A wall patched with lies
keeps the cracks from widening
but mementos fall
books, portraits, medals, and gifts—
gravity claims all relics
curtains shroud the crimes
centuries of stifled screams
glass betrays the hush
even the floorboards confess—
house itself is culpable
clothes, ties, hats, combs, wigs—
the trinkets of faded grace
heaped upon the street
flames burn their false finery—
pretense collapses to ash
palaces demolished
cubes enforce obedience
bankers on the run
food scraps sucked from rubbish binds—
can't stop the way of progress
rebellion outlawed
truth is now rule of edict
ugliness is king
screens implode in blinding flash
we gnaw at our own silence
mother will not come
her arms obliterated
father shamed and named
we crawl with pitiful bleats—
orphans of our own making
## The Feast
They gather in the shadowed corners of my mind,
A ravenous horde, their forms undefined.
Not flesh and bone, but whispers sharp and cold,
They gnaw at peace, and stories left untold.
Doubt, the gaunt hound, with eyes that never blink,
He sniffs at joy, and leaves a bitter stink.
Anxiety, the spider, spins her silken snare,
Trapping my breath, and tangling in my hair.
Despair, the serpent, coils around my heart,
Squeezing the hope, tearing my world apart.
He hisses low, of worthlessness and pain,
A constant echo in the pouring rain.
They feast on dreams, and visions bright and bold,
Leaving behind a wasteland, barren, cold.
They steal my voice, and paralyze my hand,
Leaving me lost within this desolate land.
But even in the darkness, a flicker starts to grow,
A tiny ember, refusing to let go.
It’s the will to fight, the strength to rise and stand,
To reclaim my mind, to take back my own land.
For though they feast, they cannot truly win,
The human spirit burns, a fire from within.
And one day soon, I’ll banish them from sight,
And bathe my soul in healing, golden light.
There are days when the water exhales softly,
its glass surface holding the light like a promise,
and my boat -
once battered and splintered -
glides steady,
sails catching the wind
at just the moment I need them to.
The storms don’t forget me.
They linger at the edges of the horizon,
a dark smudge
where sky and sea bleed into each other.
I’ve stopped cursing their coming.
The waves still have teeth -
they gnaw at my bow,
leave me clinging to salt-soaked wood,
the tremor of survival
shaking through my hands.
But the wind -
I trust it now.
The calm was never meant to stay.
The storm will rise again,
roaring through me,
dragging me beneath its weight.
But I’ve learned to sail through it,
tilting my sails just so,
carrying the strain, not fighting it -
cutting through the water’s fury,
and moving forward,
even when it’s just an inch at a time.
The sea is vast, endless,
its horizon unwritten.
But for now,
the calm is enough.
And when the storm returns,
I will sail through that, too.
Take away my pain, my relentless thoughts,
That gnaw at the edges of my peace,
The whisper of anxiety that lingers,
Even in the quiet moments of rest.
In dreams, I find no refuge,
Just shadows of worry that stir the night,
Confusion blurring the line
Between what is real and what is imagined.
Surround me not with this ceaseless ache,
This burden I carry, heavy on my shoulders.
While some wear their pain openly,
Others hide it well behind a brave facade.
They tell me I’m strong, that I always find light
In the midst of darkness, that I rise above.
Yet, they cannot see the tears I shed alone,
The endless struggle with thoughts that invade.
I’ve sought reasons for my suffering,
Hoping to find solace in the struggle.
But in the depths of pain, I crave only relief,
A chance to heal, to escape this relentless weight.
Sometimes, in the hurt, I glimpse a fragile beauty,
Like a tattoo a fleeting mark of endurance, etched in pain.
I yearn for tomorrow’s promise of peace,
For healing, oh healing, to take away this pain.
Monsters?
What are monsters?
Are they the things that lurk in the darkest places where you can barely see them?
Or monsters?
The ones that walk among us taking form as people we may or may not be familiar with?
Do you wanna know who the true monsters are?
Our very own thoughts that gnaw at us like a predator to its prey.
Heightening our darkest fears and biggest insecurities.
Making us feel less than what we're actually worth,
The thoughts that strip away our identity as we strive for what's considered "normal".
The same thoughts that heighten our fear and paranoia of what the world considers "monsters",
So much that we don't even realize that our mind is the deadliest monster of them all.
And by the time we've realized it's far too late, for the monster has consumed us
Plaguing our every thought and action.
Now we're no longer scared of the monsters around us but instead of the monster within.
You are always on my mind
Like a virus eating away my soul
The more I try to get you
Out and be free the more
You gnaw at my resistance
Tormenting me day and night
I try gently to ease you out
I try violently to oust you
From my veins
But every effort bounces back
Why are you so cruel to me?
You swore you love me no more
You claim we had nothing going on
Please free me and let me go
Refrain from killing me slowly
We are winded and on the ropes. Backwater banjo boys
strum against us. Clouds feed upon a shoaling light.
A bad day for going out or staying in.
A time to be sleepless. We must live timidly,
or push deeper into a glaring daylight
toward the drugged dreams of the wide-eyed,
go shopping in the poorer parts of town
seek thrifty ways to survive among the striving,
give all our prayers to the birds; then eat them.
Some say they have heard the sky flap away
but many stuff fingers in their ringing ears
and gainsay both the seen and unseen.
There is no sanctuary in night's lean pantry,
the ransacked are laid bare.
