A world stabilized by signature
Completed comprehension of letters
Leaving of all accounted
To begin work without support
Endowing the mind of all alive
Without distraction
The treasury note
Bill is paid
I spoke nothing in tongues
Check is written forth
Before failure begins a new
Annuity is gained interest from slovenly designed
Augment of an unhoused mind
Redaction of treasury note
Labor has de fine as wage
Add of time in coursed labor
Constriction of appendage is resignation
Grains of sand, begin to stream in steady flow,
As the hour glass is flipped over.
One by one, they fall, through the bottleneck.
Each one a moment, a tick, tick, tock, soft and brief.
On top, the grains are gathered haphazardly in a pile.
At the slippery neck constriction they line up to queue.
like a flock of birds or a school of fish,
getting ready to be called to free-fall in formation,
through the slippery glass funnel into the abyss below.
There they pile-up forming a stock-pile of memories
shaped in an inverted funnel of regret begotten,
in a pile with sand grains tumbling down the sides.
At the top of the hour glass lied a collection of time unspent,
Below lies a pile of sand grain ticks, expended, some misspent.
Between them, lies the funnel of fate’s eternal hand,
Its fingers guiding the passage of time
as grains of sand flowing through the hourglass.
Grain by grain, moments fall,
all fragile and small.
time drifts endlessly
slipping away
sinking,
gone
as memories
pile up, collected
as they spill and tumble
down the face of the base
of the sand filled hourglass
The rose those delicate Petals
Are the color of rapturous
Sweet Scarlett kisses of lips
Never have I phantomed such
A time this is Potent bliss with
Flames of desire I'm on fire
Hot to handle spring was now
In full blossoming again
Again and again my desire to
Kiss you As days grow longer
The passion grows stronger
My heart burst now
wow now how does it
All bloom my pulsating heart
Endures I am validated the
Purity innocence spirituality
Bears no constriction as it
Cuddles its entirety
The more special breed
A most precious flower
Kisses and bliss is of Valentines.
Cradle rocking soft lullabies
Whispers Of Sensual nothings
And extra somethings
I love you every day
In every single solitary way
today and tomorrow and tomorrow
And tomorrow
FLICK PROPHETIC FINGER
Knocking hard on a massive ancient gate,
Step out of a gaunt, granite building,
Leave behind its austere contents,
With wood-panelled box-seats,
Pinching sardine-tight orthodoxy's rumps,
Say farewell to enforced isolation,
Corralled within a pulpit-facing pew,
Flick prophetic finger
At sanctimonious conformity,
As I cross the widening threshold
Into a welcome world of
Confusing discovery.
Give place in me to an individual,
Questioning all from A to Z,
Finding the new pathway, opened out
To an approaching horizon. It holds
My curious gaze beyond
Present knowledge.
I know with some deeper weight of understanding,
Unhinged from the enclosed
Constriction in which I have been
A prisoner of my own choice.
Now the chains sheared off, scales
Fallen from once-blindfolded eyes,
I, flying as the uncaged bird,
Lift suddenly into free flight
On instinctive weaving
Of supple strength.
You are a sustained landscape
one that changes only when you smile or frown,
a fermata, an endless note
something akin to love strung-out,
pulled thin
until it vibrates at the same tone
as does love, but
not deep,
just the tension of a chord made to sing
as a vibration
upon an unvarying reiterative.
The landscape is in you,
the one holds the other in place.
it forms your stance and mien. From a distance
of years
I see you smile or frown, wave or turn your back
from my outreaching arms.
The sounding wire is continuous,
only those minor wincing fractals
upon lips,
the corners of your eyes,
the bandwidth of a memory never changing.
The landscape does not build a thing,
not a brick or a leaf just
this constriction in my throat while I echo
the atonality of a mood,
and given the small modulations, your perpetual
disengagement,
and my need for this vision to change
even so, am I kept listening
to this
ever e x t e n d i n g
minimalistic curtain-call,
a thralldom
to a reenactment that draws near to love
while rebounding away.
In the increasing constriction
Of government restriction
I offer the following observation
Of freedoms suffocation
Of daily liberties
Savagely curtailed
Of your war on everything
That has sadly failed
Of your attempts to control the masses
Becomes comical as it passes
Many like me question your sanity
Or is it simply blind vanity?
Why is it so important to control the mundane?
Why is power such a treat?
Why relish the suffering at your feet?
Do you really believe
That you’re the “elite”?
I can’t help but laugh at that term
Please forgive the disrespect
As I snicker for effect
To me it’s simply ludicrous
Because you’re such a joke
The masses you seek to silence
Are angry and awoke
I wish to simply confide
That you might want to step aside
Before the masses take you for a ride
To your “unfortunate suicide”
Are you getting the vibe?
Eric (and sometimes not)
FIGHT FOR FREEDOM
Journey of life under recurrent restriction.
Hindrances at random, freedom seldom,
traversing on constriction in chained channel,
running and tumbling in dark tunnel.
Always hankered for a glimpse of luminosity of freedom.
Fought for freedom since childhood,
attaining teen-age transcending maturity.
Imprisoned in social stigma,
dominated by domestic dogma
confined in destined adversity.
Competence, intelligence, diligence helped to acquire freedom.
In last phase captivated with inevitable physical limitations.
Losing confidence, spending gloomy days in indolence.
Not to cultivate new venture in free access.
Now, whether captured or free matters a little.
Freedom to nothing or to something is hard to discriminate.
Fight for freedom has turned purposeless.
