One moment warmly expressed.
Next, coldly hushed up.
So does memory at last
That, Time-bound, pack in.
Pages of life having turned
As one book so lies.
A hard cover! Author's name
In gold lettering.
It was no ordinary cloud,
Seeming wrongly to move
Opposite direction of all the
Other –
No cooperative morning, in general;
Sun seeming less inclined to dawn --
Lighting for him appearing not worth
His bother.
Got to thinking, perhaps nature has a mind
All its own, independent of my outing
Need? – should have replayed her all knowing
Tape on past proven feminine intuitive lead --
Fore-and-aft my nervous glances,
Masculine optimism beginning to fail --
Wind now developing a serious gale
(The main mast tearing a sail)
She surveyed me coldly and pale:
Though in your new Walmart cap, you
Look quite the sailor’ dashing, if you value
Your life, don’t ever again wake me early
To go fishing!
The last thought of a dying star,
Would be to hold its light.
Terrified of the cosmos thriving on,
When it's life is being drawn.
The last thought of a dying star,
Would be to wonder why it had to die?
As bursts of light would spurt out,
As if it were bleeding.
From afar it looks like a spectacle,
A new nebula forming in sight.
The other stars would coldly watch,
As if it were an everyday fight.
Perhaps the last thought,
Would be fear.
Perhaps not of death,
But of what comes after.
The last thought of a dying star,
Wouldn't exist for long.
Before it could comprehend,
Its light would be long gone.
lingering embers lay smoldering out
fingers searching through ashes
rearranging, but always in doubt
to find all of the matches
re-piece all that matters
the dull glow lingers, hanging around
forcing my hands to shake
scattering remnants, moving about
escaping my baleful gaze
forever til the end of days
the lovely burn, or what so was thought
has drained me of all my ways
forever in flee, but finally caught
shes caught me, and so i'll stay
never to go away
rekindling a fire, set it ablaze
see how long its tongues last
no, not yet, I'm not ashamed
the warnings shall never pass
our love has shaped the glass
let sands pour, sinking in time
extinguishing all the fire
a grain for each second that i'm,
slowly becoming the liar
slowly becoming so tired
and once more the flames have gone
forever to never be anew
the future in the smoke has shown
of eyes so coldly blue
forever without you
Christopher Pitts 12/1/12
To the one who runs off points with puzzle,
Who never give head to a racing mind,
At the silence of a night but guzzle
Words... more than check could balance doubting kind.
To the one who feel sad after words' treats,
Who never make legs strong to walk boldly...
At the faces of buzzing yet calm streets,
Words can not champion through deceit coldly.
To the one who fear defeating words' chants,
Who never was built for one to man lot...
At the peace of reigning beast's loyal grants,
Words- foaming up sheep to kill raging plot.
I gave silence to a mouth jogger's tongue;
Old refilled blank words of swollen loud lung.
Autumn
….. is mortally wounded!
It sways, strays
across the silken sky
quivering over rusty hedges
shivering through shouldered trees,
splattering, smattering
everything in blood-red.
On it stumbles,
On it tumbles
shivering over the valleys
spearing through the trees
smearing the water blood-red
while the ground offers no sympathy
just a hardened, frigid face.
On it goes,
On it flows
gasping and grasping
at clouds of bandages,
hobbling towards the horizon,
haemorrhaging life
in crimson splashes.
While winter,
no ceremony
nor propriety,
just the sly smile
of an Arctic fox,
coldly awaits October’s
shredded, dreaded last breath!
The cold is me
The frost my bones
A frozen skeleton
Lost, alone
Wandering numbly
Beneath the still sky
Darkness enclosing
As I coldly pass by
My breath is just vapor
A smoke That you see
But I am just hoarfrost
And dead frosted leaves
I walk through the ether
A shadow you see
A ghost in the winter
Frozen and free.