Many pick the pockets of the anxious
rattle catch-penny cans on shoe-strings.
Misgivings trespass, tumble ever inward until
reason becomes the reason to flee.
Paltry inklings gnaw at ever longer nights,
and we wonder what ‘tipping point’ tipped
what lid flipped; what line was crossed
as an ever louder twanging strums on?
I am a cute little pussy cat
I love to lie on my mama’s cot
I always chase the ugly rat
That comes to gnaw at my master’s hat
I wear a striped coat of fur
When I relax, my tail I stir
You know it is milk, I prefer
You can hear me sing a refrain- ‘purr’?
On my face I have pointed whiskers
But nothing as those of the tuskers
Sharp are my ears, that I catch all whispers
I have claws as piercing as pincers
Everywhere I freely wander
When I am at rest I always ponder
When pulled down from the border
I land on my legs, a real wonder
By nature I am very cool
But don’t take me to be a fool
Some see me as a ball of wool
Fish often makes my mouth drool
I am everybody’s darling pet
Those who see me give a gentle pat
None can hate me, I shall bet
At night I wander like a bat
I have a pair of gleaming eyes
They are of the shade of blue skies
When I meow, each rat in terror flies
Among cats and mice, there’s no compromise
June.4. 2022
~Placed Second~
Personification- Pets Talking Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
I am a little tabby pussy cat, my master dearly calls me 'Paulette'
I chase the ugly rat that comes to gnaw at my master's hat
On my face I have pointed whiskers, but nothing as those of the tuskers
With ears sharp I catch all whispers, have claws as piercing as pincers
I am my master’s pet, he often pats me calling me 'cute little Paulette'
But my master’s jealous dog, 'Tiger' is my enemy , that I always forget
Once, in pitch darkness, as I was roaming freely, saw a pair of gleaming eyes
Never knew, 'Tiger' would jump upon me in ambush and attack me fierce
Badly hurt, when I meowed aloud, my master came flying like a bullet
In anguish he cried, “What harm has been done to you, my poor Paulette?”
Poetry Contest- Paulette-1
Sponsor - Julia Ward
Tomorrow is coming, it always does,
yesterdays gone left in the dust.
A hungry child dies everyday,
someones mother has cried today.
Children growing up in poverty,
the tears have washed away his dreams.
Her belly hurts the food is gone,
Its been many days since she had some.
The rats they gnaw at her mother's pain,
they've eaten up every grain.
Food is the sustenance of life,
his hunger cuts the bread like a knife.
Vickie Hurtt-Thayer
i stand boldly
in rank and wit
before the midday sun
the noise of my
tempestuous blood
is louder than
johnny’s flour mill
you have padded your ears
to the sound
of my misery
you have put blinders
against the silhouette
of my unwelcome existence
my screams stain
your clear day
my words defile
your peaceful night
i haunt your dreams
i gnaw at your conscious
you wish me away
then wake up
to find me
seated heavily
on your padded chair
you see
it took me long
to get here
it will take you longer
to get me going
~ against workplace gender discrimination
For years he had thought
that God belonged to a secret society
one he could never be part of.
Notwithstanding, he imagined himself a mystic,
carried his soul around as the child of Rumi.
In the prime of life, as sometimes happens,
rats began to gnaw at anchor ropes,
he began to drift away from his true self.
At last, at his wits end, he made a promise,
he vowed to be a maker of words,
words that if weaved into poetry would be proof
of God’s life in him.
Words came. Words not wise nor holy,
but ordinary and every day.
His work was to be this enactment
upon a Scrabble board
a stage where symbols are wrought
from letters and words.
If he were speaking now
he would tell you
that though he picks the letters,
though he arranges those words,
he is certain sure that God will always be
the supplier of all meanings.
Big Enough . . .
This world is big enough for all of us
If we give each other a fair thought,
Commit to living without much fuss:
Killing hate, with which it is fraught.
This world would be a better place
If the wealthy offered genuine help;
Not with some Greek gift mask his ace
And gnaw at the poor like a whelp.
The streets would be more secure
If we jointly defended the freedoms,
Making our intolerance more obscure
Across tribes, races, and kingdoms.
This world would have fewer hungry
If we ate less and reduced waste,
A lot more happy and lot less angry,
Most with less width at the waist.
Our Earth would have more health
If we each planted a flower or a tree;
The needy are paid by those with wealth
To go on a sustained planting spree.
Our humanity can change the world
Only if we all honestly discuss
And realize as its power is unfurled
This world is big enough for all of us!
Nov.8, 2020
Monsters may not want blood,
and they may not have claws,
nor the mandible, drooping—
the smiling jaws;
without scales or hair,
even growling, I dare
say that monsters may lurk
deep inside you.
Still, without teeth
they may gnaw at your soul;
without mouths, they may take you
and swallow you whole,
or leave you in tact
save a broadening hole
that pulls you inside
and reminds you.
The wont of sleeps will may trip on illusive tonight
and stumble on a rhythm
laying plaint and wet in some other dream
Sleep may gnaw at my pillow tonight
as the drug of you courses through my veins
and such capillary wanting
may perturb the stars
and question their romance above me hanging
Aye sleep won't fall so easily
as I toss and turn, burned by your imagery
and you may haunt the dawn
while you call to me
but tonight for sure, sleep will not bless me readily
……………………… but I crave your touch, your kiss, holding you, touching you
.... my aching desire is my love for you.
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