I can’t help the impulse to call you
When it’s dazzling sunlight in the morning
Your smiling face beckons me through
The dark days and nights and the yearning
I know that my calls would be missed
You’ve been out of reach for awhile
But the sound of ring like a track unreleased
Starts to play in my worried mind
‘Grisha is calling you’ was what you’ve seen
Sometime ago, when the time
Was on our side, and it really did seem
To keep us safe underline
‘Judy is calling you’, the sign used to appear
Prompting to pick up your call
What have we done to be exiled from here?
I bet that we both can’t recall…
BANISHED FROM THE ONLY COUNTRY I HAVE EVER KNOWN.
I SAY TO MYSELF, IT'S JUST A BAD DREAM.
14 YEARS LATER, AND I STILL WAKE UP IN THIS THIRD-WORLD COUNTRY THAT I WILL NEVER CALL HOME.
I'M AN OUTCAST WITH MY EXPULSION FROM THE BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD.
AM I DOOMED TO LIVE OUT MY YEARS AWAY FROM FRIENDS AND FAMILY?
OR AM I CURSED TO ONLY HAVE MEMORIES AND LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH MY FACEBOOK AND FRIENDS?
AT NIGHT I CRY TEARS OF BLOOD BECAUSE I DIDN'T HEED MY MOTHER'S WARNINGS, AND IT HAUNTS ME.
It's not that luxurious solitude you can choose against a background of sea or desert, a mythological desolation like in Antonioni's film, with that subtle taste of beautiful hopelessness in the subliminal search for identity that ends with a shotgun.
That's not the case in Cainland.
It's the loneliness of exile into the reduced self, into the emptiness of cutting all ties, and your so-called identity is whatever progressive humanity wants to see, but it's always not you. .
You have to deal with another kind of existentialism, just breathe, and while you're alive, carry on if you can, or if you can't, no one will notice, including yourself.
No press screening, this movie was financed with dirty money stained with oily fingerprints.
The working title was Cursed for the Place of Birth, but in the final version it was changed to Exiled - a less dramatic, more conventional title.
The rare audience watched apathetically in silence, distracted from time to time by the flickering of their cell phones they couldn't resist reacting.
One drunk laughed at the end.
The
homeless,
like
scattered
tumbleweeds,
drifting
from
safety
to exile;
an endless search
for a place
to land
if
only
for awhile;
until
North
wind blows…
cold
March 14, 2023
Contest: Waltz Wave Poetry
Host: Emile Pinet
If evermore this must last,
Through the warmth of sun's wrath,
Holding onto the memories of last,
The frightening night of cold's decline.
Humming the tune of ancestors past,
Hoping this will burn out at last.
Pulling the lever to refer,
The old prophecy's prefer,
For this cold world's end
And to find a hero to mend.
To put off the sun, To prevent the heat.
To revel with him, And to reserve a seat
Beneath the stars and to flee
To motherland Neptune and conquer the sea.
A horror bared, lived
with suddenness
over it all comes an end
for earth people are ego ruled
scare them the holy old
all, poor and rich are money slaved
in near future, well know you troubled
those who feel it are exiled!
Were not exiled from your birthplace my soul you would not have to endure life's pains!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
20 March 2017
* Dedicated to a dear friend going through difficult times.
Exiled - Sentinel
How do I hate this job
let me count the waves
Poseidon’s icy blasts
torment of seadog knaves
slashing at my heels
billowing candle snuffers
intent upon a darkness
denuded of all buffers.
Fear holds me frozen
awash amid the fury
victim of a crooked judge
and trial without jury.
Clanging shackles bind me
in service to the sea
doing time on foaming shoal
never to be free.
4/11/2016
submitted to Sentinel – Quatrain Form – Poetry contest
sponsor – Eve Roper
My love, an exiled of your reign,
I might have lost your love, but not the sense,
Who dares to oust me from such grace?
He who dares must meet my pain.
My love, I'm exiled of your love,
In some other arms I have not found,
Such essence,
Such touch,
My nightmares turning into lust.
Compelled by your grace,
Expelled from your reign,
I was not but a fool!
Turned into your slave.
By your grace, by your grace...
Damned be your grace!
Which allured me to stay.
Damned be your eyes!
Whose innocence made me bend.
Damned be your face...
For drawing the perfect dream,
Nightmare of my nights,
Yet my reason to live.
Damned be your grace...
- Sek Chavira, January 15th, 2015.
Exiled
Marble and steel walls
Hold firm phantom barred captivity
Knowing but empty space now
Amidst the imagined visitors
How suffocating this lockup
This prison of laser-beamed bondage
Rendering ghostlike existence
Void of its creators touch
Living with but posthumous memory
Passion of suffering
Continues its origin of pain
Shrill its captured moment
Frozen its anguish forever
Living on concealed
The Scream hangs silent
In dark gilded confinement
CENTRAL DARK
I used to walk those very same streets
Streets of sensuousness and sin
Those streets which once felt my feet
Those streets where my shoes once had been
The storefronts are new but the cement is the same
I saw pictures of it on my television screen
Those streets are in a city my heart used to claim
Those streets which both books and films deem mean
I used to stroll those streets in the dark
Under moonlight I’d search for my next destination
One street led to a centrally located park
In a hamlet forged of fantasy and fascination
I used to walk those streets all alone
In search of someone with whom I could talk
My feet now stomp streets in a different state I bemoan
And only God knows how much I miss my New York
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
I do my best, but I don't succeed
I get what I want, but not what I need
and I'm so tired, but I can't sleep
cause when I do, I start to dream
what is it you feel when I touch your face?
what you're looking for, and have replaced
what I feel all tossed like discarded waste
I've played it wrong, and made mistakes
you said when I come, I bring the rain
no afterglow, or sweet refrain
from my love you will abstain
exiled from your heart's domain
Sent to the dreary realm that is now my home
Made to seem I had no choice of what I had to lose
Only memories of my mind which I am left to roam
A captive of a battle, a judgment I could not refuse
Maligned by twisted truth, betrayed by ones most trusted
My voice muted by a flow of tears, and told not speak of it
I watch the ship drift away, as the winds of treason gusted
With the dagger of deceit, the most solemn vow was split
I stand alone upon the shore and gaze at what was my land
I look down and see a reflection to see a truth I cannot declare
The truth within my eyes and its sand falling from my hand
To even the balance of justice, the sins I am thought to bear
I cry to the powers, the virtues, and to the Throne
To guide me though treacherous waters, and help me atone
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.