Long Greater Poems
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Long ago on some days, yet not so long on others,
I do so recall those days when I was yet a mother.
Days of being careless and having fun,
Not having to be responsible for anyone.
Then one day, a mother is what I became,
Where nothing again was ever quite the same.
The day of birth, we had our official introductions,
Yet, none of you came with a list of instructions!
With each new additional child
Came more issues to be reconciled.
There was no easy and set rules
Nor was I given the necessary tools.
I was not as prepared as I thought,
And most days, I admit, I was overwrought.
That did not mean I did not love you five,
For you each made me feel more alive.
I admit, as a mom, I may have messed up,
Yet, I always was able to find a fix-up.
With you all, I was profound and spellbound,
For no greater love could ever be found.
Now that you all are mostly grown,
And my nest you have certainly flown.
Ever reminded that I am no longer needed,
Also, it seems, at every turn, I am impeded.
Though, some, find my advice and affection offending,
My heart burst with love for you all that is never-ending.
I knew you all would grow up and move out someday,
Yet the feelings are so much more than just dismay.
I am alone, awaiting messages or calls,
Yet, nothing is heard inside these four walls.
When my husband leaves for work each day,
I am usually left with nothing but disarray.
Please always know I love and miss you all,
I also miss all the chaos and even the brawls,
That comes with having children around
Yet, silence is all that can now be found.
Just as I was not prepared on the day you were born,
No one told me I would be left feeling so forlorn.
Reminded daily that I no longer matter
My feelings and heart were all about to shatter.
One day, easier these feelings will become,
Until then, this despair I try not to succumb.
Always know that no matter your qualm,
I always have been and will be your mom.
© Kristy De La Keur Scoville
Sat there on my balcony hoping you would come back to me
I played the chords on my guitar but the music didn't
seem the same
The winter breeze embraced me
as though it understood how I was feeling
But then, it whispered in my ear
"It's been a while since you got drenched in sorrow
get up and prepare for the morrow
time ain't something that you can borrow"
And those words hit me hard
I stood up with a lonely and despairing heart
Didn't know how and from where to start
But words of the breeze echoed from every part
I started traveling from town to town
to rebuild the life that you turned upside down
In that journey, I started enjoying a newfound freedom
and gradually regained my true majestic kingdom
I began to live my life the way it was meant to be lived
I sat on my throne and played the chords on my guitar and
the music now felt a 100 times greater than it used to be
I’ve fallen in love with you like dot to dot
Ascending as a progressive line graph
Started from zero at the bottom spot
My heart beats at intervals of fives, not to bluff.
Don’t think my dear, this is a scheme or plot
Believe before my breath runs short so fast
Please hand me your glass of wine for my single shot
Spank me if you think this is an illusion…cast!
My heart-beats stay at greater speed, dot to dot
Approaching the highest point, the best on tops
Days passed, you called me “sweethoneybabetart”
After dating with you at malls, restaurants and shops.
We kept on seeing movies, dinner dates… dot, dot, dot
You spent much for me but I spent more and so what?
We’re both great earners, capable to spend a lot
For a give and take of two sweethhoneybabetarts.
We ran out of dates, not money plus lots of reserved dots
Let's begin new graph, new progressive dot to dots
Another love story, a solemn plan: family must start
As we walk together to the altar…everybody will clap!
Nov. 16,2022 10.15pm
...Janelle Hayes was president in those days,
second woman to lead the fifty states,
a career-driven woman, quite well read,
she listened to Chris, all the words he said.
It seemed so insane, the things he did speak,
but Janelle was smart, and realized quickly
that what this kid knew could not be a joke,
if there was no change, there would be no hope.
But if you know the future then you can act,
Janelle could set things on another track,
she knew of the lab, and what was coming,
but sadly we had overlooked something.
You see, Janelle Hayes was just forty-six,
and deep-down regretted not having kids,
as she talked with Chris, who was so alone,
feelings started growing, like none she’d known.
The maternal instinct, so long suppressed,
led her to adopt the time-displaced Chris,
the public knew nothing of what was to come,
just though their leader had got a new son.
It was quite a story, played on the news,
no favorability points did she loose,
and to her credit, she did love the boy,
amidst politics he was her great joy.
But as I said Janelle Hayes was quite smart,
now her mind was pitted against her heart,
she knew the dark future, but knew that Chris
without that future would not now exist.
Which meant if she worked to make a change
the future she’d build would not be the same,
which meant that her son would never appear,
the one she loved most would no longer be there.
I wish I could say she made the right choice,
but if she had I could not give this voice,
the love for her son proved greater in time,
Janelle chose him over all of mankind.
The plague ran it’s course, it all happened again,
the same endless death of men and women,
new memories of this time-loop arose
in all of our minds, it was quite a blow.
We have enough fuel for just one more trip,
and I’ll say that I volunteered for it;
yes, it will kill me, but I do not care,
we know where the lab is, I’m going there.
Some say it may mean war, China had nukes,
there’s a risk to that, it’s a real truth,
but doing nothing just leads to our end,
love undermined us, now there’s just violence…
Incessantly, and yet I still urge,
For the greater good, and I pledge
To cling to my craft and surge
Till our meandering pathways finally merge.
