Long Abandoned Poems
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This was mine to hold
now it rests within your hands
take it where you choose
I release the reins to you
yet my fingerprints remain.
I leave you the key
hanging from an iron chain
let your will decide
which way and when to turn it
you know which way I would go.
I have said enough
old advice has stained the page
my will has faltered
I can't unring the bronze bell
nor choose which echoes to wake.
The secret has flown
once my tongue unlatched its cage
two shadows now fall
one behind the mouth that spoke
one before the ear that heard.
Freedom bruises hands
when offered in heavy chains
gift-wrapped as free will
demanding they themselves choose
what each cannot bare to lose.
I pass the ember
hand to hand in stark silence
none can keep the flame
alight abandoned in shame
when both wills are disowned.
"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
Felt very strange that a house whispers!
Standing in front of the house
Where I spent three years of my childhood,
I could hear the story it does bear for me!
The rusty gate creaks open,
I enter with hesitant steps,
The once-cherished garden uncared for,
for a long time,
Tall trees have grown even taller,
Bushes have spread uncontrollably,
The lonely swing is broken, tilting to one side.
Decided to enter the house…
The majestic mahogany staircase caught my eyes!
No more the noise of giggling children running up and down!
The dusty staircase whispers the story of my father!
He built this house with most of his money,
He planned to live a quiet pastoral village-life after retiring!
Before he was ready, he had a massive heart-attack,
He passed away!
Looks like the house is still holding its breath
and waiting for him!
Does it really have a soul,
which is still searching for the man who never came back?
Dry Leaves crumble under my feet in
the orchard, whispering a sigh!
May 27, 2023
C Quotes - Writing Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Quote 3
FIRST PLACE
** A Mystic’s Words for the Broken **
The endless prayer
Paces alert in the old cobblestone alleyways
In the nearly abandoned
Neighborhoods where sounds
Carry easily and echo even all
Footsteps and cries —
The endless prayer
Goes on, ready to listen whenever
Called by the Holy Spirit
To intervene, to bring
Voice to the souls
About pleas heard
Bouncing off the cobblestones;
Rattling the old tenement’s windows;
Distressing the attendant angels,
Who quickly retrieve their armor
And join the endless prayer,
Lingering in the passages
Of the soul’s aria for healing
For the despairing hearts
Having lost peace,
Lost love.
Hurt carries the echoes
From the cobblestones to the clouds.
The endless prayer rains.
Drowned hearts have no tears.
Flooded streets do not echo.
The thirsty soul sighs
Along with the present angels,
Who take up the leitmotif of
The endless prayer.
——————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 9/29/22
Thanks be to God…
The gin is starting to wear off as the boat tour comes to an end
Heartache sets in as I remember seeing you and your new mate
I feel saddened and hurt and know we can't even remain friends
Life is complicated again with even more added to my plate
I walk unsteady for miles trying to find my way back
To the little bungalow we rented on the sandy beach
Feeling irritated, if she is in there, I just might crack
Not knowing what to expect as I start to plan my speech
As I get closer, the bungalow looks abandoned and dark
I find my key and take a deep breath as I open the door
To my surprise, it is empty, the walls are bare and stark
I then notice your ring and the little note left on the floor
I feel hurt and angry, not sure if I should read the note
I shakily read the note and cry, I can't believe my eyes
"Sorry my love but I am bored and need to sow my wild oats"
I pick up your ring, no longer a symbol of love, just your lies
" Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house; can you hear the whispering?" - Constance La France.
dilapidated and weather-beaten,
looking at this old house
from the outside.
a graffiti artist has paid a visit.
there are patches
of discolored grass on the lawn
full of overgrown weeds.
it's been long abandoned.
the wind whispers unheard secrets.
birds nesting in trees nearby
sing to no one.
some windows, boarded up.
backyard window, smashed in.
the conditions are just about
the same on the inside.
moles galore on the ceilings.
raindrops trickle in
from apertures on the roof
during cloudburst.
some doors creek upon opening.
the walls have seen better days.
syringes litter here and there;
drug addicts have sought refuge here.
some faucets run brown gunk;
do not drink the water.
Writing Challenge - C Quotes - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date written: 05/28/2023
My heart enfolded the hued horizon of dulcet dawn,
the yearning brush soaked the sunburst colors,
painted a Monet garden for you blooming with my love,
unfurled the facsimile of your floral face, adroitly adorned.
The oasis of my mind dried in the desert of desolation
as you disappeared with the draft
of the squally summer winds of discontent
with the dregs of divested desire, disowned.
The river of longing in the abandoned valley got lost,
the fervent flowers you gave me withered in the vase,
folded your memory within my reshaped perception.
You’re gone, but an empty chair holds your shape, a reminder.
You are now present as a design of my consciousness
that silhouettes your image on the canvas of my emotion,
becoming an impression in my memory of longing,
figuring you in absence with the fabric of remembrance.
Your absence is not a void of quiet nothingness;
it is your shining presence I sense under the starry sky.
As the stardusts of the blue night contour you for me,
your fancied touch I feel in the ripple of your silent absence.
When the lights go out.
When the lights go out, desperation creeps in
Where am I, where am I going, where have I been?
When the lights go out, disorientation steps in
confidence wanes, confusion takes over it's victim.
In the pitch black darkness, depression sets in
knowing lights are off forever, future looking dim.
Living in the dark, is not easy, but the blind live this way
seeing the dark side of life, their normal is our blackest day.
