Long Dwelled Poems
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In the stillness of a dusk filled with eternal sighs,
I wander through the corridors of thoughts, where shadows whisper truths.
The tragic spirit emerges, a veil of somber reality,
That the world and life offer no satisfaction, no true value.
This tragic suspicion leads to resignation, a deep, silent surrender,
Eroding innocent happiness, leaving a void where joy once dwelled.
Yet, within this genre of existence, a secret wisdom hides,
A choice of perspective, a shift in the silent course of the narrative.
To remember innocence and happiness with the eyes of wisdom,
Is to exchange tragedy for the conscious choice of joy.
In this Odyssey of consciousness, realms of existence unfold,
Where maps of past happiness guide us through the labyrinths of despair.
Lost in a realm of overwhelming pain, each step a heavy burden,
But if happiness once touched your soul, it remains a beacon,
A guiding star in the midst of the endless night, leading us back to light,
Rebuilding the Socratic palace, with walls of innocence and joy.
Each brick a memory, each room a fragment of pure laughter,
Building on the foundations of moments untouched by the decay of time.
A world reborn from the ashes of resignation, blooming anew,
Where the conscious choice to prefer happiness rewrites our fate.
In this palace, reflections of past pain become windows of hope,
For the grip of the tragic spirit weakens in the light of our wisdom.
And in this sacred space, new beginnings arise,
A tapestry woven with threads of joy, resilience, and endless wonder.
In the silence of heaven
there are half-buried machines
where a man once wanted to dwell!
Some of these were built with a design in mind
with regards to deities' fame and Tyrannies.
Awash in the propped-up ancient lies
of creations wreckage covers
all in chrome and thunderstorms.
...an Oceans shining through
to see the ships a sail on heaven seas
In the heart of what will be
all there is,
is the dead staring past into infinity!
And the machines of ancient gods, diluted deities
A washed in electric snow
like holy furies
Adrift from hollowed centuries...
In the breath of the Sacred
and the profane.
In the tranquility of heaven
there are silent machines
where men once dwelled.
Awash in the propped-up
ancient lies like creations wreckage cover all
in tapestries of thunderstorms.
Here The Carrion lie...
In to seas shining through
To witness ships sail in heaven breeze.
Somewhere between the silence of heaven
and the rage of the heart
lies the lands of where thunderstorms depart.
L-arge amount of euphoria
E-nters into your mind;
I-n your celebration of birth,
S-adness is far behind.
L-arge scale of happiness has dwelled in your heart;
Y-our life is filled with joy, while woes will now depart.
H-uge measure of rapture
O-ffers a thousand thrill;
L-et the pleasure remove
L-onely night and cold chill.
O-n August tenth early morn, darkness has gone away;
N-ew dawn has broken, bringing brightness to the day.
F-ull blast of much mirth
L-ets your eyes see the view;
O-ne beautiful moment,
R-efraining from sight so blue.
E-lation has just brought to you an amazing aura;
S-mall but quality time makes large amount of euphoria.
i'd become immortal again binding
a hardened stone catering to the sensual
needs to gather soiled stained hanker chief
a sudden removal of all earthly gesture's
i'd crawled beneath self tracing his footsteps
he guided me somewhere between heaven and earth
i suppose as night crawled under day creating
a soft mauve glow throughout the sky all sense's
were quite balanced and filled with a tidiness
i'd rather not embrace the calmness about me
moved searching for granite hills and solid
foundations as the warm mist traveled evenly
through ancient greenery of pastel pasture's
while my mind craved a certain mastery i found
little peace depicting a tranquil finding i'd began
to shatter openly into a million pieces a sheer
rapture abode my firm structure as my mind
swayed tossing memories back and forward
a charming force chasing the eye of the needle
i'd encased virtue beyond my wild eye's slowly
madness had return shivering about my space
why i'd carefully stored it somewhere between
the grand piano of broken keys and lost notes
unspoken memorandums followed by speech
hence moving tolerance behind me abandoning
life as i gazed earnestly above the carny dreams
of a folklore's tale capturing my soul in a borrowed
dance a game of chance as i began watering the earth
with a mountain of tear drops drowning myself into
solace and relief quiet moments opened the windows
to my mind seeking refuge in my thoughts my desires
an infamous notion that i once walked among
the living that i once soared through the galaxy
clinging to light clinging to hope's findings absorbing
life's bruise's feeling human emotions for one small
moment i'd felt a twinge where life once dwelled
somewhere within me
(I still admire Shakespearean classic English as it sounded more poetic so I wrote this in that way)
O' man thou erecteth palaces, castles and courts
while on death a mere grave sufficeth thee
How magnificent and formidable thou maketh thy forts
in thy wish to make both future and history.
