In a nearby village, a man unfurled his manifesto of machinations.
Shotgun blasts echoed the summit until he turned,
cheeks flashing in the biting cold.
A bouquet of flower petals,
explosive roses frozen in time,
sculpture at the snap of one’s fingers.
Satirical Journal Entry #1
Attempting Suicide:
Just The Beginning!
If I killed myself today would anyone notice? Would anyone be at my
funeral?
If so, would they come just ot give themselves peace(piece) of mind over
all the things they took from me?
I guess better late than never!
Hmmm..........
A corpse could always use a loan or a shoulder to cry on.
I wonder how I would be dressed?
Ah....... maybe somehow right before I die I could mangle my face so my casket would stay closed.
-Less opportunity for more disappointment that way.
If I killed myself today all chaos in my mind would end.
I would be in hell for sure
but I know that all this torture on earth would be forgotten.
Yet one question still remains.
Is it worth the damnation?
Yes! I am a selfish !
It is this moment, sunset, the hour when silence is most golden, that I pen this poem.
Above and all around me the trees are whispering, confiding in the autumn air a secret long lost to humanity. It is something otherworldly, unattainable by mortal means, something still sought after by those very few who dare to bear the weight of transcendence on their already starving hearts.
They, who know that sacred truth is there, may feel its rapture without ever being able to comprehend its intricacies, are the chosen, the dreamers, the beautiful, and the damned.
Still I am returning faithfully to that threshold, to hope to glimpse through that door the final truth, the one that will unlock the secrets guarded from us by nature,as if we human beings would always be too ignorant to understand, or even care.
Pure poetry.
And that’s all there is to this breathing silence, this precise moment hung suspended out of time, the closest to enlightenment the soul may reach from its human shell, until the enigma of eternity comes to pull us out from ourselves and place us, inevitably, among the stars.
On the gilded edge of evening, birds sing a song nearly long forgotten, and I am brought back to the very There and Then that only I have intimately known.
There where my heart is happiest, is at home. Then when yester-me watched sunsets and sunrises dazzle glitterly over the town, and believed I owned it all. There where I can be the most me. Then when I was endearingly naive.
I can still feel the sun streaming through those pines, still smell the jasmines and honeysuckles under those oaks, still see the town sprawling at my feet from when I stood atop the reservoir to take it all in.
And I absorbed every last drop of it, became my own memoir reservoir, loving and living a yesterday that etched and penned and painted and poemed the person I am today.
April 11, 2023
*written at the age of 42
As the last sweeping rays of sunlight stream in through the shadowing pines, the sparkles of golden gravel path make the great sky highway up to the wild blue yonder.
On through soaring clouds, above the shimmering stars, taken on by rainbow hopes, carried witherly by stardust dreams, setting forth on moonbeams, welcomed by the sunset shades, passing through the pearly gates.
Beyond our dreams, beyond our hopes and tomorrow’s plans, on to our destined future. On and on, past the dawn, and into the golden sunset. Taken through imagination is the road that leads to Somewhere. Wherever it be, all our dreams will soar free, anonymous forever.
April 11, 1993
*written when I was 12 years old
Fireball rise red lazer ray has spear horizontal
Sending a shedding of angel wing span blessing
Busied birds converse beneath apricot mottle
From dawn huddle, welcome warmth suggesting
Splendour awaiting, drive Wednesday to Pacific
Three beach night stays after so long, a year's wait
Travel to shore infinite, lapped sand map terrific
Coinciding coastal followed day, I'll turn thirty eight
Egg fried ocean, toastily popped tomorrow's coast
Simmering indigo pot turns turquoise shimmer
Crash marvel intensified if today I'm able to boast
Comp entered in June has judged mine a winner
Whilst very unlikely my little poem will number
Against names recognised, English professors
Threw my lines in the mix so regret slid asunder
In the year of realising poetry's divine pleasures
22nd September
I have been doing a lot of thinking
'cause to the past I am clinging
and pondering who exactly I am
am I warrior or a lamb . . .
one thing quite positive is my inking
yet, I must get with the program
have a tranquility some do not get
but past sorrows hard to forget
I push sadness away to stay present
accepting that my soul is bent . . .
I believe that I can change my mindset
yes, will work to end the torment
___________________________
May 31, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/journal entry - may 31
Copyright Protected, ID 20- 1257-150-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to Contest No 780
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
I realized how delusional I was when I was still telling people to have a nice day. But that was only the beginning… The news only got worse.
My pen bone dry. For weeks I had nothing to write. Refusing to address the corona virus aka covid-19. Not wanting to agitate inner feelings and fears. Not allowing the ugly truth to sink in. Quite content to be the ostrich my head in the sand.
Time elapsed tenacious yet painfully slow. The peril instead of dissipating~ multiplying exponentially. Turning a blind eye no longer an option with death at our doorstep.
They call it the new normal as if there’s anything normal about it. People locked in their houses in fear of contact. Alone and isolated. Filled with anguish. Clueless as to what the future holds.
