The days are drear, the days are long
the nights are silent without song,
my heart, my love, knows only fear~
the days are long, the days are drear.
The quest was yours right from the start
my love knows only fear, my heart
still beats for you above all cures,
right from the start the quest was yours.
My heart is lovesick, but it's true
above all cures still beats for you,
they say you're dead, a simple trick
but it's true my heart is lovesick.
They try to get inside my head,
a simple trick they say you're dead,
I won't be caught within their net~
inside my head they try to get.
I'm mortal sick, my life is naught,
within their net I won't be caught,
beyond the veil we'll meet uptick~
my life is naught, I'm mortal sick!
Categories:
dead(a), angst,
Form: Quatrain
The girl weeps a bruised and bitter rain,
A childhood choked, a garden grown in pain.
My laughter, brittle glass, it cracks and breaks,
Beneath the weight of unforgiving stakes.
They built a fortress, walls of rigid stone,
And left my heart a barren, windswept zone.
No lover's hand to soothe, no gentle gaze,
Just scornful whispers in a hateful maze.
Each hallway echoes with a judging eye,
A constant feeling that I want to die.
They see a monster where a child should bloom,
And fill my days with ever-present gloom.
The books lie open, pages blurred with tears,
School's a torment, fueling all my fears.
A secret festers, a corrosive blight,
Consuming hope, and plunging me in night.
I paint a smile, a mask of purest white,
To hide the shadows lurking in the light.
But when the moon ascends its lonely throne,
The tears return, and I am all alone.
A burden I believe, a whispered curse,
This aching need to flee, to be dispersed.
The razor sings a siren's tempting call,
A fragile promise to escape it all.
The girl weeps, a final sigh,
A whispered plea to simply die,
My childhood dead, a silent tomb,
Lost in this endless aching gloom.
Categories:
dead(a), 10th grade, abuse, cry,
Form: Rhyme
Tim Roth gets shot, and what emerges? Blood.
His innards act like wrecked intestines should.
Those fifties-movies injuns really suck,
with tactics redolent of Donald Duck!
“The whiteys circle wagons, as we feared:
so let’s just ride around them – get mown down!”
You’d see more bloodshed watching Charlie Brown.
And why does Tarzan never grow a beard?
Tim Robbins plans a prison break. Oh well,
they’ll catch him quickly when they search his cell.
It’s never searched, or posters changed, in fact.
And why was Thomas Hagan never whacked?
And Cage’s “Wicker Man” was just plain weird,
and not remotely scary. I’m at ease
with oddball cops with masks on: “Not the bees!”
But why does Tarzan never grow a beard?
“Commando” – Arnie’s shooting-up a storm:
a hundred dead a minute is the norm.
The baddies take ten thousand shots at him,
to no avail. They’re not from Arnie’s gym!
You want to know why Rin Tin Tin’s revered?
The dog’s so smart, he counts: he knows when you’ve
exhausted all six slugs – then makes his move.
Yet why does Tarzan never grow a beard?
Categories:
dead(a), culture,
Form: Rhyme
Why!
My Soul asked the WorldS Realms People Places and Things the that and they that is always talking about my dad? I never meet!
When my dad came to birth to earth down here, did not I wasI not with him around the quiver?
My soul says yes! before I became dirt to some people hurts my dad birth was a delight to me this nurse a people perfume she wore so sweet she rubbed my daddies head and we all became a part of the him sweet peace waiting to be born a soul a living soul but happy to be were we were never dead a new day at the time yes but never dead it was sweet love in the quiver. When did we become a dead story around and about all zones I had to be alive to run the birth race to become an earthly soul being was not I there my daddie love I know I was in the quiver of his emotions and feeling and even his wants about me because my dad was just born of flesh and we came in the Quiver alive and healthy and wealthy and well ready and swift movement of flesh bone and blood He loved love and loving! I need a Judge!
Thank you for the listen Soul Searchers!
My Own Questions.......
