I can feel it all burning down,
the walls I painted in soft colors,
the corners I swept clean for company—
they crackle in silence.
Instead of exploring other ruins,
chasing ghosts in forgotten places,
I should stop.
Sit with the dust in my own lungs.
Run my hands along the scorch marks
I never let cool.
There is wreckage here
I never named.
I’ve been walking through myself
like a stranger with no flashlight—
stepping over the memories,
ignoring the rot,
pretending I’m whole
because I never stopped moving.
But now,
the staircase from my heart to my head is collapsing—
each step a splinter,
each thought misfiring like sparks from frayed wires.
The chandelier has hit the floor.
Glass teeth scatter across the silence.
It used to shine.
It used to hold light.
Now even the ceiling
has given up on me.
I was the scattered embers of what was,
a mirage of something that couldn't be.
And it bore a hole inside me, for twas -
it not for the grace of strangers to me,
and that of the Lord, my wholesome Father,
my bountiful and compassionate friend,
I wouldn't be. All I'd be is farther -
into the abyss of a pit-filled end.
But no, I have not been forsaken, lost,
I don't lie a remnant of something gone.
No I attest that I am of His cost,
for I am truly God's adopted one.
So yes, I was once so torn, derelict.
but God, my Father, made me exquisite.
03.23.2024
There once was a derelict named Hank
his show was just an outrageous prank
he took their money
thinking it funny
and he laughed all the way to the bank
a
sad
portrait
of neglect;
arresting garden
lovers manicured teemed with life,
lulled bees, butterflies; when their love withered on the vine,
it's beauty diminished by overgrown weeds; this abandoned garden: what might've been.
Writing Challenge - D words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Word Choice: Derelict
Syllables checked at HMS
Date written: 02/08/2023
There, in our village, even today exists,
A derelict bungalow which is in suspense lists;
No village folk, its true history knows,
The eldest, through tales, knowledge shows;
Some, during British colonial times, who came here,
Did not go back to their nation, out of sheer fear,
That they might not be considered one among them,
Will be treated, instead, like a rootless stem;
They lived here as though it were their homeland,
And indulge in luxuries that were so grand;
One by one, they went to the earth of their birth,
All believed that there under they lived in great mirth;
There was only one man survived in the end,
His hair had grown silver; his head and shoulder bent;
Once, lo, he too kicked the bucket, at last,
And, none knew, why he was buried very fast;
It was his wish before his death, some said,
Others, in their way, have other stories did spread;
All, young or old, assumed one belief in common,
As though it were the most believable phenomenon;
That he, as a ghost, lived bungalow bound,
And attacked any creature that roamed around...!
08 February 2023
He walks with a limp, dog in tow,
lives on streets, 'neath an azure sky
says, "Morning," with smiles as he goes
Wears logo, "Like you, I could fly."
but people compartmentalize.
He's one of the derelict crowd,
some say they must be disallowed.
Kindness calls us to contemplate
what they go through, no longer proud
with mishaps, we may own same fate.
Years ago, a life-drawing group
met near spot homeless congregate.
Some were asked to be model troup
Honored, none seemed to hesitate,
we had their plight to contemplate.
Then we saw them as people are.
yet all carried homelessness scar--
their eyes were sad, seldom wore smiles,
pleased we chose them as our co-star.
we learned: we have not walked their miles.
February 6, 2023
For "Writing Challenge, D-Word" contest
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables.com
First Place!
declare an edict
Putin is dumb derelict
who we must restrict
Jim Horn
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
In a season dry
The rust is thick and falls away
most of it is metal bones and gears
Its glass fractured fallen out at last
spiders webs of crazy cracks sparkle glitter
in the sun the headlights like eyes
seeing none blind
broken out in the distance of time
wheels only rims
Rubber rotten fallen away
under moon sun ice and rain
where it all swept away each & every day
through each & every night.
Sitting in a field of dry rye
forgotten alone a house once white
Burns on the horizon, a season dry.
Rust thick cracks and falls
away, bearing Metal bones
bazaar frozen gears and cogs left to decay.
Shattered glass reflecting Blue sky
Golden days & amethyst nights
Many a field stretching out into the firey seams
the house blackened now an obsolete
derelict
sitting on a rusted red line
A horizon a flair
in a dry season far away
In the beginning this boat was bare,
Greenest with infant's sinless stare;
Before soles more selfish than sane
Had trodden its dreary derelict main.
First to blacken its still-tiptop form
Were kith and kin as is sin's norm;
For if brother Cain won't Abel kill,
Which other bloodier maniac will?
Then hopped wild neighbors' feet
Onto this boat's floor sterile neat;
And like schythes thrust to the hilts,
Hurt this bud that yet writhing wilts.
Nor were classmates' limbs and toes
Any kinder to this vessel's prior woes;
Hasty to sprain its ingenuous naiveté,
Sterner kilning did than fire dealt clay.
There finally was that first-ever flame,
Wooled to the wrist like a mild dame;
Which vulpine swill in flannels guised
Took I, and at last this boat capsized!
Coal hearted caretaker
never could accept or give love
has a collection of wounded women
placed them in his half dead heart museum..
he painted over one with an oil colored tongue
stuffed her into a silent taxidermy bird
He turned some into paper mâché mobiles
fingered them into a sad sort of yellowing
void of any hope then left them for dead
Forever spinning at the end of his selfish rope.
Others sit hollow eyed- clay pot women
chipped and rotting
from disrespect and neglect.
Lastly, a foyer of unsmiling, bronze busts
monuments to his volcanic prick of destruction.
One conquest was glass blown
he wove her spirit into a poem.
Hung it in a forgotten corner of his mind
framed it in his blood and karmic dust...
Someday he'll have to pay back all debts,
and become a forgotten etching in a derelict museum.
My brain was in collusion
With psychosis and illusion,
No fragment of resolution
In my sinkhole of confusion,
Any leverage or bevel
Leads me towards the devil,
Now derelict of hope,
I seek sanctuary to cope.
Entry for
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
4/6/2019
twilight time
at deserted shore ~
abandoned boats flounder
16 March 2015
Three Line Poetry - Poetry Contest : 10th Place
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
rooster’s gaze fixed east
moss upon its left hip…
distant windchimes
15 Mar 2015
DERELICT BEAUTY
Below drape of cotton clouds and sunshine,
some red-purple live pendants
embrace the tall breathless wall...
________________________________
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi Contest
Name: Three Line Poetry
Placed 5th
O.E. Guillermo
6:24 pm, March 15, 2015
Holes in his jeans, but a song in his heart
How easily his handsome smile stole mine --
Both jeans and heart!
*Written March 15, 2015, for Debbie’s “Three Line” poetry contest
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