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.
as the rosemary rain
soaks
pensive petals,
leaving an aroma
of lovers’ betrayal
the succulent scent
of
his
petrichor skin
caresses the midnight
crevices of this
meticulous mind,
urging my soul to purge
tears and ink
long mimicked
by April’s sunlit rays
synchronizing
a symphony of robins
a rhapsody
of wild blooms
a chorus of dragonflies
a sprinkle
of swirling sakura
painting a panorama
of spring meadows
dancing to
the diamond glows
of stellar streaks...
and without the moon
I am an echo
of rhymeless clichés,
an abandoned prose
breathing amidst
porcelain pages
of mourning metaphors
aching to savor
confessions
of clemency....
for heart feels numb
to the
b u r n
of being forgotten
as storms taste
softer than sunrise~
and in
s i l e n c e,
I rise....
There was a girl named Clemency
who walked with me to college every morning.
Neither shy nor outspoken.
Her face was always concealed by a mask.
I have never seen her smile,
only heard her muffled voice,
soft and distant like a whisper,
lost in silence and sorrow.
She ran faster than the wind,
her footsteps echoing strength.
She could have been an athlete,
but she said, “A little fame is not enough."
One day, I asked about her mask.
She paused, between breath and thought,
her voice trembled, like a fallen leaf,
she removed the mask, and all I heard was, “Elder brother.”
I never saw Clemency again.
They said she had moved far away,
where no one would question the mask on her face.
Left in my letterbox was an old bottle of acid and a whip.
Dear Governor,
In this quiet, fleeting moment of reflection, I urge you to consider the preciousness of life, its fragile beauty that blooms even in the darkest hours. Though laws may seek balance, the human heart begs for mercy, for in the shadows of despair, there is always room for redemption.
Every soul, no matter how lost, holds the possibility of light. Let not the scales of justice be so rigid they forget to bend with compassion.
Extend your hand, not to punish, but to heal. Mercy is the highest gift you can offer.
With hope,
James McLain
727-678-8284
A collaboration with Ink Empress, a piece we wrote for “Woman’s Day” for all the strong women warriors out there. Your strength is felt.
“Untamable Clemency”
Her heart is a
chained haven,
for zestless intruders
and fiendish foes,
so tread delicately,
she is not a
mindless marionette
in your glistening
gallery of greed—
glazed in rhinestone
rhapsodies,
she is more
than cold-boned ideologies,
placed by timeless seasons,
she soars above
restrained reveries,
as an untamable heat
of clemency.
Ink Empress
Fading Star Silence
Clemency
A lifetime of experiences
the struggle is to be willing remembering them
as there are large holes calling certain events
are pushed aside.
What was said or done
in the cusp of youth, I forgive myself
with a shrug.
What was done in the middle years
is a matter that cannot be glossed over.
No, it is not about forgiveness
but the acceptance we are not perfect
and thus, be more lenient
when we are trespassed upon.
I will not choose bitterness for slights done.
The river near the houses is now a trickle
soon it will be an ugly scar
across the landscape.
Once we swam her and made love by the river´s bank.
Blessed is the cynical unhurt striding through life.
a change of weather —
a storm is brewing
Lightning
~ loud ~
Lights out
liquidation of a dream
grave thoughts
looking for home
look to the pearly gates
death of a storm
death of darkness
end of silence
euphoria
flourishing with rosy cheeks
from death to life
happiness ever after
Hallelujah
7/8/2019
AH THE STING OF PAIN
IS BLISS
PURE AND SPLENDID
I OPEN UP
FOR THE RELEASE
THE BLOOD DRIPS AWAY
MY FEAR, MY SADNESS
I CARVE MY PAIN
UPON MY BODY
TO FREE MY SOUL
OF YOU
I AM IN CONTROL
OF ONLY THIS
I RISE ABOVE YOU
WITH MY HANDS
I TAKE THE BLAME
UPON MYSELF
THIS IS THE LAST RESORT.
Dismay.
Like an overwhelming shadow closing in from all sides.
Like a towering seiche that drowns a pebble.
The feeling of warm water flowing down the feverish skin.
Just stop.
Let the summer breeze brush across your body.
Allow the earth to magnify and transform this emotion.
Free the rage.
Free the sorrow.
Free the sadness.
Free the Pain.
Inhale nature and feel its love for you.
The wicked spirits are cast out.
You are empty of suffering.
Rejoice.
On the wings of her 21th derail
Of Shakespearean and Vigil's asked thee her name
Who is she?
Bolder she is a clemency!
Of her atoms glowing her frontier
Arena's of fortune teller
Seized no name
But she's living now in literatus gleam
She the metaphor and irony
In expressive ways of stylistics
Carry herself like Atlas above all ages
And yes bolder she is a clemency!
She the five foot iambics scheme
Thats her height in rhythym
When she'll be the ancient?
Of William's midsummer nights dream
The Iliad of an epic events
Calling her to a narrative scenes
Believe her in
Bolder she is a clemency lies within.
Clemency for me!
Really worthy of it? I don’t think so,
After all I have done,
You put them all behind you,
You once again granted me audience,
I felt welcome and accepted,
With warming smile, transforming my mind,
I can vividly imagine how angels look,
I know for sure you are braver than Darling Grace,
Though you have a fragile physique,
Titanic is your heart,
Very big, strong, impressive,
Remain fit as my help meet,
It’s you and can never be anyone else,
Anyone else? “Mba”,
It’s you my true love.
Belief will lynch all the vistas,
one by one,
for art of living,
to break the silence of innocence.
I will scream, when hurts bruise
in temporal sleep,
for man’s hymns of wheeled corpses
wafting in eternal cliffs of truth –
being proud strings of a forgotten song
in the valley of death
chastening the majesty of scars.
I will pray for the brief funeral
of old age,
I shall not beg for mercy.
SATISH VERMA
Clemency
Forgiveness
Requires
Forgiving.
Inspired by reflections on the Holy Bible
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 3, 2010
Poetic form: Senryu
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