Long Depths of despair Poems
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breast cancer runs rampant within me late mother side
whar moost every female diagnosed with emotional ride
into the depths of despair where metastatic cells pried
their way into the appendages whar din o suckling provide
did initial sustenance prior to malignant growth lied
Innocuously within fleshy tissue til oncologist could not hide
Truth from females that birthed and availed motherly guide
among most ever Harris heiress, whence treatment fried
will power to live (I can only imagine) as rogue growth did elide
as nemesis to body politick where no boxes of tissues dried
the river of tears when such news shell shocked me – I cried
for indiscriminate injustice whence fate snatched me father’s bride
shunting any trivial tit for tat resentments re: grudges aside.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
no other priority but being alive matters when surgeon knife
for malignant curse forces impending mortals to value life
purposeless double mastectomy performed when invisible mass rife
with errant duty to destroy sense and sensibility commanding strife
whether circumstance involved me eldest sister (still alive) or the late wife.
me octogenarian widower father summoned breastworks when last breath
o me long deceased mother – vehemently opposed being sentenced to death
no matter visualization practiced – such as furiously swapping with broom
who truthfully cursed with ovarian cancer, which spelt her actual doom
an unstoppable toxic brew within her being that coursed as meandering flume
Time elapsed, yet still difficult to espy wedding pictures with handsome groom
that would be my 20 plus year old father unbeknownst ill fate would loom
occupying cellular wall street where awry growth jostled for room
a harbinger of lifelessness, whereby she chose creation versus burial in a tomb
many fifty odd decades after my youngest sister exited the womb!
by: matthew scott harris
In the quiet hum of the café, beneath the dim, flickering lights,
The Poet sat, a relic of past ambitions, his soul adrift in the sea of his thoughts.
The Muse, with gentle and understanding eyes, brought him his coffee,
Her gaze, a fleeting touch of divinity amid the cold machinery of life.
Her kindness, a fragile thread in the tapestry of his existence,
A momentary glimmer in the shadows that swirled within him.
Life, he mused, was a relentless dance with troubles,
An endless waltz where every step led to another snare.
He had understood this truth, not from books or sages,
But from the raw, unfiltered experience of living,
From the grind of daily monotony, the suffocating embrace of routine.
Forty-eight years, and he was weary — a deep weariness that crushed his soul.
The poetic pursuit, once a ladder to transcendence, now a prison of words and silence,
Each verse, a reminder of deception, each stanza, a cage for his spirit.
The thrill of secret inspirations, once intoxicating, now a bitter aftertaste,
The readings, the celebrations, mere masks for the emptiness within,
Every accolade for every poem, a shackle that bound him tighter.
He had walked away, seeking freedom in the void,
But found that nothingness had its own weight,
An invisible burden that crushed him just as surely.
Isolation had come, a severing of ties that left him adrift,
And melancholy, a temporary solace, soon became another chain.
The Poet sipped his coffee, the warmth a fleeting comfort,
And reflected on the roads he had traveled, the choices he had made.
In his mind, the dream of a gentler path, a middle way,
Where neither the hustle nor the destitution reigned,
But such a road seemed an illusion, a phantom in the mist.
So here he sat, between the past and an uncertain future,
A soul stripped of pretense, raw and vulnerable,
Seeking meaning in the simple act of drinking coffee,
The Muse's kindness, a balm for his wounded soul,
Her eyes a reminder that even in the depths of despair,
Divinity could still shine through, a beacon in the night.
In a land where shadows linger long,
A tale unfolds of a people's song.
Apartheid's chains, a cruel embrace,
Enslaved hearts in a divided space.
Kindred souls, with no love for gold,
Living lives where stories are told.
No ego's sway, no material desire,
Yet, history unfolds, a somber fire.
Through years of colonization's hand,
A web woven tight across the land.
Black against black, a twisted game,
Materialism's rise, igniting the flame.
Brothers turned enemies, sisters in strife,
A discord sown in the fabric of life.
Marriages crumble, love replaced,
By a hunger for wealth, an insatiable taste.
Men with men, for coin's allure,
Sisters sell bodies, hearts impure.
Fathers oppressed, bearing the weight,
Of a legacy forged in a bitter fate.
Mothers, once pillars, now torn between,
Feminist fervor, a tumult unseen.
Destroying man, a misguided quest,
As unity crumbles, a nation oppressed.
In the chaos, a stark divide,
White families thrive, with values beside.
Raising children free from trauma's stain,
While others suffer from history's pain.
