Long Apathetic Poems
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Brittle and broken, the eucalyptus snaps loudest.
Pulverized by constant wear
of boots on dusty trails.
Debris of lifeless memories
detached from vital source,
scattered broken on apathetic earth,
pummeled by the passerby.
A lifetime of transforming sunlight obliterated
in the spiraling downward dance of fall,
to publicly mourn its own demise
at the foot of the future,
blooming green and leafy in the sun.
Life starts and bursts so young and eager.
And so the workhouse of servitude begins its tasks.
Fully ripened and heavy in the heat of maturity
then snapping, sailing in the autumnal chill.
Yet in death, oh my, the scent returns,
a citrusy, mint, rosemary-like eulogy.
Eucalyptus snaps the loudest in refrain
to a singular journey at its end.
Extinction For Contest
Extinction is a word that no one really wants to hear
What celebrities wear, is what captures the publics ear.
Truth is often ignored, viewed as dirt, so it's swept under the rug
Facts about the earth's destruction are met with apathetic shrugs.
No one wants to hear about things like "Gorillas in the Mist"
When it's time for change there is always profits in the midst.
Profiteers and racketeers now control all of earth's treasures
Child and slave labour contributing to the greedy's pleasures.
Planet's dying, bleeding fossil fuels beyond all human measure
They pay no heed, live only for today, basking in their leisure.
Soon, very soon, the blameless will be saved by a marked distinction
The polluters and destroyers will be the next species facing extinction.
John Derek Hamilton
January 4,2016
When nylon nights
trade crystal colours
in the stalls of nimble
butterfly wings,
I blossom as an
irenic origami
fervently fabricated
with snowflakes of
greedy gloom,
stealing royal violets
from the smokey estuaries
flowing beneath the
heavens befogged
with indigos, glistening
in periwinkle-arcs of
abstract auroras.
I reminisce those
amaranth stars
that whisper
graphical pantoums in
pearlescent pixels
of plum pentagon-
shaped skies,
as everytime when
porcelain acrylics
get spilt upon mauve
pages ribboned
with hydrangeas,
my orchid lips spin
a twist of leathered
spells amidst
frozen fahrenheit of
frostbit textures.
Painting heliotropic
oxygen with brushstrokes
of peony petals,
I carry unspoken
words of iris,
so that artificial aroma
within sculptured truths
remains caged
behind these dark
magenta carnations
printed upon
cashmere curtains
of hallucinating hyacinths.
Do photogenic pansies
never get frozen in iced pyre
of parched patchworks?
For, I believe that,
drowsy poppies
too have streaks of
wine stories
to narrate in their
ages of ache.
Perhaps, I'm a
glasswinged sorceress
of arctic hailstorms,
tracing phlox-
fluorescent forests
with tropical crayons,
as oiled hues of
multi-dusks flutter
across lavender orbs,
sprinkling mauve
dewdrops upon
watercolor dusts of
pencil-shaded luna
who unlocks
silver secrets
with skeleton key,
washing my bones
with lilac fog.
So, when these
thistle shaded leaves
crack their crystal
cocoons and
the sun sheds its
fluffed feathers
of hibernation,
meet me along the
horizons where
bright Veronica
takes the shape of
the moon and
reincarnates as a
crocheted sangria
memory along the
translucent sleet of
snowy sights.
My skin is softer
than raisin pearls
of mulberry seas,
as my spirit is stained
with glamorous grape
dyes and amethyst-fresco
distemper across bitter
skies has discoloured
every apathetic shade
that doesn't seem to
define my airbrushed
heather heart.
A Dreamer Gazed In Agelessness
In the midst of chaos love relinquished its reign
A plethora of weakened senses pounding within
Like clouds we drifted apart abandoning heaven
Remorsefully begged that an amnesty be given.
If Eden is illusion is there another I can behold?
Visions blindsided by this apathetic frigid world.
Do missed chances lose spark unlike pure gold?
May not buy their way out of loneliness tenfold.
Who can say for certain if one's luck takes hold?
Fate insists that the answer must never be told.
Doubt incites desperation as she began to weep
To ameliorate her grief, I ascend a canyon steep
A dreamer gazed in agelessness counting sheep
Dazed as hearts tenderly reunites in their sleep!
Penned: 11/27/2022
Extended Stay America
Lake Worth, Florida
USA
Written: June 18, 2023
______________________________________________________________
With each blow, I built my fortress strong.
Built walls to avoid battling going wrong.
But within those walls, my torment grew.
A molten fire, consuming all I knew.
In life's menagerie, I wandered free,
A soul was adrift in a vast symphony.
Amidst the chaos, my spirit did thrive.
With every heartbeat, I felt alive.
But as the years swelled and time marched on,
A restlessness within me had begun to spawn.
I yearned for other than an apathetic role.
To ignite a fire deep within my soul.
Beneath life's ashes, I once lay
With broken wings on a somber day.
But fate, in its delicate touch, opted to reveal.
A latent spark that may be revived, with zeal.
Feathers fell alike petals, fluttering down,
When I arose from slumber's sacred gown.
A symphony of grace, in hues untold,
Dancing with the wind, so free and bold.
In golden mornings, kissed by the gentle sun,
I spread my wings, and my flight began.
Whispers of flight, a secret language,
Carried by winds with no baggage.
Each feather has a story to tell.
Soaring high and breaking free from my shell
With every beat of my wings, I feel alive.
Escaping the confines and learning to thrive
Through the twilight's glow, it dances and glides.
A symphony of beauty, where dreams reside.
In every stroke, a story unfolds.
Of love and laughter, of tales untold.
Qi and phi,
Murder and hijinx.
Averting worth to silence the clink.
Yet it is there; impaled through the chink in my armor made of kinks.
I'm a topological quantum knot; if my thoughts were anymore entangled, I couldn't think.
