Long Bear down Poems

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Lyrical Journey of a Lover through Taiwan-I

If you are the vast, ever-changing ocean,
I will be the sturdy mountain, holding you close, 
Embracing your gentle morning waves with care,
And welcome your crashing tidal surges in the evening without fear.

If you are the radiant sun that brightens each day,
I will be the mighty Hehuanshan peak, basking in your brilliant rays,
Creating a vast space for all to admire your dazzling glow,
Let your eternal, loving warmth follow us wherever we go.

In Alishan's green embrace, tall cedars dance and sway,
Whispering sweet tales as lovers in a romantic play.
Sunrise dawns, painting the skies in vibrant, glowing hues,
Reminding me of the love in your eyes, a view I will never lose.

I will carve winding trails just for your wandering feet,
Guiding you along wherever our hiking paths meet.
Darling, never fear; I will always have your back,
Together, we will explore; no adventure we will lack.

If you are the soft, nourishing rain,
I will be the Zengwen Reservoir, receiving your affection,
Drinking like a man parched and rebirthed,
Quenching my deepest thirsts in my yearning soul.

When winter's biting chill makes our bodies shiver,
We will find solace in Guanziling hot spring haven,
Where our passionate essences can blend and delver,
With whispered tales and dreams to share until dawn's craven.

If you are a playful monkey swinging through the trees,
I will be lush Shoushan, a hidden haven for your mischief,
As hikers delight in your joyful dancing from branch to branch with ease,
Filling the air with laughter and cheerful melodies.

If you are an elegant sea turtle, gliding gracefully below,
I will be peaceful Liuqiu Island, a serene home to wander to and fro,
Captivating all with your gentle movements beneath the waves,
A rare, beautiful treasure in the ocean's vibrant depths.

If the stresses of life bear down, leaving you weary, my dear,
I will sweep you away to Kenting Beach; your worries will disappear,
Where you can bask in the sun's tender warmth and affection,
As soothing waves lovingly kiss your tired feet in perfect reflection,
My soul will turn into the soft sand beneath your feet there,
A healing place to lay, lulled by the ocean's soothing air.

To be continue @Lyrical Journey of a Lover through Taiwan-II
© Litan Dey  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Bury the Dead

The rain pours down my face while lights flash in the distance

Among the ones once living, I choose the path of most resistance

Blood, sweat, tears, and rain mix as I grasp the wooden sentencer

Condemning to eternity the demons while my hands endure the splinters. 

 

The moon has left me, I’m alone on my mission

The clouds bear down with rain relentless

But I must press on to be set free

And bury the dead that dwells in me

 

Digging and digging but no hole deep enough

To be rid of these skeletons with time that got tough

And hardened with hate, vile, and discourse

To infect my being with no remorse

 

Pain shoots through my chest as my breath becomes ragged

The time is near but there is no casket

No viewing, no service, just a body and a grave

In this place called the land of the free and the home of the brave

 

No more shall my dreams and my life be altered

My visions are now clear and my step un-faltered

You have lived on way past your prime

And now I must say that you are out of time

 

I dig further until I reach satisfaction 

And as I throw me in, my face no reaction

I stand on the side as my face looks back up at me

I say a silent prayer and mouth R.I.P.

 

My body looks up back at me expressionless and cold

I throw on more dirt like it was foretold

That I would be burying the dead and living anew

And starting a new path without you

 

My body remains still as I continue to bury it

Knowing that a part of me will no longer be cherished

More tears come as I realize what’s done

But continue to move for I must move on

 

As I pat down the last of the dirt

The skies clear up to wash away the hurt

The moon looks down and says, “Job well done”

I look back at the moon and ask, “Now may I come”

 

The moon just smiles and begins to fade

And the sun comes in to usher in a new day

I pick up my shovel and walk back down the road

Fatigue on my mind but new light in my soul.
Form:

Little Concept, Big Thought

Little box warms me
Heat on my neck
But I don’t close the vent
I’d rather be hot, than feel nothing.
And inside it’s so dark
Turn my head right
All the lights
“Bear Down Bears”
Suddenly we’re so spirited
Wish we could be spirited about the right things.
So many people out there
How can we feel alone?
How can I be so lonely?
3 places to call home
But my heart is somewhere else
Maybe in the place I will be in the future
if I have a future.
Funny how God--
The concept is just funny
But God, he can take us away from this life
At any time
Like I’m the fly and He’s the newspaper
Swat my life away
At any time
I try to find what’s important to me
But I’m too afraid it will hurt me
So I build my wall
I can’t clean my room
But
I can build a wall.
All my insecurities are hidden behind it
Pieces are missing
But some pieces fit
Bill fits
I don’t want him to 
He breaks my heart in two
He takes away my life sometimes
Sort of like how God can
But the difference is that I’m still stuck here
In this life
In a pool of days that I don’t want to wake up to
I hope those days don’t come to me again
I hope our love reaches us again
Here I am, babbling on
I could do this ‘til dawn
Buckingham Fountain, Navy Pier
Lakeshore Drive all out my window
But, everything is nothing if there is no smile
No “how was your day?”
No “are you doing okay?”
That’s the way of life
We don’t pay attention
So who’d care if I left?
I’m lacking so much self-concept
I need soul-searching
I need hard-core purchasing
The stress is so high I’m choking 
Sirens going wild
I’m not even part of it
Sometimes I truly wish I could be
I will instigate a shove
So an eye is on me
So somebody will worry
That’s all I want in the end
Doesn’t everyone want a friend?
TV’s on the in the background
Typical girls’ room, nowhere to walk
I’m too broken to talk
Not capable to feel
But the heat blows on my neck
Letting me know that I’m here.

