cloud covered sun
heavy dew's sparkle quite subtle....
heavily falls quiet
as the sun peaks through
hope lifts a broken spirit
There will be times that are gloomy
cloud covered in grey
when days are looking dingy
nothings going your way.
Do you rise to the occasion
or fold under the weight
feels like walls are closing in
a psychological state.
Break free from the darkness
and the joy that it taints
better days shall appear
like a fresh coat of paint.
Life doesn’t feel the same, My Darling,
Deprived of your passionate love,
Each and every day aimlessly drags on,
Each and every day feels dreary and treacherous!
Days were joyfully enchanting, nights were supremely blissful,
Never realized parting was so acutely hard!
But came a time there was turbulence in
The relationship, a dark cloud covered our horizon!
My heart sank, tears uncontrollably filled my eyes,
But decision, right for both of us, needed to be taken,
although my heart shattered like a broken-winged bird's,
I stood still - not letting grief drown me miserably!
Deprived of your love - is that fully true!
Pure Love is a gift we rarely receive in a lifetime,
We still love each other…I believe, Love does not end,
Cruel fate decides the eventual direction of our path!
I take my pain to where ragers rage and writhe
in their self-absorbed gluttony on all-winter days
their tea cups are only for them
interspersed with silence and solitude
the streets are buildings without them
who are the signposts talking too?
I could have been one of them
I was one of them
and still am if hills facing the sun are cloud covered
and I don’t look out of the window to notice
then, in those un-costumed days, I am
but, and it has taken rotations of earth
backpacking through antonyms, through tropics
I have conquered tinnitus, now a comfort blanket
aiding sleep as a heart monitor line crossing a screen
I have conquered deep wells, now jews harps
jaw harps if you prefer, gewgaws, yes I have conquered
the cave of crawling space days
goblins are only a light switch and their rising finger away
but my rising finger plucks at overtones and distances
between neurons, between stars, between mees
its sound soothing, rubbing balm on a restive chest
the vibrations are fizzing and feeding me
I take my white noise and float away
sound, my therapy
Embroiled in
Pre-dawn delusions
Assuming the
Cloud covered moon is
Destroying its symbolism
For my own amusement
As the parking lot becomes
Mystical, enlightened
Full of
Ambient apparitions
Of the eternal type
With the coyotes barking
And my
Inner self yawning
I see an old radio
Centered in the prosaic grass
I am told I must
Change the station
I am afraid to touch it
Even if the angel Gabriel came
To force my hand
I would scream like a
Ferrell cat
And
Dance like a madman
Like the saint known as the
Fool of Christ
Drunken, with glass in hand
Fooling the townspeople
With disguised piety
Hidden within his hermitage
Back to the
Vision of an
Old radio
Against my own fear
I turn it on and
Tune it to the first station
I can hear an old man
With a
1920's type
Radio host's accent
Like Pathe news
All over again
In wartime England
And in his dialogue
Thru a slight crackle
I can hear him disclose my
Location
To what I assume to be
A company of demons
Yes, this is a predicament
Too long and
Exhaustive for a
Simple poem
Tune in for the
Next installment...
The insomnia came in cloud covered fragments
with its mother, Depression.
As silent and pallid as she,
her hand clasped tightly to her,
as if two gray spirits that moored
in a silvered sorrowful tide.
Thank you for your still laboring pains.
Thanks for the amnesia of suffering
the bedpan and the bible,
the sunny window
that ran with a watery blood
wherever the flying ducks
rushed toward your gun.
Fingertips tingle, the daily callus is softening,
becoming bearable
the way a fox forgets its trap shattered paw.
Thanks for the moonlight dispensed
in cloud-covered dreams.
The applauding grateful
must have partaken of your loaves and fishes
where hooked worms still dangle
bereft of hungry lips.
We are the tenderest of prey again,
the catch we have all been looking for.
What more can be said when gratitude runs away
with its desires still wriggling
and fleshy.
Thank you;
for your mastering love
hath consumed the apple in our mouths
and we are served up
in wide-eyed wonder once more.
