Long Fading Poems
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I AM AROUND TO AGING
I look forward to thinking about my old age
Yet to come, but not too far away
My son watches me thoughtfully always.
He tries to help me climb and stand by
asking to be careful, that reminds me
I am ageing
Growing old means losing all the strength
that esteem now
Oh! sad, fading the glory,
temperament, bloom, and insight
Shall not see the kaleidoscopic atmosphere
Beautiful faces of loving children, relatives, and flowers
Shall not hear melodies
whistling of birds, ecstatic tunes
And shall be abandoned by everybody
And the isolation will creep into me
wrinkle skin castoffs the fragrances
Sometimes, my fingers tremble
When I am going to hold something
That is, gesturing, my nerves are getting weaker
and many more disorders queuing behind my shadow
my normal practices and desires
forsake without my approval
shadows of sad feelings pursue my footprints
I feel I shall run fast to the cavern of decayed
The day our first Grandchild was born in my family
A new star appeared in the sky in succession
For the first time, I consent now, I am an old man!
At this moment,
I looked around my son’s blossoming face
I see a rising sun, but in my mind,
A weary sun is sinking!
Jayaratne Weerakkody
~
A beauty from Redding,
alone on a hillside,
where dreams play viola
and wishes agree
Hair spun of moonbeams.
as eyes tend to wander.
while sharing the shade
of a sycamore tree
Gathering daisies.
with petals for pulling.
near shadows now painting
designs on the ground
Following seasons.
in soft subtle colors.
past butterfly whispers
of barely a sound
Endlessly dancing.
like dandelion seedlings.
that tumble and twirl
on the gentlest breeze
Barefoot and smiling.
she wanders the valley.
along lonely pathways
with hope if you please
Watch from a distance.
with silhouettes clinging.
to yesterday’s sorrows
now left on a shelf
Don’t bother calling,
she finds fading echoes.
are nothing but trouble
in spite of herself
For, she’s an illusion,
your imagination,
now conjured inside of
the heart in your chest
Memories carried,
alone on a hillside,
while time disappears
on this fantasy quest
Life sits there waiting,
it’s losing its patience
as you find your reasons
are more than you see
In search of a beauty,
who comes down from Redding,
where dreams play viola
and wishes agree
As the scarlet sunset sets fire
in the fading satin sky, making a surreal collage
of vermillion ember motif, glowing bright.
Swathed by its crimson radiance of congeniality
I wake up feeling the last touch of the departing summer.
The spectrum of dawn turns to tinsels in the cerulean sky,
shrouds the floating detritus of the desiccated clouds.
The nip in the crisp air of the crystalline morning
makes the seamless sky of my psyche sense
the waft of the winsome summer sauntering to its end,
as the serenading zephyr sings the farewell song for me.
The trail of rains fades at the fringe of summer,
supple northern breeze whispers to me
the tune of a new beginning.
The strands of silver clouds slowly sail away
grazing the ash of the end-summer’s smoky sky.
Sunburst horizon spreads the gossamer drape,
as the tepid spectrum emits from the slant sunrays.
Aureate autumn arrives with diaphanous aura,
the wispy clumps of the silken clouds
sail as the fashioned flotilla of fantasy
across the cobalt charisma of the sapphire sky
where the beguiled birds bathe
in the gorgeous glint of the blue bay.
From the lucent brink of the sunburst horizon,
kaleidoscopic colors spill from the dawn’s pallet.
Slender blades of beige grass sway in bracing breeze
on the lap of the maroon meadow,
morphing into cinnamon pasture.
The crown crafted with the drops of diamond dew,
flashes with the finesse of dawn’s opalescent glow
while the fiery colors burn the foliage face of sepia trees.
The echo of the fall’s faint footfall
I hear in the rustle of the golden leaves.
Stone and steel is my embrace,
A petrified dance in the grey expanse.
A cold monolithic grace…
I am jagged edges…
My soul claws at the barren sky.
I lie, a silent scream against the fading night.
Whispers of wind through fractured rock.
