Long Blood red Poems
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Speak not to me of infatuation
of giddiness in glorified array
dark petals of the rose in weeping fall
blood red to shriveled black in slow decay
Speak not the words that “time will heal all wounds”
Leave me for I shall fade as petals do
never to know renewal of blooms blush
condemned to a forever love of you
Soft whispers of awakening deceive
love’s heart with crimson tint upon the black
tend the simmering spark that would ignite
a flame to realign a passion’s lack
Speak not to me of infatuation
While I’m consumed in its conflagration
©9/5/2018
for Sour Grapes Poetry Contest
much like me on a sleepless night
i hear the roar of this restless ocean
pounding like thoughts in my head
as the wind drives me back
one step for every two i take
beneath this blood red rise of morning
inimical are these waves
as they lash out against the rocks
unleashing a spray
like a breath in winter's air
exhaled
yet it falls
like a rake against sand
claiming anything in its path
pulling it in then spitting it out
only to build again
like a raged mind
dissilient
i stand distanced
cowering on the sands
of time
awaiting its calm
June 24 2021
The Shape of water contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
One little sidestep off the beaten track,
Is a colorful garden of dazzling shades,
With blood red geraniums of scintillating hue
Interspersed by those of white and baby pink,
Where beauty sings mysteriously,
Reigning in every theme, a place of bliss
Where silence speaks for itself,
Where bees are the only intruders, I suppose.
A place to feast the eyes and relax,
Reminding one of the Garden of Eden!
At its center is someone, in blossoming beauty.
Not sure if she is sitting on the edge of a boulder,
Or simply crouching on the carpet of grass,
Or is it a statue set up amid the array of flowers?
An angelic form so intent on what she does,
Lost to the world, her face bent,
But eyes moving up and down,
In tandem with the sewing needle in hand.
Is she stitching a frock for her little girl,
Sitting close to her mother’s feet?
A starlet fallen from the night sky,
Or a cherubim dropped down from heaven’s height,
In flowing azure blue frock with golden hair.
She too, like her mother, is so absorbed,
Pouring her soul in to the open book in her lap.
May be a ploy employed by the mother,
Not to disturb her in her work.
Oh, vagrant winds, come not close,
To disturb the tranquility of the two
Wholly sinking into what they are doing.
Kindly veer in another direction
And don’t interrupt their solitude!
April.22. 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere . No1210 Poetry Contest
This is based on Claude Monet's famous painting- Madame- Monet-and-child, where he has pictured his wife Camille and child in his garden.
I stand here the noose around my scruffy neck
can’t stand it anymore time has arrested and
the hangman had to answer just another call
Have done no wrong stood firm in the face
of interrogation did not mumble a single word
have merely voiced my point of view dissented
The fading sun is blood red on the horizon
like the revolution waiting for a song of change
no blindfold please and get it over and done with
But the executioner is so busy at the gallows
the bottom does not drop for one final shout
to squeeze from my throat in firm conviction
I stamp on the floor but the fall lies in waiting
the last supper now merely a distant memory
but should I not look forward when passing on
Finally there is movement as the scaffold trembles
snapped crumbled crunched to pieces the sky recedes
yet there is no silence but can I dream when dead
Shaking with tremor the ground opens up in justice
it was not my fault but the earthquake came in time
and the rope guides me from underneath the rubble
Disconsolate obsidian waves crash over crumbling dunes,
Sweeping afflicted grains of sand back into the depths,
Dragging my paralysed soul with them.
Engulfed in despondent riptides,
I gasp for oxygen amongst rippling currents,
As a fiery moon hangs precariously overhead.
Blood-red reflections illuminate the stark waters,
While calls of the lost sing to me,
Like sirens beckoning sailors to their doom—
Louder and louder, until it becomes unbearable.
Flaring arms fill with cortisol,
Burning, tangled within suffocating seaweed.
Farther I get pulled from the shore;
The horizon is growing fainter now with every somber beat of my heart.
