Long Halted Poems
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Thoughts swell in my mind like a puddle on a rainy day
as droplets of ripples expanding the puddle's display.
Clouds in the sky clapping away the applause can be heard for miles.
The light of the sky grasping the land like a parents hand to a child's.
Then in an instant the shadow consumes the light shadowing both far and near,
so brilliant in an instant as seen in lighting before it disappears.
The puddle remains growing from the raindrops still falling through out the night
like the brain performing cerebral function to manifest thoughts to sight.
Thoughts to the mind like raindrops to a puddle distorts reflections meant to be seen
as the brilliance of the night, the puddles remembers as inspiration for the mind to
dream.
The claps of thunder has ceased, the rain does not stop but lessens
as the sun creeps to the horizon the dawn the puddle beckons.
The rain has halted as morning inches closer the aroma of dew is pungent in the air
the puddle remains still unshaken in the dawn glowing from the sun's glare.
As a bride on her wedding day awaiting the moment she stands before her groom
the puddle has waited throughout the rainy night admiring the sun from the moon.
Like a princess to a mask her glance reveals the fairest complexion
as the sun smiles down upon the land through the puddle of his own reflection.
It's almost 1 a.m., and I, shipwrecked in insomnia,
lie with my eyes lost on the ceiling that silently tells its story,
listening to the monotonous murmur of a world that never stops,
even though within me, all the wheels have halted with a muffled grind, like a forgotten machine.
I've wandered here before, haven't I?
In this suspended space, in this hour of elongated shadows,
where time stretches thin, like an old spider web,
and my mind unearths every ghost hidden in the dark corners,
ghosts I thought long buried under layers of silence.
It's strange how the darkness, like a thief of souls, knows how to reveal—
things you didn't even know you still carried on your shoulders, like invisible burdens.
I wonder... why do I always return to the same turning point?
To missed chances, like trains that have left the station,
to unspoken words, like letters forgotten in a dusty drawer,
to people I loved too late, loving too much and too intensely.
All these sit beside me, like silent friends at a midnight table,
as if 1 a.m. were the meeting place for regrets and unfinished business.
I remember the promises whispered to myself,
to be better, to love more deeply, to find patience
and to forgive with an open heart, like a sky after a storm.
But now, they seem like fragments of falling stars,
half-formed ideas, remnants of a being I no longer recognize.
Did I truly want them? Or were they just words thrown to the wind,
spoken to fill the void of loneliness that surrounds me like a sea of silence?
In the deep night, where thoughts intertwine like rivers flowing quietly,
I lose myself in the reflection of what I never became,
each promise an echo reverberating in the quiet room of my weary soul,
where shadows intertwine with the desire to be,
where each ghost claims its place
in the unfinished story of my being.
The hand of dawn smashed the cleavage of the midnight sky
Cuddled the moon and flirted with the milky way
Until the sky missed all her stars
The clouds became pregnant
The night was still thick, so nature decided to make that one of their little secrets
But walls had ears indeed .
The birds whispered to the ocean to have her menu paused
For heaven is about feeding the earth
Quickly, the Hills and Mountains bowed
Galleys and valleys halted their pant
The beautiful daffodils tossed their heads gently to the rhythm of the waves whiles awaiting the rains
Lo and behold the rains kissed the earth
Birthed a new day
The fields were greened, pastures regained strength to feed
The sun gave a duchenne smile, and its effervescence spread the sweet-scented daffodils,
Charging the atmosphere with beauty .
May nature prepare our blessings whiles we snore
May we find the birds for heads-up
May the rains come timely
May the aftermath bring forth success, progress, fortunes and beauty
Merry Christmas and a Prosperous 2023...????????
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Beauty was crying by the roadside,
I halted and lowered my load
joining all sitting by her side.
“Why are you crying, Beauty?
I forgot how to smile, please do,
So I can smile too, oh, Beauty?”
Yet, she didn’t raise her face
Nor the tears ceased to fall,
risking dust with a wet trace:
“Tell me what those tears mean,
I forgot how to dream, please do,
Dream so I can have a new dream?”
She still cried and refused to talk,
I felt something was begotten
as I stood and continued to walk.
Then I looked under a rainbow,
And found you copying the stars,
Fingertips sprinkled by their glow.
Tears started to fall, tears of glee
And I also lowered my head to cry:
Beauty like you is so rare to see…
Form:
Walking along the Tiber's River walls,
one discovers hieroglyphics
depicting images of Romans
engaging in battles; they seem
mythical warriors so appealing.
As legend goes, Romulus
became the first roman king,
he founded Rome once
an insignificant rural village;
in the shortest time,
it grew into a powerful city
that ruled the ancient world
with intimidation and atrocity.
Each hieroglyphic tells
a story of victory,
of defeat, of conquest,
of cruelty and dominion:
hear Julius Caesar
speak against his enemy
in the Roman Forum!
It's such a sorrowful echo of distrust;
hear the shouts of proud citizens
overtaken by anger and disgust...
even louder they would be after
his premeditated assassination!
Every empire old or new
has known its glory in full;
and Rome more than any
empire has excelled them all.