Enthronement
Prosperity slain in greed's palace .
filthy filth served on the altar of men
ignorance smothering wisdom.
strand for strand
precarious tide from the Western River
Oblivious Sun rising from the eastern horizon.
devastating wind from the Northern Desert
overflowing waters pouring from the Delta
All Fighting in the blood rain
in hope of being the sole heir of the manor
From afar, the rising sun darkens.
wailing at the sunken river
Burnt by the northern heat.
losing its fountain spill.
Then he appears as a night's dream.
the hope of blooming tomorrow
festival of heightened panache
shedding brightness on the cloud-covered skies
harbinger of good tidings
the rightful heir to the throne..
Happy days, my darling
Happy nights, to you
I lost the fight
To cuddle tonight
But I won a victory, too
You are my inspiration
You are the poems I do
When we are done
Sharing the fun
Chasing the morning dew
Guess you know, I’m lonely
Even the moon, is too
You are the poem
Calling me home
Making my dreams come true
If I should choose
My favorite muse
My choice would still be you
You charm the glow
Off any ‘bow
And paint the colors too
Write me a dream, tonight dear
Write me an I O U
Shoot me a beam
More than a gleam
Shine me a starry view
You are the rosy sky, love
Cloud-covered scarlet hue
Fading to black
Calling me back
Sailing an ocean blue
Robins are right for morning
Willows are weeping too
Sunflowers sing
Any old thing
Nature is on to you
If you should write
Words of delight
Something that poets do
Follow your muse
Payment of dues
Follows an “I love you.”
Abandoned sunsets slip past fingertips
As intrepid sagas chart darkness grown
In cloud covered stars guiding homeward ships
Destined for cacophonous fates unknown
Beyond dawn's memories of beauties flown
And captured under weighted thunder's swing
Insomnia's pen collects colored string
Lacing blue moons where sorrel skies unfold
Crooked circles tracing her crippled king
Only poets can know the lines untold
8/11/20
For 'Pick a Tile, Volume 21 - Dizain' contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
theme: Untold
Wooden floor's relief
Cooling fevered feet
Pace, bare, in blackness
As tranquil raindrops
Softens prickly nerves
Cloud covered stars
Still shine, behind
Glowing without
Doubt's permission
To find them
Just look up
Hope sees through
The dark
Like the
Moon.
12/18/19
For 'Pick a Title, Volume 12 - Diminished Hexaverse' contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title: Cool Fever
~
I painted my dreams
on the cloud covered heavens
Poetic brushstrokes
I hope to come true
In soft watercolors
the shade of forever
Then signed them with love
and sent them to you
In hopes you would find
along the horizon
These November wishes
as night comes to be
And know in your heart
the artistic meaning
My every dream
is you here with me
~
Cast your dreams upon a star
Wishing and hoping dreams come true
Your tears washed away and dreams will stay
Casting your dreams upon a star
For love will find you even on a rainy day
With cloud covered nights this star will shine bright
With drops of rain dripping down your face
Casting your dreams upon a star
Think not of the troubles looking up into the clouds
Your star will shine though and dreams will come true
Clear your mind even on a dark night
Cast your dreams up on a star
This solemn creature nestles its head back on the smooth-sided rock, inside this hollowed house of irregular shapes and sides.
The cloud-covered moon rises slowly, calming the surrounding landscape and lulling it into a dreary daze.
The trampled grass stands still, creating a zigzag silhouette along the horizon. The wind blows like a conversation, whispering in a lost language of nature with its intermittent gusts.
A broken branch disrupts the peace, echoing like footsteps in a sleepy early-morning street, while a crackling fire spits and hisses, evoking a jaded theory, a fear of history repeating and perpetually renewing this feeling—no bottom, no ceiling.
The damp residue collects on the sides of this shadowed mountain hollow, falling patiently like an ever-growing snowball of defeat.
The morning sun warms the cold, damp hollow where the creature lies, welcoming the day with joy and hope. The fear of darkness and the unknown that kept it hidden has given way to a self-proclaimed protest against its petrified state of mind.
Smile stirred into shade of sundown,
Mind moderately muse with fancy town.
Anon ascend in morning of mansion's renown,
Cloud covered, converted to dusk from the dawn.
Dredge the ridge of Miraj, in deprivation of inspiration,
Anymore, aught appearance of gart of hallucination.
Feasible unachievable feat, was the resolution,
Got, whether or not, strain to gain'll remain with aspiration.
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