Too much or less would be false so no waltz.
Assaulting the heedless mind with hyperbole or nulling it with apathetic faults.
Adapted with facts fabricated by clocks.
By this insult, I assert a Ballista of rage and riposte.
That acts as a swift handed counter attack.
Tit for tat with the Colossi; in opposition to gargantuan adverts.
As such, I am tasked with being poise and strategic in the face of futility.
But that is what the hero does in every fable; as such it is fitting for mine.
Wielding qi and phi with guile, so be it when my time is nigh.
In there no reason to believe in things the USA could manifest?
While growing up, being an American meant being the best,
whereas now it seems reduced to an incredulous jest.
I was raised believing we were freer and stronger than the rest
and I, myself, felt truly blessed and safe in America’s nest.
Oh, intent of America’s young song, what note failed at strong?
An ideal lyric at the start fell apart as time sang each note wrong.
For too long, only games are played by a congress rigged and framed.
Gone are even flickering shadows of America’s patriotic days
(maybe they lay garbage-trapped by the rot lining her roadways.)
Journalism is a joke, a knife at each good voice that ever truth spoke.
No good person’s sincerity can survive the media’s strokes.
Priorities are lost in the past; good and bad themes did not last.
Now no public concern is stronger than web-spread germs
that breed ignorance clouds to foul real needs with false terms.
How it hurts that so many no longer even try to believe.
Smile a smile, slam a fist, make a hiss – protest;
be more than America’s indifferent, residing guest.
I know how to tie my shoes, but lack clues to subdue
the apathetic fog billowing blogged, social consciousness smog.
A little lie, like a thin veil covering the truth in the night of crystal,
A little candor, like a moonbeam gently piercing the darkness,
Forgetfulness does not weep, for tears have dried on the cheeks of lost memories,
Folly doesn't hurt, for it remains like a shadow silently slipping through time.
So many falls into temptation happen, like leaves dancing in the autumn wind,
As if even dogma is drowsy, like a dream asleep under an apathetic sky,
Ready to die beneath the wet horizons, where clouds weave the fabric of oblivion,
Nothing is seen, for the darkness becomes a sea swallowing the light.
Nothing is heard, except the whispers of the wind telling forgotten legends,
Nothing rises, for the wings of hope are broken by the weight of silence,
Nothing bows, for pride remains a solitary stone tower,
A little remorse, like a pale flame flickering in the depths of the soul.
A little light, like a wandering star on the infinite night sky,
A little forgiveness, like a caress on a forehead tired of thoughts,
A little hope, like a blade of grass sprouting from scorched earth,
Formal and empty, like an echo lost in the valleys of forgetfulness.
Tears are in vain, when the day is fading and shadows stretch over the world,
And from nowhere comes a rogue night, with secret steps and a heart of fire,
Absurd and blind, like a story told by a voiceless bard,
Strong in its axe, like a fate that shatters dreams with an iron hand.
To burn, to break, to cut, to steal, like a thief of time leaving no trace,
The little that love still carries, like a treasure hidden from the world's eyes,
In its palms, with a name of fate, like an unwritten covenant between heaven and earth.
You enjoy
the time difference
don’t you?
Get to abuse the pleasure
Of rolling over
In an empty bed
Dream about brunettes
In red lace
Whispering your name
Without the guilt
Of my jealousy
Constantly pulling at your hand
Meditate your worries away
Drink coffee
Impersonating alcohol in your veins
But preach
To others
you’ve turned your life around
While living
states away
From those you love the most
And even those
You pretend
to carry such warmth for
You knew
All you had to do
Was make me blush
By spewing promises
That you would rather make
With someone else
But it got you
A place to stay
For the holidays
Suddenly thousands of miles
Away
Became close enough to touch
Yet the bed I made
For you
Remained empty
Apathetic apologies
Leaking off
Your tongue
With every
Passing
Hour
While I sat looking my best
In red lace
Watching wet mascara stain my hands
602 hours shared
Between us
Yet no ache
No yearning
No desire to hold me
At least once
You flew home
Discarding me
From your mind
Admiring
My pictures
With someone else’s face
Wishful thinking
She
Will reply to your message
Cause what is there
If there is
No chase?
I hope she never answers
Cause after twenty plus years
your bed is still at your dad’s house
It creaks
With no real
responsibility
Just the sound of
fast food wrappers, movies on full volume
And the door locking
Cause the world
doesn’t
understand you
You’ll trip up
And end up showing her
the vast dryness
The never ending emptiness
That I’ve come to know
When I looked
Into your soul
And she’ll understand too
Why you have a counterfeit
Muscular shell you show off
With iniquities’ virulence infecting my soul
paralyzing my very being along heart’s distress…
I groped for divine healing, assured freely by the Lord
such is joy-filled forgiveness of eternal redemption’s pardon.
Now settled in His love, I keep beseeching Him with yielded spirit:
“Keep me as the apple of the eye,
hide me under the shadow of thy wings.”*
Basking under the shadow of God’s wings,
I’m shielded from evil pestilence and fatal aftermath
of self-centered arrogance midst apathetic greediness
since Christ conquers self-glorifying haughtiness through His sacrifice…
today, as a recipient of His compassion, I say with bliss:
“How excellent is thy lovingkindness O God!
Therefore I put my trust under the shadow of thy wings.”**
Putting my faith under the shadow
of the sovereign Almighty’s safeguarding wings
my spirit is settled in His peace, despite pandemic’s threat
sharing with others the Saviour’s eternal life’s gift…
with worshipful gratitude, I declare constantly:
“Because thou hast been my help,
therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.”***
*Psalm 17:8; **Psalm 36:7; *** Psalm 63:7.
April 30, 2020
8th place, "Shadows" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 5/1/2020.