Horrible Hobgoblins Haunt Harris Household

Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
   mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
   but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or 
wage.

Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions 
   that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy 
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
   sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.

Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle 
   at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.

Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame 
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
   any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.

Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady  this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.

If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.

Horrible Hobgoblins Haunt Harris Household

Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
   mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
   but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or 
wage.

Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions 
   that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy 
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
   sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.

Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle 
   at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.

Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame 
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
   any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.

Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady  this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.

If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.


Premium Member Ghost Town

Way up there in the Colorado mountains at around 9000 feet,
There once was a thrivin' village that served as the county seat.
It was a boom and bust town that now lies in desolate shambles,
Its one-time stately buildin's now overgrown with creepin' brambles.

'Tis said that a vein of gold was discovered when a feller dug deep,
To bury a friend who was gored to death by an irate mountain sheep!
His discovery was known as Dead Man's claim and the rush was on,
And to the place hordes of miners, gamblers and rabble was drawn.

There were three or four rowdy saloons on each and every block,
Servin' booze and featurin' high-kickin' women around the clock.
A Methodist church and a school brought a tad of culture to the place.
Folks of finer tastes thought 'soiled doves' paradin' about a disgrace!

An untended graveyard gives witness to the wickedness of the town,
As headstone etchin's reveal the doom of many who were gunned down!
Yet is heard the phantom sounds from saloons from rabble goin' bananers,
Fightin', gamblin' and dancin' to the tinklin' of out-of-tune peeaners!

Northerly winds prod tumble weeds up and down dusty thoroughfares,
Streets once teemin' with humanity goin' about their nefarious affairs.
Now is only heard the ghostly creakin' of rusty hinges on saggin' doors,
When frigid winter winds bear down upon those dreary windswept moors!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Form: Rhyme

Tulpa

The stars follow me home sometimes.
Even though I can’t see them through the clouds,
their/they’re eyes (that) still bear down on me.


I can hear bells in everything.


I pray to Gaia that I’ll feel ok sometimes,
just sometimes,
but praying feels dirty.

I wish I could forget the one who they won’t name,
a concept powerful enough to will itself into existence,
but only to spread malice, even in those who insist they don’t.


I can hear bells in everything.


I see doubt on the faces of those supposedly closest,
the “englightened”, I can tell they aren’t really sure,
you’d have to be stupid.

But then again no you wouldn’t,
a concept powerful enough to will itself into existence has force on its side,
they want to trust it.


I can hear bells in everything.


Sometimes something stands with me in my room,
late at night or early in the morning,
only when darkness can cloak its shadow.

It speaks to me in gentle static wails,
I can’t understand it but part of me can,
I can never know what cosmic force brought it into existence.


I can hear bells in everything.


There are things I can’t think about for too long,
bad things happen if I do,
I have to just let them fester on their own.

In time thoughts pass,
but the ideas don’t die,
I can’t forget.


I can hear bells in everything.
I can hear bells in everything.
I can hear bells in everything.

Waiting For Baby

Waiting for baby.        16/07/2018.
 The hospital bag is ready in the hall. Oh the excitement and the stress of it all. Will we need an ambulance ? or will we get to the hospital in time after the waters have broke?

Midwives, checking weight, blood pressure, pee samples. It is like a science lesson. Going to ante-natal classes together, bonding, breathing, panting, when to push ? T o take pain relief, gas and air, something stronger, mines a gin and tonic !

About the contractions, count down, bear down, to baby's arrival, Baby kicking inside like a giant frog, punching my insides at night. Feeling like a watched pot ready to pop. 

Its a worry too how will we feel, to be parents, will we cope, have a scan see the little person on the t .v  screen, we don't want to know the sex, keep it a big secret. 

The family's becoming a pain in the neck asking questions, dates, names, what schools its going to? The nursery stands ready painted yellow, cot in place,  waiting for its bundle of love to arrive.

first child born 12/06/1987.
© Jane Gomm  Create an image from this poem.

Doomed: From the Journal of a Mad Man

Can I tell you a secret?
Every generation thinks their time is the last greatest struggle 
and that their struggle will be the end of everything. 
Every generation has its precipice and must choose whether to commit suicide or to survive and go on. 
The more skittish men look up and panic! They scream, "THE SKY IS FALLING! WE SHALL ALL PERISH!"
Others that look at the world with more optimistic eyes say 'NO! If we all raise our hands together, we can raise the sky and keep it up above our heads! Tomorrow will come if we try!"
Others who truly know in their hearts that all is lost keep their peace and stay silent.
But the wise look on at all of this chaos and smile. They say, "Wow! I wonder what new sky lies beneath this old one? It must hold much splendor, for why else would it crack and fall? 
Let us welcome what is being born over our heads. 
Let us bear down and survive this falling, and when the chaos again subsides, 
join hands and sing together under a brilliant new sky, 
in a new time."

Winds of Change

I feel the winds of change
Blowing through my hair
All the beauty of the sun
It shines upon my skin

Today it is a new day
A time for inner peace
Time to heal all the afflictions
That bear down hard on me

Some were self inflicted
Learning the hard way was my life
But some were caused by others actions
Who loved to cause such strife

This is the day I choose to break free
To untie all that has binded me
I choose to seek only love and life
To bring to others an eternal light

So take my burdens and my worries
Lay them at my Lord's feet
For he knows my life's journey
He's drawn a map out for me

I shall no longer fear
The wicked and the unknown
I choose to walk along side the light
With confidence and pose

Though sometimes I may stumble
I know I'll never fall
With the love of Jesus above
I'll always have strength to get back up

He'll never let me faulter
He'll give me wings to fly
When I feel I've lost my way
He is my guiding light

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