Thou who art' accustomed to mighty marble walls
and mansions of mirror, silver and gold
Thy grave shalt be small compared to palatial halls
even if a thousand demons it may hold.
Not a coin or even half a coin of gold
wilt thou take with thee to thy empty earthen grave
All that shalt ye leave behind for others to behold
and now shalt ye fear though ere thou hath been brave.
Thy innards shalt merge with mere earth soil and sand
No matter now if ye dwelled in huts or palaces of gold
Thy grave shalt occupy the tiniest portion of thy land
From the warmth of quilted beds wilt thee lie in the cold.
Thus ere ye consider founding, building thy imposing edifice
a homeless vagrant if ye shelter in thine care
Knowing our lives art' but on a mere precipice
while the joy of giving doth give a joy beyond compare!
Death's a journey but no provisions can ye take along and fold
How shalt ye respond when it inevitably calls?
Our skeletal bones, a simple ditch shalt amass and hold
as the living walk all over us with gentle footfalls.
Shakespeare too returned to dust as hath saith he
and while many might abandon his archaic style
yet his quill shalt vie for soul-like immortality
for his works might flow on as does the old Nile
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
Like magnificent avenues of autumn, wherein we bask before all colors flit.
Happily, my works were very popular, as current sweet songs of ruby birds,
At the purple, sunset time of fading skies, when lilac time flows backwards.
I dwelled in the house of the whimsical new, admired by casual passersby,
As clouds and gemmed landscapes are admired, by visitors to neon skies.
Neighbors wafted through visual colors, as rouge moon visits newborn sun,
Like hours spent visiting gaiety's garden, waiting for something to happen.
Torrid summer was in the cherry sunset, and green birds owned coral day,
And pink butterflies flew by the window, as gilt, molten time slipped away.
Juicy apricots were beginning to ripen, with their tangy, sweet savor of July,
When I saw several of my creations come to life, on the street, walking by.
I laughed to see the sudden swaying, to graceful, fluted music of the wind,
Like the smiling time of the evening, when seeing sun and moonlight blend.
They moved proudly upon the skyline, playfully frolicking, hues shimmering,
Like the earliest break of antique day, when newest truths start glimmering.
Mellow sunshine fell straight through the clouds, as the dancing slowly died,
Like the last day that a rainbow was glimpsed, on the day that nature cried.
And I had sensations of blind wonder, like the starry-eyed, dreaming night,
When the mighty ocean bellows its roar, in huge, full moon's powdery light.
I realized my buildings were alive, because of the people who dwelt there,
For people lent them color and spirit, as a medallion sun makes floral flair.
But they never again danced in daylight, nor in the sudden, purple twilight,
Yet, the rosy memory has never faded, like vibrant memories of moonlight!
I was a little girl holding mothers hand-
unprepared for the harsh and brutal image
of my sister being run over by a truck
the image raw graphic violent and terrifying
I will always remember the chilling scream
my mother screaming and screaming and screaming
it will haunt me forever-
the bleakness the reality powerful fervent
perhaps that is why we were so close
mother and me
until her death we shared this raw emotion
just us-
the scene was garish
a little girl lay dead
in her sweet pink dress
I was naïve unprepared for such an intense
violent death
I was a just a flower growing
so I folded my petals up around me
and there I dwelled unspeaking just staring
into nothingness
mother went to a raw place painful and lost
only the love of a grandma
could reach my shattered tender soul-
she was uneducated and inexperienced
but with untrained skill she opened each
petal one by one and each raw emotion was revealed
somehow mother and I recovered in time (or did we)
and life rumbled on
but still when I go to the wind blown cemetery
and I touch the name suzanne
it all comes flooding back the undiluted raw image
and that penetrating scream to goes on for infinity
and this has made me the poet
I am
a poet born from raw exposed pain
______________________________
July 29, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/raw emotions
Copyright Protected, ID 15-695-291-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Raw,
sponsor, Catie Lindsey
Fourth Place
I've no memory of my beginning,
A tiny seed, a lowly abandoned weed
Taken for a ride on Mariah's breath
Safe harbor found on a wall,
I barely squeezed between the bricks
and rested there for a while
In the silence of loneliness, I dwelled
No others like me did I see
as I buried myself inside a crevice
Leaves like arms in shades of green
I budded like a wildflower
Despite the odds I survived
I'll be doomed to a lonely life
without a flowery mate...
