Long Apologetic Poems
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I'm Stella, talking with Luna about my incident
"It becomes clear, when master returns", Luna said.
"I know he could not do, because of business", I said.
"You'll see it 2 hours later. ", she said with fully confident.
And, after 2 hours, my father suddenly came back home.
Luna asked immediately, "Master, you have something hidden."
Father said, "Wh, what're you saying about all of sudden ?"
I said, "Father, first of all, welcome home."
I smiled to father, he also smiled apologetic,
And confessed, he came home before departure,
and found my sweets and took them with him instead of lunch.
"And forgot to phone you yesterday, sorry", he looked pathetic.
"That's nothing. you were so busy", I pretended mature.
Then, he handed me my favorite sweets in bunch.
With a peaceful plot
My Big Game betting tickets I got
It seems they have a European divide that has an opinion for three nations that do try
With the American football putting gold and leadership on the stage
This message should be healthy for any age.
According to my results
That still have no faults
The British are selecting the Chiefs
Since their Liverpool Reds had the right beef
On their way to being number one
In matches that have no playoffs and are there for entertaining fun
As for the Italians Inter Milan
Was the prophet able don
As they selected the art of the deal
With a 49er’s meal
Now there was one that took the middle of the road
Since that was what the French know
Metz made the decision with scoring being the priority mission
Their ticket prints out Chiefs/49ers over 54
And if that happens it will be a nice payoff that will head out the door.
Right now, the half time show is on the floor
And ten ten is the score
It seems not to be a bore
But it is moving very quickly fir sure
With the draft coming here soon
This game being played under the moon
is the final seasonal visual NFL shield display
And hopefully one will say
Everything was worth the pay
But as for the British, Italians and French
They are not sitting on the bench
Since their matches are next week
And continue a heavy message they do speak
With a respectable peck on a cheek
In every small village and town
These games keep the peace before things go down
There are skills learned
That will keep one from getting burned
As tonight’s wind blows outside
Keep in mind of this poetic guide
It is not the winner loser that is newsworthy
Maybe the fact that a war is needed instead of someone being apologetic and sorry.
Carry on all you physical entertainers
And hopefully someday a point will be made to all those complainers
Let our lives be lived with much respect
And put in perspective that lucrative check
There is a reason for all this
And aggressive behavior can be missed
Put it in competition where it belongs
And that is indeed a nice thought for any lyric in any song.
He was tired of pneumonia, wanted to get out there and play in the snow. In an hour his pals would be trudging up the sledding hill with their sleds. He had been sick too many days; he was tired of Jell-o, and his mother's voice being too empathetic, and apologetic. He played with the frost on the window. Wondering if anyone would notice if he slipped outside? It would not take him long to get to the top of the hill. Unfortunately, the snow was virginal. If Mom saw the tracks from their house, he would be in big trouble. He noticed for the first time that the tree shadows in the snow were blue. Fascinated, he pushed his nose next to the window, reveling in the icy cold feel of it.
frosted window pane
blue tree shadows on white snow
my nose is ice cold
Lurking amongst shabby, impenetrable, undergrowth,
cloistered effigy is sheltered from casual view,
languishing, neglected, forgotten... but content.
No longer possessing a name; no longer serving a purpose;
whatever inscription once etched thereupon is
long-since faded, lost to the whimsical wisps of time.
In bygone years, its bronze cheeks would be flushed;
embarrassed, apologetic even, for its very existence.
Wriggled under the weight of myriad strangers' eyes,
recoiled from attempts to elicit illicit secrets,
perennial trepidation of exposure to ridicule.
But that was in the past... before the truth was embraced.
It can no more alter who it is than it can deter
the sun from setting, dissuade the tides from rising
or discourage the Earth from spinning on its axis.
And it has no wish to do so.
Feathered vermin perched atop its head defecate,
careless and carefree, contributing to the
guano collage caked on its carved countenance;
the similitude is not lost on it.
So it sits... silent and unobtrusive; stoic but stalwart:
the epitome of art imitating life imitating art.
Languishing, neglected, forgotten... but content.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Written 1 September 2017
Entered in "A Poem I Wrote and Sent Drifting" Contest, sponsored by Broken Wings (judged 11 October 2017).
(7th Place)
Originally for "Artwork" Contest (judged 6 September 2017)
Vengeance
Life. A precious gift
breathed into the body of man by God,
the Father of all creation.
Life. The perfect gift,
Taken by the hand of a sinful man.
Five bullets to the head
a mother of four dead.
Baby boy lying near her bosom
when home sweet home
became a war zone.
Motherless children
devastation is their reality.
Mother's shed blood
drapes baby’s body,
like a scarlet overcoat…
Malefactor’s sinful heart continues to beat
pumping putrid blood into icy veins.
Minion of the devil,
violator of all that's right
How do you sleep at night?
You sit in court with your head hung low.
ruthless villain, surely you are not ashamed.
Remorse knows not your name.
Apologetic vomit spewed out the holder of lies
situated on your aggravated face.
Life. Snuffed out by your hand
like a candle struck by a mighty wind.
36 years to life, the sentence you must serve...
Step right up vengeance,
your room awaits
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wire rims~
thin as a whisper,
holding the weight of every page he turned,
every clockface he squinted at before dawn.
Now they sit,
empty orbits on my desk.
