Long Breaking down Poems
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I’m flabbergasted at how the streets are thronged
Could You be the one for whom twelve years I’ve longed?
Oh say, a Physician like no other before seen?
Different from the kind to where I had been?
Could Your timing have been more impeccable?
And Your approach be more unbelievable?
But I’ll undoubtedly put the last of my trust in You
I have much to lose, yes, indeed that’s true
But out of options I’ve finally run
And now even money, I truly have none
So I will find my way to your garment
So You can put an end to this bloody ailment
With an old blood-stained dress
I start out and on I press
I hurry through the deafeningly noisy crowd
Each one giving a careless, yet imploring shout
And it feels like You move further
With every step I take to get closer
“Please, if You are the Saviour”, I think,
“help me to press on, for I’m at the brink
Of breaking down, about to forfeit
I’m helplessly at the mercy of defeat.”
Not only will I touch your garment
But You will make my life to Your goodness a testament
Finally, after pushing past the multitude, I see an open space
To my advantage, in the other direction, is turned His face
Unworthy I am, so I really do not have to talk to Him
All I truly need to do is swiftly touch His hem
The hem of the Saviour’s garment, that’s all I really need
And then from this sickening bondage of blood I’ll be freed
I touch His garment, and it really was not my intention
To in any way catch the Saviour’s attention
I find it strange that no change in me I see
Until that mysterious Physician spots me
And confirms soothingly to my soul
“…thy faith hath made thee whole.”
So not only will I touch the hem of Your garment swiftly
But I will praise You from the bottom of my heart sweetly
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment as I said I would
But I will ever bear in my heart of hearts to my Saviour gratitude
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment, but strife
I will, as I hold onto You, Lord, for dear life
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment with my finger
But in Your presence I will overstay my welcome and persistently linger
Not only will I touch the hem of Your garment as scary
As it may seem, I will cling to You, oh, loving and lovable Redeemer of Calvary
As real as our concepts seem,
not one of us is alike in thoughts,
in ways of doing things...
or even creating an impressive masterpiece;
billions of minds shaped by their own inventiveness!
Different missions
demand a greater effort
to be as cunning as an artist;
desirous of knowing the odd,
the obivious or strange
when confronting a poker face,
which we rather dispose of...
or are we able to hit it with our fist?
Our thoughts are similar
to the celestial bodies without lucidity,
shining in our mysterious Universe...
planets revolving about their sun;
and while we navigate further into it,
we discover others in our course!
What force,so powerful, keeps them
from colliding with each other,
and not cause a catastrophe so immeasurable...
enough to arouse our interest in the Divinity!
No mission is too insignificant or worthless,
our different missions accomplish
what the human mind can only imagine:
breaking down barriers, unblocking fear;
renewing an imponderable wish...
to replenish the valor of intentions!
We erect statues and monuments
for our fallen heroes or famous individuals,
but ignore others with different missions:
ordinary people who made a difference;
let's honor them too, and display their rare jewels
that are hidden from everybody's eyes!
Behold, how horribly the hungry Fire gapes at us
like a python, like a ravenous whale
and like the Bermuda Triangle.
How terribly the maddened Fire devours bricks and stones,
and drinks all the snow-hills like a tasty wine!
Like a demon, the Fire eats crunching the bones of Cain and
the skeleton of Lahab*, eats like the kernel of a palm
uprooting the blue eyes of Genghis.
Where are you running fast, o Man, like a bewildered horse?
O the lost horse, where are you going madly raising your tail?
Breaking down the wall of sight, behold, how horribly
the Fire gapes at us!
It is is such a fire which devours not only our body
but also our invisible soul. Like a rat,
it eats into the coconut of our heart bit by bit.
There is no Jesus more who will absorb all your sins in his cross.
There is no Gautama more who will play the flute of wisdom
sitting under the shade of the pee-pul tree.
There is no Krisna more who will pour down a cloud of love
into the thirsty eyes of Radha.
There is no Mohammad more who will save you running
from the clutch of the hungry Fire.
O Man, O Horse, O Bull,
There is no prophet more, keep it in your mind.
Keep in mind, there is no saviour more except a love-lorn poet.
* the enemy of prophet Mohammad(sm
It was a Wednesday evening, the clock ticked at its usual pace. There was a certain rush that had engulfed me and me, a mere human, had no way of relieving myself from the remnants of the lost past.
There was fear, I remember, of breaking down to the core and not be proper again. The fear so strong, it made my heart sink, every time that I looked in the mirror.
