Dolorous Poems

Star of the Sea

Star of the Sea, dolorous and Byzantine,
throw your royal blue cloak over me,

She who weeps, La Llorona in Kahlo’s Casa Azul, paint my heart
gold under a prehistoric cobalt blue vault of heaven,

The blue! The blue! I am spellbound by the blue!
Lapis and lavender blues of a shining Limoges Mary

And lotuses on faded old Amarna tiles whisper me tales
binding me to the secrecy of an ethereal blue rose,

Azure tropical waves caress a shore strewn with white coral,
Lady Isis, come into a sea-turtle guided dream;

Sky blue rays and fiery blue flames, walk with me and scribe my
Destiny on your crystalline turquoise tablets in etheric Gothic,

Turn me into pure sapphire light,
I am swooning into the soothing blue of every iris and cornflower,

The strange bird that had been singing all along in my heart --
it is blue

Tire of The Canopies

Sovereign or martyr thus gravitas none dolorous,
dirge has keyed the grave motif to your succubus,
organs glistening as the innards burst vile viscera,
to bite on carbon release hammers sledge Invictus.

Not impressive but knot is a slip on your own noose,
gathering to watch a struggle as the buckets kicked,
amusing when the rope snaps and the monster runs,
turns executioner hacks away your scurvy populace.

Digress thus invitation to a horrid melancholy siege,
maelstrom of pianist crescendo a litany reverie,
masquerade these fair maidens as whomever,
still a mask and the rest of your face is plain to see.

Dreams are made not to be accompanied by meanderings of creatures of the lesser deities for the reaper is the end to everything this your prayers will not save you from the scythe’s guillotine.

Enjoy your expendability,
know that I do,
with that I take my leave,
soaking to bathe and wash off your crimson grief.

ON THE FORECOURT OF THE STARS

ON THE FORECOURT OF THE STARS

Mama Mia! What a voice!
Her depth of emotion carries the show.
Cast of friends slow burn the audience.
Shimmy of stars with sensual overtures.

Mama Mia! My eyes fill with tears.
My granddaughter’s resonance reaches the rafters.
In overalls, flashy jumper, robe, and evening gown.
Inevitabilis, her handprints and footprints
                            on the forecourt of the stars.

Theater in her veins! Mama Mia! What passion!
She hits the high notes, with dolorous countenance.
Her range displayed through high school years:
comical timing in Mean Girls & Hairspray.

Bit parts were jumping stones. Her theater group
allowed her one performance, as The Wardrobe,
singing opera in Beauty and the Beast. On sides,
older performers, The Candlestick and Mrs. Potts,
                    gave her adulating applause.

Mama Mia! Grandparents are proud!

Why did I Fall for You, O' Sun?

O, why did I fall for you, O' sun,
When my soul is nestled in the deeps?
Agape and afraid, my eyne mosey deeper still; they run,
Yet on the colder current your warmth invitingly sleeps.

The distance that defies the divine betwixt us
Somehow is no occlusion for you to reach me,
But gods 'gainst me guarding your gates, and hope's quietus,
Make my valentines reaching you an impossibility. 

Somehow still, suffocated in these sorrowful seas,
I seem to mishear the rhythm of your limpid light
As a melody yearning to find the lost keys
To my manacles and enrapture me with your sight.

When finally I undo these tethers for you,
The cosmos Herself derides my dolorous deeps
Laved in a longing that over millennia grew,
And shrouds your smile with a prejudiced eclipse.

But I see you clad carnally in that cerecloth--
Why?--stoking the gypsy in me with your misconstrued call.
Why did you build that stairway of light and masquerading troth,
That I so eagerly took, thus perishing in a fall?

A Poets Prerogative

A POET’S PREROGATIVE
 
We right our souls as we
Write our souls because we must,
 
Or like confetti, the words'll bust
Out from us willy-nilly, and
 
Poets cannot let words simply sully out,
Cannot scatter and strew them about,
 
Without some kind of form
(Even formless forms like this need be).
 
And somehow we get it there,
Intentionally, we put it there,
 
For all the cosmos and universe to see.
Sharpied permanent on the Internet,
 
Our works, our marrow, the
Underbelly passage to our innards, the
 
Dark and dank and dolorous in us, the
Sun and star and silly in us, the
 
Topic of the day in us, we
Contest for cash and credit, and
 
Kilos of kudos to the winner.
But, not really all the truth, I suppose,
 
We have no control over the prose,
Center stage, exposed.
 
Red and raw and real -
Poets write to right our souls,
 
And no competition there;
We've, each of us, already won.

Hidden Rainbows

The truth gets sidestepped to satisfy hope,
a dolorous lesson in life.
By allowing my feelings free rein,
I've opened myself to vulnerabilities.
And upon hearing my heart cry out,
struggling under the weight of despair;
I was moved to tears.
The reality I held so dear
was merely a dream from which I had awakened. 
My life is a never-ending saga
of how love was found, shared, and lost. 
Tears cast no hidden rainbows;
only the sadness droplets' release.
Pain wraps itself around decisions in life,
and yet, I pursue love despite my anguish.
One dream, one heart, one soul,
words that once defined love;
now flounder on the jagged edges of my broken heart.
And an outpouring of emotions morphs into tears
as I grieve for a love lost to time.

