Long Flood of tears Poems
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I've cried too many times,
that flood of tears at a loved one's passing
that indescribable feeling and emotion
that wrenching in my breast
heart beating too fast
breath straining with every tear
salt burning my cheeks
that dragged out pain and sorrow
wondering
praying
asking God why.
Too many passings in a lifetime
grandmother, father, sisters, brothers
children gone too soon
only pictured memories remain.
Standing at the precipice
I weep once more
I cry for loves lost and slipped away
I pang at the loss
and patient I wait
for the years to catch me
taking me home to see them all again.
Walking down stark white corridors, the stench of bleach burns my nostrils.
With every step, I can feel sorrow lump in my quivering throat.
Looking down at the wrinkles on my shirt, I quickly smooth them over with sweaty palms.
The P.A. speaker crackles some incoherent name in the distance.
Bathed in yellowish-white illumination,
The droning of fluorescent lights singes my corneas.
Reading the room numbers, I’m almost at my destination.
The ticking of clocks seems to slow to my melancholy.
One room away, I can faintly hear your weakened voice.
Opening a sterile door, your hollowed-out face turns to me.
Biting my tongue, I hold back a flood of tears.
Leaning over to hug your fragile body, I can feel the drastic weight loss.
Your once-beautiful auburn hair has become a tangled nest.
So I grab my bag, pull out my tools, and get to work.
Gingerly, I separate strands of hair with a pick comb—
One by one, with an undying love, until I get down to the last knot.
Unsalvageable, I grab worn stainless steel scissors—
The ones you used on me since childhood.
I cut out the intrusive knot and grab your pale pink brush.
Gently, I stroke your hair, now shining under the overhead light.
Pushing the button on the side of the hospital bed, you raise up more.
Sitting behind your delicate state, I start the French braid.
It doesn’t have the same length now, but it still has the feeling of home.
Lying you back down, I kiss your forehead.
Whisper, “Hush now—you look like yourself again.”
Everything is as it should be when you close your eyes one final time.
The Hurricane and Florida
The green valley near the blue lake
It sounds like a color combination by a happy incident
it was the weather of the day that made nature
impossible romantic
near the lake where Pink Salmond swam and
silver trout vake, in a cave, the Huldra lived
She was beautiful, but not by a human standard
her pussy hair was so long it covered her body
like a hairy curly suit
Could she sing, not half?
snow on mountain tops melted, and bears woke up
from winter rest, blueberry blued in April
I sensed attraction to her splendor but did not see
she had a tail, my ardor cooled
as the old tale tells, humans and trolls do not
mix, life is best lived along racial lines
I had to reject her, but by doing so, she released
a flood of tears that released a surge that was sensed
all the way to Florida
“Are you a Warrior?”
I was asked in the in the quiet solitude of day
And I wondered long into the night
What does a Warrior make?
If by a Warrior you mean
One who always tries to do the right thing
Even when doing what is right tears my heart in two
One who does the right thing just because it is . . .
If by a Warrior you mean
Someone who always makes time to listen
Who brings you a smile when you least expect it
Who laughs with you everyday, today, just like yesterday
And cries a flood of tears so yours do not fall alone
If by a Warrior you mean
One who stands up for those in need
Who fights for those who cannot, or will not
One who turns the other cheek in the face of rage, hatred and bigotry
Walks away when my blood screams out injustice!
And a fist is all it seems I have left to choose
Because walking away is the right choice . . .
If by a Warrior you mean
Someone who will always be there for you
Always tries to move Heaven and Hell to keep his promises to you
Someone whose soul withers and screams when I cannot, have not
Supports you when you are wrong because that is when you need it the most
If by a Warrior you mean
A person of honour, of compassion, faith and humility
Someone of strength, trust, of love and respect
Someone of ethics and integrity and the will to live by them
The courage to fight for your dreams and . . . and to fight for my own
Someone who will always apologise and say I am so, so very sorry I hurt you
If by a Warrior you mean all of these things
Then all I can say to you it this, just this, only this . . .
I do not know if I am a Warrior
But I want to be . . .
at times the soul gets clenched
in an unspeakable grief
in a demoniac grip, it chokes and wriggles
the pain of being stung by a dozen scorpions
or hacked piece by piece by an axe
tremulous grows the heart, over love that is spent
seeks in vain to revive the joy that is gone
strains to lift the veil that shrouds the soul
wrestles to come out from the desolate cave of black solitude
the more it struggles to wade through the mess
the deeper it plunges into the morass of despair
clung on talons of excruciating pain,
wailing a long wail of never being understood
the mind goes berserk
whirling and churning.
anytime the volcano might erupt,
emitting pyroclastic cloud
with the asphalt lava spilling out,
blowing life with its violent breath.
yet, have succeeded in putting on
a merry visage during day
laughs with the laughing crowd
but retires at night to the solitary cell
to release, in agonized sighs, the stifling anguish
and soak the pillow in a flood of tears
how long can one seek to hide oneself
in the cover of vapid cheerfulness…..?
why try to save the face when there is no face to lose?
sure the fig leaf will one day fall off
to stand in stark nakedness before the world aghast
April.2.2022
This or That, Vol.11.Poetry Contest
Topic-Fig Leaf
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
Today was no different from any other,
Yet for some reason I felt sad and depressed.