Whence tales of beauty and of love foretell
Of days adorned with melodious bells,
And voices in tune with their wishing wells,
Eroding the shards of my feeble shell.
Endued with another soul I met in books,
Who gave me dreams with open eyes;
Affirmed by a lady freed from her crooks,
Who said, “Arise for the Man in the Skies.”
Away from paths so cold and pale
That drowned the vessel of my lone sail,
And pierced its canvas to no avail
On days when no amber light prevailed.
From muted corners my kind fall asunder;
Fame, greed, and fantasies reign supreme.
Modesty is thrashed, love reduced to a number,
Honesty discarded, or so it would seem.
What do I even know of my sable race?
My heroes die young, their efforts suppressed.
What am I truly taught to embrace—
Mediocrity and fallacy as virtues confessed?
Now we loathe and fear to rise, dear foe.
It is all fractured, yet hope remains, you know.
Perhaps through welcoming change and renewing minds—
This unwavering dream of a man in his prime.
To glide over the loura on angel wings,
Amid the sound of a thousand rare kora strings,
And beneath varied kente colourings,
Enshrined within a divine moment in time;
Dispelling the vivid imaginary blind,
Awakened at last to what fate may design,
Apt within this pastel state—
The enduring dream of a man in his prime
Maybe tomorrow
By Michelle Morris
03/09/2022
Secrets and lies are not the way
Our hearts and minds need a better plan
Face the truth and be gentle with each other
Moving through life's moments fully
I miss you even though it was challenging
Our relationship and the memories
Drama and traumas and love and regret
Always wishing it could be better
Maybe tomorrow we'll see things differently
Maybe tomorrow we'll know our truth
Maybe tomorrow we'll love again
Maybe tomorrow we'll feel brand new
Secrets and lies become legacies
Our hearts and minds need redeeming
Face the truth and make a difference
Moving through to greater forgiveness
I miss you truly and wish you well
While you live in Heaven and are loved
No more drama, pain or regrets
Wishing you blessings and all the best
Maybe tomorrow we'll see things differently
Maybe tomorrow we'll know our truth
Maybe tomorrow we'll love again
Maybe tomorrow we'll feel brand new
Secrets and lies are not for us
Our hearts and minds need to build trust
Face the truth and save our souls
Moving beyond all limitations
I miss you but know we'll meet again
Eternally blessed in Heaven's grace
Souls purified of mortal limitations
Moving through to higher places
Maybe tomorrow we'll see things differently
Maybe tomorrow we'll know our truth
Maybe tomorrow we'll love again
Maybe tomorrow we'll feel brand new
© Michelle Morris, 2022
I live like a cancer - quick, unplanned growth unheeding of greater designs.
I devour information like a starving wolf - never sated, never tasting the goodness I consume.
I throw myself into activities under exhausting self-compulsion. I should ... so I do ... so I'll die ...
I create in a fit of madness, barely finishing one draft before my mind races to the next.
I busy myself and flood my ears with music.
I let my seething mind boil over without restraint.
I do what I can to escape thinking of you - O Time.
Scythe-wielding Saturn, most ancient of fears.
First to murder his father, only to taste the same fate.
Do I fear death so much?
I don't know ...
But I quail at the shortness of life.
There's so very much I want to do ...
And surely it's better to do much, right?
Especially when we're not sure whether all we do is right.
How can we love what we fear? What we dread?
Time, O Time ... Time ... Time .... Time .....
16 October 2023
In hushed greenhouses, a marvel grows,
A pilgrimage for those who know:
A rose unmarred by nature's thorns,
Its beauty is pure, as morning dawns.
I dreamed of its stem, a silken cord,
Coiled gently around my hands, unexplored.
My garden once bristled with spiky guards,
Till obsession smoothed those prickly shards.
From root to tip, I bred them bare,
Strength redefined in petals fair.
If thorns meant power, then power's changed,
In vulnerability, strength rearranged.
This thornless bloom, a rare delight,
Wields beauty like a beacon bright.
Its petals unfurl, a gentle shield,
Revealing truths long concealed.
When touched, it stands, unharmed and tall,
A flower-warrior, breaking thrall
From old beliefs of strength through pain,
Its peaceful stance is a greater gain.
In dreams, I graft this wonder's stem
To roses in my garden's hem.
Together we walk through skeptics' sneers,
Our smoothness calms ancient fears.
Behold the power of gentleness,
In this rose's thornless dress.
A testament to nature's art:
True strength blooms from an open heart.
Whatever ensues, we'll bequeath to God.
God unfolds, and he sustains us thus faster.
The work we adopt should be uniquely cowed.
God has endowed us all alone on this matter.
To cheer, I should foster a dignified bearing.
As yet, each of the muses affords their amenity.
Since wagging devotedness in any dealing.
The verse is feeble and prosaic as a lousy authority.
Yet long my dome it bobbed back, I can't sight.
Somebody is flopping tight for a truthful replay.
With trust redressing the case upon the plight.
Decay is undeniably greater crucial than headway.
There, I'll yield my spirit a co-conspirator.
My zealous heart has generated the blaze.
After that, the sonnet will be worn forever.
Time never alters the line rooted in God's praise.
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...
Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.
Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.
Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.
Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).
Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.
A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.
That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.
Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.