Doing what we can and hoping it’s enough to get by. Hoping for the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~COVID 2020~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 31, 2020 for contest QUARANTINE POEMS sponsored by JULIE LEIGH RODEHEAVER - RANKED 1ST
Dawn comes again with sunny smile,
Seek cheery strains where music styles.
A gift of time to take a trip,
Work beat and rhyme as passion grips.
Bright moments here speak sublime truth,
Intent streams cheer in wonder's proof.
Words that I cite spur fond refrain,
Seize then fine writes to anchor plain.
The gist of thoughts move feeling bright,
See simple plots that sculpts fine sights.
Feel the normal ebb and flow here,
Heed the aural sounds that come near.
Montage sparks clear the happy moods,
Purge then the fear and live fond good.
Leon Enriquez
02 May 2016
Singapore
some men are born to be killed
some men life means nothing to
can old men hold their heads and cry
you can only dodge so many shots
before you eventually take a a few
then it's about surviving
some men have no nightmares
some men only dare to dream
history reflects repeated screams
women, colored men, stars of david
I wish i could let it go
i can not
I wish there were such palaces as heaven minus hell
i don't know what i believe in
some men believe there should be
a balance between good and evil
some men misunderstand the hurt
the hurt then becomes lethal
I don't know how i got here
or how much longer i will be here
but if i don't stand now
i will forever be falling down
i can only hope you understand
my sister says we didn't choose this life, she cries
I don't even know her
but i could feel the droplets from her eyes
some men are born into lies
others into contradictions
some men mean well
other live in a figment of fiction
"tiny thoughts of the black hitler"
How the wind whispers to the weeping willows.
Nearby the lark sings her song of sweetness
And the walnuts and apricots drop onto
The leafy ground. The man sits with his muscles
Glistening in the sea’s mists. He stares upward
Toward where the emerald seas meet the blue skies.
Today I touched and tasted the bark
Of the cinnamon tree. The lioness reached out
To pat at me as I passed by, then rolled over
For a belly rub. I nearly stepped on
That little green snake curled up
Under the apple tree, the bounty
Of the mother earth. The man misses
So much. I think he needs his freedom.
I see it in his eyes. I like the sound
Of the word, full and round, freedom.
Silly little snake basking in the sun
Under that tree. Those bright red
Apples. Tonight with the cinnamon
I found, maybe I’ll make the man
An apple pie.....
Fairmaiden,
how thoughts of you comfort me
as I journey alone in the wilderness
spectacular sights on countryside
only able to share them in my mind
until my return to your graceful smile
my companion horse is no sustitute
for the butterflies that dance in your hair
the beauty of this natural surrounding
can never replace the embrace of you
the warm breeze on mid-day sun
would rather feel your warm whisper
the sweet fragrance of blossoming color
only a tantalizing reminder of your scent...
I heed your call,I need your all
this journey close to an end
only to begin anew....with you
" Circle of hope,full of blind faith "
I walk through the circle of hope
praying for better times
desiring to be...me....again...
missing the joy of laughter
and the shine of smiles
Full of blind faith
holding onto memories of greater
wishing it was nearer
as well as...dearer to my heart
Learning how to accept the bad
with the good...better for my life
......I try....
I move forth with effort
wishing for the strength
to pull through....finally....done
This day marked my thirteenth year
and the wound I received
from a drunken bar maid
shall linger longer
My heart still beats
and yet,
if I look closely,
I’m sure to be bleeding,
my very soul wretched
From beneath her bony fingers
I saw the piece of eight
handed to her by dirty hands
Whispers of a promise from
a dirty mouth
Unbeknownst to me,
he had offered her money
to make me a man
When I was out to prove
to myself and to them,
that I was worthy of a woman
She came to me,
offered me her dark secrets
Took me to a place I have
Never known to exist
Laughing as she walked away,
she winked and called me
her little boy
Crumpled upon soiled linen
I offered her my innocence
And she left me bare
Crying out for its return,
sorrow filled my empty chest
for it’s false demise
Tomorrow, we shall return to
the unforgiving sea
and I shall try to overcome
this hate that is building
inside my chest
Candle light flickers it’s
rhythmic dance
and strikes shadows across this
brittle parchment
The sea is rolling, chomping at the boards,
angered by our trespass
I try in vain to steady my hand,
to write with even flow
The winds have long since
given up its ghostly attack
on our tattered sails
and weathered faces
Yet lines of distress are deepened
within the folds of night
As I sit below deck,
cramped between pickled eggs
and rotting barrels of gun powder,
my mind transfers images of
fields filled with flowers
I can still see in my hand, malted ale,
the taste of which still lingers in my mouth
I would pay my weight in silver
to touch land with my bare toes
And forgive the madness that overtook me
in the search of money and power
Amongst the sea of raging greed
and soiled men, I shall try to rest
And pray my slumbering imaginings
shall restore my hope, my optimism
for the long day ahead,
for the long trip home
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