Sometimes I wonder if eventually the rot leaves way for love,
if the thick layer of hope on my lips is enough to get myself out of the trenches,
I wonder if I’m held captive to my past because my past is just a reason to hate,
Am I in fact hateful?
do I hate the fact that it feels as though my past has deteriorated any thought of being loved future?
sometimes I just want to crawl out of my skin and soak it in bleach,
Allow every last sin to burn away at the chemicals on my skin
am I dirty forever?
is it really purity culture or just a lack of self esteem
I love myself repeatedly but it never seems to stick in the moments that truly decipher one’s loyalty to themselves
Conflict-ion of loyalty, love, and desperation.
- V.B
Eternally, eternally all clocks unwind;
To be rewound — a life untethers to be re-bound
Old eyes forget the forewarnings wisdom teaches;
They widen to look anew where experience beseeches
Set sail into the ancient light anew—
Adrift upon a mirrored sea of stars and lulling waves,
Rocking steadily and toward an enlightened litany
Of ideas and shapes that mould us as we wake,
In loving arms and eyes that behold us
And each little breath we take,
One new timid star, shining amongst so many,
Outshine and out-reach the distant rims;
Cast an urging light for our daunted whims
Held in check by the shackled limbs,
The instilled deprecation that dims.
And let my eyes unbind, aglitter—
The horizonal-line—
Trans-destine—
And free.
An iteration—
A fantasy—
Adream midst destiny—
A new you, a new me.
The wind blasts from the sea, a paper cup falls down
I’m gazing at the sand beneath my feet
Why should I listen to these noises on the background
Is there another small cafe around to sit
Time heals but it remains unclear what
The pain subsides, then it evolves into the new
And that new pain is just exactly like the old
Time’s not a goodwill paramedic in my view
Self-deprecation is a healer free of charge
A tunnel vision tunes the optics of the heart
Troubles diminish, and small pleasures look enlarged
The view clears up and there we are, never apart
Sometimes I’m able to perceive the memories
As if I’m living backwards, sit and wait
Just yesterday, I smelled your roses in the breeze
You said you’d called me, but I called you back too late.
There are not one but too many opinions and views.
Not promoting self-growth, but more what you'll lose.
An imagined past of wayward direction.
Now understood through intimate reflection.
Sought after days of laughter and vitality.
Produced by a substance to the pending reality.
Waking up resentful, with dignity scorned.
Wishing you picked up when your conscience telephoned.
Remorse rears its head in numerous ways.
Mainly anxiety-driven for hours and days.
Self-deprecation then societal acceptance.
To atone and excuse our own self-neglectance.
Internalising the notion 'it's just what we do'.
Realising they know a version, non-existent, of you.
They look for that person they created and yearned.
But what was constructed and taught can then be unlearned.
A murder of crows screech my funeral song,
disturbing the eerie silence that surrounds.
Heartless hands have left scars etched into my crumbling bark,
as bleeding sap drips upon ivory sands,
which fail to comfort the aches of my collapsed torso.
I once ascended under sapphire skies,
as golden rays adorned my emerald lush leaves,
but now I've descended into dismal decay,
realising humanity has no use for me -
offering me as a sacrifice to toxic tides.
I can still remember the sound of crashing to the ground,
as men with axes laughed at the glory of my demise,
allowing me to slowly sink toward the abyss of nothingness,
now I'm helpless as ripples of regret carry me into the sea.
Alone and abandoned, above me is only dreary darkness.
I'm barely breathing, listening to careless whispering waves,
smashing against my soaked motionless trunk,
drowning me deeper in self deprecation.
Frigid branches begin to crumble and snap,
as I slumber cradling echoes of worthlessness
Our Revolution sought limitations
On imposition of regulations,
But supplications met deprecation
And castigations not reformation.
Such condescension sparked protestation
And contemplation of separation;
This supposition stirred apprehension -
A premonition of confrontation.
But, declamations and remonstrations
Spurred agitation toward Declaration,
While provocations and deprivations
Steeled resolution for liberation.
War's prosecution, through execution,
Forged dedication for recognition;
Its culmination brought dissolution
And vindication for aspirations.
While extrication brought satisfaction
States' acclamations lacked definition.
This Federation showed imperfections;
Low validation forced redirection.
Deft composition penned Constitution;
Strong propositions scored affirmation.
Hence, generations find inspiration
And preservation their obligation.
-------------------------
Tell all the people yet to come
Democracy is what we chose;
Their mission's goal: protect it from
All foreign and domestic foes.
"In the light of day, we are ceaselessly, inadvertently trying to reflect versions of ourselves. And thus, night allures."
Quote by poet
Darkness has fallen
The shadows cover me
I can stop my reflections
Within these mild-minutes
Safe are my imperfections
Guarded from the darts they shoot.
Let me rest for tonight
Mend the pseudo-patches
Mere moments not hold their convictions
No intruders, commentators
No speech of deprecation;
I can dress their part
When the light falls again.