It began just fine and seemed pretty normal,
When all of a sudden, a dark cloud overcame me and I was stressed.
So I immediately looked to how this storm developed,
Bringing all this anxiety and worry in its crest.
And while I've never claimed to be a weatherman,
I can see high and low pressure systems, with the best.
My review and analysis then began to show me,
Where the fair weather was about to rapidly change.
It was initially far off and in the distance,
To the point that I didn't feel it was all that strange.
This is where my ignorance would fail to recognize,
Just how fast the environment can morph and surprise.
So now I'm filling bucketfuls that overflowed retention,
While stopping a flood of tears, so I can depressurize.
I wish
I could into a deep blue sea dive
Have the flowing flood of tears subside
Let my smile surface and revive
And my woes would ever cease to survive..
I wish
I could the highest of mountains mount
And from its very summit
I would see with no doubt
How tiny my tribulations and vain to wane about..
I wish
I could widely fly
Reach the heart of the sky
And how light I am I would realise
Having dropped the heaviest of burdens so far..
I wish
I could on a solid land land
And feel the strength of the path I tread
Be sure not to stumble
When I raise high my head..
I wish
I could vanish into darkness
With a void I would merge
Attain a leading light
And with serenity I would converge..
I wish
I could follow an inner time to rise
Bright, full of energy and willing to shine
Despite the weights of dark nights
Seek the Light of God, bow to the Sublime and end my fights
I wish
I could not just bathe but sink
In a so pigmented thick ink
Draw and colour in a wondrous beauty
Paintings and portraits with my poetry..
When we hear about any evil in the world…or any evil that we see…
it saddens us to think we’re not as kind and civilized as we would like to be.
An act or acts of violence so senseless…they cut us like a knife…
as we’re reminded by the wickedness…of the sanctify of life.
The scenes plays out across our screens…it’s surreal and stupefying…
We see the death…we see destruction…we see survivors crying.
Tears flowing from the eyes of babies, children, women as well as men…
All crying for a world that will never be the same again.
And we join them in their sorrow…the moment the evil begins…
a flood of tears all flowing…for a world that might have been.
Grieving for so many lives stolen…so many families rearranged…
crying for a world that evil has forever changed.
Saddened at each act of evil…occurring every day…
grieving as more and more of our innocence is slowly chipped away.
With each act of evil…each act of brutality we become more and more bereft…
until we’re left to wonder…if we have any innocence left.
There are many forms of evil out there…many people we could blame…
but the simple truth is once evil enters our world…our world will never be the same.
Because with every loss of life…once evil has unfurled
we’ll never know what that person might have done…
how they may have changed the world.
And that is the true tragedy of evil…
from the moment it begins…
It leaves in us all to wonder about a world
A world that might have been.
O child of stone, outcast, alone,
succumbing to desire.
Inside your chest, you’re sorely pressed,
assailed by a liar.
Do not believe the tales it weaves:
the lost, untethered heart.
Though it deceives, it silent grieves
the time it spends apart.
When realized, it bitter cries
for wounds it did impart,
and scarce conceives, much less receives
the grace of a fresh start.
But when it breaks, all of that ache,
like scales, just falls away.
A flood of tears, to be drawn near,
says what no words can say.
Your Father sates, and yet He waits
for you to freely turn.
Climb in his chair, incline your ear,
and hear what your soul yearns.
Child, fall asleep to rhythms deep:
a heart that fiercely burns.
Ah, to be blessed, and find the rest
your strivings never earned!
“I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.”
Chuck Palahniuk
Is there such a metaphor as an avalanche of time?
Each second can be cold, but never freezes,
but we all know a landslide once triggered,
can bury fragile foundations into oblivion.
Sometimes life is scripted into a pantomime of pretend.
Darkness crawls at dawn.
There's a sour stench in the air,
ascending from an aromatherapy of agony and ache.
She's crying again. Her demons smiling.
This is no melodrama,
as crimson discolours the whites of her eyes,
with dripping mascara staining sore dark circles -
as 3am fears are released through a flood of tears.
Her spirit is a malady of misery,
lusting for an end from this state of deadly delirium.
In each tear there is a sign,
an unveiled message lost in silent flows -
as anxiety's asphyxiation grows.
Time has become her nemesis.
Turning her intellect into foolish bitterness.
It's a dilemma creating false hopes,
resulting in broken dreams and forgotten promises.
Destiny keeps playing games with her spirit,
whilst fate falters like premature butterflies.
Only her heart knows the truth of her heart -
She hides behind a veil of personal poison.
In the molestation of her mind,
she kisses the silence in between each echo,
yet the sands of time bring her no respite.
People keep throwing stones,
bruising her every time,
she has no desire to live as a victim
of broken pieces from her past,
but wounds keep resurfacing.
Tired from drinking venomous embers of elixir,
which pierce like shards of sorrow,
penetrating an eternal hole in her soul,
she cries for healing and understanding.
But In a world full of dark skies and rain,
her sanity slowly fades,
like a paper bag of emotions,
floating in a muddy puddle within a concrete pot hole.
Intoxicated by kismet's chalice of impatience,
she has learned fate has no mercy,
it offers no remedy to soothe her sorrows,
nor heal her horrors.
her life is a metaphor known as an avalanche of time.