He stands by the window,
a glass of whiskey in his hand,
watching the rain pull the city
into little fractured mirrors.
Ten years, he thinks, ten years
since the house fell quiet,
since the brother turned thief,
slicing chunks out of their father,
not with blades but with empty words
and promises that tore at their seams.
Love is a joke some days,
a noose others,
and tonight it’s the weight
pulling down hard
on the bridge of his nose.
He pictures his brother now,
tall, sharp-angled laugh,
skin folded with time
and shamelessness,
the guileless predator
preying on the man who raised them,
left him lighter in the pockets,
heavier in the heart.
And though he loves him
doesn’t he always?
he could snap his neck clean
if the moment called for symmetry.
But Cain and Abel,
he wonders,
were the gods wrong to decide
who bled first?
Some sins stink worse,
and guilt is always tender.
Those smiles and laughs, those wild, irrational cries,
The ease of trusting all the souls around,
That prompt, sweet nod to check parental eyes—
Were these not graces with which I was crowned?
I lived in moments, free from heavy weights.
I did not label things as good or bad.
Was I designed for punishments or fates?
Could I be truly, deeply grave or glad?
I did not judge. I did not loathe or hate.
Each soul could trust and fully lean on me.
No one within my circle was too great.
In my calm presence anyone felt free.
Have guileless blossoms withered as I’ve grown?
Far from my own true self, has my soul flown?
Has "the god of this age" blinded the minds?
Have humans lost track of truth discernment?
Are pomegranates ever called tamarinds?
Don't ethical wrongs call for atonement?
Are there no absolute truths and values?
How can fickle minds decide rights and wrongs?
Why do humans choose vices over virtues?
Why should lutes and flutes sound like broken gongs?
The guileful, like wolves, prey on the guileless.
They look as though they're as smart as foxes.
They prefer stones to gems that are priceless.
With no praxis, they're mere chatterboxes.
Divine judgment, like the sunlight, is fair.
The good ones and the bad would have their share.
The last English king to die in battle
He fought to regain his crown and grandeur.
A 'bottled spider' with a mere rattle,
He's a 'hellhound' with no inner valour.
He couldn't skillfully use the weapons.
He was an alien to the art of war.
He had murdered his brother's guileless sons.
The label 'villainous hunchback' he bore.
Ambition, like a crown, was at its peak.
Deep down, he's a masterpiece of deceit.
What else, except lies, could he ever speak?
With acts of goodness, he could not compete.
Though he's one of Time's finest creations,
Hasn't he shaken all moral foundations?
My boy,
inscrutable,
mystifying his folks,
a live, moving Mona Lisa -
unknown
Shy one,
timid, withdrawn,
not uttering a peep -
we sure would like to talk to you.
reserved
Pure soul
open, guileless
trusts with an open heart
like a flower in a garden
guilt free
Mild child
patient, peaceful
would not hurt anyone -
if but more of us were like you
kindly
Thinker,
keen observer,
silently noticing,
nothing escapes your watchful eyes
wise one
Chose a Title; Naïve Faith, Sponsor – Edward Ibeh – 8-27-25
Naïve synonyms: callow, guileless, innocent, pure, genuine, honest, simple, sincere
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Naïve Faith
Callow faith walks with wide eyes
In playgrounds littered with stark cunning
When adorned innocence
Seeks to soar where angels fly
Not blinded by fool’s gold
Nor looted by evil’s glittery tinsel
Or minds darkened by drugs of ebony
That plagiarizes honesty
With rationalized temptations
In ravished glamour.
Artless faith, clothed by incorruptible purity,
Shivers when simplicity senses
A wrinkle in infinity -
Guileless belief skirts gullible’s traps
Clothed in a gift of sight.
When beastly motives
Try to sideswipe honesty
With glitz and jewels of paste
Dangling shiny promises with dark underbellies
Naive faith, clothed in discernment,
Sees with candid clarity.
The rose still blooms despite attacks
By mold or mildewed rust
The sun still wakes the dawn
Even when eclipsed
Crowned by a faultless corona
As stars refuse to enter black holes
Faith embraces the innocent.
Pristine displays of petals glory peaked!!!
Quintessence virtues of radiance emerge
when crystalline enchantments unfold.
Guileless, flawlessness flowers give us
serenity blossoms to freshly fluff earth.
glorifying days gone by
meanwhile wasting time
i’ve got nothing more than an alibi
to make sense of this paradigm
i’m betting on a future paradise
where starry moonlit nights entice
and sunshine saves the day
while guileless children play
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on April 6, 2025 for contest STEVIE WONDER sponsored by KAREN JONES (Pastime Paradise) - RANKED 2ND
“Thousands of desperate migrants die in the desert and at sea, or fall victim to murderers and kidnappers, as they make their way along the ‘eastern corridor’ from Ethiopia to Saudi Arabia” - Fred Harter in Obock, Djibouti
------------------------------------------------------
Ethiopia through Djibouti
to Yemen, to hopeful life
runs Sun's angry route
A glum path to escape poverty
impulsive one-way journey
fear strengthens patience
keepers turned exploiters to smugglers
dump or sell or kill their dreams
new brokers fill hopes
shifting sand promises shift their goals
'Selling hair to purchase a comb'
no turning now, walk
starved, extorted, violated, yet
hearsays goad guileless hearts
burying truth, lies march
Do what you like or want
But don't go beyond your limits
Don't bite more than you can chew
Don't ride on another
Because you got the powers
God take vengeance, good always prevail.