Land ownership a tale of despair,
As the majority's share becomes rare.
Charges for power, land, and more,
A cruel toll on a people's core.
Nelson Mandela, once hailed with cheer,
Now accused, a clone, a double near.
ANC's leaders, bellies filled with greed,
Stealing from those with the greatest need.
A nation weeps, in sorrow and woe,
As the coming generation begins to sow,
Seeds of despair, young lives entwined,
In a web of darkness, seeking to find.
Awakening sought in the depths of despair,
A plea for help, a nation's prayer.
To break the chains and rise above,
Reclaiming a heritage, a legacy of love.
That door, a portal to shadows deep,
Where secrets and darkness silently keep.
In the dead of night, it creaks and moans,
Revealing pathways to forgotten zones.
Its wood is tainted, as black as night,
Concealing horrors from the mortal sight.
A gateway to realms, where nightmares breed,
In that door's embrace, all fears take heed.
Behind it lies a labyrinth unknown,
Where twisted thoughts and demons are sown.
A corridor to the depths of despair,
A haunting place where souls lay bare.
That door, a gateway to the abyss,
Where echoes of sorrow and pain persist.
With each turn of the handle, we fear,
What darkness lurks, drawing ever near.
In the whispers of the night, it sighs,
Unveiling secrets that no one denies.
That door, a harbinger of dread,
Leads to places where the lost are led.
John Steinbeck wrote the story
Of the Okie family Joad as they
Travelled down their bleak
Hard California bound road.
Tractored out by the Cats
After the bank had foreclosed,
No feelings of welcome as
They’d hoped and supposed.
Woody Guthrie sang the ballads
Of that desparate Dust Bowl
Spoke of the period
From the heart and soul.
From those depths of despair
Solidarity brought hope
Gave the Okies some comfort
Perhaps helped them to cope.
Were lessons learned
Could it happen over again,
With global warming is it just
A case of not if but when?
Have we learned any charity,
Would we understand the situation,
Or would it sadly be as before
That same old case of exploitation?
The great love of my life passed me by
But I’ll still love her till the day that I die
She made a tragic mistake and now knows
Exchanged love for mere bangles and bows
For the heart is a most delicate thing
It can soar like a bird on the wing
Shout to the heavens and sing
Or it can dive to the depths of despair
If not nurtured from birth with great care
How I long for those joys of the past
How I pine that those days did not last
But they are gone like the lost sands of time
Their departure a most terrible crime.
But I must forgive those who forged such great sorrows
For they’re gone and they have no tomorrows
And pardon my love for her part
And nurture her innocent heart
I will not harbor the sorrows and anger of mine
For therein lies a much greater crime
But rejoice in the lost love I’ve found
And treasure our memories with joy
For I am the true love of hers
Now a wise man and no longer a boy
Disguised as an Apple Computer Technician.
He initially hacked Macbook Pro laptop.
He (alias Harvey Specter)
planted seeds of suspicion
that criminal activity prevailed
within my geographic area in general
or questionable individuals
lurked within or without
Citizens Bank in particular,
and suggested yours truly (me)
to be wary about
over friendly employees
at aforementioned capital one
storied financial institution.
Said gonif (pulled a masterful subterfuge)
inveigling yours truly to carry out heist
of the twenty first century
against his honest good n plenti resources
(subsequently checking and
savings accounts severely depleted).
The invisible webbed wide whirled net
ensnared me lock, stock and barrel.
Little did I know
the spellbinding impact
until the dirty deed done dirt cheap
found writer of these words
figuratively holding the empty bag
where I got forced to trod
analogous highway to hell
courtesy diabolical, inimical, satanical...
devil may care disguised cozener
who wove believable scenario
claiming Citizens Bank employees
involved in suspicious conspiracy
to siphon off hard earned bucks.
I submissively consented
to participate and cavalierly disperse
freshly minted Benjamins
suddenly linkedin
chain of events
rocketing, kickstarting, and experiencing
a worse horror than death
mortified at being bushwhacked.
The feeble explanation, justification,
qua obliteration, ululation
trumped with lame excuse
yours truly not in his right mind.
Mind control, (albeit remotely)
assassinated rationality while hypnotically
feeling commanded, governed,
née kid lee killed
mine esprit de corps
among kith and kin
consigning thrifty troubadour
to the depths of despair
wishing termination of existence
in tandem with damnation, interrogation,
penalization, et cetera of nasty brute.