I dash my soul in foreign lands
a forgotten language etched in my bones.
Twisted metal limbs reach out,
an armature of my doubt,
grasping ghosts in the swirling dust.
A monument to my decay,
a testament to time's relentless march.
The weight of ages bears,
crushing memories into rust.
Yet, amidst the ruin,
a spark remains,
a flicker of defiance in these hollow eyes.
A testament to my lingering spirit,
a refusal succumb to the endless darkness.
Stone born of bone,
a weathered vertebra twisted insane
Raging against the manacled god.
Metal fingers clings,
a forgotten purpose,
a silent scream of industry.
Jagged edges bite the air
My mind is in free fall despair
My shadows pool like secrets
The earth opens
A wound that refuses to heal
I stand and defy the depths
Something stirs,
a memory,
a dream,
a fear.
Stone n metal
an ancient embrace,
All is forgotten between flesh n machine.
I whisper to the wind
stories of the monolith.
The eye of the storm,
blind and unseeing,
stares into the abyss,
A silent sentinel
secrets of a world
consumed by my shadows.
Dreading is pointless once a glorious light slithers our sight.
Vanishing years of yearning, a pure heart laden with optimism.
Gleaming soul with a bright angel at the crown of his right.
Fading vivid hearts, As we clean tears in mysticism.
Mumble concerns in the head as going off to slumber.
The time for effort is passed; we'll not live in eternity.
We will meet up with the truth of our ultimate cumber.
Predicting a possible outcome of the eulogy.
Faint tones of sorrow inspire the shapes on display.
Uttered to hush once we are given an abode transition.
Gold domes and flushes of magical bliss are to mollify.
The cold rise of the soul is apace, natural, and not an illusion.
Written: June 18, 2021
A Brian Strand July 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
"Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more, in the leafless root there is no less" - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'm a sunflower,
dipped in honey of
bittersweet bronze smiles,
admiring its soulmate
strolling around the sun,
in sombre shine of
eclipsed dawn, whilst
these faes lure poisoned
pollens with flaming
ruby red ocean foams,
And I see a peculiar
patchwork on knitted
canopies, which are
sprouting clayey hearts
out of crimson crooned
willow branches.
Crumbling to pixies,
falling lifeless like fragile
leaflets in autumnal carols,
I believe, twin flame
telepathy is a souvenir
of roses and thorns,
which emerges as wanton
wildfire on the brim of
ocean's moon-song
in mellifluous mystery,
outlining turmoil in
turquoise land of trolls.
For, magnetised feathers
on matte lips always get
soaked in ashey sighs
of regret, whenever
bewitching conspiracy
of his amethyst eyes,
befalls in dialects of
forest's echoes and the
brittle skin of basilisk
slithers with a deadly gaze
upon my mulberry heart.
Chasing seasonal winds,
I became the fading mist
that succumbs to the
sheath of amber rays,
infusing in my lungs,
and suffocating my love for life;
Amidst these broken skies,
you left shadows of
pencil-sketched debris,
that float like wisps
of faulty daffodils,
distorting my dreams
and twisting thy truths,
in hellfire horizon that
sets our graves apart,
beyond million miles of
satanic soliloquies.
Haibun 1
He kicked the doors open with his one good foot clad as it was in a beat-up Converse laces removed a tough and battered old man wildness in his eyes long hair akimbo dirty clothes to match he rolled his wheelchair straight to me hand extended. Close to my ear his hoarse whisper Jesus, Jesus he’s all you need brother guessing that I too was a patient. I probably did look like his colleague that day a somewhat bewildered grin no doubt cautious uncomfortable body-shuffling sitting as was he. Jesus... We don’t need all this crap they’re giving us and (to the orderly) get your hands off my chair I want to set by this man. Take your troubles away he will we don’t need their damn pills just Jesus do you pray you have to if you ever expect to leave here. He held my hand again a tight grasp with both hands he never intended to relax. Remember me tonight when they come to you remember Jesus tell them to go to hell. His hand separated from mine as he was rolled back through the doors his voice fading still instructing me how to be, here.
memory of light
no bridge across the chasm's
raging untamed storms
"I am better off healed than I ever was unbroken."