04/05/19
'All Yours ( Jan 28 ) Contest by Brian Strand
Love Is Enough
He sits alone on the front porch; elbows on knees and head in hands
Not a soul around at this ungodly hour to see him cry
His shaky breath is painful as he struggles through constriction
"What else can I do to get ahead"
He steps softly through the house, peeking in upon his children
thankful for their smiles and joyous play
with a somber grin, he turns away into the kitchen where
scattered statements call him; "Am I good enough?"
6/26/2018
Contest: 8 lines of fate
Sponsor: Silent One
3rd place
Fixation on sights only seen with severe constriction,
can be obsessive when warranted with restriction-
Narrowmindedness can cower with a one-track mind,
leaving only the fear of ruling blindness behind.
There’s a fascination in compulsion that’s fixated,
only attraction to the dark side has been created-
Hang-ups and preoccupation can become real
and charisma to things of singularity can appeal.
No sympathy can be found inside life’s infatuation,
extreme devotion shows one’s troubled foundation-
A congruent yet abstract past can create blinders,
leaving only dream worthy sights as reminders.
Some see the world as upside down with tunnel vision,
and things that bring prepossession they envision-
For it is in life’s burrow where there’s severe perception
and views seen without broadness can create deception.
April 28, 2018
With cares of life replete
For survival he must compete
He against all the world
His life unfurled
Then like foetus he curled
In hopelessness complete
At length solutions found
The relief was intense, profound
The removal of stress
From constriction - egress
With freedom’s caress
A life back on solid ground
And so began progress
He experienced success on success
But with all goals achieved
Of nothing bereaved
Then with hubris conceived
His purpose became less and less
With all challenge ending
For him now no more contending
Had it all no less
With nothing to stress
But a new hopelessness
Sense of emptiness bleak, unending
8 January 2018
For Broken Wings contest: Rhyme Me a Poem
Courage Means Balls To Feather The Nest
Curled up in misery’s orbs under the duvet
Out lost cast and below even eider downs scratching
Unbelievably lost without the slightest smell of soft caress
Reason set in auto pilot in endless loops of mental constriction
Anarchy playing hard ball with emotions curve balls straight to bulls’ eye
Game over ‘rien ne vas plus’ just one bullet left right and centre with muzzle in sight
Ernest plucked up courage and one feather from the quilt and lived on to scribe his story
18th December 2016
Contest: What Courage Means To You
Anxious Abandonment
I need to be somewhere...
Somewhere else than where I'm at
Anxious, so very anxious
Feeling like I am trapped
and this is my home, but it is...
is not for me, not right now
I gotta get out! I can't breathe
Closing my eyes, clenching my teeth
Please! Please! Someone HELP ME!
I need to be free...free of this constraint
This awful constriction, please somebody listen!
I can not even move, frozen here in my shoes
What to do? What to do?
Only 5 steps to the door, 5 feet of floor
I can't take this feeling anymore
I never learn...it hurts, it hurts!
My chest burns, how can I ever return?
Choking with fear, please get me away from here
Anywhere, somewhere far or near but not here
I finally leap...past the threshold
I'm cold, I'm cold, now lost and alone
Where am I now? Does anyone still care for me?
I can finally breathe...Why did I leave?
The anxiety...of everything...of failing...
By abandoning all that failure I have become...
Without Anyone...
bmdavey@10/08/16
"And so being young and dipped in folly,
I fell in love with melancholy..."
-Edgar Allan Poe
Despondent and dismal I’ve gone extinct,
goodbye to hope, sadness has become grace.
MELANCHOLY MOMENTS, I take a drink
cuz’ I can’t forget the look on your face...
as you held me during our last embrace-
I lay in woe and drown in addiction,
but no drug can take away affliction.
Morose and disappointed I must cry,
sorrow has become my best constriction-
MELANCHOLY MOMENTS, I hope to die.
Dizain: Ten lines of 10 syllables each line
Rhyme Scheme: A-B-A-B-B-C-C-D-C-D
Fictional Write
Melancholy Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Date Written: September 25, 2016
Allegiances, they pledge; my side, theirs
My trust, unconditional
Acceptance preceding perfection
Their appreciation shown, their truth unknown.
With them, are my woes no more
Unrestrained is my voice, in their presence
Insults do we barrage, none to harsh
Joy is embraced, smiles reflected.
When my steps are unheard, their cloaks disappear
My oppositions they sought, my closet they open
The war incited, buried in yellow carnations
Our fists, unclenched; my wounds too deep.
Disloyalty, a constriction to my heart
Their red hands, an intervention to my faith.
Here comes the stormy fire,
Burned out my desire,
Racing against my chest, my hearts pacing,
Beating the pulse to a pulp, draining me dry,
Now’s the time to let go of this tandem rope,
Crash through this masquerade, there is no hope
Nobodies to blame, but myself,
It was all coming lose at the seams, piece by piece
The music was just too loud; the symphonies were burning my faith in hope
Nothing hurts like you do, walking away never giving me a second glance,
Pompeii, rain down on my parade, burn this farce of a show to cinders,
These ashes of our lives are like pythons underneath my every step,
Each sting a cry from my hearts to live again
Not saying goodbye was the cruelest act.
No words of comfort or embrace to spare my arteries.
So now I am sitting here listening to the dragon that breathed our love,
Its dying a slow death.
With every inhalation of this noxious gas, it only exacerbates the constriction on my lungs
Its evident to me that, love is dead.
Its all burned away, there is nothing left
There is no love left.
Love is dead.
Love is dead..
Is love dead?.....
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