I am the keeper of all things
Always closed and never open
Never to share
Never to whisper
I am the one listening to all your frustrations your aggravations and the things that piss you off in your life your job everything
Never to share
Never to whisper
I am the one sinking in the shadows as a temporary guest
Hearing what they all say about everything yet for me
Never to share
Never to whisper
I am the one that slowly defends in the shadows against nay sayers
Yet for your nay sayers I am also the keeper of all things
Never to share
Never to whisper
While you sit there coldly i want you to remember
I am always closed never open
Never to share
Never to whisper
I am the one to promise never to say a word
For me that is a promise held dearly regardless of what is being said in the shadows
The shadows is where the whispers come from take them for a grain of salt for I have not done anything
At the end of the day
I am the keeper of all things for everyone
Always closed never open
Never to share
Never to whisper
No, No, November
Hoar frost harbinger
Scowling Pumpkin faces
Snarling Halloween hangovers
Empty wrappers
Dancing with
Chocolate faces
Turkey’s plotting an escape
Gather at a rotted fencepost
Isaac Newton’s apples
Hang just out of reach
Choosing their own time
The clocks may change
But time doesn’t
December stalks the trees
Its cold breath
On the back of their neck
Oh, November
You cold coldly lusty lover
Welcome home
Life rests solely on loss and luck's setup,
Tempting you to either win or mess up
Upon chances, stake boldly;
Not hoping the best coldly...
While holding onto heavenly backup.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Romans 13:8 “…Pay your debts as they come due. However, one debt you can never finish paying is the debt of love that you owe each other.
the mailbox, stuffed~
mortgage payments, car loans
with balances and deadlines
marked in red.
water, gas, and electric bills~
the hungry phantoms of
creature comforts
coldly due.
we chase the spectral zero balance,
dream of that stamped envelope
with the sweet release of
paid in full.
but the other statement
never arrives~
no perforated tear line,
no due date circled in red.
it’s a debt, unlisted, un-itemized,
it haunts no credit score,
demands no late fees~
a debt we’ll always carry.
this bill arrives not monthly
but daily~in every heartbeat,
every hunch that kindness calls
beyond oneself.
this debt, this sweet, persistent owing
is paid in tears dried on a loving sleeve,
with burdens carried, with forgiveness offered,
and in whispered reassurances.
this debt’s non-ending, compounds with kindness~
the interest paid daily—not in coin
but in soulful connection
and ego transcendence.
It’s night
The moon shines coldly
An otherworldly light lives in my room
The quiet night noise of the city is music
Beautiful, unique atmosphere. This is also London
Doggone it, I used to make a killin' at casinos,
R o l l i n g sevens; killing em' all softly
The way The Rolling Stones kill it on the stage.
Brimming with confidence, I made my way back,
But my Tumblin Dice came up snake eyes.
"Angie," my so-called "Lady Luck" betrays me.
Whenever I peek through a window of
Golden opportunity, you bet she'll Paint It Black.
She frowns at me, and loves to remind me,
"You Can't Always Get What You Want."
She coldly snatches glory Under My Thumb.
She tells me my chances of recapturing
My lost mojo are as good as riding Wild Horses.
Across the open Appalachian badlands,
Or picking up Honky Tonk Women at
My local Ruby Tuesday restaurant. Gee, thanks!
I, looking in the mirror yesterday,
witnessed distorted eyes replacing mine;
and, too, the lips and nose, as if a sign,
seemed bent crooked, misaligned in some way.
And, as I, squinting, gazed on that display,
an unheeding hand groped at the outline
of the coldly reflective glass confine.
I watched it slowly mangle the red-clay
body which, lifeless, answered my dead stare.
Tearing tripe from stomach, and from breast
the heart, those fingers worked maliciously,
dismembering each inch of skin less fair.—
I know not who it was who flayed my chest:
I? or that demon called Society?
Anne Frank's earthly life, coldly cut short,
yet, in our hearts and minds, she always lives,
as, it seems, her spirit no one could thwart,
nor the humanity her message gives.
Sorry if I misrepresent the words
that emerged from her brave and precious pen.
I note it was not her who spoke of herds,
and said, with conviction, "never again".
Yet, I know it was this young girl who said,
the grownup world, her lesson, to impart,
speaking to our shared conscience as we read,
when she opined, "people are good at heart."
I wonder what this special girl would say
to young Palestinian girls today.
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