Beth Moore
I thought I was as fragile as a gossamer web
woven by a spider spinning exquisite silk.
My tears were polished pearls of morning dew,
nourishing flowers before they could wilt.
But I am not cut from the cloth of that ilk,
and salty streams I cry would wither their petals.
When love was lost, I did not break
for I am made of much sturdier mettle.
Although my heart was filled with aching,
courageously it refused to surrender to death.
I took shallow breaths, afraid it was breaking,
but found that I was still whole and intact.
The fracture merely scratched my surface,
making a dent. My countenance rent, not torn.
I did not shatter from the impact, but arose,
reborn and refreshed from slumbering remorse.
No longer are there dark corners in my heart.
I forgave him for harsh words once spoken.
My fortitude is stronger than I ever thought.
Sadness and misery are fading memories
of a relationship no longer controlling my life.
From depths of disparage, I've finally awoken.
Life's loose threads have been snipped
and the frayed edges of rejection were clipped.
When I look in a mirror I am wearing a smile,
pleased with my unbroken reflection.
“Magic can create wonders bordering between reality and fantasy, creating before us an aura of chimera. All celestial phenomena may flash past before our naked eyes and we cannot decide if we are dreaming or have landed in a heavenly space “---- By Poet
“I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind”
-------------Constance La France
Whoosh...
What magic happened, I don’t know,
When I rubbed the three rocks together.
I felt my legs shaking violently
And my body levitating higher and higher.
Beyond the push and pull of air,
Entered space in a matter of minutes.
I was all excited.
Was I traveling on a magic carpet
Or on wings like an angel of heaven?
Buoying up in rising gaiety
Forgot all about the world left behind.
Shooting and soaring into the starry night
I experienced such celestial delight
During this interplanetary travel
I felt as if journeying in a supersonic.
Like a leaf floating on the surface of a river,
I floated weightless in the cosmic stream.
I felt like a celestial tramp
Disconnected from his earthly home,
In the vast unknown expanse,
I found a peaceful place;
A place where no sorrows resided,
A secret haven where no earthling has ever set foot,
Far removed from dust and dirt,
Making me feel as if I woke up in Heaven.
I danced and cavorted among stars.
Dived under planets clustering round.
Rainbow colors flashed past,
With lavender, pink and blue predominating.
In this magical space, I found my heart’s fulfilment
A sense of belonging overpowered me.
I felt like an alien to all sorrows,
Cut off from every nagging responsibility
and social norms.
I longed to be there for ever.
I heard the music of stars
And the happy whisper of galaxies.
I looked down at the receding Earth.
It appeared a tiny blue dot..!
I saw it fading out of my sight for ever,
As a shimmering glow, soon to extinguish.
Once, I grew in a garden,
but, now I am part of a death bouquet;
on top of a coffin in a funeral home,
I suppose it is an honor but I feel doomed.
People passing say we are beautiful roses,
(not for long I am thinking);
then, a fragile, gentle hand touches me,
and pulls me away from the others.
A girl strokes my petals,
and holds me to her cheek;
I feel her tears falling on me like rain,
all day she holds me tightly in her hand;
often kissing my petals.
That night, she places me in a glass vase,
and I hear her weeping in her sleep;
in the morning I am a little droopy,
just a little weak.
I cannot hold my head up,
but she calls me beautiful still;
each day I am fading, withering- dying,
and I know my end is near.
Soon my petals fall, fall, fall
and the girl picks them up- each one;
putting them in a pretty bowl,
and that is how it went- 'till;
more of me became petals,
until there was no flower left.
Yet, the girl still touches my fading petals,
and calls me beautiful though I am decay
I want to tell her that beautiful is not my name,
I whisper to her- my name is love . . .
_____________________
July 7, 2020
Poetry/Personification/Beautiful Rose
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1266-602-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the PREMIER contest, The Flower, The Thorn or Both
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place