a lonely weed, never to procreate
A memory ~ I recall being a wispy seed,
with fuzzy siblings at my side
When our white-haired mother withered,
she sent us off without a goodbye
to live or die on our own.
In dust-laden silence, past the reach of day,
The mansion's library whispered of forgotten tales,
Its heartbeat echoed in the books arrayed.
Time's soft touch graced each spine and page,
Among them, Dickens stood with solemn grace,
Austen's wit lingered, untouched by age.
Balzac's illusions, faded, not effaced,
Eliot's Floss, its flow stilled in place,
Whitman’s grass, in tranquil state embraced.
Whitaker's knowledge, a temporal space,
Housed where the light through curtain's veil,
Spoke volumes of a world so interlaced.
The round table, center of this literary grail,
Vase barren of bloom, yet filled with long-gone blooms,
Oxford's rust, a testament to detail.
The Davenport, proud despite its failing,
A chair's broken leg, strength still prevailing,
In the corner, history's desk, inviting, waiting.
The hearth, with ash of fires long quelled,
Storied reminders of warmth once felt,
Stone and log, in quiet remembrance dwelled.
Adventures found in the stillness of decay,
An exploration of souls in silent ballet,
An inexplicable reunion with an unknown yesterday.
Here, in this grand sepulcher of intellect,
A young explorer's heart would intersect
With times gone, yet alive, in dust-specked respect.
Gonifs and gossips revisited
since originally being crafted
approximately half dozen
dirty deeds done dirt cheap years ago...
Abound and lurk
within every nook and cranny
analogous to some annoying pest
harmless though one reside here,
when off his meds goes berserk
here at Highland Manor Apartments.
They snatch and snitch packages -
meant for other than themselves -
think Grinch who stole Christmas
plus snoop, i.e. eavesdrop
big Dumbo ears as listening devices
(batteries not required)
or serve as rumor mongers
to don self importance
and trumpet "FAKE NEWS."
We (yours truly and his misses)
dwelled at aforementioned residence
July first 2025 will be eight years,
and no sooner did both of us set foot
on premises than hearsay
immediately promulgated
(metaphorically swirled about our heads),
and passed like greased lightning
thru the robust grapevine
purportedly wife of mine
brought in live snakes.
Oddly and interestingly enough though,
I never actually never heard nor saw
a fellow resident
talk (or whisper in hushed tones)
about me outright.
Rather than badmouth other feisty folks,
which leaves unpleasant virtual
aftertaste described as phooey zook,
thus comeuppance to reprobate recipients
I activate viz cluck
king silly reasonable rhyme,
(so keeps head up
for urbane adverse city slicker
you better watch out
(...better not shout...) just duck
and run for cover cuz poet took
effluvia enroute spouted by word huck
stir, he avoids naming
(chatterboxes whose lives
so devoid of meaning,
they figuratively kickstart tittle-tattle),
who vocally ramp up
some juicy tidbit with any luck
taking page from former president playbook
letting their lips uncontrollably run a-muck
totally oblivious to credibility factor being a schmuck
buzzfeed initial kernel of truth and truck
outrageous zingers suitable for National Enquirer,
tragicomical, cuz mistruths
courtesy tenants exhibit chutzpah to pluck
farfetched outright lies and innuendos
rolling of tongues of then occupants such as:
"Bible Thumper/Holy Roller,"
"Bingo/ Phat Cathy,""Crooked Old Man,"
"Curvy Girl/Thunder Thighs," "Frumpty Dumpty
"Mush/Smash Mouth, "Snaggletooth,"
"The Bodyguard," "The Fossil," "The Schvartze,"
"Winkle," and last but not leased "Zha Zha”.
Give me fruit flies, mice
and/or roaches any day,
or give me death!