Gray wings
at the edge of a threadbare blue.
A feathering that attenuates
and denatures.
Beneath somber clouds
stone angels watch
green granite deathbeds
crumble
in darkening dens.
October slips
through our eyes leaving no footsteps.
We are unaware of its coming
until we close those eyes tight,
then under squeezed lids
they glint starbright.
Sea-deep into a restless night
we may apprehend
the faces of the bloodless
as they seek
some last verdant masks to cover
their ice-sculptured features.
Categories:
deathbeds, poetry,
Form: Free verse
You are all vehement and gutsy
Putting across even the wrong forcefully
With vulgarity drawing a bow or curtsy
From a righteous man smeared shamefully
You care not for truth but to win
Teasing an argument to tear down whoever dares
With heads coining every justification for sin
To wear out the fervency of any man who cares
That’s how the world is under the evil one’s sway
A lordless codeless lot living for pleasure
Taking license of way and stray
And their wildest wishes are their treasure
They squander their prime
It is theirs to spend as they please
So long as the sin is not a crime
Their deadened conscience allows with ease
How many wishes have we heard from the frail
And how many regrets on the deathbeds
What does the realization of failure entail
That the end now unravels the soul’s dreads
Yet the cycle continues in the midst of counsel
Ye be wise that you descendants may live
Sit and reason only in a Godly council
And Godliness shall be all you take and give
K. Muitherero.
Categories:
deathbeds, god, life,
Form: Rhyme
A nation dies
when its ideas become slogans
nothing is deeply planted
or cultivated
just notions to be scattered around
as exposed hayseeds
that fly directionless.
When a state is oppressed
the collective impulse
is to oppress another country.
Wars are never fought
over an ideal.
In the staggered march of time
dead men become
the enemy.
Minds die
they become buried in the deaf flesh,
become as thin as the bones
of extinct songbirds.
The dead consider themselves
the finest examples of a new reality,
an existence that is the loudest shout
in the widest open mouth.
Dead letters, dead opinions,
dead ends
travel in circles together
until the land forgets its roots
becomes a basement for the sky
a place that is ingrown
like a toenail
pushed into the white tissue
of all such unkept deathbeds.
Categories:
deathbeds, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Faded away—
and all that is left
is the shape of it—
the memory.
Brown leaves lightly disturbed
in their cold deathbeds by
your black paws—
ears lifted—slanted forward.
Your eager stride
out of the black shroud
and to your mournful friend.
Staircase races—laughs—
my own laughs—
and your innocent eyes
and your crooked tail.
It is foolish that you should
fade like the leaves that you
tiptoed through.
I hope the darkness
has left you,
and that you still
stride bravely
toward the light of
all you love.
Categories:
deathbeds, absence, anxiety, appreciation, cat,
Form: Free verse
At sunrise the heron soars effortlessly upon the breeze
waves roll in crashing upon the rocks and beaches
rising tides reach high upon the sands then fade away
the sun breaks through my window and kisses my cheek.
Round and round and round the great circle of life travels;
much like a whirlpool of bubbles in a small woodland stream.
Day turns to night; night to morn, as clouds migrate on their way
the misty morning rings the bell and the deathbeds overflow.
Into autumn's burnt ashes and all the saddened masses;
It was winter's chill when my spirit lifted; my heart thrived;
from a dead frozen shard, and my soul was forever freed.
Just because you're breathing doesn't mean you're alive.
At sunset the heron soars effortlessly into a colorful twilight
the waves now whisper to the rocks and sandy beaches
great tides fall slowly as the full moon rises in a pink sky
a lullaby rocks me to sleep as moonlight kisses my cheek.
Categories:
deathbeds, appreciation, beach, beauty, bird,
Form: Metrical Tale
In clouds of spring fresh whispy dreams prevail
They tell of joy as hope in hearts arise
With youthful frolic's yearning wishing wells
In fairytales seen through poetic eyes
In clouds of summer passion's featherbeds
We lay in love to drink ripe vineyard wine
In flames of sunsets heat fiery red
Burst in flares and sparks of golden skyline
The clouds of fall roll rich with mellow grace
They sate the soul's peace insurmountable
Contentment slows her dulcet angel face
Harvest's muse drifts ripened and bountiful
Winter's clouds tell fortunes bitter cold end
Deathbeds lie still our resonance to mend
June 6, 2020
Brian's Select 7 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Categories:
deathbeds, analogy, beautiful, beauty, emotions,
Form: Sonnet
Little Men
They speak
Before thinking
They speak
After drinking
They speak
When silence would make them wiser
They speak
The words of little men
Sadly they know not the land of the meek
Inheritance shall never be theirs to keep
They obtained a few drops of knowledge
Yet they possess no well of wisdom
They care more the vocal of their own voice
Than the heart to whom they think they speak
They lack honor, integrity, bravery and nobility
It’s simply not in their stock
They ridicule and then they mock
On deathbeds I do wonder
If they shall ever take stock
Or shall they hold greedy
Their stupidity
Taking it with them to the grave
Categories:
deathbeds, anti bullying, fairy, humanity,
Form: Light Verse
As an old man reflecting on his very long past does he only reflect the good,
My friends I stand guilty, my reflections are of only good in my shoal of time,
Dare I peer into mists a dim mysterious future where it will be short, not long,
Seeing my future in its ghastly perspective, arrows of death drift across my path.
