Long Dark hours Poems
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I have emptied my heart into these pages
My pen has bled words in red
You can look straight into me
I have painted me as I am
Honest and truthful
I don’t want to be a sham
Here have I laid bare my life
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I wanted to be
Everything I failed to be
Loaded with imagination,
Some are purely fictional, I admit.
Yet how a poet unveils himself/herself
Through the tone and timbre of one's verse
Please have a peek into it
Read the candid chronicle of my life
And tell me if my soul is black or white
____________________________
November. 6. 2022
A Freed Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Brian Strand
You invigorated my mind, then followed my heart
I felt the loss of myself as the dark hours passed
Will this wanting ever end, how could I let it start
You were so clever slowly breaking me part by part
Brief moments of euphoria that never seem to last
You invigorated my mind, then followed my heart
Now I’m a donkey and for a carrot I’ll pull the cart
Slave to a cruel master and forever I will be outcast
Will this wanting ever end, how could I let it start
A wise fool I am, confessing myself I’m so smart
Foolishness displayed by the useless questions I ask
You invigorated my mind, then followed my heart
If you’re confessing your weakness, I’ll cast a dart
You feel the sting, and my words make you aghast
Will this wanting end, how could I let is even start
You want reality to be one glorious work of art
Out of that, only shame and regret have amassed
You invigorated my mind, then followed my heart
Will this wanting ever end, how could I let it start
As stated this was inspired by Denise Narayadu's poem. Denise is a wonderful poet who's work I recently discovered, she's gaining momentum quickly.
I saw you in the painting, beneath pastel skies
As if I knew you and seen the gleam in your eyes
Shining in the landscape by the light of your smile
Every silent word in a colorful paintbrush mile
Where have you been until now?
Bypassing dark hours, thoughts tied in ribbons somehow
Renewed by the blooming flowers
Inspired by something strong, unbreakable
There you are, seeming unreachable
In brushstrokes that created trust
I picked up the painting and brushed off the dust
Suddenly, it was all so beautifully clear
You are in my heart, always to be near
Within a golden sunset lovingly made
In a painting that will never fade
Heidi Sands
11/13/18
Daydreams – A day in the life.
I awake to a cornucopia of routines,
a lunch basket - of useless habits
carrying me into the realm of, dreamland
a carnival midway full of mirrored visions
that have become imbedded in the sands of, time
representing images of wooden horses,
the essence of a carousel going round and round,
going up and down in my subconscious mind,
night after night, the same themes permeate
my nightly ride in the world of dreams, day or night.
Dreams or reality ?, I am always standing on the outside
fighting for my rights, my perceived place in the universe,
not just to be looking in on, but to be on inside
where I know I once was – yes, on that ride
in the fast lane, were I was in control of the game,
that now is dead for this man, where nothing is the same.
Now, from inside my dreams, I am standing on the outside,
looking in, watching my life pass me by, wondering why
I see others at the helm, at the controls, in control !!!,
making decisions that affect, infect, direct my fate
during the dark hours of night, where it is late,
where I contemplate, wonder why this is my fate ?
Is this the way my life is ?, is this where I let go ?,
where I let it all go ?, I cannot say, I just do not know
if a pawn, in the game of life, is what my dreams show
and that my dreams are telling me, is, so
that I may see a reality, an undeniable truth
that tells of my wasted years, my wasted youth
and the paths, down which I have gone.
Upon which, no glorious light has shone,
just shadowy, dim light in dark corners
where, in the end, stand no mourners,
not even I, as thought tears fill this eye
and life passes me by, hanging me out to dry,
then, like dust in the wind, to be no more, just a sigh
upon the breath of time, and memories passing by.
B. J. “A ” 2
December 9th 2003
It is what is coded on my DNA
It is the rhythm of my heartbeat
It is what is engraved on my soul
It is what is written in my anthology
It is my medicine
"MEDICINE "
Yeah, I think that is the perfect word to describe what art means to me
For all the times I felt the urge to down my anti-depressants with alcohol
But chose to bleed on pages instead
For all the times I wanted to curse God for all my pain
But decided to turn my prayers into a poem instead
For the time art kept me company in the midst of my dark hours
For that one time when music bandaged my wounds
And when Phora's album made me feel like I had a companion
Like I an not the only one experiencing this hell
Art saved me
Spiderwebbed folds hang
from thin arms.
A circle of lamplight
is his exercise yard.
Daylight is a brief fluttering wing
against closed eyelids.
Night floats above him,
and in those dark hours
he feels a light-headed immunity
from the gravity
of open graves.
Outside in the hard-wired clamor,
buses and trucks growl up droning hills.
Sink holes open and shut
within a rushing sky.
Order and chaos are ushered in and out
of crazy-eyed cats.
Sometimes his mind
is a wheezy colostrum
of milky effusions.
He paints himself with one finger
in the air.
The dying man hitchhikes under a hand,
feels the warmth of anything in full bloom.
He sighs, then gurgles like a coffee pot.
The wispy guy remains,
always sinking ever upwards
toward what - he knows not,
however, it’s not here
so, he doesn't care.
