Long Cradling Poems
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I looked for peace
not in the temples,
but in the ruins behind them—
among bricks that still remembered
how silence sounds
before a missile arrives.
I searched for stillness
not in the slogans of diplomats,
but in the eyes of a child
cradling a doll
with one missing arm.
The world,
they say,
is preparing for peace—
but they build it
with barbed wire and budgets
dipped in blood.
They call it strategy.
I call it
the art of forgetting
what a lullaby sounds like.
I asked the wind—
where does peace live now?
She said:
“Wherever a woman
chooses to forgive,
but not forget.”
I asked the moon—
how do I find it?
He whispered:
“In the breath
you take
before you strike back.”
Once, I thought peace
was a treaty,
a table,
a handshake.
Now I know—
peace is a mother
choosing to feed
a stranger’s child
after hers is gone.
Peace is a man
who buries his weapon
before his father.
Peace is a country
that learns to weep
for its enemy’s dead.
They say
war writes history.
But I have seen—
it is peace
that writes
what is human.
In the end,
peace is not found—
it is chosen,
by those
brave enough
to stop shouting
"Humor can alter any situation and help us cope at the very instant we are laughing." –Allen Klein
A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR BLUNTS THE SHARP BLADES OF REALITY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I lay on the table, a modern-day sacrificial lamb,
pillow cradling my head, a fortress of foam and fabric.
Then came Velcro, the sticky embrace of a high-tech straitjacket,
my legs and wrists secured like a reluctant burrito.
Into the tube I slid, a terrified astronaut on a mission,
the ceiling loomed, a metallic sky, almost kissing my nose.
I clenched my hands until they turned white pondering
“Is this what it feels like to be a sardine in a can?
The sounds began, a symphony of whirs and clicks,
the MRI’s own version of a pop concert—
I imagined it had a fan club, “Team Tube,” with its own T-shirts
while I lay there, a star in a very narrow universe.
I tried counting, “one, two, three.” But sigh…
my thoughts were spinning like socks in a dryer.
I imagined bystanders strolling by, pointing and staring.
“Behold! Look at the sweating patient in the tube!”
The minutes crawled, like a snail on a treadmill.
“Perhaps I should have brought snacks
or at least a good book.” But alas, I was tethered,
a captive audience to my own claustrophobic anxiety.
So I lay still, the sounds swirling,
I chuckled softly, because if this is life,
then I might as well enjoy the ride,
even if it’s a little cramped and a little weird.
After all, who needs a spa day when you can have an MRI,
a slow, relaxing rollercoaster ride into the belly of the beast.
Oh, the absurdity of my situation, and the irony of it all—
Here I was, a human pretzel, searching for sanity inside the MRI.
Then, suddenly, the whirring ceased, the ceiling pulled back.
I emerged, a superhero in a hospital gown,
Velcro stripped away, ready to conquer the world
with a newfound appreciation for open spaces.
Poem written for “A Good Sense Of Humor Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality Poetry Contest,” Natasha L. Scragg, sponsor, July 29, 2025.
I love you beyond the borders of language,
where words stumble,
faltering in the shadow of feeling.
No map charts the expanse of this tenderness,
no compass finds its edge.
I love you as the ocean loves the shore,
returning endlessly,
even when it is sent away.
I love you as the sky holds the stars,
cradling light in an infinite embrace,
never asking why they shine.
There is no scale for this,
no ledger to balance the weight of your smile
or the currency of your touch.
Only the quiet knowing
that you are,
and that is enough.
If love is the pulse of existence,
yours is the rhythm I echo.
If love is a storm,
I surrender to its rain.
There are no fences here,
no gates to shut you out or let you in,
only an open field,
a horizon that does not end.
And when the stars scatter
like seeds across the night,
my love will bloom
in every corner of forever,
without measure,
without end.
I am Your poetry,
the words that warm tide your body,
the pen that presses deep into pulsing paper,
kissing the chaos away from moods of mind that static flicker,
I am your poetry,
born to be the Angel ink you drink,
a taste that flavors your lust fire sinless sultry,
intoxication of obsession spilling true love beyond sanity...