11th April 2023
rivers flow
where water goes
stars abide
within our skies
birds fly
until wings go awry
dogs bark
at sounds in the dark
clouds form
before a storm
accidents can happen
when you play with dragons
hearts race
when they run to first base
those we trust
should not be the unjust
increasing fear
goes mouth to ear
self-deprecation
often causes vexation
very easy to deceive
when people want to believe
love blooms
creating new bridegrooms
enemy of the same
the process of change
random is
as randomness does
CHOOSING A BOOK
Every book in the profusion on our shelves
Tells a story that invites us to engage
Draws us with wonderment to turn the page
But yet more, recounts some truths about ourselves
Seeking new diversion for the darkening hour
I surveyed the library for my selection
Saw named categories - large and small confections
And discerned the genres readers most devour
Not of endless peace and love to lull the mind
Nor of sweetness and of light the favoured theme
Though we claim to yearn for heaven as our dream
For the longest row of books was labelled: CRIME
While we may deplore environments precarious
They provide us with an endless fascination
(In observing this I make no deprecation)
We embrace them if not first hand then vicarious
Thus let’s not choose total safety as our vice
With an anaesthetic cloud the chosen medium
That could be a state of unrelenting tedium
Since the food of souls requires a dash of spice
For the human spirit has a deep desire
For adventure and a life that is replete
With challenges and perils to defeat
And become the hero that we would admire
3 May 2021
The world a stage,
Shakespeare noted.
And we the imposter,
in our final call.
A few catch our last show.
Unwitting, they s on cue,
our fatal prelude,
our convulsive caricature,
our final self-deprecation.
A clown milking our last mockery,
our closing burlesque pratfall,
our irrevocable tremor,
our departure in floodlights.
The guffaws intend no harm.
No one knows our real name.
We are just the familiar disguise
of impulsive chuckles.
Yes, the stage is our world,
where we regale in our farcical regalia,
where we playact the death we die,
defined abruptly only by the privation of others,
their season of grieving like elephants.
Perhaps it’s better this way,
decomposing, never to be recovered,
just the sound of laughter lost,
or the fading fragment in someone’s
sleepless night.
Published The Magnolia Review 03/2020
She fell upon a sword so sharp,
Not knowing what else to do.
Let me give you another clue.
Her angels played a tender harp.
Why do you do this to yourself?
Guides asked for she was truly blue.
Her self-esteem was not full true
Self-deprecation on the shelf.
Where are your words?
Who wants to know?
What should you be saying that you have forgotten to say?
What should you be saying to yourself? To revitalize yourself?
Self-deprecation does not work in your schemata.
Anxiety and fear are not your go-to places.
I consciously banish the feelings of the last three weeks.
Realizing they were induced by drugs, not reality.
Can I get back? Can I retain my enthusiasm? Can I get past this apathy?
My acceptance of my former self into my reality is all I need.
I read my words and recognize the positivity in them.
Remembering these are my words.
Not anything else’s, determined to
bring myself back
one
word
at
a
time ...
She, Gilda, would run into wall -
he, Chevy, orchestrate fumbling fall -
simply to invoke chuckle, chortle,
titter, spontaneous guffaw.
Carol’s impersonation of lone cleaner,
Bob’s deadpan unsmiling demeanor,
spoke on some basic level to all -
providing service of social screener.
She, Joan, of clever deprecation -
he, Curly, of selfless indignation -
reached for compassionate challenge
in offering gift of spiritual inflation.
Ellen’s casual, sanguine comments -
Rodney’s roguish, insightful laments -
has shined everyday light and mirrored
without lingering hint of niggling offense.
Whatever their name happens to be
it’s not that difficult to see
they loyally and lovingly portrayed
life’s rhythm, rhyme, and absurdity.
So, in this day, a friendly shout
to the individuals whom without
we might never had opportunity to’ve seen
what this strange journey is really about.
Your name is Dawn.
I know you hate my nose!
And I have mother-of-pearl
Snaps
On my clothes,
But truth is,
Seven months I have been waiting,
To ask you out!
(Don’t know for sure ‘f your folks
Will welcome dating)
BUT
I haven’t got a Chance
Of forgetting you,
So, if you think, ‘no’,
Just… before you do,
Remember,
I am not all that I seem.
I think of you,
And float into a dream
I see your eyes, as green
As unripe, exotic wood,
And wonder whether you feel seen,
Feel understood
I look at you,
And Have to catch my breath!
I admit, I have hope fluttering in my heart!
You smiled at me,
My heart wrenched right
(And that’s no shibboleth)
Okay, I hope that helps… that you have heard,
And will respond by saying ‘yes’!
Heartfully Signed,
And hoping to be undeferred
Andy
A glint in the black, like stars
Pearly, polished, pointy peaks of a fiend
Fangs of self-deprecation, puncturing every effort
Coursing the flow of doubt, discouragement and defeat
I may not see your face, beast, but your teeth betray you in darkness
Dripping with the blood of my best effort and intention
Inexperience and ignorance, clotting ...
I am but a babe in the woods of poetic expression
Searching like Hansel, for crumbs of excuse and artistic insight
Oh, I see your vestiges, hear the gnawing of your dismal disregard
And your umbra shades every scribble ... every keystroke
But I know you well ... I know who placed you there
Yet, with a sword forged in kind encouragement and friendships, rare
I will stand on the battlements, and fight to the end
And should you gain the last word, it shall be inscribed ... in my blood.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Plucking the Poisonous Parrot" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
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