Use what you have
To get what you want or need
With integrity not dishonesty
guileless not cunning
Reason before you decide
Don't feed your negative traits
Kill it with justice against cruelty.
Nature is seasonal
People, money and more
They come and go at the right time
Make use of your logic
Pause, reflect, then you act
Variety is the very spice of life
Don't disparage any, life is a mystery.
Whimsy catches the wind
Like a fall leaf, orangered and guileless
And enters the house
Like a cat, confident but cautiously curious
To whatever it is that has made the wind.
As she catches sight of herself in the mirror,
Her colorful hues glimmering,
She smiles knowing how numbered her days
While lingering still in the present, ‘till
With a gentle purr and flick of her tail she is gone.
Once a door is opened
The wind will oblige for as long as it may
Circulating in with the new, and out with the old
As whimsy rides on leaving her subtle scent
Musty as old leaves, musky as a Puss in Boots.
Cats are unique in having their own minds
A quality of solitary life
Even as they put on their royal airs,
Leaves on the other hand have no minds
Nor life once they have fallen.
Seasons after all flow like clockwork
To the rhythm of an unknown Maker
Mysterious only in the little things
How long a leaf or cat might linger
On a wind felt but never seen.
(11/9/24)
The Myrtle sits
single, lonely
at the crossroads
adorned
with one hundred
cobalt bottles;
waiting.
Evening soon comes
and gentle winds
blow softly
that Aphrodite
sings
her sweet, enticing song.
Weak, evil spirits;
guileless souls,
will, helpless,
answer, her siren call.
Then trapped
Inside the bottle blue
'till dawn.
When morning sun will
seal their fate.
The Myrtle sits single alone
at a crossroads, somewhere unknown
adorned with bottles; cobalt blue
now, waiting as cool evening drew
soft winds across the tree are blown.
In time, Aphrodite's dulcet tone;
a sweet, enticing siren drone
will lure the guileless souls, where to
the Myrtle sits.
She trapped them all, the fools: that crone.
Fore early dawns, sun's rays were shown
their fate was sealed, and then anew
at some crossroad, where calm winds blew
waiting for mooncalves to dethrone;
the Myrtle sits
Are we but dancers on an unlit stage
Disclosing secrets hidden in the angst of now
Revealing the ups and downs of then.
Singing in the choir of the off key
Whistling past punctuations grave yard.
Our words a chant to taunt the demons
Remind them that we are still here
That we have words and are not afraid to use them.
Do we not hide behind, and within
Each metaphoric medley of madness
Bare the essence of an eager soul
In the nakedness of our ramblings?
Children clamoring for attention
Making mud pies, walking through puddles,
Bravely turning off the night light
Yet still afraid of the dark.
But for myself, I warn you, I am here
Within the words I blend together
A guileless garment maker
Obsessed by the texture of the threads
Stitching errant words together
Into this patchwork that is me.
For I am here, peeking from within the fabric,
Modeling each moment on an unlit stage.
Elephant trunk palms column, canopy claps hands
Undergrowth glad heart shape leaves spiral
Navigator vines map branches, brace boa banyan
Utile duenna diary with my duties conspiring
Chaperone rope binds silent beside my grand plan
Helpmaster holsters my faltering stride, hips squared
Essential weapon for war against mediocrity
Netted fruit bag binds ideas, ripe inspiration shared
Collaboration binges exchanges evocatively
Oversees growth, buffers fumbles, humiliation spared
Unbias advisor straddles drama, miniscule mosquitos
Raised beyond current, stilts lift clear of silt
Above ravaging river, twig leg log cabin cosy kudos
Guileless sunrise server castrates lumpy guilt
Enmeshed mirror wishes bud symmetrical smiling rose
Mentor each moment monitor prods my furtive dreams
Enlivens rainblur haze, unravels twisted maze
Narrows channel between now and zany zone supreme
Twines possible to present, pours zesty praise
Strengthened, gender invalid, my meridian self esteem
9th June
Carbonised Agenda
Quilt mine, like thorny bush, went on hurting me hard,
It said: within this night you should become a bard!
Shall I write: of child unknown, like blooms from buds, born?
Should I write he is, like the eternal seed, bourne...?
Shall I crown His majesty, in my rustic terms?
Each of my heart-beat ever his glory affirms...!
I tried to sleep on hard prickly straw just to know,
How this child felt; I could not, yet, quite undergo...!
Cows I have many at home; goats and black sheep too,
I couldn’t, yet, smell my sheep; Where? When? Who is who...!
One who comes is blessed I know, a guileless child,
Aren't embers restless within, though outwardly mild...???
23 November 2022
MOST BEAUTIFUL CHRISTMAS POEM Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
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