Sinking and sinking, I sunk down the hole of despair and darkness, ran through the people I had left but nothing came for rescue.
Tried screaming, running, exercising, walking, lying down. Anxiety getting the better of me is when I found.
I found relief and heartbreak. I found comfort and devastation. I found content and dejection. I found life and death, yet I was happy.
The first time that I wrote, I discovered that there were ways other than self-harm to let go of the pain, and yet there was a way to die a thousand deaths and live thousand more lives. I knew I could die but realized I could bleed too.
between new nightmares
and day dreams
of a better life
lay reality resurfaced
tight with taut brutality
unspeakable thoughts drift
down through time's flash
triggered not there
not then
but now and here
her mind digs through fear
as she sinks
slight form down
crisp skirt's rustle sound
folds with her
to ground
and she says to herself
I will lay here
in this hollow
it fits the curve of my spine
holds the shape
of my hips
and the grass padded earth
cups itself a little
around my waist
hugs me
till I sleep
I am still alive
I am dead
to the world
tar roads
pavements
are too hard
concrete
cannot hold me
the same way
they resist my shape
press flatness
hard
against me
leave me sore
unrested
complaints unheard
where may I sleep
With fragrance
of grass and earth
maybe
in a garden
a cultured space
thoughts arouse
aroma once known
from those past
yet still present
places
so pleasant
maybe then
I will fall into dreams
of painless light
sunshine will soothe
I will feel bright
flame red flowers
in free fall
Will not burn
as they engulf me
float from arms
branches
blue sky stretched
they will caress me
in potpourri perfume
memories mock
her senses
she yearns to block
their burn
when I sleep
I'll not smell
petrol fumes
flared up
I will not hear
the shudder of bodies
breaking down the door
I will forget
the screams
eardrums pierced
my own
I will not feel
my body burn
in hell hound fire
twisted hatred
from ordinary mothers
fathers sisters sons
bizarre beliefs
turned my skin
from brown silk smooth
to outlandish patches
pink and brown
how will I
become
familiar
with who I am
now
she falls asleep
dreams
of sunshine
tree shadow dappled
nature cradles her
in dark and light
she breathes low
drum sounds
bring her back
there
next to eyes
awakening
her fingers
delicate drummers
play the earth
With firm tips
tap tapping
a well known song
her long gone
mother's lullaby
hush my child
hush now
don't cry
sleep sweet
against my heart
hush now
hear the beats
of my love
for you
hush now
so angels
do not sigh
hum drum
hum drum
hum drum
she starts to cry
Posted:15-12-2018
Note: "Sister" poem to "thin skinned"
On the night skies,
Drifting – solitary stars…
Collected, quiet, nomadic,
Free and flowing
Gliding through the silence
On the gentle promises,
Wordless, but sworn…
In faith, never doubting,
Sure as the endlessness of stars,
Moon glowing – wise as the heart.
On the softest prayers,
Voiceless whispers, violet…
Kisses, like wonders, blessings,
Preparing the soul,
With hope, peaceful and low.
On the melancholic colors,
Visions in sapphire and gold…
Brilliant scarlet, nature glowing
Reflecting the joy,
Breathing elated splendor.
On the morning, dawning,
In echoes of grace…
Shedding the skins of a past,
When yesterday felt so hateful,
Yesterday, twilight feeling shameful.
On the edge of a song,
Captured by the heart, the knowing…
Breathless sighs, singing along,
Inspiring the feelings,
Consenting to acceptance.
On the shadows of Christmas,
When love falls all around…
Dusting the rim of our moments,
With heaven’s grace,
Stirring awake the true praise.
On these precious moments,
Close as the twinkling…
Glistening on the easy silence,
In eyes, alive as stars,
Breaking through the dark –
Breaking down every wall,
Releasing the bonds of intolerance,
Destroying the fears,
Cleansing the past with fresh tears,
Tears of hope, tears of faith –
Tears meant to embrace Christmas’ meaning –
The significance of kindness that gives…
From the heart, from the spirit
Gifts of light sent down from above,
Gifts of His peace – the hope, faith and love
That only Jesus…
could have stirred awake inside us!
Snow.
The rifts and ledges.
Flakes just like to flake.
And eventually stay.
Snow covers cars a bit.
Then we uncover them.
We like to pretend that the snow is not melting down our spine, and destroying us.
Shaking.
Then we shake it off.
Gloved hands, taking them off.
If a stranger walked by, he wouldn’t help at all.