Isolation shrouds the thickening atmosphere.
Saline leaks into my mouth, drying my tongue as I frantically spit it out.
Hysterical laughter escapes through lips without realisation.
Dehydration overcomes.
Sanity slips with each sip of water.
My larynx sharply tightens—
Barely a noise can be uttered.
Yet the siren calls of the irretrievable continue to crescendo,
Pulling me into an empty expanse, everlastingly.
Leftover from summer’s grace
Restoring hope and thanks
With hues so vibrant, scarlet shades
Dancing wings, swaying petals
Flames – brilliant like the passions
They embrace, kissing away every
Doubt, all the shadows…
Striking like the silent tear,
Touching hearts with shimmering
Dreams, whispered on a prayer
Transporting the soul into
Fantasies that sing to the spirit
Return joy to the minute
When the glow of bold, blood-red
Mysteries remember…
The cardinal and the rose glimpse
Pieces of wishes, yearnings…
The sPiriT’s muse in blazing - Obsessive creativity – burning
Away every fear, every tear, all the past
Where there abides the night’s gasp, soaring stardust
The Cardinal and the Rose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
December 23, 2022
A disturbing dream
Sydney harbour is blood red
Cruise ships are lined up
From the heads to the dock
All passengers and crew are dead
It's as if all the blood from the dead
Somehow colours the harbour
The large purple ski boat I'm skippering
Leaves no wake
The engines murmur words
Only the soul can understand
I'm pulling seven beautiful maidens
In yellow bikinis behind me on single skis
They have no faces as such
Yet I know them individually
We are slaloming around these death vessels
Back and forth, back and forth
Seemingly for eternity
Eventually we head out to sea
Where the red continues
And continues
And continues
In the light of the full moon
On the horizon
These maidens were ready
To repopulate the earth
But where would the real men be?
Purple envelope
sealed with dried red grape secrets
folded with ferments
hidden like wine in a cask—
waiting to expunge its words
Purple grape-skins torn
the bruises dark, stinking with hate
postponed and withheld—
seething, fermenting inside,
to pop when eyes are uncorked
Fingers hesitate—
lingering on paper's seam
as if it might bleed
mauve ink, staining memories
with bitter taste of tannin
Who dares to open
the violet-purple skins
threaded like tendrils
curled poised to strike the reader—
staining lips and tongues blood-red
The envelope waits
as a bruise waits for pressure—
purple concealing
the truth of what lies within
with promise and a warning
in a cursed invitation.
One of two thieves
You can only be
One of two thieves
Better choose wisely
One of two thieves
One scorned and mocked Him
Which of two thieves…?
One had to love Him
Which of two thieves…?
One joined the loud crowd
Which of two thieves…?
Which one are you?
You saw His glory?
Which one are you?
Laughed at His story?
Which one are you?
Helped make Him feel worse?
Which one are you?
Malefactors
Only two were they
Malefactors
One condescending
Malefactors
One, oh, so humble
Malefactor,
Choose this day your side
You, criminal!
For sure are you one
You, criminal!
State what you have done
You criminal!
Do you Him deny?
You criminal!
Do you Him defy?
You, Criminal!
Must be guilty
Then say, why’d He die?
Must be guilty
Yet, you mock and sigh
Must be guilty
He died in your stead
Must be guilty
So praise Him instead
Must be guilty
Hands stained, oh, blood-red!
Yes, ‘tis true guilt
Will you then appeal?
Yes, it be guilt
Take for granted still?
Yes, ‘tis your guilt
But the Father’s will
Took away guilt
How will you repay?
Remain in guilt?
For dear life you’ll pray?
Or embrace guilt?
There are two thieves
But one loves so dearly
Of the two thieves
The other loathes— clearly
You are a thief
On borrowed life, merely,
Day-to-day you live…
Wryly, or merrily?
Did He life give,
That you might live freely?
Be grateful, thief…
Saved undeservingly
Form:
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)