Shadows bruise the heart
unspoken glares slice like glass
trust begins to tear
regret taints shared memories
future burdened by sorrow
Fists unfurl at last
fury melting with the pain
scars rinsed of their ash
the past cannot be undone
yet its chains begin to fall
Mercy a wellspring
cool water for parched spirits
grace flows without price
shame dissolves in calmness pools
a hand lifts the heart again
Yet some sip like thieves
their mouths stained with hollow vows
err and forgive vain
cheapening grace with excess
pardons traded for tokens
Grace is a blacksmith,
burning what clings and corrodes,
tempering the will
its forgiveness shapes reforms
the heart forged to rise anew
Frayed threads rewoven
with fabric scarred yet shining
stronger for the mend
green shoots rise within the cracks
the bond tempered with resolve
Penelope Fairchild,
Penelope bares!
Penelope bears child,
Penelope cares!
Penelope Fairchild,
Penelope fares!
Penelope's fair child,
Penelope stares!
Penelope Fairchild,
Penelope glares!
Penelope's fair child,
Penelope scares!
Ice slowly melts to the new spring
a bride and groom and a new ring
frozen in their best lives
just before an avalanche
The grips of roses and hands
frozen are timely of sands
flaws like a wall of patches
And a cinema of a screening
Into glares of timely oblivion
A horror film of careless stitches
tiny eyes can't see our sins
its the only saving of grace
& we live as the ice wears thin
and we die as the children
have this new world to face.
If instinct could alert beforehand;
Reflecting moments as all stand...
The ought process of echoing mind,
For rights to get wrongs tightly bind-
Assign each voice unto confident tears,
Without been paired with fearful glares.
That, would make a day so bleak off sorrow,
And elegant enough to seek anew cum morrow.
If patience could read through broken glass...
Flexing with a system depicted 'separate class'
That wants eyes to angerily view patience broken,
Just to steer up choler; a muted but flaming token
Which once activatd, consumes the rationally pierced soul
Ought to be veiled intensely for light to be made whole.
If peace could silent memorable pains,
Of a bad day's night battles off stains...
Eyes and dreams won't be easily drifted apart
Like storming mind wreck drowning heart...
And wonder if lonely night of each bad day could come alive
Before dawn without partying, yet make sound sleep thrive.
Snapshot! - a shutter impales,
a life to clicks, betwixt inhales and exhales.
Light into pixels, bloodshot in frames
kidnapped for a ransom of sometimes soon.
Snap! - a dry twig fractures under boot,
its echo resounding in forest shot.
Too brittle is the log of memories
we captured when we said we won't.
Shot! - the Sheriff, not the Deputy,
for he blinked and she pulled a face.
Both instantly aged by taking photos
of bygones not let it be, that refused to fade.
Snap! - of fingers cracked the hush,
a starter’s pistol shot with less smoke.
Called all and sundry to attention,
before all duck-dived for cover behind hands.
Between! - the blinks of eyelid snaps on eyes,
the video of endless life lives on,
in the stares and glares of film not shot freelance,
in a trance that freedom can ever be believed.
How still the waters rage
In stillnesses of day
Moving tranquil on their way
Across the placid page,
While simmering beneath
In silent, stormy stare
The torrent underneath
In boiling cauldron glares –
Between the lines the blanks
Bespeak in volumes swept
Words unheard in all their strength
Speak, where they are kept
Beneath the calmness of the page –
How still the waters rage –
Two guys by a bus stop, and they have nowhere to go.
They begin merging plucks and ribbits into a melting comfort.
Their destination is the Earth, and sedans honk at them.
Red stop sign becomes a resting place for a fellow cellist.
Fair lime crickets play along to the weeds, if just for this one moment.
And the taste of copper and paper is thrown at them in antipathy.
They are not homeless if the meadow’s honey is their home.
Yellow plaid is unlikely to grow here, it is foreign, says the guttle.
Different hues of blue in their familiar magical background.
No mortal whistle in the gale ought to be uttered during the tree’s ballet.
One hurricane lantern is shared between deities, or humans, or leaves,
And you can barely make out the vicars of string and bloodline.
Powder white porcelain glares at the back of their senseless heads,
Resting on a moss bed wearing a dress fly-fish dip in and a bear died for.
With a face made of zig-zags, one of them eats their mom’s snack,
The other swims with a black dog in gin bottles and stolen mint.
What a paradox, cried the wolves; they soon bellowed along.
Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance,
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres,
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.
Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.
In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes
or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?
I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.
I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.
There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
Scatterbrain, I refrain from learning, yearn for better days.
But alas, I feel dumb and dull, like unused clay.
Refusing to mould into something you desire.
If only you knew the struggle I bear, all you do is point and stare, I do declare that this worlds just unfair.
With each shame and blame, I regress in my fight.
With each shame and blame, I regress in my murk filled mind.
Just a dark grey cloud debating aloud in the night.
I scratch and I claw, amidst living yet dead.
Fearing the glares that leave me filled with dread.
Pointing and poking, awaiting for my fall.
Hoping i bow out in disgrace to it all.
My inner demons whisper cruel, careless words.
Berating my spirit, leaving me unheard.
Yet here I lie awake, seeking a break, from this scatter brain maze that
makes my heat ache.
Searching for peace in the chaos I've spun.
Yearning for light, for the battle to be won.
Magical Glasses looking within these lenses
That glares through these hidden shadows.
Scenarios of traps, mistaking fantasy, illusion
Selfishness eluded by compulsion yet gracefulness
and mercifulnedd intervene these cloudiness of
these Magical Glasses.
The Cat
the truth I do not stretch or shove
the haughty cat looks down from above.
she struts about with nose held high,
and glares at me with disdainful eye.
Imagine a place
Where no discrimination exists
Where there is no topic of color or race
Imagine a place
Devoid of judgment and despair
Devoid of criticisms, differences, and nasty glares
Imagine a place
That doesn’t compare
The way we walk and what we wear
In this place, it does not matter
The texture of smoothness or roughness of hair
In such a place, all would be fare
In knowing that the root is the commonality we share
that will always connect us to the skin we bear
Could you please repeat the question? I ask the recruiter.
Would you rather live in a submarine or a cave?
Can I say neither?
He shakes his head no.
He is a Marine; they have rules.
Panic attack starts
Tiny heart in my throat is jumping
I could live under the stars
Or on the deck of a ship or under a tree
I choose neither, I tell him.
He glares at me and sends me away.
Without picking up my application.
It is okay. I might be too old for the Marines anyway.
I am seventy-two
A ring of perplexity around me
nuclear complexity
wanton winds compete for affection
ever-shifting, lacking direction
The night deepens, glares flare
fear stalks everywhere
Is there shelter in her charms
beneath the veil of her arms
How can you say that your dreams,
Weaved into an atrocious scarf,
Is not the one you fathomed,
But at least keeps you warm?
Why do you feel so lonely,
Never could feel that emotion before,
When dusk falls, streetlights shimmer,
And music starts to play?
Where do you go to hide,
From glares and unsolicited advices,
That keep hitting you like missiles,
But never take your heartbeat away?
Why does sobbing and gasping,
Awaken a quiescent part of your mind,
Stirring up a turmoil
That shakes you up from every other slumber?
Why do you feel crushed,
When people make excuses, valid or otherwise,
To realise, you only have yourself at the end of the day?
Leave me alone. Leave me to doom.
Blame the stars. Blame the skies and the moon.
And she is always THE ONE,
Until you meet the next one.
May you meet her soon.
Related Poems