For those with sight, we enjoy the beautiful colours in daylight
but the blind see no colour, only darkness of the night.
They need our compassion, they feel lost, feel lonely and scared
forsaken by the world, abandoned by friends, like no-one cares.
Next time the lights go out on you, and it happens unexpectedly
imagine how you would feel, living in the darkness permanently.
John Derek Hamilton
December 23,2015
They measured my soul
against doctrine
and found
its constellation
too wayward
to be blessed.
Thus I was entrusted
to the reliquary
of uncanonized marvels:
an alabaster raven
whose argent plumage
bewildered midnight;
a chrysoprase chalice,
hairlined with centuries,
yet sweeter
than untouched crystal;
a black asphodel
whose fragrance
outlived every psalm;
and one bent aureole,
still luminous
where perfection
would have fractured.
I entered
the vesper orchard.
Cinnabar fruit
ripened beneath eclipses.
The wind officiated,
censing the dark
with myrrh,
until respiration itself
became liturgy.
There,
obsidian lilies
raised their chalices
beyond the jurisdiction
of dawn.
No scripture
remembered them.
Yet the stars
crossed more slowly
above their perfume.
Upon an abandoned shelf
the pale circumference
of a lifted vessel
remained.
Dust had refused it.
Time had not.
Then every relic
relinquished
its disguise.
The bent aureole
had merely learned
the curvature
mercy requires.
The alabaster raven
was daylight
remembering itself
before colour
accepted obedience.
The fractured chalice
held more heaven
than the cathedral
that refused it.
Your silence arrived
with the faint sweetness
left inside a cupboard
after a cherished vessel
has been lifted away.
Every thorn
forgot blood.
Every serpent
its verdict.
Every stone
its apprenticeship
to violence.
Then the hidden ordinance
of creation
stood unveiled.
Paradise has never dwelt
inside perfection.
Its earliest radiance
has always sought
whatever certainty
condemns first.
The universe keeps its original face
inside whatever perfection
cannot imitate.
I was born in the odds,
I lived through it,
dotted the lines on my path
I was born among hyenas,
these scrambling to stiffen the last breath,
Amidst hurts and hate first from home,
A lot cast in mirage and fantasies,
Hope too soon cut short,
Survival, a struggle,
Unexplainable Fratricidal warfare,
The closer in blood, the more bloodier,
A race without consent
A badge of calumny,
Shot on the heels like Achilles,
Bore cruelty from innocence to adulthood,
Unending miasma, the debacles of a short existence,
Abandoned, secluded,
for reaction occasioned by their own bile,
Childhood stolen,
set on a slippery path as they watch a peradventure slide to my ill.
From ambuscade, they drew their swords,
Their arrows bathed in blood unabated,
Aiming at my marrows,
I groan and mourn in the dark,
Enemies as friends monitoring,
Friends as enemies watching.
This path not by Choice.
I lived through it,
A thousand bands of beasts assaulting,
Into this war, enlisted.
I was born there, buoyed by troubadour,
Somewhere in Africa,
My right are taken away from me,
Where laws are drafted by criminals,
Where the police pay themselves on the streets,
Where certificate are mere papers with payments,
I was born there ,
Where criminals are protected and sanity deemed madness,
Somewhere in West Africa
where compassion is extinct
The survival of the fittest,
Street boys kills to survive,
Scholars abandon politics to simpleton,
Where the brightest are critics and cadres prevents the ambitious
I live there,
Where certificate is a document to escape,
Lawyers now charge and bail for survival,
Doctors protesting like urchins
Poets selling cosmetics,
bankers riding "Okada",
Amongst drug peddlers,
Amongst cultist,
Where clergymen induce the gullible,
In this cage we call country.
I was born there.
Luke 23:34 of the Scriptures, expressed this truth clearly:
“Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
Grateful am I for that divine plea of my Saviour and Lord Jesus Christ
for erring sinners like me.
What a compassionate supplication of a supreme God!
Such exemplifies how it is to reach-out to someone
who offended, angered and hurt me in the God-entrusted ministries
I'm a part of as a volunteer care-giver and life-builder.
Here am I humbled, humiliated, helped, and hoisted
in the exercise of genuine forgiveness required by the holy Pardoner.
Yes, I’m humbled as I admit my inability
to forgive absolutely, readily and completely
…the street child who called me a “fool”
while I was teaching him with my utmost best;
…the orphaned boy who would steal and lie about it,
despite being provided with his needs;
…the abandoned teen who reported me as a tyrant tormentor,
when in fact he was given a gentle discipline
packed with cheer-filled clemency;
…the arrogant pupil who disrespectfully accused me
as a lousy instructor, embarrassing me.
Indeed, I’m humiliated as the Lord reveals to me
my hypocrisy, half-heartedness, and haughtiness
in granting forgiveness along faith's fervor.
Thus, with the Holy Spirit’s conviction and power,
I confess my iniquities while persevering to overcome and forsake them.
Now, I’m helped in my desire to forgive with graciousness
based on the God’s imparted love to me,
bearing in mind Ephesians 4:32,
“…forgiving one another, even as God
for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”
Praising the Lord, I’m hoisted by God’s mercy
in seeking for His forgiveness for my very own sins
while worshipfully acknowledging His admonition
asserted by His Word in I John 1:9:
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,
and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
November 6, 2018
1st place, "Someone Forgiven You: When Is The Last Time You've Forgiven Dramatic Verse Contest"
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr.; judged on 12/9/2018.