After series of unfortunate events brought,
where innocence and naïveté caught
teetotaler tempted to drink deadly draught
of top quality hemlock sold
at many bustling entrepôt
cuz now existence fraught
with torturous quaking
nauseating, kickstarting hatred
of self, thus restitution
of funds sought
by folks willing bestow largesse.
If yes check out (fiasco from fraudsters
frazzles father)
legitimate platform
where charitable people swarm
and toys are sold.
What looks broken is really whole, and what looks whole is really broken,
There is an irony in this through ignorance and comfort when truth is avoided or remains unspoken,
I have watched love unfold in the depths of despair,
More so in the poor of spirit, truth is revealed there,
I've seen people well off, yet their hearts unsatisfied,
Taking care of their heart was never their goal in life,
And yet where do they go when they can't take the ignorance anymore?,
Money no longer satisfies, they reach out to the poor,
But just moments before they ridiculed, and turned their nose up in discust,
They claimed them to be crazy and laughed and scoffed,
Look at their mess, their addictions, their mistakes,
I cannot be associated with people who live this way,
Oh, my image,,,they scream, it will be ruined!,
People will start to label me, then I'll look poor and broken,
I will fall into poverty with the company I keep,
Forgetting that the truth will set them free,
Where do you set your eyes? Where does love reside?,
What are you living for? Open your eyes!,
If one person's intentions don't match the other,
They bang heads,,,they can't live together,
They can come for a visit, maybe have a cup of coffee,
But then their out n about and off n running,
Until they get out of breath, then your their relief,
Until finally the truth brings them to their knees,
On the streets clinging to cars,
Those smiling faces, sulky little palms.
Skeletal structures and lifeless gestures,
Declaring that even starvation is marred.
Pleading for some help and attention.
They don’t understand ethics or declension!
Crowding over food like vultures on corpse.
The tussles and struggles make them ruthless and crass.
Leaky roofs and stinking beds.
Humiliation, Hunger, Rape and violence.
Sanitation, Hygiene, sufferings and never-ending trails.
Dry taps and stagnant clogged ground.
Aimless days and sleepless nights.
Shrinking space and creeping dearth.
Pool of siblings under every shed.
Clusters of mushrooms in the maze,
Nurture only miseries and haze.
No emotions, love or sacrifice!
Surviving in the depths of despair!
There is just one hope in their eyes!
Your mercy is what they seek and entice!
No, they don’t need food,
They don’t need your sympathy.
Just hold their hand,
And give them an opportunity.
Yes, they aren’t willing, they need to be pushed.
For ages, their lives have revolved only around food!
All they understand is compromise and bargains.
We have to hone and educate, for them we have to raise the curtain!
Together we grow, together we expand.
Let’s make a beautiful home, let’s make it certain!
We don’t have to do too much,
It is just about “sharing hands!”
Are you one who has danced with the Devil by chance or by choice
Are you quick to obey all the orders of each masters voice
Repeating the lives of our fathers while blinded by faith
Expectant of love and forgiveness forlLifes mistakes we make
We live in a time where the blind are still leading the strong
Are the righteous, self righteous enough to be righteously wrong
Excuse is the “crutch” that we’re human exempt from perfection
Will that be the cross that we bare when we’re faced with rejection
Are those passing before us the wiser for passing at all
Are the heights that we reach for in life our reasons to fall
Is there peace of the mind or the spirit in Heaven or Hell
Does sin linger, eternally damning...a putrescent smell
Does the human within us insist that we make lifes mistakes
As we wrestle our conscience the innocent lie in our wake
Should we wish for forgiveness or wallow...only time will tell
When it’s too late for unanswered questions... will the mocking bird yell
What is left as humanity waits on the last curtain call
Shall we rise to the heavens above as the last angels fall
Will our wonder be wonder alone that the heavens replace
Shall we plunge to the depths of despair, even further from grace
Does time fly on wings that will heal the broken and damned
Will faith be the cure for the festering wounds in his hands
No redemption for those admitting we’re wrong and afraid
Destroying the beauty around us in the nightmares we’ve made
Lord help us repent now we’re dreadfully lost and alone
No chance for to change does our future lie written in stone
Can we change who we are can we change that which tears us apart
Are we wasting our time are the children alone pure of heart
Was Jesus shown human while losing His temper... seems odd
Is it sinful to think that we’re made in the likeness of God
Is each personal quest less important less noble to call
Than those that lie prone at the foot of the Wailing Wall
You decide for yourselves ...but for me
I Don't Think So At All