Daffodil

Dilly O daffodil!
Day is sunny and bright.
Driven by zephyr winds.
Delight of fairy wings.
Dolorous on the dirt.
Dainty one lies below.
Drizzling on cherub cheeks.

Bottomless Depth

Swaddled in frozen silence
In a weather so dolorous and damp
The pores of her mind sweat painful memories
Which take a headlong flight
Faster than the beams of light

At times shaking their fearful manes
As unbridled steeds, they come
Raising dust behind
Making all sanity blurred.
Often, they rise from their indulgent stupor
And spill over, submerging all extant thoughts

They never care to stand in queue
Jostling each other with no manners
They bump on one another, breaking all decorum
Like an unruly mob on impatient wait

Caught in the vortex of a whirling current
Her poor body begins to lose its equilibrium
And she plunges into the bottomless depth
To be choked there in whirling gloom!

Champagne Lady Ii

Conflicting waves ruffle the smooth blue static
hindering the ethereal progression of her path
Airiness sinks heavily to lean into leaden aqua
mistiness lingering, a foggy dolorous  requiem
Practical currents, seem to have lost their step
as winds gust, only to die in competing dogma
Gone again are the gains to the losses gaining!
New rules implemented o’er the old as the sun
explicitly highlights flaws within its blared flare

Listless and restless tossing of the weary soul
aspiring to stay afloat in a much bouncier sea
Denying the salty sting, sways ‘long the bend
yielding painfully to a slower, upriver, journey

6/23/23

Anemoia

Whether it be pernicious hailstorms,
Or be shiveringly cold snow.
It shall be in all forms,
And it comes by and goes in a blow.

Surprisingly it can be an exuberant reminiscence
Perhaps a past full of dolorous tear.
One can only see it in essence,
For it is neither far nor near.

Oh, The wonders it brings!
Deftly leaves on in disarray.
When it comes, it subtly clings,
Be it the month of june or the month of may.

May it very well be a place of fantasy,
Even a song so beautifully composed.
People erratically collate it with ecstasy,
By the virtue of emotions it grows.

Though the memories might not be real,
Mesmerizingly it blooms in me and you.
Sometimes it truly can be cordial,
And is delineated by very few.

Well, 'Tis merely a feeling,
So distantly called nostalgia.
As it may be endearing,
Precisely known as anemoia.

Christ's Crucifixion

This dolorous day, my Lord,
You won't be marching alone, onto
Your crucifixion

For

The entirety of the Christian world,
Is marching on with You because of
Its conviction.







 © Demetrios Trifiatis
       07 APRIL 2023
-

* I wish all my brothers and sisters in Christ: 
 Happy Easter! Blessings!
-

A Strange Change

Confusion is giving me great botheration
Matter purely relating to a brainy computer
Gets placed here to in fact greatly upset,
My ignorance, now, I cannot at all deny
 
Thought of a poet is not anywhere caught
Change like this to me appears strange
A different atmosphere is here present
Spins my mind and my hope truly thins
 
Odd I look and nothing useful I could add
Brain of mine is getting a kind of deep pain
Inability of mine is giving my mind instability
Shock waves attack my mind to cruelly block
 
Can I come out of this trap my dear man?
Is life growing damn tough so as not to ease?
Mood of mine shouts saying I am not shrewd
Feel I very, very sad as ideas appear like steel
 
Utter sorrow makes me never feel better
Tears form in eyes to cancel all the cheers
Heart is dolorous with none to kindly comfort
Okay, life is like this, let us follow our own way.

The Boy Stares At You

THE BOY STARES AT YOU

He is raggedly scrunched up 
Against a wall of sweating bricks,  
Staring at you with as much pride
As life has thrown at him.

You see he has no desire to make
Conversation with a stranger
To his stale, rank impoverishment
But he smiles anyway with false bravado.

His eyes question your unwanted presence,
Loitering for a possible answer
Which may be forthcoming
And include conditional expectations.

He won't break his kingdom of silence,
Where he reigns supreme
Among poverty's sprawling plague.

He waits for you to speak but knows
You have nothing to say he'll understand
Nor care about. Besides your speech is
Foreign to him, so you can stutter on
Without the slightest effect.

The vultures circle above, letting out
Their dolorous cries in search of the dead. 
He and you live but do not engage
Because you cannot relate;
You do not exist to each other.

Among the scattered stones of the houses,
You have found a hidden graveyard
Of dreams where there is no afterlife.

Reminiscences

Liquor some strange
   in cups so Pristine
I melted in sips
 Memories don't fade 
and everything seems bland

 What pierces the soul
 Swallowed me as a whole
 Distance beyond miles
  and some corner in the heart enervates

Emerged from shadows
  and swayed by winds
Speaking in sharp tone
   and looking so contrite
  I wince at pain
   and played the same dolorous melody

Real

A pathetic pantomime this life
The plot going nowhere
An art house film 
disguising nothing as something 
deep and dolorous
A carnival of calamity
My face reflected in rippled glass
Distorted
Contorted
like a funhouse mirror
My mind a haunted house  
of memories I’ve never made
Reciting my lines to an invisible man
who keeps missing his cue
My scenes always ending up 
on the cutting room floor
Maybe you drink too much
or I don’t drink enough
to make any sense of it
There must be a thorn 
some fatal flaw out of frame
waiting in the wings
left behind in the green room
when you take the stage
My past full of actors playing a part
pretending to feel
I’ve never known real

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