I am your simplicity,
honest moisture in the corner of your open eye,
the Midnight lip bite that awakens desire to breathe deeply,
I overcome questions with answers making your heart joy cry,
My voice proving through vibrational pull I'm Your's exclusively,
I am your tangible simplicity to scry,
hold me as a living prophecy,
I am no secret, I am love's answer to Why...
I am your therapy,
my mouth strong on the center node of your neurodivergant bloom personality,
embracing empatheticly moods unfairly forebode
by a society frightened by a woman's life fire energy,
I am your therapy caressing the code,
learning together a pillar of our love be fidelity,
the psychometrics satisfied to certify our love be never cold...
I am Your fantasy,
the match lit red diamond head
with one lick unleashing your sweet oil wick fury,
a combustion that spreads relentlessly to be fed,
I am your fantasy surging shamelessly,
Your refined nails know my name and I bleed,
a beautiful beast you become, I do not plead, I serve ecstacy,
the truth has teeth, our bodies climax in pure speed...
I am Your Victory,
Your Champion undaunted by the Devil,
I worship your star, kissing the scar, cradling heart teary,
You meet Me on the level of love believing in the eternal,
I am your Victory, a phoenix ready,
You congratulate Me for devotion unconquerable,
My lips touch your hand sure,
You and I forever married...
J.A.B.
phoenix ready,
She met him first time,
When he pulled at her pigtail,
She declared war then.
Her first crush ghosted,
So he was on call all night --
Both their hearts breaking.
She failed her math test,
He wove lies that he did too --
Just to share her woes.
That boyfriend of hers?
Called her ugly; The next day-
Showed up with black eye.
She jokingly asked,
If he ever loved; His eyes -
Could not hide it well.
She met him again,
When she walked down in white -
To his blinding smile.
Cradling her close then,
He kissed her for all the years
Before and to come.
I heard the sea call to me and the spell was cast.
I followed with the magical rocks in my hand...
willingly, I chose to obey their command.
~ by poet
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
With my feet bare, I walk upon the earth
Gently cradling three smooth rocks to my breast
Precious gifts given to me at my birth
With a note: "Life's journey will be a test."
Next month I'd reach the age of twenty-one
So far, I've had no reason to feel fear
I gazed at the waning light of the sun
My hands rubbing the rocks that I hold dear
I've cherished them since I can remember
The note revealed they had magic powers
saying, "In the sky, a burning ember
would glow in the midst of rain showers."
The rocks felt warm; blue skies were overhead
Yet, the note mentioned that I'd be tested
I worried about things: What should I dread?
Rolling the rocks in my hands, I rested
I sat on the sand as waves were crashing
Clouds darkened the sky, and the rocks turned red
Something in the sea was wildly thrashing
Female voices I heard inside my head
"Come." They called as raindrops started falling
At first, I thought I was losing my mind
but swam with the need to heed their calling.
A new world ahead... old one left behind
Cradling my dreams
Tossing and turning
The words so eloquently hanging in space
Are consequently just as they were described
Words
Filled with fluff and not enough substance
I want to give you the world
Mine
And everything that fills those cracks in between
Actions
Wanting only to feel closer
In the end
Free falling into a pit of your disappointment
Gasping
My mistakes choke me as the black water envelops my ears
As I am only pulled further, deeper
Shrouded in my own self hatred
My eyes have become a lighthouse for disaster
Leading you closer to me
Nearer to your own destruction
Set your sails to escape the darkness that I am
Raise your sights upon something higher
Follow the horizon line that takes you far from me
I try to fix it but in the end I chase you further away
Actions speak louder than words
How can it be that I show you the monumental effect your life has on me?
Feeling
As if a thousand snowflakes soared through the sky kissing my skin as they
dwindle
Hanging by a thread in time
The fire of this moment
where your eyes meet my gaze
warms my cheeks and brings redness to these comatose lips
You breathe life into this lifeless world
The stars hang their heads
On nights where I have lost my way
Your face is dearly missed, I feel alone
Collecting the dust on nights that are the brightest
Hope is what will help me return to you one day
Feeling the separation of our two hearts
Hating every miserable moment of it
Cold, the feeling which in turn is
The rhythmic dance from within, but
Is stuck
Broken?
