Long Gnawing Poems
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This effervescent appetite
To cuddle and huddle
Your warmth and plum;
Your bush, green,
Wild life and natural sunshine
A craving, gushing down
Like a torrent of water
From a million feet of water falls;
A reminisce of a colorful dark night
Of passionate bliss, chatter and laughter
Under thatch roof and hut
Of sacred fingers dipped
In palm oil with yam
Our resonant voices
Saturated by the sting
Of fresh palm wine
And the spike
Of blazing tobacco pipes
In the African twilight.
Like a lost sheep,
A million stars and diamonds
Cannot eclipse this natural feeling
And yearning to retort
To the bright days of our ancestors;
Bright days of indurate astuteness and purity
Days, I long to kick-start,
Inflame and reignite;
Bright colorful nights
Of our mundane commune
With our ancestors...
A million stars and diamonds
Cannot eclipse this bright
Colorful nights of ancestral commune;
Bright, dark, illuminated nights
Of rebirth, renewal and regeneration,
To:
Vacate this gnawing feeling
Of voicelessness, void and vanity
Only she knows the weight of this veneer
that emanates from her aloof demeanor.
An ebony goddess, she waits in obscurity
ever ready to do the king's bidding.
Trapped in this masquerade that is her life
her heart bleeds with heavy, crimson tears.
Yet she allows her emotions to slip into an opaque mist
as she hypnotizes her master with seductive eyes.
With each passing day, her despair increases
her life of oppression brings a dark void of spirit
making the idea of death a welcome relief.
How can she find a way to suture her wounded soul?
The gnawing, naked ugliness of her existence
grips her as she feels the haunting
conviction of self loathing. When will this pain end?
Only God could save her now.
Written on 5/29/2017
Though I now live the life I’ve always wanted,
sometimes by hurtful memories I’m haunted.
Some images of you are harsh reminders
of how I worshiped you, while wearing blinders.
I wept through your emotional abuses.
As they increased, I made my lame excuses:
“He works so hard; his job is really trying!
He’s always sorry when he sees me crying.”
As time wore on, I feared I would awaken,
alone; this gnawing anguish left me shaken.
I couldn’t fathom ever being able
to leave. I see now I had grown unstable.
I started praying fervently, believing
that someday I’d escape; I’d cease my cleaving
and shed not one more tear. I am truly grateful
I had the strength to leave a man so hateful.
When I moved out, you thought I’d be returning.
You begged for months, insisting you were “yearning
to prove my love”! I’ve been firm in repeating
“I won't come back,” confirming your unseating!
Dark Times
Times we celebrate, to be who we are not.
Bleak times, diseased remembrances.
Why?
You know.
You know because deep inside…
You have hid under a blanket as a kid,
and walked quietly down the hall, later on.
Tried not to be seen, for fear of…
Goose bumps, pricks, prickles,
and… terror that you can feel.
Crawling, gnawing, biting, sawing, hacking,
Just words any other time…not now.
Be quiet, close your eyes.
Try not to remember…
All things that make you afraid!
Rats, cats, bats, hats of different sizes…
Capes, plates and the fates… are not on your side.
Beware, don’t dare, to be scared.
Spiders, black and brown, (wreck-loose) Recluse and Widow.
What was in the drink? What is floating, there now (on top)?
Is that supposed to be there?
Does that look cooked?
Rest in peace, or in pieces. Do not drink and drive.
Bring your spike, your hammer and your cross.
Stand, your ground, don’t make a sound…
let all beware, but do not stare.
“This is just a holiday…why pray?” Some say.
(echoes at the edges of the black, nearly unseen, obviously unheard)
Sometimes I feel them counting me
with their eyes,
not looking, but tallying,
like I am something that can be priced.
Their stares peel,
not gently, not kindly,
but like hands that don’t ask,
like ownership already decided.
I tell them to get off of me
And when they don’t
I stand there the same way I stand here,
learning the weight of being seen
and still unseen,
naked, not in body,
but in permission.
To them I am reduced,
an animal with conditions:
“prove you belong,
prove you are worthy,
prove you are more than labor.”
Why can’t I just prove I’m human and go home?
Let me go one time and then capture me,
I’m just livestock meant to be slaughtered.
I turned eighteen,
and nothing changed,
except the expectations
grew teeth,
gnawing at me to convince me of my hunger---
But I don’t wish to reach the stars
If I can’t ever touch them.
No one warns you
how exposure feels,
how it echoes,
how it lingers,
how it teaches your skin to remember
as it clings to every inch of you,
and crawls inside every crevice.
A cave diver that wishes to be a parasite.
They notice everything:
the thin, quiet history on my left wrist,
the absence on the right,
as if symmetry could mean healing,
as if clean skin means clean past.
And still,
why must I be opened like a question?
Why must my body answer
what my voice has already said?
Why must I be unfolded, inspected,
decided?
Decided.
Decided
if I am worthy of what I have made,
of what my family has made,
of what we have built with hands
that never stopped moving.
I am not your specimen,
not your threshold,
not your proof.
I am a working woman,
not something to be worn,
not something to be weighed,
but something that endures,
even when watched.
Never be mentally shackled
and pinned to the ground by
the gnawing what-might-have-beens
Don't look back in regret
because you chose to play it safe
Take a risk and surprise yourself!
Don't allow fear of uncertainty
to hold you back from taking a leap
Let that fear be your motivator!
