They are ghosts that whisper haunting words to me - words that I cannot hold in my head long enough to put pen to paper. Like water seeping thought cupped hands, they fill me up, then escape me just as quickly.
A life in tree-lined poetry
Once I was a cook on the high seas and worked long days
seven days a week; Eater and Christmas meant more work
baking cakes and baking bread.
It was not only tiring but boring to seafarers like solid
food that they are used to from home, which makes
cooking into a job of blindfolded ennui.
No wonder cooks turn to drink, the combination
of long hours, infinitely making meat cakes and mash
can send anyone into the abyss of insanity
For my next job, I learned to cook books and found
I had my latent talent how to make stories, to make
the numbers tally; I could sit in a soft chair doing this.
For a reason, lost in the fog of the past, I ended up
a counsellor, a strange occupation, telling the unlucky
not to drink, when at night enjoying a whisky or two.
I was found out and sacked; how shocked they were
the justly seniors took my license and nameplate on
the door, hounded me out of town.
There was one escape, back to sea and cooking stuff
long were the hours when not reading self-help books
until some said: “aren’t you the one who got fired?
I sauntered down an arbor walk
by myself, no need to talk
Yet I surely wished so ardently
to thank each and every leafy tree
Regalia awakens upon nightfall
Roused within rules proudly signified
Routine of midnight procedural
Robe wearer draped solemn dignified
Voracious moon grey devil face
Oak double doors crosses engraved
Vestibule commands reverence
Flung open so mortals can be saved
Behaviour carefully monitored
Moonshine in aisle to alter pointing
Father's guidance Penultimate
Spotlight slides jacketed anointing
Pulpit a pillar of scripture's page
Builds focus for lamp stuck fly byers
Formality chapters archaic sage
Impales twisted gargoyles on spires
Stitched into sleeves invisibly
Satin lining sheen hot cardinal flame
Shape of garment disciplining
Secure bounds by pockets contained
15th February
Fitting into Religion
~ Tree-lined Streets ~
Tree-lined streets
display their wares
brilliant colors everywhere...
I stop my car to stare
at a somber, stately oak
whose branches nearly bare --
her fallen leaves reminders of
warm summer days we shared
the sun shines brightly
on a cold, blistery day
loving the feeling!
Tree lined avenue
Ochres and yellows display
Graciously they fall
In carpet gown, soil enriched
In life they shone, now they're gone
.
A very old vessel lined with gold
They tell me it is very old
Within each crack a story told
To fix this treasure mighty bold
And from destruction's door paroled
A new master work to behold
Its future now is not foretold
A keepsake to forever hold
This old vessel all lined with gold
Written 12Jan14 for contest Kintsukuroi sponsored by Roy Jerden
The emptiness I fear, is all too real,
Still seeing everything as if I was there,
Burning in my hands, the itch on my face,
Screaming...yet nothing escaping my lips,
Feeling the warm blood as it pushes it's way up,
Bubbling against my teeth.
The paramedics came,
But I was never found,
A part of me was left in that place,
To die beneath the silver moon,
That seems to hover above my resting place.
Death...I was never scared to die,
Only scared of what my life was,
Wishing that death would change my perspective,
Clear me of the doubts that troubled me,
Vanquishing all the spirits that seemed to haunt me.
The bandages were always there,
Constricting me from moving,
Like twisted chains bounding me to this world,
Confining me to an eternal life,
Where the light felt like the fires of a thousand suns,
Roasting me alive.
I believe now that the veil has been lifted,
The days just seem to grow dim,
My heart aches so badly from within my chest,
As I feel the jolts shoot through me,
Knowing this existence must come to an end,
That I'm far too long gone...
I've flat-lined...
~An Haiku from my window~ an example for my contest~
snow lined power lines
glistening blanketed roof
fire escape iced
over qualified
redundant and out of work,
too old to fit in -
downtown,it is pouring down,
the umbrella's in the hall
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