then ...
we watched
a world weeping
blood …
a villain's twisted hope
humanity's horror
steel like butter
melting …
strange birds in stranger
air - flailing …
sirens in chorused agony for
those whose voices
were silenced …
perfect azure vault, stained
with poison ...
breath of ashen
brutality -
the incense for an
evil anointing …
a somber search for
survivors -
for bodies, answers, hope
for God ...
death screamed at
the sky and
opened the keep -
truth tumbling into the
darkness …
two decades down, yet
it still trembles
whispers ...
waits.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photograph of twisted metal taken at backside of Ground Zero by Anne Buber )
You came and lingered into my life so early
Through recitation, you dwelled upon me
You played a big role in my stage of growing up
When I learned many poems to gesture
Innocently, I was joyfully seated on your lap.
Appreciation to your splendor promptly started
At young age, rhymes easily retained in my head
If sometimes I needed to share some ideas at school
And reflections on bible verses at churches
Mostly were expressed in rhymes… so fun, so cool.
At teen age years, when I’d an infatuation or crush
My scribbled short rhyme poem was sent in a rush
One of those boys sent me back his reply
My joy was flailing high for it was love letter in rhyme
After a year or two, I found out, a song of Air Supply.
Ever since I was in the field of my profession
You’ve been a great help as I impart skills, my vocation
I’ve compositions for my children’s choral recitation
Written in English and in our own language
For our class, campus programs and competitions.
My dearest poetry, you’re my best buddy
In all seasons, you’re here for me
To light my path, giving powers or energy
My forever gratitude for your company
You’re my precious gift from our God, Almighty.
I am flailing in the mud.
At last, it seems I am crawling out.
Yet someone pauses
To watch me.
The sun.
But it watches me far too deeply.
It grows hotter and hotter.
At the very moment I am about to emerge from that mire,
I end up turning into a statue.
Someone passing by wonders,
"Why is something sticking out here?"
That something was me,
Yet they step right over it,
And the mud
Grows only harder.
I am no longer even the presence of a statue;
Now invisible,
I have become the very earth itself.
When spring comes, flowers bloom,
But when winter arrives,
The flowers of spring inevitably fall.
The Pensive Poet Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The Pensive Poet
Last winter it was me,
enveloped safety-
turned into
impromptu dancing-
taking risks,
forgiving
flailing arms
and untamed feet.
Others sidelined
watching,
with faces
that ask-
"How do I get
from here,
to there?"
Today,
camped out
in my chair-
head
overworked,
the body
betraying me-
paralyzed into
perfection,
inspiration fleeting
demanding it be
taken
as is.
Momentarily forgetting,
Two things
can be true
at once
being both
the dancer,
undulating and sinuous,
and the
third grade me,
stalling...
hesitant to jump
into the double dutch.
Hope empowers our ambition
A steady light directing our drives and vision
A high-octane fuel for our resilient emotion
To fulfill every goal with self-motivation.
Ambition with hope propels our action
As we go through life’s road, we’ve direction
Hope brings faith and firm conviction
That efforts are rewarded with great satisfaction.
Set our highest goal then without restriction
Fulfill it with love, empathy and cooperation
Hope doesn’t come in the light for selfish ambition
Success comes from others too, Dear. Pay attention!
With our strong bond formed, a mutual connection
Like balloon of hope tied to a string of goal, no depletion
Ambition followed along on a right trail and mission
New dawn will rise for our achievement, completion!
While we’re on our journey to our goal through education
Lift our flailing hope-balloon on string-goal for reflection
Be a paradigm to others with humble devotion
For brighter future of all at present to next generation.
. snake held
. by its tail
. pinched between
. fingers of arm extended
. whips around fangs uncoiled
. striking here biting again
. scything in circles lunging here and there
. flailing like a yellow pac-man gulping at air
. chasing the hand
. that taught it
. to circle
. lying at
. the core
. of the maze
. hungry
. for
. more
This house has been set ablaze; ashes rain like snow,
covering what has become my deathbed.
A weighted blanket of ruins lies heavy upon my chest.
Laboured breaths and the taste of soot coat the back of my throat,
stifling oxygen from reaching the whites of enervated eyes.
Blue-tinted lips incoherently whisper, flirting with my demons,
living in purgatorial gloaming
whilst my spirit hovers between diminishing light and shadows.
Reality blurs, amalgamating with hallucinations
where demons dance in a macabre ballet,
reenacting repressed sorrows,
torturing an undead heart to the brink of insanity.
With each twirl, each act, tales of desperation are etched onto flesh.
Riverlets of blood stain the sheets bright red,
as tourniquets are nowhere to be found.
There is no way to halt the flow;
emotional instability will be my bloodletting.
Every second ticks by a little quicker
until each heartbeat grows fainter.
A clenched jaw relents,
eyes roll backwards,
and a damaged soul is severed from its mortal coil,
yet its fate is left undetermined,
flailing in the in-between forevermore.
