Long Grope for Poems
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Sitting in a dark room
I flutter mothwing eyelids.
It comes to me
that I was born to be
the hive master of every earthy beast,
and a flock of wild angels.
My moth eyed fluttering pauses
to stare me down,
I was born to be looked at,
born to be the face of death,
a performance, a circus, a pantomime,
deaths own masquerade, a poet.
Sitting in a dark room
I grope for a bottle of wine on a side table.
My angels are thirsty,
the beasts are lapping at the open cuts,
those self-inflicted wounds
upon angelic wrists.
I was born to be this blank page and a pen,
a purchaser of refurbished laptops -
born to be a set of blindly probing keys
for the unlocking of symbols,
fictions real enough to feed
even the thin white blood
of mothwings.
Why don’t we let things to be
The way they were meant to be?
We strive to thrive
By a meddling drive
Into Nature’s territory.
Nature gave what Nature gave
Why not preserve it and save?
Instead we try
To modify
Play lesser gods who’re naïve.
Trees we hew, gasses spew,
Vanish’d is the mountain dew.
Music is now what we make,
No chirping birds by a placid lake.
We devour the earth like the termites do!
Fish and plants and bees and birds
And of course domesticated herds
Nature breeds
Through cyclic seeds
But for humankind, I have no words
There’s no space for the human race,
In high-rise cities we grope for place.
From up on high
Beyond morassed sky
The sun just smiles at our errant ways
And Nature smiles at mankind’s toils
As laboriously the earth he despoils.
Tsunamis and tremors, El Nino and Nina,
Hurricanes like Rita and unforgettable Katrina .
Nature, my dear, is beyond your wiles
But have we discerned, our lessons learned?
We get what we deserve, our desserts are earned
We seek WMD, genetic research,
Towards extinction we fervently search,
We eagerly wait till to atoms we’re turned.
Let the Lord be my Shepherd, let me not want.
Let me say a prayer, not endlessly rant.
With infinite love he can fill up your life,
Let’s not test Him, (else be led to the knife!)
Let’s be the sheep, and we shall not want
Form:
I'm squirming in my chair of oak
with narrow arms, and folks lined up
in two long rows of growing thirst
and hunger for a breath of air
Like sardines in a can of worms
we are strange, unlikely shipmates torn
between one salesman's limped plea --
the other shark who disagrees
Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt
with slicked down hair, accusing words
persuading few with his hot air
The black suit spews his declaration
a quite contrary explanation
Until my mind is torn in two
and in a room we must decide
Confined inside, a dozen votes
where six say yay, six more say nope
We're hanging by a thread for days
and rumor spreads, with dreadful words
He has finally coped with deadlocked folks
But sternly looks a bit provoked
We sit there like a row of stones
of wounded souls. We are excused!
We grope for keys, and leave our thrones
And as I'm walking out the door
No longer needed any more
I see the face of one accused
Then count the blessings in my life
and take a breath of freedom's air
So glad to know some welcome arms
are waiting there, at home
_____________________________________________
"Person"
When surrounded by gray fences
In moments of stark empty hours
Amidst anginal clouds of thought
Compulsion to crawl into cave
I suffocate and grope for you
My lovely blue...
When in the midst of brawl and shriek
I am robbed of my water and sky
Am lost in the hurly burly of my mind
The boat almost sinks in rough sea
I pray for a peace as quiet as you
My tranquil blue......
When I am in lonely soul
The birds are in quest of feathers
The skeleton stares me in the face
The light confined to its darkness shroud
I am in deep need to pursue
Your friendly hue, my warm blue....
------------------------------------------------
29 February 2016
My heart is lost in depth of woes,
While sorrows echo loud.
As tears descend with silent throes~
Beneath a veil of cloud.
In the dark I grope for my lost heart,
But it's slipped beyond my firm grip.
Each tear I shed softens its grave,
And deeper it sinks, out of reach.
My anguish drums a hollow grief,
No hope of joy or smile.
My mind is caged in disbelief—
It may remain awhile.
I need no soothsayer to tell me—
I’m already buried in its depth.
My cries are aches without relief,
And I can’t restrain the tears.
It's far beyond all hope or aid,
I know—so others do.
Though cries may rise and voices fade,
None brings the lost I rue.
I'm wearing the blue,
yes, proudly, and don't prejudge me
and I won't prejudge you.
Some nights I sleep swirling in
nightmares,
seeing the blood of victims, and
I still very much care.
I grope for the lamp on my nightstand,
my headache becomes a tight band,
my wife awakened, softly talks me down,
I would love to leave this "toddlin' town."