No
It is the distance, my rival
The emperor and final ruling of all my destruction
Fight? I must first escape to surive it
Diving from the highest point
My last thoughts are on you my love
In that jumping forever, could never compare to the moment we fell in love
Is it worth it?
Without it, nothing is worth anything
Proclaiming my love at the top of my lungs
Ringing from the corners of the world
In the end what we are doing is
Resisting the lies others have spoken
Holding onto the truth
There is no one that will ever be as wonderful to me other then you
Form:
Devotion Poem Seven, The Unknowing
(Written for Jim Eslinger, as I face complex surgery)
The difficult coming days shall combine
Into a memory of run hours.
And the hours all combined into minutes
Of final rushed movements: ours and
So many nameless faces with their business
And forgotten words of orders to be followed.
Minutes that shall become so suddenly
Crushed
Into seconds of a message about to come
From an inner, dark, impenetrable surgery
Where I shall lie separate from you, my love,
In a state of being repaired. And those seconds
Will collapse into one instant, during which
My surgeon will emerge, pulling down his mask,
Looking either grave or vague, to utter
A few words that will cling to remaining promise...
Or condense our decades into a single word
Of inexplicable horror among a whole
Realm of endings that will not matter, for
Time itself will have ended
Taking with it our touches and glances,
Our laughter and concerns, our immediate
Exchanges of lover and beloved, gone,
Given to eternity and God, Gwho will also
Seem to stand in a veiled distance
Outside ample comforting. I will have been
Torn from you with my irreparable heart
Gone weeping back to the cradling divine
Where my eyes will hold you for all eternal moments.
**********. **********. ********** **********
Thanks be to God.
(C)sally Young eslinger 2020
Hush now, the hills lean close in,
cradling the town in green-field arms.
The houses huddle, blinking from night lit rooms,
beneath a dawn that warns shepherds of storms,
As I lay me down in the lay of land I love.
This is the land that knew me,
before it had my name,
before it lay me down,
to sleep in lay of land,
to cherish this land
that knows me as its own,
and what my heart
knows that I too own.
Come closer now, to hear the waves crash on beach.
The sigh of wind in Casuarina trees on sandy shores.
The bird songs that lilt at dawn, longingly to the skies.
The clatter of kids running off to school.
The hustle and bustle of streets getting busy.
The hush of dusk called to silence by rise of moon.
Listen, as night seeps in to quell the moving streets,
As I lay me down in the lay of land I love.
My hills are not mountains grand as Everest,
The streams are not the Ganges, Amazon or the rest.
The fields are not clad in dense tropical forests.
But, to me the lay of my land speaks to me.
Like no other, as I lay me down to sleep.
The lay of the land is steeped in memories
that sprawl across the ridges and dales,
that are entangled in the roots of trees,
with mementos spangled in their limbs.
Memories that curl the field to long furrows
with soil folded over like wrinkles on brows
of old heads, eyes, limbs, lips recalling the past.
Even when you leave, you never do,
For the lay of land settles deeper into you,
the more you shape the lay,
the more the lay shapes you.
Many claim to see her there with her knees up under her chin, her arms are delicately cradling her head as she dreams of his returning again
She is shrouded by the warmth of the fog off the ocean as it holds her tight, and it’s hard to see the tears that she has cried by the lanterns dim light
He didn’t die tragically, and she lies here just waiting for her turn to come, he left her broken and confused after he told her they were done
She comes here every night to remember the inflection of his voice, the touch of his embrace, and she materializes his vision into being by just remembering his sweet face
She pretends that he is holding her as she grips herself so tight, and she rests her head on his imaginary heart believing he is there but there is no one in sight
The only fault in this tainted memory, is that she can no longer hear the sound of his heart beating for her that way it once did so sweet
So, she abandons her post at the waters edge for the night, and she blows a kiss into the wind praying that he will come for her tomorrow and make all that is wrong in her empty world right.