Long Drearily Poems
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How often do I hide in thick layers
of parading masks-- afraid to reveal
the hardened ego which denies
a vanity ruled by a sordid past -
those matriarchal flaws, cracks from
violence, and lesions of snuffed anger
marked by wired illusions
over time's unhealed grievances.
I smile with resistance existing
through fragile acquaintances to escape
light's awakening that could lead
me out of life's pretenses.
So I hover drearily on bloody nights
and run to the woods in search of sages,
even wise thieves , who could give me
refuge from this soul going imaginary-
but my darkened mind lies, asking
"pride, how treacherous or precious are you?"
Russell Sivey Contest: In The Dark
Created 14.09.2017
Grieved our word by breach of faintness.
Fraud pains and shivers us wordless
Had no clue, what had given us
God, join us in one love and grace.
Heaven is broad secret above.
Our parents' love will aid and move.
Ready to merge in love and sense
God, join us in one love and grace.
Strange and hue's world is mystery.
We talked quite than learned drearily.
We presume from what they told us.
God, join us in one love and grace.
our lives are intertwined through time.
we soar and grow close by yet mime.
Current love's bolted growth is false.
God, join us in one love and grace.
We thereafter wept our blunders.
Things were expressed that can't be changed.
Cleave the most of your one life chance
God, join us in one love and grace.
Said things we're inept to bear back.
Guided us onto the right track.
Prize memories righted themselves.
God, join us in one love and grace
In case I never write another poem again,
here's what I've been thinking
I've had a rough time wrestling
with the rigid grooves inside
my red hard, head -
heading nowhere really,
getting no place clearly,
drearily coming to a head -
where spine meets brain
and runs its creviced terrain
it spent too many hours of my life
building.
Beautiful though, isn't it?
All of it keeping life running -
lungs breathing,
heart beating,
cells feeding
on the energy it never wastes.
Wasteful to waste such a masterful design
isn't it?
A little tasteless.
Wouldn't it be
tragic
to leave this life behind -
an existence no mind can hide,
but mine cannot imagine,
stuck in the sulci canyons
I created nine years ago.
We don't talk about nine years ago,
me and my sulking sulci posse,
not about the days
when he-who-shall-not-be-named
sent the grim reaper out to play with my heart.
Yeah, let that sit in for a second.
Every heart knows what that feels like.
Guess mine couldn't take the strike,
the jab,
the stab in the back
to a heart ripe with frozen spite,
full of incredible credible lies
despite all the wisdom
rightful guided advice could bring
my psyche took a dive,
right into the fragmented canyons
where this all started.
Pardon my honesty.
I suppose all this confused pain
inside of me needs somewhere to go -
a home if you will -
somewhere to belong.
Isn't that what we all want,
after all?
In such occasions where the heart yearns
for your heat how would I recover the
sorrow, the pillow no longer drips with tears
it leaks the yeast of sadness
It drills with grills that has chilly taste of fist
The face I’ve came to known is
disappearing slowly dispersing drifting in a
shallow whipped stream strangely it
strangles the anger of hate I have to carry
that I couldn’t fight for you enough
I couldn’t hold my pinky promise
I couldn’t keep you, let along see you again
I’d wish death upon my dreadful drearily but
this light of your skin reminds me the moon
once covered the sun and all went dark
As little hope the was the fear that each
earth dwellers had was enough to confess
their sins
Since your last text purged my day
I hope the memories that we made
embrace the emotional route it straightened
because it was real not forgery
I somehow wish to stop whipping
I hope I start shifting just to let in the breeze
Your eyelids would forever impair my ability
Ashleigh Ngoqo
How often do I hide in thick layers
of parading masks-- afraid to reveal
the hardened arrogance which denies
a vanity ruled by a sordid season -
those matriarchal flaws , cracks from
transgressions, and lesions of anger
over time's unhealed grievances.
I smile with resistance existing
through fragile acquaintances
to escape light's awakening
that could lead me out of life's pretenses.
So I hover drearily on bloodied nights
and run into the woods searching
for sages even wise thieves ,
who could offer me refuge
from this marrow sinking into
a litany of dirges, of love's requiem:
i must have grown dumb; I cannot
hear these hibuscus hymns...not even
tumbles of the song my soul never
seeks could assuage all my snuffed evenings...
How this darkened mind lies
upon his leaving... still,
vagrant psalms from a bitter farewell
bang like a shrieking gong...without end
VICKI ACQUAH·MONDAY, MAY 15, 2017
Blue skies are for lovers;
Not for mourners, and mothers.
I am searching the clouds.
Any sign would relieve my mind.
Needing the clouds, as weeds need the rain.
Slow pace, searching for a face;
Rain drizzle falls drearily, befitting my mood.
Searching those formatting gasses and vapors.
For an outline, or any clue.
” No news is not good news”
Her leaving was abrupt.
Is she one of the loved one’s hovering,
waiting for us to look up?
Looking up at the clouds, asking out loud
“Is that her face peering
out of the gray and pink cloud?
Could those be her wings?
fluttering in the wind?
I am deep throat muttering,
“Kai is that you”?
” No news is not good news”
Her leaving was abrupt.
Is she one of the loved one’s hovering,
waiting for us to look up?
My existence is flawed,
Bogged down by day, month, year old thoughts
I cannot stop,
My existence is flawed
Matching statistics taunt me,
But solemn truths surface
when guards pass drearily to sleep,
no more minds to keep,
Was all this worth it,
Oh the burning yearning to be free
of the wretched body
When I went insane I thought
I spoke to god,
And to them, distraught, I yelled
My existence is flawed,
Ferocious rains inside me fought,
Oh, again, to laugh away deaths embrace,
Resign myself to end of days,
As flesh and bone all surely rot,
And sirens sing the tunes of Nox,
I repeat, My existence is flawed
To this conjecture I contend,
All beauty will turn sometime,
But sunlight's rays shine
day by day,
And shadows dance
A sweet romance,
fend instead for next days brace,
Do not succumb to pale horse's race,
A small suggestion I propose,
Swap "my" with "why"
and truth arose,
Although those meander without cause,
Why, existence is flawed!
I am still on the field
In search of pink roses for you.
I find you a beautiful rose but then
The shades of night have fallen,
Nyx has spread her garment upon us
The night is cold and drearily lonely
You have not come seeking for me
I tried to find my way home
But I cannot find my way to you.
I have been roaming, roaming the wilds.
When at last Aurora appears
I have lost my way, my way home
In the labyrinthine terrain
Of the deep forest growths.
I discovered a plane of roses
Roses of all forms and hues, for you
But I cannot find my way home
I shall live here in love with the roses
And explore them, without you
And you shall live there with your Love
Without the roses, my bonnie Liza!
So much talk of love is hocus-pocus,
mumbo jumbo gibberish with relish.
You miss it when love's lost,
but getting rid of it, when it goes off, is worse.
You can't take it out into the woods and run away.
You can't just switch it off without a raging fight or a good-bye shrug.
You have to go through all the tragic stuff played out drearily:
"I'm sorry to say I've had enough"
"I simply don't love you anymore, we've grown apart"
"I've met someone else, much better for me than you ever were"
"I'm tired and frankly sick of you"
Such stuff is far more than losing love, it is messy active rebellion and rejection.
Out of love is sad, when you were so much in love.
But you can find love again if you haven't already done so.
And you can be in love, more than once, at the same time,
so losing a love or two can be a good thing.
A love lost can be good riddance.