In anticipation of a major
Cleaning of our floors,
I’ve begun to whittle down my stuff,
The toughest of the chores.
I thought I tossed a lot of things
And worked with true devotion
But my husband says it’s like I took
A teacup to the ocean.
If he took charge, there would be
Nothing sentimental left
And yes, it would look better
But would leave me quite bereft.
He’ll have to wait until I die
And, if I predecease,
He can empty our apartment
And live emptily in peace.
Whatever
Seems to happen
Happens emptily..
Empty expressions of
Starts and stops..
The starts and stops
Tell the stories
Of longing and
Discovery arising
Spontaneously...
He always endeavored to win alone
And over the years, his methods he honed.
He projected strength and never seemed evil,
But others (to him) were throw-away people.
Most were people he barely knew,
And some were souls whose use was through.
A few were kinfolk that he knew well.
But in the end, they also fell.
People resented his wiles and ways
That he achieved his selfish goals each day.
He lied, cheated, and encroached upon rights,
So that he could win his impossible fights.
Lives were destroyed and futures were lost,
Leaving many with deep emotional costs.
But now he’s alone after merciless toils,
With no one to love and share his spoils.
He is an ostracized soul who won alone,
Now emptily reaping what he has sown.
PREFERENCE
the succulence
on display
arrestingly
different
a
timeless
exactitude
alongside
luscious
beauties
concoctions
of symbolist n
abstractions
simplified lines
emptily idealised
yet
authentically
expressed
& depicted
if
somewhat
in absurdity
of
an exploration
of the sensual
in
the of
conscientious
to make
a startling
masterpiece
illustrating
&
portraying
a naive
fantasy
The road suddenly divided
I needed the river
Her two arms replete
with hyacinth of
empathy
Emptily
I kept looking at, now
at one direction
then at the other but
the envelope didn't part
I needed the river so much
Her foamy murmur
into my elongated ears
to interpret what
the cherry was
With the third
eye at the roses
tinging dry thorns
pricking my brain cells
I select the leftward turn
___________________
26 October 2022
Soul Starving in the Midst of Plenty
By Sy Roth
Just a slit where air,
Some air can find a way to creep in
Replenish the foul exhalations of the horde
Crammed to the rafters
Airless beings
Dazed by the machinations of others
Deus ex machina
To starve them of what is fresh to others.
Clickety clack fly the miles
Unasssuming chorus of the rails
In tandem with their moans
And groans, seeking some small blast of air
To mollify a condition
That binds the soulless traveler to a fate
Yet unknown.
Little blink of light
And the hungry molecules
Bits of flotsam
Find ways to crawl to it,
To beat a path toward the light
Which may bring air to starved lungs.
Alveoli beg sustenance
But their cries rain down emptily,
Empty against the clicking and clacking from below
And the miles of breathless wonder
At their condition.
Too heady to begrudge the snakes that found
A way to slither to the errant light,
And for brief moments
To catch wisps of smoky air that cleanse
For an augenblink,
A soul starving in the midst of plenty.
Center>A finely wrought origami bird,
each feather a flightless paperweight
each wing a flexion of stasis.
I wanted it to come to my hand,
when I thought about that
my fingers fluttered emptily
like paper sparrows.
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
You broke my trust
Abandoned your promise
Cunning and with piercing precision
Maneuvered a missile under ruse of naivety
A veil of dysfunction draped over habits of deceit
Your claim to be a victim of abandonment
Fulfils its mission of chaos and hurt
With boundaries crossed
I was meant to walk
Emptily dancing to shadows
Like a puppet on your sordid strings
Surrender to whims of destruction and pity
The mirror of honesty shattered from acid attacks
Callousness cast its venom and naked attack
I like to walk barefoot so I reverse back
Leave your caustic cause
02 February 2020
When she first energetically read about Energy
She realized she was also less emptily
aptically
entropically studying absence of NegativEnergy.
As she became a more PositivEnergy Mentor,
She noticed she was unbecoming
a NegativEnergy pathologist.
As she became known
as a community-rooted steward
facilitator
guide for locally-owned PositivEnergy resilience
She understood she was also divesting
from WinLose chaos
ZeroSum anarchy
climate pathology.
