness of our cause
Whatever it may be.
(6/2/24)
Spacious rooms of 10
Different emotions at 11
Working heads near 12
Fixing files close 1
Tea but lunch break at 2
Anxious clients of 3
Round the desk at 4
Dot the i's at 5
Lock each door at 6
Take thy leave at 7
Talk of the stressful 8
While the time strikes 9
Bid the day o'er 10
The journey through the Chambers
Now we rest
how did i even get here
through what maze
or what enchantment
now caught in quicksand
surely to be swallowed whole
sinking to a certain death
yet still...
the words simply
will not rise
though they may be
my only salvation
my heart in my throat
up against its door
heavily bolted
no sound comes
no cry for help
as if suspended
in virtual animation
slowly sinking
down
down
to my death
must i drown
in this dreadful
sea of silence
AP: 1st place 2022, 2nd place 2022
Submitted on February 4, 2022 for contest A STRAND (1066) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
The insidious reign
of your apparitions, your
coitus with the attic serpents
was sufficient to strip all
pigment from my skin.
Was it they who walked you
blindfolded through the upper chambers
of our modest Eros quarters?
Didn’t you walk them?
My self-reckoning, old Freudian suppers
were wet cookies beneath your heels.
And we lived here!
Their split tongues crowded my speech.
Our energies were split hairs, gnarled
To the scalp!
Our timid blithe seconds were
massacred!
Published: PS It's Still Poetry, January 2022
Non exchangeable
biodegradable
Given time may be changeable
However
Forever
Insatiable
Thrashing out the tempo of life
Misses a beat when presented with strife
Within Private chambers
initials inscribed
Etched with a promise
None but one can revive
Stray ghouls are just zombie shrunken heads
being voodoo capitalist misled
Ricochet fishing for the ocean blue,
deep pocket dollars:
The green algae money
buried at the ethical wavy,
graveyard bottom
Hollow days come every pointless, peon payday,
as creditors delight
in debt shopping their widow maker wares
The pillaging, high priestess of bloodsport pleasure
lay many burglar, prey desires bosom bare
Inorganic idols ... phallic-shaped things;
moral mettle melts
at first grove, sacrificial trigger offering
Heated cries coming from
empty vow chambers
Crosshair eyes scope the killing view
Snuff the stitched mouths ...
get paid by the aged, smoking barrel
Follow the lemming violent trail,
collect the stained spent shells
Empty chambers got an earth bed full,
many died in the throes of hate
Envy green hearts using their lead tools,
leaving death marks —
Bullet holes in the picked pocket of fools
This sweet enclosure holds me tight as key
its called my heart, a chamber locked for thee
the love you gave
I now do crave
you once lived here, but now you're free
Does not the essence of soul...echo in his chambers?
People greet people praise
But there are some voice that never raise
We only realize the one that sounds
And often miss out the silent around
Those who speak out what they feel
Always have their hearts well healed
But those who always do conceal -
Will wait for a chance that god must yield
To express what they have inside
Which they always used to hide
The quiet chambers of their mind
Are filled with hope that you would find-
The intense love they have for you
But remember those are indeed true
Their mouth don't ever speak for them
But their hearts become the weeping gem
Waiting for a time that would-
Bring them smile and joy as food
Start to listen what hearts pray
Ending to listen what mouths say
Because the speakers always find
A chance for them that shows them kind
We seldom find the silent beings
Who never forget us a day
They never expressed out their feelings
As they are afraid what we would say
They experience this as children And of course as a student
Because they do know that this world is imprudent
Let's try to lit their hopes
And help them find their scopes....
People greet people praise
But there are some voice that never raise
We only realize the one that sounds
And often miss out the silent around
Those who speak out what they feel
Always have their hearts well healed
But those who always do conceal -
Will wait for a chance that god must yield
To express what they have inside
Which they always used to hide
The quiet chambers of their mind
Are filled with hope that you would find-
The intense love they have for you
But remember those are indeed true
Their mouth don't ever speak for them
But their hearts become the weeping gem
Waiting for a time that would-
Bring them smile and joy as food
Start to listen what hearts pray
Ending to listen what mouths say
Because the speakers always find
A chance for them that shows them kind
We seldom find the silent beings
Who never forget us a day
They never expressed out their feelings
As they are afraid what we would say
They experience this as children And of course as a student
Because they do know that this world is imprudent
Let's try to lit their hopes
And help them find their scopes....
In the mosaic chambers of my midnight heart
I tucked away my angel child who left me for heaven
I walk through the garden maze when the moon hangs high
I lay full body as guardian at the tombstone on the warm earth
peering through the clouds to catch a glimpse of my angel
so my shattered midnight mosaic heart may slowly mend
brushing color strokes to blend back into my life again
02/15/2017
Unable to escape, I remain
in these poetic chambers
that are a labyrinth of sweet refrain...
never being attacked and frightened by echoing voices
or clouds that are swollen with rain:
I'm blessed not to have heard them or felt dreariness!
Visions are converted to verses,
nothing is left to lay in oblivion to abandon rage,
a rage a forgiving heart forgets
to move on and search for thoughts in late age;
do I imagine total freedom consumed in extreme desires?
No, this is my heavenly refuge: a place of serenest image!
You occupy all four
Your love is the donor
You‘re my heartbeat therefore
Your love trauma
My induced coma
A heart transplant, no time sooner
My healthier flora
My rhythm, my drummer
Your beat in me forevermore
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