I lift them,
and the world bends~
not as he saw it,
but as I imagine he did:
The morning newsprint smudging into prayer,
the stubborn lawnmower that refused to start,
my childhood face,
always slightly out of focus,
as if love itself were a thing
that needed adjusting.
I wear them like a ghost.
The bridge rests light,
almost apologetic,
as if they knew
they were never meant to be mine.
Through Pop’s lenses,
the light is softer,
the edges kinder.
The coffee stains on the counter
look like continents he never visited.
The crossword puzzle~
half-finished,
pen dropped mid-clue~
becomes a map of all the words
he didn’t have time to say.
I take them off.
The room sharpens
into my own life again,
but for a moment,
I swear,
the air smelled like his aftershave,
and the light was gold,
the way it is
just before it fades.
Days, goes, in day another days, strawberry, spirit, to honour
Ignite old tyres, that is, choke in lung, keep in the mouth your water “ I don’t know”
Apologetic orchid, which grow up on the tree
Legs have split the steel, oh my God – robot, woman with silencer
Spray hell’s fire some of back , to see, “ Yaydama haytopepabawa---
Aiwa wadi maharsamanaw” forever, on the table,
gold wedding invitation card with embossed print
Run on microscope, said smooth, but quickly spread the symbol, look at
Stars, magnetic compasses, come back or abandon from North, traditional song of captain
Pass the mountain, kiss which be out of breath the suffering, “ my whiskey” ,
at the hospital, cemetery, been prohibited drug, universe, teller about truth, thi’ sa
To sold however price , my foolish, check out , had back wear the shirt, fresh space, blue God,
Tattoo of your hand, breath invited grumble wind, darkness, “ stop stop” here,
stop until ending loudly
Don’t know do painting come out from blood, if know,
new train of death soul, Art lead to the freedom
Thwelt Di Nwe
I was playing 'hide and seek' with the youngsters,
For they needed much to do...
There was Jasmine, Amerish, Harry, Noah
And couple of others too.
Amerish couldn't find Jasmine.
She said, "She was hiding behind that door!"
So I opened the entrance to the ladies loos
And let out a mighty "ROAR!"
As you may have guessed,
Jasmine wasn't there!
But a lady was fixing her makeup
And fluffing out her hair!
I was all apologetic,
Tried to explain myself, but then
She politely stated,
"I need to go again!"
I returned to the main hall
And Jasmine was always there!
Right at the end of the table,
Behind the tallest chair...
The next time I see that lady,
Our conversation may well begin,
"Do you remember the night at the party
When you jumped out your skin?"
Written in 2018 - YOUR PERSONAL FAVOURITE CONTEST
I remember when my feet were smaller,
When my hair was longer,
When my dreams were bigger,
My smile brighter.
I remember when days did not start at Midnight,
When life didn’t feel like a big trap
Trapping me in a small cage,
Caging my innocence away.
I remember long summer days
When i thought love would save me,
When my thoughts were thoughts
And not gunshots,
When my hopelessness killed itself.
But it was replaced by sorrow and mourning and regret,
It was replaced by self loathing and double guessing and feeling insane;
‘Feeling like this would have gotten me lobotomised in the 50s’ I joke,
But then again an empty brain does not sound like a bad idea.
I remember picking chestnuts with my grandpa -it’s all dust now-
And feeling like myself for the first time,
And I remember having that taken away;
And I remember the laughter and the conversations,
And the tenderness,
And the screams and the bruises -I fell during P.E, mom-.
And I remember seeing the end, forever 15.
I don’t -I didn’t- remember many things
Back then,
Memories hit like a train wreck one day;
Flooding and drowning
And lighting that
First cigarette, first kiss,
Always cried afterwards, always apologetic;
The machines were so scary, they checked my brain.
‘Feeling like this would have gotten me lobotomised in the 50s’
They don’t want you to remember.
I’m a wild tulip, bending but
breathing beneath
a star-burnished breeze,
skimming the blazing
silk of supernova dust,
as sirens ricochet through
honeyed silence,
as though no dream has forgotten
the music of my muse,
whilst I sip from
the sky of ethereal ink:
his skin ~ my orbit,
his eyes ~ my ocean,
his lips ~ my universe,
pulling me to the
depths of desire,
for our light sings amidst
stillness that floats through ~
like an aquatic garden,
where water orchestrates
tides of temptation
and trembling tercets,
composing currents
of careful devotion…
O mystical moon,
must I serenade the sparks
that bloom beneath
your cosmic gaze?
I feel the astral frequency
of galaxies within veins,
like whimsical waves touching
the shifting shades
of shimmering silver,
whilst I remain apologetic
for the erased cadence of charm,
unlearned in quietness
amidst unseen constellations,
quivering in sync
with the quintessence
of quenched vows…
I was never a promised island ~
but a forgotten home,
with walls aching to be heard
beyond avoidant acrylics,
framed in rhinestone regrets.
So take me ~ twirl me,
like a swirling sapphire
carrying chaos of celestial flickers,
twisting and teasing
through traveling time of tornadoes…
Forgive me, as I relinquish
the mythical waterfalls,
their addictive affections
falling too fleetingly
for Capricorn captivation.
I am more than a mere vanilla version
of a vision illustrated in loneliness,
sugarcoated in rose-ruffled mists,
when dusk itself
drowned in drumbeats of disarray…