A shaman priestess
Is deep in thought
Engaged in Meditation
on the fate
Of the earth
She is deep in the cosmic woods
In the world between worlds
Where she is communing
With the spirits of the universe
Who listen to her tale of woe
She tells them
Of the rise of the neo fascists
And the refusal to address
The possible end of the world
Due to run away climate change
She prays and prays
And finally
She receives an answer
More a prediction
It is all up to humans
She has two visions
Of a possible future
Two contrasting visions
One a dystopian nightmare
The other an optimistic vision
The first
The neo fascists
Seize control
And usher in a dystopian nightmare
That ends with utter destruction
Nuclear war
Nuclear winter
Ends climate change
As civilization ends
And mankind retreat to caves
And it happens
In a blink of an eye
In less than five years
The world will end
Game over civilization ends
The second vision
The optimistic vision
Humanity wakes up
From their collective night mare
Throws off the neo fascist cabal
And begin to change the world
Making the economy works
For all of us
Not just the corrupt 1 percent
The so-called masters of the Universe
They are overthrown
In a people’s power revolution
All over the world
People wake up
Demand change
And slowly the world
Begins to recover
And overcome
The dark hours
Of the present age
The shaman priestess
Returns home
To spread the word
It up to us
To choose our fate
The end is indeed near
It is darker than you think
But it is not over yet
If we choose the path
Of the cosmic light
And overthrow
The neo-fascist cabal
And restore democracy
And peace will break out
And all will end well
If not
Well she says
You have been warned
The universe has spoken
So, mote it be
april 16 poem for April Poetry Challenge
The golden hour for rising has arrived, and there are violet roses in the sky,
So, I bid hello to you, my robust friend, as the vibrant, cerise birds float by.
The obsidian night, it was very long, and was filled with pleasant dreaming,
Like scenes from the heart of jade forests, where lush nature is screaming.
But the dark hours seem as ages past, since you have risen on the horizon,
Reflecting your glory in the limpid waters, as day slowly begins to brighten.
So nice to see you again, my old friend, peering in the doors and windows,
As beautiful songs from emerald trees, begin their daily, rapid crescendos.
Soon all the world will be colorful and glad, like skyward birthday balloons,
Drifting on backlit skies of somewhere, like the aromas of various blooms!
We've traveled a long way, you and I, and like orioles, we've gone together,
Screaming our joys at midday hour, as warmth blankets the divers weather.
You trail every individual, peach dawn to dusk, and from season to season,
Forever going in and out of our lives, silently, and without apparent reason.
My work as a seasonal park ranger, has kept me in the glitter of your gaze,
As gorgeous wildflowers pursue us all, down the myriad, natural pathways.
Living with my family and my cat, and having a happy life on Pretty Street,
We danced all through deep amber days, terribly soon to become obsolete.
And often enjoyed memorable outings, birthday parties, and get togethers,
Like the euphoria of your floral days, are inclined to following predecessors.
Days at the beach, days at the park, ballgames or fun backyard barbecues,
At the happiest of times, everyplace I look, the first thing that I see is you.
And in olden, golden days, when I played on and on, your warmth was felt,
Like the presence of bittersweet autumn rose, though unseen, lately smelt!
Sweet summer evenings, you gazed redly, to say your melancholy goodbye,
Like the redness that strangely appears, when you're trying hard not to cry.
Crickets in the lilac bush, butterflies in the grass, all smile to greet the sun,
And yellow days are started and soon done, in dreamlike, skyward visions!
Flowers titter in warm, fragrant meadows, and oceans shudder with delight,
People beam at your kind warmth, and robins sing once they see your light!
'twas 'pon a Venice 24-hour layover, when two male members of our airline crew had quite the separate, yet different, adventure.
Flight attendant Number One, who speaks Italian, thought it would be fun to fly his drone in St. Mark's Square... it was fun at first, until he was arrested for doing so.
The drone was confiscated and could possibly have become a Christmas present for a Venice cop's cousin (or, perhaps not).
Among the many convoluted and unfathomable Italian Laws, one states; 'Drones must carry third-party insurance.'
This one did not and, violating Italian aviation rules is an offence, potentially punishable with fines of up to €113,000.00.
Flight attendant Number Two, who speaks nary a word of Italian (nor Chinese), having had a hard day sunning himself at the Lido beach, returned to the hotel and turned in for a good night's sleep.
He woke in the wee, dark hours with the feeling something wasn't quite right.
Turning over, he was appalled to find, not something but, someone sound asleep, and snoring, in bed with him.
Could it be, he had left the door to his room unlocked?
If so, what a turn-up for the books this was.
Turns out, it was a little old Chinese lady, clad in her little old Chinese silk jammies, sleeping peacefully!
Not to put too fine a point on it but, this Flight Attendant couldn't make lemonade out of that lemon, old as she was, as, he happened to be gay.
She wasn't there when he went to bed and, completely baffled by this turnabout, he could only wake her and, as not word one of English did the little old oriental lady speak, shoo her out the door... presumably, disoriented as she was, to roam the corridors, where she may yet be to this day (or night).
Through walls of glass, the
naked daylight streams,
Exposing rooms where quiet
shadows rest.
Two lonely souls trapped in
forgotten dreams,
Each locked inside a cold,
separate nest.
The crystal palace lets the
world look in,
Yet blocks the warmth of
any healing word,
Beneath one roof, the
distance starts to win,
Their silent grief remains
unseen, and unheard.
The husband watches night
fall from his bed,
The wife lies staring at the
ceiling high,
The tender language of their
past is dead,
Replaced by echoes of a
heavy sigh.
This fragile fortress offers no
defense,
Where transparent walls
build a fortress wall,
The love they harbored,
once so deep and dense,
Now shatters softly as the
dark hours fall.