and yes we are the ones who assume that good will prevail
because we profess good practices in life
such is our commiseration and pity
acquiescence and bliss
pretending to forget the success of iniquity and impudence
of those unjust who fight with forbidden weapons
and conquer us every most holy day
making us the eternal losers
proud of our spilled ideal
our beliefs mocked
and the infinitely defiled pride.
came with fog the day in that cold morning
the dogs were silent and what else
and now again forever
we dare not even be what we are or suppose
our kidnapped desire no longer burns
for it's just a tired desire
that sad and without glory will
of cowardly living.
A stupor born from a haze of deceit,
My longing is requisite and tasteless.
Redeem the worth of another fool’s charm,
Who am I to append fate and comprehension?
It’s been a long winter waiting for relief.
Warmth tempers in the shadows.
The composition of faith is a moral burden.
Spring’s fate is marked by time’s passage.
Emptiness is my willing chauffeur,
Pining is my method of fervor.
Commiseration is a matter of shame.
Emotional property cannot be pilfered.
Delusion’s apex plunders the might.
A blind sense battles the shameful wise.
Salvation seeps through the pores,
Forsaken dreams are means to abide.
Melodramatic flowers bloom in earnest.
Infected presence is a suit of despair.
The reality of life is uncertain,
If God can’t sin, why can I falter?
Bittersweet tunes and eroding melodies,
Floating fancies surround my head.
Introspective moves and tears of tragedy,
Swing me around the carousel of dread.
None can share in full the loss You have known;
from innocence to experience, You,
fair child, were never meant to be alone;
to be betrayed by saints who were untrue;
to know the sting of isolation's power,
or feel the bitterness of love denied:
how heaven could have known (that on the hour
of your birth) Fortune lost her happy stride?
But be not dismayed! For Pieria
is your commiseration, and relief,
your solace, and your true Arcadia;
in it let your heart become glad as lief.
Tho' fortune, fame, love, friends, and bliss decline,
Parnassus is your finer eglantine.
I found all I was looking for
ain't nothing to do with you
or the songs you sang for me
when the moon was blue
yes, cutting all the losses
fed to the pigs like slop
a little commiseration
and vexation's all it brought
I couldn't make you understand
the things that I looked for
thought it'd be the last time
each time you hit the door
always reappearing
like a tarnished penny
nothing to do with longing
or wishes that were many
you knew where you were headed
I was along for a ride
thought there was time for moments
to last me my whole life
once again you proved it
the let down feeling returned
you struck a match in anger
when that short bridge you burned
My arm extends around her shoulder,
for she is lost in lonely memories.
Carrying a burden like a prodigious boulder,
I give her my absolute paramount sympathies.
I only wish for her exorbitant anguish to cease.
Encompassed in my love she shall prevail
in this battle she calls her perpetual foe.
She’s been drowning and feels to no avail
will she find liberty from suffering’s woe.
Oh, my warming arms wish to never let go.
I squeeze so tight, for we fit just right
like a puzzle with perfect pieces glued.
My touch may help her never lose joy's sight,
and help her find victory in pain’s feud.
My kind and amiable hands pray she’s renewed.
This loving act of sympathy will give her peace,
and show her my understanding commiseration.
Her joy contingent upon her sorrow’s decrease,
may I envelope her in a benevolent sensation-
and bestow comfort onto her intense devastation.
Write Me an Emotion-act
Brenda Chiri
September 7, 2018
Without your touch the world is bleak.
The sun is lightless
Compared against your radiance,
So bright I’m sightless.
Coincidence will not explain
How right this all seems.
The comfort felt in our embrace.
The sensuous dreams.
Perfection can’t, in truth, exist.
Allow destruction.
A fracture can be mended whole
With apt instruction.
A golden joining strengthened by
Commiseration.
Your hand in mine, we start again
On new foundations.
Squadron leader to his Sergeant.
Another fatality Felicity,
another regimental letter of commiseration,
another space to type in with a name a rank
another space to enter our lives,
on this the darkest of days.
He was my friend Felicity,
an old school chum; we joined up together
for the cause; for dear old Blighty
naively for the thrill.
Here, the earring he wore around his neck
soon to be reunited with the one
his sweetheart holds most dear,
her tatty old airline ticket, also soon to be reunited
with his the one she holds, a memento
of their first meeting on a flight to Paris ‘38’.
Sergeant! Empty your ashtray it’s disgusting.
© Harry J Horsman 2014
Union
In these ephemeral connections of branch to trunk
twigs to the streams of leaf and leaves to air partake
On the petaled opening flower in tinted teased naked hues
dripping such savage shades within fire buds
In dawning as the sun tingled with a planets quiet breathing
the calm lucidity of sultry undertone hushed augur of night
In the bell chimed ring replying to skylarks winging proclamations
alarms quick and open calls to fields of incessant yearning
Within the crashing waves and seething currents dangers
Against the commiseration of rocks should fall hearts broken
Yes; even with these the never ending march of days
and yes; even in the dizzy clouds thunderous applauding
and the crackled fire of my ever gasp wondered lightning
With feathers
With the eyes of Valentino
and with the hands of children
With passion
I feel you
My love
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