It’s not sweet as the Asian koel’s song.
The red-wattled lapwing voices its irrecoverable loss.
The bird’s sorrow scalds the night.
It was brooding in the serene scrape nest.
The black blotchy eggs camouflaged with the pebbles and sand,
yet they weren’t safe from the predator.
The motherese and the fluttering dream in the shell ended in an omelet.
The hunter never enjoys the art on its plume
and the charms of its black-tipped red bill and long slender yellow legs.
He mistakes everything in nature is for his pleasure.
The avian anguish doesn’t roust him.
His heart is so, the real and origami birds are alike.
Its doleful cry continues,
darkening the moonlight.
Who cares for it in the world of hunters?
First published in The Literary Hatchet
A real dumbfounding beauty
But there her fault lies:
The Fuel igniting The Haughty.
Once ready her victim cries;
The Sour she takes for The Fruity,
However careful Correction tries
And prolonged praises for The Naughty,
Even as irrecoverable time flies!
A hell of A Staggering Beauty
But her enemies are more than forty,
All praying that earthly beauty die
With answer for those who ask “why”
Die! Earthly Beauty do
On your death-bed just You!
Ink
with acuate nib
you trace my skin,
inscribing the slimmest contours
next to your old scars
what is this book you write
in blood and darkness
what shadows your mind
and guides your pen to slaughter
that you want to see me
unhinged, demented,
vanished into your words,
irrecoverable
do you crave the death
you cannot have
so much that
you must find it
in others
scratching at me
with furious strokes
as if to blot out
your own poison
until I am made
a volume of nonbeing,
indited in scars,
obliviated by ink
Say It Today
Written: by Tom Wright
5-25-2019
Some people I know tend to procrastinate,
Storing words for a time that may not arrive.
They accept other opinions without debate,
While some days find their tongue in overdrive.
Words placed today on the mind’s back burner,
Are often irrecoverable and remain unsaid.
No earth born man is a thought discerner,
So should words be spoken or reserved instead?
A heart that falls at the mention of words
A mind so strong, made meek
Questions I pose many, to forget
The moment dreaded now, a memory later
Life tears but threads to sew.
A halt offered absence to yearn
Appreciated value found in a return
My day cured by a nurturing art
All the woes diminished by a pen
Giving up is an option lost again.
The eyes of another may not meet mine
Differences, a speciality that entices rivals
Walking away, often denied by impulse
Amends made through unspoken lines
The hate shown confused by a love that grows.
Pertinence does the detail show
A thought offering a brighter hue
Freedom yielded, by progress
Confidence stealing time, irrecoverable
Modesty enabling an opportunity to hone.
Emotional instability, concealed through expression
A fearless smile thriving, in the knowledge of a reprieve
The weight that drags, converted to suspenders
My destiny I pursue - the writings, my own.
my first time
by
Jude Kyrie
She was not a fresh faced
honey girl from my class.
Nor a woman who
took money to rid
college boys of their virginity.
It did not happen
fumbling in the back of a car.
Or lay in the grass of a meadow
under a moonlit sky.
It was in her small walk up flat
up three flights of dimly lit stairs.
I can still feel my legs weaken
in anticipation of the unknown.
Inside the untidy table
had a full ashtray
a half bottle of red wine.
A Picasso reproduction
Gargoyled from the wall.
She was full of experiences.
That I could only imagine.
She pulls a strip of condoms
from her night table.
The bedroom window
open wide
the summer breeze
whispered
Hush Hush.
It’s your time
It’s your time.
She took me softly.
Gently almost like a dream.
I cried out as my boyhood left me
draining into her
in its irrecoverable loss.
Outside the breeze
had turned to wind
Blowing my
uncertainty and doubts
far Into the night.
She was my teacher
and I her avid student.
Later the door closed
as I left her.
Her memory now
indelibly burned
onto my soul
Requiescat in Pace
Written: by Tom Wright
February 2015
At the outset,
Tears start like dew from a tender leaf,
Then transcend into a torrent;
A mind is a library of thoughts,
Neatly categorized,
Until this contrary wind blew;
Rummaging through past thoughts,
Has left me feeling careworn,
Without experience or wisdom;
As I drift betwixt illusion and realism.
Confusion is cursing my mind,
Leaving pools of passion that sting.
My innermost thoughts are pillaged
As if dementedly abducted;
A short time of elation,
Fails to rid me of a lifetime of sorrow;
If something is truly irrecoverable did it ever exist?
While seeking transition to an amended life,
I realize, that pardon sits roadside,
Going nowhere,
As long as resentment drives the car;
to live a life honoured
is in a rear-view mirror
a post-mortem
a dissection of a dead life
a life past
but to live a life daily
to grasp every gasp
and to hold it
to hold it in
to savour the flavour
of living a purpose
daily
gaily
going about our business
as the sand slips
through the neck
nothing to grip
irrecoverable
\it’s gone
like a deer in the headlights
- a glimmer of emerald eyes
as it fleetingly flees
and disappears
like an idea
yet we look forward
not back
in hope,
not lack
two birds
from a distant land
wandering in the wilderness
with their distorted wings,
a pitiable pain and hapless heart
... life had become a meaningless art
damages were irrecoverable
she was a blood splattered queen
and his had a fallen dream.
two perfect souls
living in imperfection...
till they met each other
love flooded their heart with eternity.....
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