Seize courage by the horns
Tip-toe through the minefield
of combustible disaster
Sit on a powder keg that could blow
to kingdom come! Have no fear!
Face the possibility of failing,
and if you do, that's okay!
Failure is a part of life
It's nothing to be afraid of.
Take a risk and surprise yourself!
I repeat, take a risk and surprise yourself!
Not a dangerous one, I hope! To take a risk
at something, at anything, is to be brave.
A safe risk is always a risk worth taking.
The reward? Pay dirt, or course.
BRIAN'S CHOICE 6,any form,any theme poetry contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written and posted: 10/15/2018
178 months, 129940 hours,
now only 10 minutes remain.
Sitting in cold eerie darkness,
he observes the rhythm of water drops,
slowly wipes away streams of sweat
with his withered trembling hands.
That aching fear, gnawing in his fevered brain,
spasms of fear demanding flight
yet none to be had,
his inner soul asking why he had lost his way
why had his sad life come to this?
What lay in the caverns of darkness ahead!
Wardens pace up and down like wolves,
stopping to stare with compassion less eyes - smirking.
Waiting for the clock to chimes 12 times,
and to shout,
'dead man walking.'
He sits savouring every last breath,
rapidly repenting for all his past mistakes,
deep inside he knows its too late for regrets.
All his apologies fall upon deaf ears.
Flashes past seen, his crimes, girls and drugs, what a blast!
Pretty girls, each taking a slice, of his hoarded treasures
and he indulging in theirs with total abandonment.
O' glorious were those dead and ancient days!
Then reality came back to bite and bite hard,
saying, " such foolishness was a dream and soon comes Death"!
Too hard to bear such truth, he rushes back into fleeting dreams.
Suddenly cold, very cold he feels the deafening bleakness!
Sees the finality in the concrete and iron bars holding him.
Cries silently, what he wouldn't give for another day,
another dawn out in sunshine and fresh air!
Then reality and Fate both spoke to him saying;
" Tho' you a doomed man, meet thy death as a brave one."
Each heart beat beats with each ticking second.
He clutches his worn bible, readying himself for what lies ahead,
anxiously contemplating if he is worthy of redemption.
Rocking back and forth,
unable to control floods of tears,
his thoughts are disturbed with a truncheon rattling his cell's bars,
and the dreaded final summoning of his name.
Wolves smile with sly eyes,
as the stench of death fills the air.
Fellow inmates turn their faces to the ground.
He savours every step, he knows they are his last.
God is no longer the master of his condemned fate.
He knows he can't erase the crimes of his past,
but takes solace,
feeling his crimes were not premeditated,
but now he must face the hypocrisy
of his own premature death.
Puzzle Pieces
by Odin Roark
How troublesome the process
This jigsaw puzzlement of completion
That piece of apology
Impatiently gnawing at conscience
Never uttered
Forever evading the moment
The congratulatory gesture
Ever studied for the right angle
The approach that would empower
Not merely pander to an ego
The closure unattended
Acceptance of grieving’s unfamiliar form
The not-yet-ready release from
Mistake’s stubbornly suffocating choke
Even saying I love you
Remains held in abeyance
Fearful of misjudged reaction
Forcing rejection once again
Yet…
Patience remains as always
Our least respected
And most willing protector
Might forbearance have but one goal?
The simplest move of all
Acceptance of the game
Oh how we question
Engagement of challenge
The forever-perplexing summons
The curves
Angles
Miscalculated chances
When life’s countdown only asks
We respect commitment
Without need for interlocking
For conquest
Or gain
That winning is non sequitur
To mortality’s premise
That always-alive existence
Provides tireless refinement
For the countless puzzle pieces
Yet to ponder
Bitten by love bug,
my heart swells with edema
my love, like gnawing anxiety,
burdens me.
Like a knotty noose,
stifles me
Like a watch dog,
follows me
Like an inalienable shadow,
always with me!
When I turn around,
it is right behind!
It lingers in me
like a lovely metaphor,
like the intoxicating smell,
of the first summer rain.
In my world there are only two of us-
You and I
Wherever I go,
the world wears your face.
a face I have never seen,
seen only from behind.
I don’t know where you are now
in which alien shore you dwell
Yet I write this message,
in secret code
pouring out my longings,
my unuttered love,
my invisible desires,
into this scroll of paper
in cursive, indelible ink
I seal it in a bottle
with no address on
and let it drift over the currents.
It is meant for the one,
who finds it
and thinks it is for him.
He is my Valentine!
If you feel, it is not for you,
please don’t throw it as garbage.
Kindly put it back,
and let my love vessel float,
over eddies and currents
because my soul is encased within!
Just know this much:
It is for my Valentine from a lovely lass-
A blonde with golden hair!
Jan. 18.2023
Valentine Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mystic Rose Rose
Prolific and fertile is this grand Earth, our nest,
and out in space, our Galaxies soundly attest
perhaps life just like ours has somehow coalesced
beyond our ordinary scopes of interest-
or maybe life exists that meets our common test.
Mysterious are circumstances only guessed.
What lies in those dark depths of seas where secrets rest?
These gnawing, stimulating thoughts will do their best
to hold attention to our 'unknowns' treasure chest
assuring long-term puzzles are pursued with zest.
When solved, assessed assured, we will have reached a crest
and we'll rejoice in knowing we have met our quest.