The jury sits stoic and pensive with unwavering eyes
Set upon me like a lock on prey
Persecution for the crime of being small
Groundless accusation I have yet to discern
Though it seems the world has already done so
I am by fault a timid being
Created, it seems, by a mind set on juxtaposition
I am neither here nor there
Neither bright nor shadow
I stand with shaking knees
Sit with shaking hands
Interrogated for moments or hours
I’ve been forced to shrink
Forced to fold into myself,
But I am the one standing before a judge
The verdict readies itself to change a life
I receive my sentence with salted, glass eyes
Doomed to life without a chance
-s.grace
Now I nourish words,
or the words nourish me!
Trust me now it's groundless,
as in each other's vicinity, we feel glee.
And black nights pass by,
and we remain close but free;
not as caged in a jealous lover's company,
but soulful: that whatever we feel we set them free,
to be scribed into the paper
to immortalize each other's vicinity.
Rough hands upon her,
not near, there, or where,
nor the seashell tip of a fingering care
or other
lack-lustering lapping's
but the groundless clubfooted grasping
of long incoherent passions.
A clinker of desire hammered anew
by the forceful hands
of mist shrouded Nibelungen;
a dross now forged bright
into red-eyed gleams of flame.
She who bears the weight
of such a slobber-lipped changeling
covers his paws
with a tracery of spidery entanglements
the softest spell-binding webs
that break his knuckles;
refining hot bones
into phantom kisses.
For her satisfaction (and hers alone),
she captures that clumping stray
caging him deep,
and he left with no hands but hers.
Don't miss me for I'm never very far,
glimpsing your days from a secret star.
I'm among flowers that grow by your side,
resting on rainbows when hoping to hide.
As stars sparkle in the misty moonlight,
should a lone one capture a naive night,
or, if the summer breeze ruffles your hair,
it's because, for the moment, I was there.
Music you hear in a soft, summer's breeze,
is our song I'm singing to sleepy trees.
If not there, I fly in a peaceful place
where love can exist in a groundless grace.
I often meet you in whispers of air,
the song of a bird, sunlight on the stair.
I'll caress you when time gathers us nigh,
Together we'll explore the seamless sky.
March 16, 2023
for Brian Strand's Number 1199 poetry contest
POTD
turkety, lurkety
Saul, king of Israel
green-eyed with envy shouts,
“I’ll cut your throat.”
groundless, irrational
obsessitivity.
David, the next king squeals,
“I cut your coat.”
January 4, 2020
Contest: 'Double Dactyl (Win For Paid Membership)'
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Wanted sleep – “death will guarantee it, one un-promised morrow”
Hunger panged – “a meal or two skipped, will not ruin your health”
Icky grossness – “psyche your gut strong and start gutting the Ahi”
No appetite – “waste not, and think of all those dying of starvation”
Elevated brags – “you’re no better than other mortals, we’ll all die!”
Never minded a child’s request: do as I say, not as I do, always won
Of the unceasing smoking, lungs blackened to cough a bloody achoo
The whine isn’t always groundless; listen fore you bullishly silence it!
(9/9/20: '01 Regal Commodore 3260; DMS)
The Lies
9 October 2019
Who do you believe?
The eyes that see
The ears that hear
Or the story been told and read
As fast as the bullet
And swift as the eyes blink
The catapulted mouth haunted
The still pristine mind
A time to put this all at rest
Harbored lies and planted it
Each day it grows like flowers
Masking in pretty colors
Finding a good place in mind
To enter metaphorically
Questions would shatter
The mind-boggling story
The tale spit groundless words
Aimlessly drifting at the tongue’s mercy
Lies out now and how it will die
The zephyr of fraud pervades subtly
Now it belongs among wisdom’s gift
For some time stays a believable lie
Metamorphosing into truth
A lie becomes another lie
This week Jews read of Aaron's death
High Priest made peace 'tween angry folks
Replaced their groundless hate with love
This week Jews also mourn the Temple
Destroyed because of groundless hate
~ To be rebuilt with groundless love
Taking Bare of Your Self
Reflecting on the silent moments when the Self absorbs itself
Tim is called preposterous a villain and contentious narcissist
He looks into the mirror ponders on ponds of accusations
Yet hurts no others rejects a portion of what he recovers
No aggression no hurting others no transgressions he simply
Choses to take a good honest look at the prism of his meaning
The surface surges with a splatter as he views beyond the
Grimace of distortion salvages and abandons faulty grins
In the nude he dives into the wrinkled waters of salty tears
Mediates in breathless meditation sheds weight and anger
Takes care of his truth at the bottom of uncertain sediments
Strips groundless fearsome fathom fragments and thus retrieves
Bystanders do not like that he appears to be marvelling when
He only begs to differ from others and himself before he rises
Dissents consents dissolves ambivalence does not retaliate
False censorship of crowds that cannot will not wish to see
When onlookers label in projection and throw a stone he catches
What matters to him and walks away with kindness towards himself
20th July 2018
I am not normal no one is ..