When the aching intensity of indecision
Nails your feet grasping to the buckling floor
And your outstretched arms are too weak to fight,
Summon courage from the flailing, swirling air.
Gather yourself and lean into Light.
When fear has curdled what’s left of your brain
And no passage of time will ease the pain
And you’re sitting in darkness with no means to fight,
Summon inner wisdom from your beating heart.
Gather yourself and lean into Light.
When the circle is shrinking; no friends left in sight
And you sit alone on the sharp edge not knowing what’s right
And you rail at the darkness, both fists in the air
Summon your anger at what brought you there.
Gather your courage, return to the fight.
Reach for Power and lean into the Light.
It’s all an illusion, a mere trick of self-deception.
Stop telling yourself you are powerless and small.
In every atom of your body, every song of your Soul
Power rises and falls as you summon and call.
You have all you need. You are streamlined for flight.
Reach for Power and lean into Light
Salty silver silence sips soul
Communicating amethyst anger
The heat fuming like red volcano
Words like white vinegar oozing
Careful what you say during erosion
Can cause damage explosion corrosion
Passion painted with tar and heavy heart
Lighted ignited with precision you spark
When upset you are a ball of liquid fire
Splashing thrashing flailing failing desire
I’ve learned to navigate stay out of way
to ride the tide of your temper one more day
I desperately gasp for you to save me,
as your indifference begins to remove all remaining traces of oxygen from my searing lungs.
Asphyxiation becomes more imminent.
Cortisol burns through tearing muscles,
ripping the marrow from aching bones, flailing to tread water.
Exhaustion floods in; saline-soaked clothing weighs heavier.
A siren’s call pierces through obscured waves,
crescendoing under a stygian sky,
tempting me under.
Dread replaces pleading.
Hope of survival is now beyond any comprehension.
Your voice no longer lingers;
it’s superseded by forceful whispers:
“If to love you, I must drown.”
Realisation hits like a tsunami crashing upon an unsuspecting ship.
To truly love you, I must love myself.
You were never my salvation.
So I must drown in this sickening sea of anguish,
let all the trauma pull me down into sheer oblivion.
Feel my body thrash as the light leaves my submissive eyes.
In order to be reborn, I must ascend way below.
Are we the shade of the shadow
or a shadow in the shade.
Are we sashaying toward pinhole dreams?
While trudging above an open grave.
It all seems like a giant garish gothic play
acts and players hand-picked centuries in advance.
Hobbled masses humbly kneel on crumbs to pray.
Realizing opinion nor ballot was ever worth a damn.
These two-legged, greedy, greasy snakes.
Eyes made of slag have no vacancy signs.
Clogging up our gossamer soul veins.
They're here to minimize, intimidate.
Project, disappear, dismiss, assassinate.
Straitjacket the masses with normalized madness.
We, the people, are not the ones playing God.
Poisoning water, field, sky...
Smiling in the light while eating innocents.
In the shadow of ritual and sacrifice.
These devils openly mock and taunt us now.
(byproducts of a boiling swamp).
Yellowing the face of flailing freedom.
A billion greenbacks can galvanize
such audacity and shallow bravery.
Of these deeply soiled oligarchs
and pathetic plastic kings.
dark asphalt circle—
no off-ramp option to choose
stuck on nowhere's road
spinning through the roundabout
hands and arms flailing wide out
no signal blinking
hope loops through endless replays
needle stuck in groove
I can't find the exit sign
to guide me outta here, now
on and on I drive
without a destination
without a signpost
watching the fuel gauge drop
Mary Poppins
came elegantly
down to Earth
on obliging clouds.
powdering her nose.
Along with her wealth
of imagination,
she carried her carpet bag.
Other nannies
blew away with
flailing, flapping,
black, boring
umbrellas, more
useless than parasols.
There is only
one Julie Andrews.
All children
deserve her lessons.
Glaring sun blinds me
Lilliput figure hastening
Optimizing invisibility
Disguised by grains of sand
Hitting my eye
Visual assault
All to scuttle sideways
Robes flailing
Vacuum vortex shimmering
Cleopatra screaming
Asp fang flashing
History repeating
So transforms the desert
Page after page
Of the book of mirages
Slow zoom out
Watching the pyramids
Hiding the truth
to dance to the Beatles
in our kitchen
this ugly spider
of a chandelier
hangs too low
for me to properly
leap in the air
to ‘Twist and Shout’
which demands
lots of wild, erratic
arm-flailing
and hopping about
my son says I look
ridiculous
when I dance
but he is eleven
and everything I do
is ridiculous to him
and beyond
embarrassing
but when I’m cleaning
the mountain of dishes
that accumulated
in half a day
I need a little incentive
and who leaves a hammer
on a kitchen counter
and walks away?
My husband
George Harrison:
you do it for me!
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