discipled
unto that giving bosom
have I consumed its saccharine
as though an infant
cleaved unto its mother-
that its nourishment I might know
beyond the tender touch of flesh
that does nothing for the soul
have I rested my lips
on such a fertile breast-
that knows nothing of turmoil
beyond its own hunger
lest I stand rejected
cleaved unto this day
has each braided wick
awaited the present hour
the flame it soon carries-
whose hand might cast that light
that they should see clearly
the evening of a resting shadow
quickened only by need
that the eyes might see-
what shall overtake such blindness
that darkness would consumate its union
to the risen light none before the other
that a man might reason without question-
knowing not
that to know of one
is to know the other
Mandeville
1/
Timorous, and trembly hearted
Quivering, world-blown besides.
My sister in sensitivity
Relief, know. Where it abides.
2/
Sunned; and for a seaview
As sparkly eyed, Love's own
Unfathomable depth!
Both dawn and dusk facing.
A brightly sailed width.
As far all pangs from out
Cape-hung, yet still cleaved to
Dearest, your hand!
Life's ongoing procession
A peaceful dream; fanned.
There was once two twins
One gifted with the power of creation
One gifted with the power of strength
They cherished each other
Helping the other through harsh times
Until the strong twin desired for more strength
Although it was for good reason, the creator twin wanted the other to stay with her
But the strong twin was stubborn
This disagreement cleaved the two apart
Weaving hate and resentment between them
Each going their separate yet close paths
Until one day
They were reunited by their Maker
Though for malignant reasons
The creator and the strengthened, both cut down by their Maker
As the light faded from their eyes
The creator used the last of her energy
To make a weapon for the strengthened
With the balance of their souls shifting, the strengthened became the supernatural
With strength of mountains and agility like the wind
The grieving twin sought revenge on her Maker
Before the Maker could even comprehend, he was cut down
Just as he cut down the two twins
I was an urban maverick
And bicycles met many needs.
More than the Pope is Catholic
I cleaved to my old one--speed steeds.
Over goatheads, glass, even nails
My bike took me every day.
Up ev'ry street and over trails
Holding a wheelie, like ballet.
My bike was my way and my wind,
My great escape to adventures.
Upright or wipeouts, elbows skinned,
Faceplants that could have meant dentures.
I rode and I rode ev'ry road.
I raced and O'r dropoffs I went.
So many bikes, had to be towed
As frames and forks I broke or bent.
I followed guys like Bob Hannah
Motocross heros in leathers
Who started out in bandanas
And flew as if they had feathers.
Oh those were my days of glory
When I rode so wild and free.
My bikes and I told the story
Of me and my one-speed steeds.
.
Do the eyes see, or does the mind perceive
What shadows creep warily upon the eve
What forgotten past horde our gainful years
What winged doom bearers rouse our darkest fears
While doubts fester in the fields of the failed legionnaire
And fallen angels flock about thy desperate prayer
Know, aback the world dreaming dragon, I'll be there
Arisen from the dust and decay of The One's, promise broken
I am all that, of which mean, "power", awoken
The wailing grief of shadows fallen where darkness dare
Cleaved in twain by the righteous sword's gleaming glare
Nigh falls the last darkling felled to the abysmal deep
Goeth now from fretful slumbers to restful sleep
For, nor even death himself may reap
thy mortal soul
Whilst I stand guardian; the sacred fold
a glass-like smooth of even's yawn
here I, myself, with one cob swan
trace cursive paths upon the lake
as we’re both OF the earth, not on
so sets the sun to blow its kiss
in hushed glissades of feral bliss
a surface cleaved in gentle wakes
oh surely heaven’s much like this
ol’ swan and I, we share these eves
in feathered white tuxedo sleeves
he trails me while I row the skiff -
my chaperon as daylight leaves
I think perhaps he's lonely too
prospecting for a soulmate who
will share his love of blushing skies
and parting mirrored lakes, anew
the water's darkened interludes
reflect both images and moods
the hopes we held of love this morn
now laid to bed as day concludes
but ‘fore we meet, next dusk is drawn
I’ll speak my prayer that he'll be gone
that one of us shall find true love ...
as we’re both OF the earth …
not on.
( edit )
*
/ \
/ \
sliced
and whole
a cleaved life
in flux cast dice
state of non being
potential in between
eternity's randomness
flip a coin up into the air
unpredictability flies there
alternate reality hints upon
•>•
parallel universes going on
realistically just one path
life’s inevitable no math
untangled observation
spit out my creation
god particle sown
new baby grown
chop the cord
use sword
spliced
\ /
\ /
*
"He will progress toward retrogression..."