I see the future where I walk, my path and can see graves opening all around me,
My fellow travelers, one by one gliding down into a grave, fear owns this road,
There are deathbeds, weeping friends stand around the wretched suffering forms,
The young and the old the high and the low marching to a common goal, eternity.
While I can see all this and stand in dreadful doubt which deathbed will be mine,
One of these arrows is winging its way towards me and I have no amour none at all,
Is it the darkness of the past that make us afraid on our future and our shadows,
Having disappointed all the expectations from those who trusted me, trust wasted.
Categories:
deathbeds, nostalgia, old, future, old,
Form: Prose Poetry
As an old man reflecting on his very long past does he only reflect the good,
My friends I stand guilty, my reflections are of only good in my shoal of time,
Dare I peer into mists a dim mysterious future where it will be short, not long,
Seeing my future in its ghastly perspective, arrows of death drift across my path.
I see the future where I walk, my path and can see graves opening all around me,
My fellow travelers, one by one gliding down into a grave, fear owns this road,
There are deathbeds, weeping friends stand around the wretched suffering forms,
The young and the old the high and the low marching to a common goal, eternity.
While I can see all this and stand in dreadful doubt which deathbed will be mine,
One of these arrows is winging its way towards me and I have no amour none at all,
Is it the darkness of the past that make us afraid on our future and our shadows,
Having disappointed all the expectations from those who trusted me, trust wasted.
Categories:
deathbeds, nostalgia, old, future, old,
Form: Prose Poetry
Tears drop from Mother Earth’s eyes
At the unspeakable horrors
Released by humankind.
Born from Her womb,
These children of Earth murder
Among themselves to the very last.
Mercy flees the scene
As dark knights of Adam charge forth
Into the red mist of blood.
Bullet after bullet,
And sword after sword
Plunge deep into men’s bodies.
Raw violence infiltrates the souls
Of those who rage uncontrolled
Toward their screaming brethren of the Earth.
Their mother sheds another tear
For her dear children gone astray
Fated to lie evermore on bloodstained deathbeds.
Trampled under the marching drumbeat,
Shattered dreams and dashed hopes
Die their death amidst empty corpses.
Mourning the immense loss of life,
Mother sadly gazes down on her children
And speaks the words: I am the Mother of War.
Categories:
deathbeds, death, life, loss, mother,
Form: Free verse
Life.
How could a word so small
hold such a big responsibility?
the answer to this questions cannot be answered
until we are old and turning grey,
Until we are gasping for our last breaths,
Until we are lying on our deathbeds.
That is when we will truly know the meaning of life.
After all it is what YOU make it.
Categories:
deathbeds, introspection, life
Form: Free verse
the sidewalks turn into rivers
soaking shoes that smack the concrete bottom.
rosy-cheeked and bleary-eyed
you stumble next to me,
but my steps are meticulous,
avoiding the writhing worms-
pinkish but corpse-gray on their deathbeds-
a public drowning.
I would stop and carry them to land,
but you would make an ugly face
and say cruel boy things.
so i sacrifice their lives
for another moment of peace.
Categories:
deathbeds, angst, animals, death, girlfriend-boyfriend,
Form: Free verse
On my deathbed,
will someone know me?
Like nobody else,
someone who chose me.
Will I have another half,
holding my hand?
From now until then,
will it hurt more,
or will it hurt less?
Will I hide from thunder,
or take a chance and get wet?
Is the answer in my head,
or blowing in the wind?
Will someone know me like nobody knows me someone who chose me holding
my hand while I'm on my deathbed?
The light of my life,
or dust in the wind?
I can ask, I can wait, I can stand at start.
From now until then,
I hope I don't starve,
waiting for life to begin.
Categories:
deathbeds, death, life, love, me,
Form: Free verse