As she became internationally famous
as Queen of cooperatively-owned PositivEnergy Soul,
She became bilaterally conscious
of WinWin locally produced solar panels,
wind turbines,
surfing hydropowers
refueling Green EcoSchools
and villages,
landscaped roofs
and community gardens
inviting and producing
waterfalls of cooperatively-owned
resilient Green Grace.
Nos so much Red RightWing extractive
patriarchal DisGrace.
Hollow eyes gaze emptily
trapped behind times window
in a futureless past
He is not gone
yet I grieve
Lost, he wanders
in the labyrinth
of elusive memories
He is not gone
yet I grieve
Reaching to touch
a fading sunset
alone
He is not gone
yet I grieve
As the light flickers
he struggles
in death’s infancy
He is not gone
yet I grieve
©7/5/2018
for Fragmented Verse Poetry Contest
the storm has come and gone
leaving in its wake
a nation searching its soul.
decent folk pick up the slain
from debris strewn streets
and lay them to rest in the fields.
though the guns have fallen silent
spoilers emerge from dark streets
stoking ambers of hate, beating war drums
they bury their atrocities in waters
and hope it washes away into the ocean
but no ocean could wash away blood of the slain.
brethren come forth
bring some comfort
to the heart of widows
who with vacant eyes
grieve inconsolably.
brethren come forth
bring some comfort
to the heart of orphans
who with teary eyes
gaze emptily.
brethren there is a wound
in your soul too
festering, it burns for healing,
brethren there is an emptiness
In your soul too
lingering, it yearns for forgiveness
brethren if you come forth
with contrition and tell your story
maybe, healing comes tomorrow
I see a flame so fragile
glowing in the dark
it dances softly to the blowing winds
of reconciliation for victim and perpetrator.
Standing silent,stark and black
Its eyeless sockets staring emptily
Over the London skyline
The fiery tomb of so many
Devastated,distraught and dead
Homes that became Hell
Flames roaring hungrily upwards
To devour figures silhouetted at windows
Their outlines sharply etched
In the minds of helpless onlookers
Their screams to re-echo in their tortured nightmares
While the billowing black smoke choked
Those who heeded the fatal advice
To stay indoors.
Tongues of flame licked greedily at the doors
Seeking whom they would devour
Sirens wailed as did escapees and onlookers
In grief and frustration
Battling against the searing heat
Selflessly entering this torch of a tower
To drag to safety those they could
Putting their own lives on the line
The firemen battled on
Until they could do no more
And now the shell is silent as the tomb
The inferno sated and finally suppressed
Anger now flares up to identify
Those who left the community
Defenceless
Against this avoidable tragedy
It was inevitable that the building's shortcomings
Would claim its quota of victims
To the shame of those who should
Have known better and were forewarned.
On my bed, I lay,
Good old days on my mind
The bad past haunting me
He tip-toed into my bedroom.
My eyes stared at him, emptily
My blood pressure shot up
I wanted to scream for help
But, he put his index finger to his lips,
And urged me to be quiet.
He came closer
Clicked my stone-hard breasts,
I shrieked,
A wave of excitement ran down my spine.
He patted my forehead,
And blessed me beforehand
He ran his filthy hands
allover my thirteen year-old body.
I had agreed to maintain the silence.
So, I urged him on.
My left leg, he pushed northward
My right leg, he pushed southward.
He touched my cave,
And discovered a magic button.
He pressed it, and turned the lights on.
He pressed it and turned the lights off.
He ripped his jeans open
And pulled out his short stabbing spear
His spear forced its way into my cave
I was lowered into immense pain
I cried aloud, and he slapped me
Up and down, he jerked
His back arched
His toes curled
Ah, He gasped at last,
And fell on his right side, satisfied.
My crib was soaked in blood,
I was defiled;
But I wasn't!
I allowed it!
They say that, in your dreams,
a polar bear represents a reawakening….
And there;
In sight;
With the full moonlight off white in the night;
Reflecting a scene
of extrasolar plight….
Atop a very tall dirt pillar; a plateau;
Was a dead,
more than half rotted
polar bear
lying on its back—
Skeleton totally exposed….
Partly decomposed;
Half white/
Half hacked—
Face half on
like the matter of fact.
Emptily gazing at the stars.
I looked at the bear;
Then leapt off the plateau
soaring into that night.
That curious night.
So clear— and concise!
So wildly, peacefully, full of advice.
So scary
So lonely
So nice.
At least I can fly in my dreams.
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