Categories:
dead(a), adventure, appreciation, character, courage,
Form: Free verse
Little heart, but diamond kind
A heart, just live in the life; in the air, in the sky, in the ground, and the hell’s life
The poor heart is alone, not humankind, the wind of life takes everywhere this heart
Little kind of heart, but a great flower of emotions, like the radiation of the sun’s life
A loving heart, just a living memory of the life, still on, but the pain in the heart of the heart
… kills this little heart; yes. This heart is a living dead, a dead, in the life’s cemetery. A kind
Our world is only an illusion, but so painful – maybe there is no illusion – crying a little heart
Little heart, little heart, just stay a little heart; the rays of your petals are blown further…
… by the wind…, stay always a little diamond heart kind, and teach to the world; love kind
Little heart, little heart, the only heart, remember me, and I give you to God for life; bye…
… bye
Categories:
dead(a), life, love,
Form: Rhyme
Bats and snakes, make no mistakes
This girl loves them all
Spider fashion is her passion
Set by things that crawl
Of the dead, a skull is said
To captivate her mind
Ravens black to wrap her back
This shirt, she will find
Halloween will make the scene
Each day of the year
Lizards glee her Christmas tree
This girl has no fear
Bats and snakes her fancy takes
While dancing through the night
Mistress Dark, one may remark
Or just a different light
For my niece
at
Halloween
Categories:
dead(a), beautiful, cute, family, fantasy,
Form: Rhyme
Brolley Hit
Give me something small
No big bomb or aircraft carrier needed
A little virus on the tip of a pin
Ready to inject you viral death
Not fall down dead a few days
Starts with a fever then more
Doctor thinks it’s a cold or flu
It's a bit more serious but shhh!
Don't alert the authorities
Before the operative escapes
Another KGB hit on a scientist
More Cold War superpower woes
Daggers in the dark jab a scientist
On a Manchester bridge with a brolley
How else to stop the weapon programs?
Categories:
dead(a), conflict, technology, violence,
Form: Blank verse
A photo of the near past
The year is 19O1, a market on a muddy field
selling, God knows what, I see cattle, and children playing around
the muddy ground, it had been raining in the morning
but this does not dampen the excitement of the day; the people
back then did not bother with posh umbrellas.
The men wear suits that look like hand-me-downs from the rich
people on the hill, the women too, try to look elegant
wear hats, the children run around in long dirty frocks
they look happy living an alternative life among the adults;
not to forget the ever-present dogs.
At a farm workers' market, everyone has a half day off
before returning to work to feed and milk the cows.
On the scene rests peace of an unchanging world that will
Soon be shattered by wars, hunger and economic forces.
Nothing will be the same again as the 19th-century approaches.
I look at the photo and think, every living thing at the market
on that day is long since dead a few of them are remembered
perhaps a faded photo of great grandparents as young is found
in a cottage for workers, due to be demolished for a new road.
Forgotten is the life lived by farm workers of 1901
Categories:
dead(a), blessing, courage, feelings,
Form: Blank verse
They say, “You are poor”
I say, “I’m poor“
They say, “The scarcity prevails in your house and body”
They say, “You are sick man and patient of abnormality”
They say, “You are dead”
I say, “Yes, I’m dead”
Scarcity in my house and body
Because I have no poetry
I’m sick and patient of abnormality
Because prescription of a true poet is free
I’m dead, a living corpse
Because without poetic wisdom life is anarchy
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
31/10/2022
Categories:
dead(a), poetry, wisdom,
Form: Free verse
My eyes are playing tricks on me
I cannot believe half of what I see
There is a devil pumpkin head
I feel it can raise the dead
My nose is picking up an odor foul.
Something dead – a mouse or fowl?
There is a devil pumpkin head.
I feel the buzzards can smell the dead.
My heart is beating much too fast.
I wonder how long this craziness will last.
I am terrified of what might be seen.
This is not my favorite Halloween.