Far inside the feeling exists
Round and round I go over it
Where is it ?
It ceiced to be .. no bell ring
Engraved set thoughts to be
implicated into eachother
As they continue no matter
Links are made and i batter
Which arr the myths which are the truths ..
How bitter ... i may feel if I declare a myth from a glare
Acquire wits
Accelerated emotions ..
Bewildered if not listened
Obvious is already known
Feel so deep I hate to repeat ..
Perception is quick
Subconscious level is real ..
l
Converse and express
The emotions deflection..
With enthusiastic rhythm of convention..
Expecting returned mutual appreciation..
No recess
Just distress
thoughts are making
me feel lovely but also unordered. .. uterly groundless and bounded ..
My heart entangles
My thoughts hurt me , and its like subconcious bullets.. running through my neutral paths...
At last ... its hard maybe its better if you love your simple life , i am not like that ..
If you are me ,then you're welcome to engage and feel the words I now set free ..
We live among the serpents of this world groundless
Inherit the world with many obstacles as expressions emerge soundless
Life is drenched with acid rain
Soon only the trees would be caught in the cycle of endless pain
Lost in the thought that no one needs vision
To see what's being displayed of prolonging conditions
They throw us the torch and the flame is gone
Seasons carry on but the damages live on
What is the world without an end?
Humanity's impact revolving changes that impend
Nourish our future and nourish our brains
Those words transform into found strength to a structured branched chain
I saw all parts of myself within everyone
The destruction of curiosity intending to outrun
Sitting before teachers hearing voices within my head
Put forth into action rather than leaving things unsaid
Hope springs the world's hardest game
But pursuing life in color will be the painted frame
Originally a Russian someone else's poem I translated
I’m doing great and thanks a lot for asking.
Melancholy's groundless in my case,
The loneliness I feel results from faces ‘round;
For apathy, one man to blame – myself.
I weighted every ounce and every pound,
I’m nauseous now, I pondered every plan.
What’s haunting me is like some tiny nails
of losses, errors driven into me.
No more ‘playboys’, enough of ‘lady killers’
who paint the town, prodigally, red.
What price to pay for simply being happy?
To end the life to which I had been led?
Assume it’s not unheard of to be erring,
to foul things up with no intention to,
to laugh my head off when I’m feeling like it,
to know I’m right and, off the hip, to shoot.
I must believe the Happy End is near,
forget the plans and hazard for a bliss
by reaching up for stars to get my own,
A happy life’s the greatest thing there is.
The haunt of an hour
has found my depth
In silent awe.
Every corner lost,
Every raiment fallen--
the history of a snowy mulch.
Every eye flowers
in regal pause,
Softened in this groundless
light.
What words could ever render
to another such delight,
Far from every written home
so forgotten?
Change the story
These words kept ringing in my ears
Change the story
That's not what people want to hear
Every morning you saturate the airwaves
with insentient and agonizing words
disdaining my intelligence
and rekindling a treacherous fire
You have gone down that road before
stirring up fear and doubt
Impeding upon history
And trespassing on my dignity.
You have eroded all civility
spilling vengeance , derision and anger
Catering to their weaknesses
And making unrealistic promises.
Change your groundless theory and
work towards unity
stand up for what you believe in
and stop this useless masquerading
You have been hammering a tale
that is so hard to bear
The chronicle keeps duplicating itself
resonating deeply in despair
The music is playing loudly
Echoing mystics in the air
Change the precarious story
and face the fight with decency.
Who will listen to my story?
It's not a tale of great defeat
nor one of fame, nor one of glory --
and I won't pretend that it's complete.
I've time to spend, still, on this earth
and things to say until I go.
I won't begin before my birth
or dwell too long on friend and foe.
I won't recount the passing years
or bore with lists of groundless fears.
As I review what I've just said,
I doubt that any who have read
up to this point my minor rhyme
will want to waste too much more time
while I expose my life's excess,
when all they need is to address
the short list of the poems I write
to post upon this useful site:
visit poetrysoup.com for you to see
much of what you'd wish
to learn of me.
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