Brother, sister police officers agree,
that our job puts a strain on our families,
I come home from tragedies such as
gun violence, child abuse, accidents,
robberies,
yet, I'm accused of being
cold and unfeeling,
when the hurt closes in and is
joy stealing.
Yes, I wear the blue,
my life, my heart is of rescue,
take a ride with me to see,
some of the human acrimony,
Yet, at the precinct it's comforting to receive,
flowers and cookies from some caring
people reaching out,
that's what gratitude is about,
it helps after long hours,
and when some distressed strangers
say, "Thank you for responding to my call,"
it can, at times-
relieve me from the pall.
We need to be more understood,
we need more cooperation from the
neighborhoods,
after all, it's for all our good. ~
I’m getting a new computer tomorrow
I love my tech about as much as I love my boyfriend
It’s M5 chip, 10 CPUs, neural processors and GPUs
will mostly idle away as I grope for the right words
but they won’t show their impatience - no -
they won’t sigh and tap their shoes like a boyfriend.
I’m getting a new computer tomorrow
I’ll love it’s bright, starlight, smooth and flawless skin
maybe not quite as much as I do when I’m groping him
but I’ll sigh with delight as I run my fingers over its form
few things in life completely delight and please me
I know one or two - and one of them will be brand new.
.
.
A song for this:
Joburg jam by Pogo
Nobody by Kate Earl
.
.
*every year I trade in my Macbook Air for a new one, it only costs ~$250 so why not? That way I have the latest, greatest tech.
if you can not speak, hear ...
I am no better than you -
we are turning inward en masse
light gleams from the mountaintops and steeples
warning us with dread, yet our swirling head is never fully fed
the beast, reticent as death, wastes breath on blame
it screams without a voice to shatter the mirror of truth
begs with keen intent to move our lips
to reach and grow and sing
the song matters not ...
it is the lilt music of elucidation that begs to tremble the air
and the sacred echos not our own ...
lies and cries ... moans-to-sighs
the pregnant replies that move in the womb of hope
cloaked in doom they grope for sound, sacred
but are born wan and still and cold ...
if but a heaven's thunder to rattle the starry veil
to coax the sun to wail its bright, athwart the darkening hem
to tear the dreams from our hearts, and cast them upon our fellows
to feel the weighty wonder of dire discourse and deliberation
to burn our iterations in the frozen flames of compromise
but first, to daub tender our lips with utterance
for if the air hangs deaf and dewy like the crimson morn
we will surely earn our sorry fate and folly
and cold curse ...
of silence ...
if you hear, speak.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sound Of Silence" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Me you come in the dark hour of pain
When howling winds of strife
Threaten your own dear life
And your myriad tears fall as endless rain
To Me you come
You come with the promises of love renewed
Sacrifices of things held dear
Longing to quiet down the fear
And have the vicious storm again subdued
To Me you come.
In the bitter darkness you grope for Me
“Father, answer Thou my prayer,
Now I need Your gentle care.
Your obedient servant I swear to be.”
To Me you come
I then enfold you in your time of need
Wanting so your love to last
I erase your hurtful past
Your fainting soul with my strong love I feed
When to Me you come.
Then along your way comes the joyful hour
Everything to your lips is sweet
And you forget your Lord to greet
You go on in life full of your own power
Not wanting to Me to come.
If you could know how great is my sorrow
To be ignored and forgot
And no longer loved or sought
But I will still wait for you tomorrow
Hoping once more to Me you’ll come.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Published in Youth of the Hour Magazine, a publication for Seventh-day Adventist youth in the Middle East, April-June 1997, along with the article by same title written by the author. No corrections made.
Jeremiah 2: 23- Will a young woman forget her wedding ornaments, or a bride her attire? But my people have forgotten me days without number.
We tend to come to God when we are in desperate need. We don’t come just to revel in Who He is. So many years have passed since I wrote that article about how I was afraid of losing my little daughter to an illness and how I begged for healing, only to forget Him when she got better. We never seem to learn. Some of our most fervent prayers were prayed in the bomb shelters during the civil war in Lebanon. We come to God with shopping lists, requests, rarely….rarely with words of adoration and praise simply because of WHO HE IS! The saying goes…”There are no atheists in foxholes”…..
Oh great divide you stand to look at me
while I on bended knee grope for you
between this world and the next
we are like ocean book ends ,
meeting in the center of the Universe ;
Oh great depression you are killing me
offhand remarks ingrained in my psych
your a wedding band on my finger
and joy can never ring us
when our hearts meet, we suck air ;
Oh great divide why can't we feel
the day we married we had the flu
between our worlds there is no next
we are like rivers running wild
meeting only through the great divide
Anger, I summon you then squelch you,
what is a broken heart to do, I ask you?