Snow covers my eyelashes a bit too.
Snow.
Towers over us in our sleep.
When it’s cold and our car won’t start this morning.
So it shuts us down.
Snow.
The snow plow did come through.
Eventually.
Then it came through the same street once more and it was crazy.
Then the snow stopped.
Gloved hands, throwing the gloves to the ground.
Breaking down because.
Snow.
Snow on a Sunday morning.
Doesn’t feel as bad, crazy, or unbearable.
I’m shaking, yet I’m on my cozy chair.
Snow towers in our sleep.
If it snows overnight?
I might have a problem.
My comfort zone is getting smaller
As the years pass by
I am definitely getting stranger
Ditzier also applies!
Distraction happens so easily now
My mind is neither here nor there
Thoughts regularly float out of my mind
Vanishing into thin air
I do not mind ageing
It comes with many benefits
However, forgetting and loss of memory
Now, that really does give me the s**ts!!
Forgetting the reason I walked in a room
Not remembering to complete a chore
Words, names all slip my mind
Misplaced, lost items galore
Another negative with ageing
Is the body breaking down
Aches, paints and ailments
More as each new year comes around
Yet, I am happy, as I am alive and grateful
Able to appreciate and enjoy each new day
As I am loved , and I love
What more do I need, what more can I say!
Beyond speech
Before the words
Even leave your lips
Thinking about thinking
Looking at your thoughts
I see the building blocks
Of your breaking down
It's noisy sound image
An abstract tree growing concepts
In a forest needing life
* Simeon wages its demise
Beyond the tip of your tongue
After supper, when the words
Have left your mouth
All your childhood questions
Still unanswered
It's branches are torn apart
Your tree positioned
Without arches pays a fee
To this living organism
For it's inorganic accretions
*Simeon wages it's demise
Beyond the after thought
Your prose has brought about
There's no going back
Past the Temple's entrance
No chugalugging in reverse
Like dead dogs guarding
White noise on a mountain
Jubilations and alleluias are
Revelations so gloriously bright
They hurt the eyes
*Simeon wages its demise
Beyond the pandemonium
Of your chitchat usage
On the far right of a good way off
Your thirty tongues
Those serpentine monsters
Are tangled in green homilies
No more conversations needed
Not listening but watching
Your gold watch a-tick tock ticking
It's running against time all-embracing
*Simeon wages its demise
Unsanctioned quiet
Never looks back
Too much said
Is always too late.
There are many words for frost
This is the house your words built
You might have lost your tongue altogether
Like blind passion without a mission
Not even your homing pigeon can
Any longer hear you out.
*Simeon wages its demise
Awakening Contemplations
Perception of reality changing in a second
The Invention of congeniality as I wait for you to beckon
The Australian informality of “yeah whatever you reckon!”
The North Korean missile strikes looking to constantly threaten
World stability and Universal peace
The unpaid rent, a broken lease
A reason to vent, an estranged niece
A persistent strain of thought that simply will not cease
Chemical warfare and secluded drone strikes
A Ukrainian counteroffensive in the middle of the night
The oppressed peoples will to stand up and fight
Searching for a future that has the potential to be bright
Ghengis Khan, Nostradamus and Shakespeare
No intention to harm , only to disqualify your fears
An isolated old woman breaking down in tears
A forlorn ex-revolutionary marvelling at the passing of the years
The recollection of youth passing by far too quickly
A monsterous uncouth agent described only as prickly
The bubonic plague recreated and the people are sickly
The presidential race and how it’s run politically
Beauty and science and history and mathematics
All by the bass note as it sounds that fantastic
We revere what William Wordsworth wrote and produce more ecstatics
As the oceans and rivers fill up with plastic
Daring souls on the edge of inventions and ideas
The whole on the ledge, financial systems in arrears
Climate change deniers red faced as the carbon emission clears
Interpol debased as the criminal network sneers
Apathetic resignation as life passes you by
Magnetic mutations as people begin to ask why ?
Frenetic contemplations as salt water flows from my eyes
Epic considerations as the elderly prepare to die
An evening with Shostakovitz and classical relief
An interim meeting with a dogmatic thief
A tight fit unit bringing Humanitarian Relief
A man that doesn’t know his own philosophical and spiritual beliefs
There’s a a path that is right and a path that is taken
As you arrive at your future self quite visibly shaken
There’s nothing left but what remains to be mistaken
And the epiphanies experienced as your soul begins to awaken
Copywrite 2023 Elizabeth Moroz