Long Fragility Poems
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Each one a universe unmapped
beneath a frail façade of skin,
a globe, where the value hides,
not on the surface, but within.
Sometimes glimpses are discerned
on the face or in the eyes,
glimmers of what is transpiring
beneath the thin disguise:
a marvel of complexity,
surprise and mystery,
a mapping of the future,
an encyclopedic history,
lands to explore and conquer,
genetic fortunes to unwind,
a human vista unique and rare
by God's own hand designed.
To traverse emotion's vast terrain
great is the heart's capacity,
but handle with care the souls you meet;
each has its own fragility.
Copyright, December 9, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
Broken Shadows
She has always had an energetic thirst for life
but now incurious thoughts are strung across her mind
and there they hang, a washing line of confusion
until a nudge of stretching shadows ripple her soul.
And the house…. is silent.
She moves but her heart, hands and feet
appear disjointed, as if ignoring each other,
moving in different directions, moving in detached ways,
Controlled, dictated by the very medication that keeps her alive.
And the house is still… still.
A thought sits up and questions if this is her house
or is this just her remembrances of her house?
Confused she rings her memory but no one answers
while the drawer of fragility slides even wider open.
The house sits and… considers!
She tries to hear the great-grandfather clock
that roamed her youth with the language of tick-tock
but a distant noise and a remote discord
sticks in the throat of the house.
A mumbled moment and the house is silent again…as if awaiting… .
She’d always been able to look into the darkness
as long as she had light.. leading her thoughts.
So now she wanders for a stroll inside her mind,
alone apart from past thoughts and present fantasies.
The house is nervous .. as it watches.
A sudden realization knocks on her front door
and she now knows this is not her house
but a prison cell, with unforgiving bars;
the nightmare tightens, a sense of perplexity increases.
The house takes a very, anxious breath
Suddenly footsteps and the jangle-dangle of keys
until ominously the footsteps and keys move in sync.
but finally her memory, remembers, recognizes who she is
just as the shadows begin to stretch and tighten!
The house asserts itself and the shadows… break.
Then from somewhere comes momentum,
a sense of escape, of freedom and back to reality
as she surfaces leaving grasping tendrils of deception behind.
But, at ninety seven, is her thirst for life almost quenched.
The house acquiesces and sits down to wait!
Ian Souter
I am the rot beguiling the saccharine summer hue
I am the self in selfish sorrow, sullying the morning dew
Sickened with the mortal blips of emotion
To fall with the fragility of flesh hipped erosion
Hipped bone beneath browned bandage
Honed the hand hither, 'ncase fickle flesh cannot manage
T'stand aground the mortal vantage
Health t'sickness, worn to wear, not to manage, thy
Breath be dragged'n rancid acid, lipped from the dazed haze of exhaustion
She who had not a gun to brandish, but the naval blade o'self-famish
She who chose to awake, who awoke'n self-loathing
Whose body is irate with the dawned dam break of bile
T'overflow mine own organs, and hinder the words of hungered mind
Breaking the tide of the thrum drum pendulum heart
Shalt th'tounge twist rue th'bile duct of recovery
Drool the drivel of a mere reason 'why?'
And retract the bile of thy sickened mind.
I am to drool the drivel, of love from human kind
Im so tired'f this mortal mortuary
In place of mortal mind.
I am the mind that threatens to die.
And i am the mind, prepared to fight.
Girls walk through life with a calculated and precise step,
their beauty hides a sinister and well-woven design,
their eyes are cold, piercing, hard to read and understand,
and they hurt anyone who dares to get too close to their soul.
They are the ones who bring pain to the hearts they encounter on the way,
they lie and manipulate, weaving stories with invisible threads,
their touch burns and destroys, leaving deep marks on the skin of time,
I have seen how they leave hearts shattered, scattered into a thousand pieces.
They are the masks of a designer of illusions that dance in shadows,
blending light and darkness, creating a spectacle of fragility,
but beyond this facade lie untold stories and silences,
for they too carry deep within their soul an unspoken longing for true love.
Perhaps beneath this cold and calculated mask lies a dream,
a dream of finding someone who can see beyond reflections and lies,
someone to discover the beauty in their hidden imperfection,
and to transform the pain into a story of hope and redemption.
She smiles believing there is always hope
Is there such a thing as an overdose of sadness
Lives are not immune to the impacts of time
Even after death our special bond will remain
Not content, Grim Reaper returned without warning
There is no beauty in tragedy, nor a remedy
Once again you disturb my sleep
Now there are hollow walls with silent floors
Echoes of her voice tingle -
________________________
January 10, 2021
Poetry/Acrostic/Silent One
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1319-961-10
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Capture The Essence
sponsor, Margarita Lillico, Judged 02/21/2021
All Quotes from the following Silent One Poems:
Crimson and Ivory Poetry numbs the pain
Its a part of me Eternal Memories
Broken Wings Drowning in Darkness
Cobwebs - Seasons of Death Will to Survive
Fragility of Dreams
R a i n ~ a misted mirror
coated in petrichor pain ~
fused with memories
pirouetting through the
veiled salt of the earth,
caressing the Pina Colada dreams
adrift in the icy-blue air,
amidst clouds soaked
in prismatic hues ~
arching like opalescent canopies,
to hide the despair I’ve draped
in dragonfly hues that no one knows
but the moon and his
merciful silver, forever stroking
the silken surface of s i l e n c e ~
homed within my
heart that aches…
And along with the thunder ~
came confetti of scars,
a piercing flash of metallic truth
revealing midnight rays
of how I’ve long been the storm ~
a murky sky of cracked constellations,
a rush of roaring torrents,
driving my thoughts to the honed
borderline of tremors and torture ~
teetering on forsaken fragility.