If those hieroglyphics tell
of its greatness and superiority,
they also should expose
the evil minds of some emperors:
like Caligula, Nero and Diocletian
who ruled with a steady iron hand.
Constantine's conversion
to Christianity brought harmony,
the inhumane slaughtering
of innocent Christians was halted.
Would this empire have survived
without its legions of mighty stronghold?
Hieroglyphics itched in triumphal arches,
temples and monuments attest:
that the rise to power takes
an ingenuity which begins
with a strategic concept.
Today a world government
is in its raw state, other
hieroglyphics will be carved,
and along with holograms,
one sees images beyond
imagination and belief.
Will humans leave
a testament of their
existence with
a science so brief?
Sleepy eyes awake to crashing sounds on window panes
Creeping animals scramble around bristling forests nesting for a spot
while thousands of mad ants crusade in barren fields storing food in tiny plots
Along the busy high way meandering trees parted wide asphalted roads
and thick wavering clouds peak above shrouded path waiting for it to start.
Countless loaded trucks speed down bending roads honking horns
forewarning oblivious travelers not to take a chance
In the center of town busy shoppers paraded the crowded plaza
Ignoring beckoning dark clouds pressing upon them from pregnant skies.
Laughing children swing high on Ferris wheels
grown men tossed up down expanded roller coasters
screaming out of control
amused with laughter.
Unforeseen the gigantic Ferris wheel halted
And a terrifying sound emerged from beneath
Stealing the happy children’s delightful laughter
thick black clouds overshadows
the sounds get louder and confusion drenches the streets
dust and debris flutter in the atmosphere
A thunderous sound spits venomous vengeance
whipping and lashing
whistling and barking
and maneuvers the busy town
it dances from city to city
Wrenching up a destined path
disseminating people all over the streets
But the terrified children grip tightly
Kept calm and ride out the raging storm
©2013 Christine Phillips
Nothing but roadblocks railroading my train of thought
A way to move forward has to be on the precipus
My vehicle halted on the road not traveled
Hazard lights illuminate the darkness that surrounds my engine
Unfortunate repairs as I leak black tears
Busted, Mangled, & Torn Apart
I sit parked in the space of my own doing
Longing for the drive that used to spark my...
Plugged into the reflection of what could have been
The change in temperature, heated up my seat of complacency
Once again I am ignited and fueled by doubt
Vroom Vroom....the sound of the beast revived
Vroom Vroom....the growl as it awakes from its slumber
Vroom....the anger is engulfed in bellows
Again! the drive is restored
No longer a swerve but a straight shot
Zooming to the highway of rejuvenation
I loved the old films, as a kid; their monotone pictures of theaters golden age, presented shadows that allowed a viewers imagination to soar to great heights in unknown realms. Movies today don’t allow room for imagination to expand; it’s all there in color; the worst part of films today…they leave the viewer unchallenged and often bored. One’s imagination is halted, leaving the viewer unable to anticipate the plot of a sequel; there’s no inspiration for a viewer to create their own story either. I want the golden era back.
Life gifts all creatures
With an imagination;
It gives zest to life.
In a dream, beneath Columbus' watchful gaze,
Where the capitol’s dome with the blue heavens waltz,
Strolling alongside the Governor, in harmonious ways,
Our footsteps chanced upon the city's hidden vaults.
Dusk beckoned, a murmur urging us to roam,
Cleveland, my home, through the fantasy did thread,
First adrift, then guided by heart back home,
A train missed, the voyage's lament, a path of dread.
Another locomotive, with heartbeats encased in metal's hold,
My briefcase and luggage, on the platform abandoned in the frost,
A conductor’s poetic words, let go of your baggage, be bold,
Tales of life's loads, and the art of releasing what's lost.
Halted, the train on destiny's meticulously drawn line,
A voyage through life, where loss and blessing entwine,
At every halt, a lesson, an opportunity to align,
Where dreams and reality, over time, combine.
*Image of Ready to Break by UCA.
Tale of the Halted
'Tis be a day of echo
and with it, the result
preys on the lips to no
end, the uncontrolled
tongues hast lain in
plain sight of held shame
and clumsy splits stewing
in a devil's brew.
Fire musters the envious
their claim and precious
bans a quick ambition
to an embellish sheen,
their feigned embrace
traces honey as blood
parts sapped mettle, a
fusion of scraps from
an enigmatic ex.
Now blesseth truths
burns their brittle fibrous
habitats, for they etch
their soul's in the ashes
and wallow in the vague
ambiguity of last night's
light show and be as much
the reason for claims
that themselves never
hast happened.
Natheless, they'd be none
the grander e'er seen, be
they runaway wanderers,
all unconscious, kinetics
empower their motions
as the fire that bred their
souls, hast petered out.
Yet, no need for flames,
as it has been called out,
'tis duel works in passing,
an uplift streak sparingly
made a dart for life to
unleash its hold and give
the halted birth a soul.
It rives steadily, yanks
at the skinned that
detains its pledge,
abrupts suddenly, and
sanctioned to live.
Enters the settler, an
embedded phase
replete annals done
sheaths an escape
with a glow so soft
though shields the
inevitable its moral
claim to be realized
and resist the deniers'
reclamation and their
rumored tales that
made their spark
ignite.
2019 September 17