Mother's heart defied such prognosis
yet it reverberated, haunting soul
thus, faith cleaved to divine pillar
toward hope fueling functionality
surmounting spastic bouts
conquering seizures
then beholding miracles.
Now, milestones radiate
as special child drives himself
midst freedom bliss
maneuvering wheelchair
likewise taking steps with walker's brace
vanquishing mother's fear
toward triumph of impossibilities
enabled by God*, the divine anchor.
*Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
August 23, 2025
15th place, "Killick" Free verse Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish; judged on 9/5/2025
The sea was a whisper before it was water,
cleaved through the wind.
I stepped into its silver mouth,
waves curling something pressing in
a wistful longing for a past I never knew.
Seagulls traced ethereal designs across the expanse
their wails scattered like fragments.
Somewhere underneath the foam,
the past was fossilized within sedimentary strata
waiting for my hands to delve deep enough to find it.
The tide came in more forcefully
and I thought of to how love in this way
always arriving, always leaving---
sometimes tender, sometimes intense enough
to split the coast in two.
When it ebbed, it left behind more than remnants of a disaster,
it embodied the ideal I sought;
calmed by the steady undulations of the sea,
gleaming in calmness;
as if the tide dredged up
on the verge of being forgotten.
The barbs she threw at him
left jagged edges on them both
torn from deep within herself
raw, bloody pieces of meat
hurled violently across the room,
the space, the endless time.
They cleaved to him, each one
slowly shrouding the man
until he became a prickly porcupine.
Some silent days, from weariness
would bring respite, closeness.
In intimacy, his spines
would prick her open wounds;
They could not help themselves,
They no longer had control.
And so they lived, or slowly died
behind soft lace curtains;
a bitter purgatory
on the jagged edges
of a new society.
Shadow black blood floods flow silently wailing in whirlpools
Volcanoes of endless enmity erupt with vengeance.
It's not humanness. Here, the mores of 'might is right' rules
Against routing quagmires, lotus buds fight for transcendence.
We shake hands like friends while minds float on clouds of fraudulence.
Amidst rocking crowds in digital sounds, we feel alone.
Wearing torn costumes of cleaved conscience, we seek vigilance.
Weeds of weariness spring up, wherefrom seeds of smiles are sown.
Like weak rams, we follow the rushing crowds to hit someone.
Who do we want to hit? Why do we want to? No one knows.
We make weapons and enable our young ones fight for fun.
Roots of truth hidden, falsehood from friendship flawlessly flows.
Why is each one who toils not the owner of their wages?
Why don't we end all dead ends that prevent our pilgrimages?
In the misty milepost
of the penultimate pathway,
at the faint fringe
of future obscure,
the twilight tune
reverberates the requiem
for the forlorn tree,
silhouetted tranquil
against sundown skyline
of transient radiance,
witnessing in
the cauldron of time
the last flash
of the decaying day,
d y i n g….
The twirling tapestry
of tempestuous torment,
interlaced seamlessly
with the cleaved clouds
of swarming storm,
ravages the unwary horizon,
halcyon once,
marks the chameleon shift
of concealed colors
on convoluted canvas,
lacerates the last corner
of the frail fresco,
c r u m b l i n g….
The deformed shards
of the splintered sky
spin in swirling storm,
roll on the dismal waves
of curled up bleak cloud,
the remnant rays
of sanguinity still sparkle
in the departing flashes
of the sinking sun,
drowning the montage
of memory,
compose the latent melody
of the unsung dreams
with the fossilized life’s
fading cadence,
sequistered in spectral lyric
of sunset swansong,
r e s o n a t i n g ….
You stripped the jungles of the world
You blew the hunting horn
You chased the beasts out of the field
You pricked the bloody thorn
You drove the leper from the streets
You martyred men of war
You stood on mountains made of steel
Molten, to the core
With words of want you praised your gods
As children took up arms
You cleaved the tumor from the wound
– The cancer wasn’t gone
You hid the truth within yourself
You never could believe
You were the blight that wrecked the cell
Yourself it was
You sought to cleave –
our light, cleaved from the bosom of God
now eternal and complete, as is He
albeit in a stage of infancy
occupies a body
God creates
and thus in truth
ego is but an interface
for us to navigate this earth life
to ingrain in Self, love, wisdom and power
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