O dahlia dawn ~
I am the splitting tempest,
the spectral outline of
electrified lightning.
I taste the bittersweet flavors
of opaline stars ~
trembling in angst,
as fleeting sparks of the buried past,
too, feel the hurt beneath
the pansies of paradise,
where angels unfurl their
wings, sprinkling tears of hope
upon the battlefield of
shattered dreams,
lamenting the endless war
that burns in the olive-green
orchard of the grief-struck mind,
where fairy-lights
flicker neon hints of
prejudice through broken twigs ~
a pitiful perception,
amplifying the echoing embers
floating above puddles
of weathered lilies,
stained with dust and powder,
weaving a requiem for the
f a l l e n jewels,
walking through the trails
of bruises and tilted tulips,
bleeding poetry ~
beautified with
polychromatic phrases
and falcon ink that cuts
through paper promises,
leaving nothing but a restless reverie,
breathing in the quivering
warmth of quietude…
Upon the stillness of Big Sur clouds
High atop the silent summits
My solitude lies with sages
In this place of heaven
Endeared
To come to peace
In the ruins of the moon
Laying my body to rest
My eyes have turned to stone
Surrendering to freefall
Where there lies no restraint
Nor command of my being
Searching for the graces of timelessness
The flurry of breeze quavers
To take my soul
Plunging towards
An uncertain destination
My silent voice utters
"I have come to pick the lyrical flower
For my heart has yet to find its home."
In between the nettles and phantom orchid,
The coastal grasses and spineflowers
Sunlit and ethereal in the mist
A single rose of an unknown color
Speaks my name
With insatiable seduction
Capturing my unabated love
It fills my senses and enraptures me
Then slowly...
Ever so slowly, each petal of my
incarnated being
Breaks away from my heart
As the rose aspires
And dies
Left naked adorned with thorns
In the ruins of the moon
It calls my name
In the fragility of dreams
May 18, 2020
In the Fragility of Dreams Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
your love ~ my muse
your voice ~ my prose
s l i
p
s and sails in the sky ~
stroking the silhouette
of
snow-kissed mountains,
mirroring memories
of moon-flames
seized like picturesque
Polaroids of a spirit
that stands still &
firm
held by the archived songs
of seaweed sentiments
where
mists of thoughts
tiptoe
t r a i l i n g
the skin and scales
of serpentine w a v e s
c l a w i n g
through the throat of nothingness
pressed in the
frozen
salt of silence ~
mujo’s murmur
bathed in lucid blues,
like air of angst,
clouds of t e
a
r s
if only the wind could grasp
the water-weed wilderness
ebbing and flowing
within this mind ~
for the heart
is a chaotic odyssey
ferrying footprints
in distress
allowing the currents
to be the sailor
beckoning and betraying
the seekers
in search of briny bliss
w e a v i n g wishes
reweaving desires ~
never settling ~
wicked, yet carved
with starry reveries
pushing and pulling
valves of the ocean
held in the cradle of
endless hope...
but beneath the c r
a
s h
i n g crystals
&
cacophonous crests,
floats fragility ~
anchored in healing,
drifting in hurt ~
an ephemeral effervescence
an inescapable embrace
breathing and b r e a t h l e s s
unmoved by the
tempests of time…
as the sky recalls
the taste of tides
and the tide feels
the pulse of the sky ~
resilient &
relentless
amidst the restless rhymes
phantom phrases
and the clamorous
cadence of delicate life…
Unchained,
free of commitment
Explained,
in her persistence
Heartache, trust issues,
her skeletons run a muck.
Physical and mental abuse,
she finally left that schmuck
Charming,
her benevolent smile
Enchanting,
and extremely versatile
***
Self-contained,
committed to money
Unrestrained,
when he tells his stories
Lone wolf in a den of solace,
independence from captivity.
Free from emotional malice,
let go with a sense of chivalry.
Contingency,
alone feeling festive
Aborigine,
a supple beauty so majestic
Explicit, this voluptuous vixen,
feasting on my fragility!
Wrapped nude in Egyptian linen,
irresistible!!
"I'll be your huckleberry"
Jared Pickett
3/7/2014
Asavvy1
Form:
Looking from the humble cabin
An old man glances out to observe
The meadow lays even at the edges
Flat by the deep waterway incognito
Shades of green seldom seen emerge
Subtle multicolored to be exact
Though there appears to be more
Much more to the story to be told
At last, the rain falls then ends
Along with the last drop of coffee
Finished as the porcelain cup rim
Reaches the lips with thin fragility
Warm and friendly to the touch
A spoon falls to the floor unattended
Never reaches its destination
Never landing
As expected, there can be no rest
While the thing is suspended
A beginning without ending