Categories:
dead(a), 10th grade, 5th grade,
Form: Rhyme
The Queen is dead; a kingdom mourns
And all through her domain
There will be countless tributes
To her long amazing reign.
Ascending to the throne so young,
She ruled with style and grace
And no one (certainly not Charles!)
Will ever take her place.
To us, across the pond, she seemed
So decorous and prim,
Requiring a curtsy (from a her)
Or bow (from him).
Her matching suits and hats defined
Her monarchy and yet,
Beneath that stiff demeanor
Lurked the Queen most never met.
I once read that her handbag,
Always draped across her arm,
Was moved quite subtly to
Her other elbow, an alarm.
She did this when she’d had enough
And wanted to take leave,
A signal that her handlers
Were on lookout to receive.
That story showed her human side;
Will wonders never cease?
We’ll miss you, Queen Elizabeth,
And may you rest in peace.
Categories:
dead(a), tribute,
Form: Rhyme
Murder was served at the table.
The fellow is dead, not stable.
Page turned, nothing could be subtler -
Suspicion fell on the butler.
It was the salt and peppering -
It’s clear his oversteppering
was found out this night…all knives out.
Stone cold - the butler gave a shout.
The poison sealed the rim of glass
to coup de gras the loudmouth bass.
Another page was turned, we’d learn
the butler’s dead - a great concern!
The guests, now accuse each other,
but one by one they fall. Bother!
Who hates them all? Who’s caused this strife?
One’s still standing - the butler’s wife!
The reader, glares at the writer,
declares it was a nail biter.
She tells the author to drink up.
He hopes it is a loving cup.
7/21/2022
SPONSOR: Joseph May
Contest: One In Five 2
Chose #2 - SUSPICION FELL ON THE BUTLER
Categories:
dead(a), murder,
Form: Rhyme
I have looked through the eyes of a false god low key
facing inwards the sight shut unable to see the truth has superior knowledge
it takes years from your life searching the four corners of your soul
One day the light enters when a person opens the heart broken
who am I to stand over the innocent in condemnation of justice so to speak
The guilt of sin weighs heavy on those looking for an easy way out
it was pride that changed angels into devils least we forget
To witness the power of our Saviours Mercy is something in itself beyond belief
when He rose from the dead a burning Light left its imprint engraved
nothing in this world comes near His power and Majesty
These days I love to follow those with saintly intentions towards others
it gives hope to us lost in the storms enveloping this world corrupted by evil
standing up for something means protecting the righteous at all costs
we have only one life to serve use it for the good of others no one else
The cost of tears lost in a chain falling in one broken dream counts
in the grail of insight ingrowing smiles hide the true character
Categories:
dead(a), god, hope, love, miracle,
Form: Free verse
There lay no death down below,
Endless oblivion, the song of the bone,
A path towards nowhere, where stories unfold,
The visions of the dead, a memory untold.
Ancient voices, sobbing at the door,
He who resisted, but could not ignore,
Soon subdued by the directive,
Humanity's entire subconscious collective...
Demons of times past,
Angels that never were,
They all joined together,
All joined me in this realm.
Throughout the ages of nature,
They oscillate out, and back into play,
Living inside a thought from our maker,
Symbols no different from us today...
Categories:
dead(a), death, dream, freedom, humanity,
Form: Rhyme
The child who was frolicking in the sun
And on sighting me broke into a run
Was Ted Colonel’s Fleeing Ferrari of a Son
Also, a lad who could himself kill for a denied bun
Judging it Needless Injustice done…
Now he’s eighteen and keeping a gun,
Of all colors A Sickening Dun
And sure visiting its trigger for fun,
Though with it could drop dead a nun.
Now, I sight him and break into a run,
Broadly smile as he stands in The Sun
And by accident closer pay for his bun…
Sometimes tables later turn
And it’s the turn of The Bossy to burn.
Categories:
dead(a), children, corruption, courage, evil,
Form: Rhyme
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