Long Haunting Poems
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My biggest fear; is to have my LOVE known as a Haunting LOVE
An ambiguous, fearful, unfaithful, ominous LOVE
Shadows, Silhouettes of the past; screaming for TRUE LOVE
Searching the darkness, the emptiness a giant void of despair
My BELOVED GOD My BELOVED SAVIOR blind LENORE’S
Eyes with YOUR Universal Light the Brilliance of YOUR GLORY
Silence HER Ears with the Muic of YOUR VOICE : Prayer and Psalms
Envelope LENORE’S HEART WITH YOUR AGAPE LOVE
MY DEAREST and Most Only BELOVED : LENORE
May Y O U NEVER, EVER Know A HAUNTING LOVE
INSPIRED by Sharon Weimer and Phylis Babcock on their comments on
POST Talking with H I M
DEDICATED TO SHARON “ shar “ WEIMER
She's lived a lot of "almosts"
She almost drowned under the pulsing weight
of the river's temperamental waters when she was 12
Later on, she felt time itself suspend as she spent
her last few seconds wondering if death would
take her quickly, while her car spiraled down the I-50,
barreling off the ice-ridden road at a deadly 80 mph
into a ditch.
But it didn't
She could have died riding top speed into the back of
a jeep, but walked away from it, granted it took her memory
Deep into the sweltering heat of the desert,
she nearly escaped the strike of an infant rattlesnake,
and walked away, unharmed, after slipping off
the beautiful sandy red rockscape
In spite of all these "almosts"
the most dangerous time of her life
was when the escape of sleep continuously escaped her,
and her body could no longer regulate its own temperature,
among several other things,
including hunger, so she didn't eat a single thing for months
while the tube down her pencil-thin throat continuously
fed her, forever, it seemed, since none of the doctors
could tell her what was wrong.
That was the worst of all - not knowing -
and the most dangerous of all
because it left room for possibilities, probabilities
and contingencies that only proved to be mere fantasies
Over and over
Over and over
Over and overrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
And over
A cycle which holds space for only one capacity - insanity.
Indeed, the most dangerous "almost" of her life was when
hope not merely left her, but became her enemy,
and her dreams of not only finding relief, but of coming
to an understanding of the reality that was haunting her
slowly fermented into a continual round of "almosts"
and, finally, in the madness, one round almost hit her
when she almost took her life.
That was almost the last "almost" of her life
These days she continues to daydream of finding answers,
and reaching a full recovery
as she learns how to wrestle with the desperately fickle
personality of uncertainty and "almosts"
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014)
Do I fear you, thank you,
or hate you for hanging round.
I fear I'd been somebody else
who stood on solid ground.
I thank you, cause you made me this,
but I hate the reasons why.
I fear it might just free my soul
when you finally say goodbye.
I hate you for staying here this long.
Thank you for being stable.
I fear the day you leave,
Kane's time, I'm not Abel.
Goodbye, it's time,
at least I hope,
I pray that you'll go quietly.
My greatest loss,
the quietest piece
the part that hopes you'll fight me.
I’ll say this truth,
Là Je M’amuse,
I feel it’s almost over.
That murder smile,
the haunting fact
a grin that’s Grimm, all over.
Absurd to see
to sink so deep,
and disappearing tears.
That day and night unfiltered rot
goodbye, forever, cheers.
Lilacs
Fragrant lilac plumes,
Like clusters of butterflies,
Usher in the month of May
With haunting melodies
Whispering from Pan’s flute
To dance her May ballet
While delicate lavender hued perfume
Remembers mountain homesteads
Where lilacs reminisce about pioneer days
As old homes crumble
Slender regal queen of the garden
Arrayed in the Celtic legends of magic
Announces summer
As she swings and sways
In rhyme and rhythm of the wind
Spreading her gift of delicate scent
Spreading graceful tranquility.
6-9-22
Contest: Purple flowers
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
Sponsor
**ABC FUN**
Funny vs' Rude~~
agrestic bugaboo creeps, dandle
'each-
other', footle gleeking,
happy, izzat...jillick, kibitz, ludic,
maffick, nothosonomia,
osculating, proudly, quizzing, riant,
squabash,
to unstable void, whelm, Xanthippe,
yodle, zingy.
*
Dark Death~~
aphotic burnt cardinal debris
everywhere, flammeous,
growing haematic, igniting,
jeopardizing, killing, lava,
madness, numb, 'Oppositional-
Defiant',
pulse, quantity,
rage, staged, tempered, under,
virescent, watch, ***, yield, zero.
*
Dream a little Dream~~
Accelerator, beating, captivating
dreaming, eruption,
fingerprints, ghost haunting,
invading,
journey,
'keebler-keeper', labyrinth, magic,
nightmare, odyssey,
path, quarantine, rainbows, snakes,
'tossing&turnning',
unconsciously, vertigo,
'wakening2wetness', x-rated,
yawning,
zoomed.
*
Dedicated and inspired by; Yasmin
Khan
By;pd
If I could paint a picture
to show you how I feel,
deep inside my shattered heart
so you'd know it was real.
It would look just like a ghost town
with sad song stories to tell,
of all of the haunting reasons
our love went straight to hell
You spent all of our money,
that closed up the bank.
Then the love inside your eyes
just suddenly went blank.
The doc said we were crazy,
far beyond what he could do,
so he packed up his practice,
said this place was like a zoo.
You never liked my cookin'
That made for one more chore.
So I learned to avoid it,
and the market closed their door.
We used to have so many friends
but you the big buffoon,
got us kicked out of the bars
which 86'd saloons.
The sheriff said we're trouble,
but only to each other.
He locked up the jailhouse
and moved back home with his mother.
That just left the two of us
on empty streets to roam,
knowin' it was far too late
to make this town our home.
With all our friends and family
we pledged a solemn vow,
to live our lives together,
we would work it out somehow.
Then I felt your hand leave mine
and distance there would grow,
you started spending nights away
in places I don't know.
I find myself still standing here
desperately alone,
on desolated dusty streets
of memories I'm shown.
In this quiet lonely ghost town
made of all the lies you'd tell,
our heavenly love story turned
into a slice of hell.
-Jeannie Minor
In realms of verse, where souls take flight,
Where muses dance and dreams ignite,
A shadow looms, a somber hue,
A question whispers, haunting too:
"Beyond the veils of sorrow's shroud,
Why have so many poets vowed
To surrender life's fragile thread,
And dwell among the silent dead?"
It's not in words alone we find
The depths of poets' troubled mind.
Though melancholy's ink may stain,
There's more to ponder, to explain.
For poets oft, with tender hearts,
Navigate life's intricate arts.
They feel the world with heightened sense,
Embrace its beauty, feel its dense.
Within their souls, emotions soar,
They seek the truths we all adore.
Yet burdened by intensity,
They're caught in life's duality.
For poets yearn to touch the sky,
To taste the stars, to never die,
But in their quest for boundless heights,
They stumble on despair's dim lights.
Their hearts, exposed, feel every pain,
From love's euphoria to its disdain.
Their minds, a universe of thought,
With cosmic beauty, darkness fraught.
These poets, bearers of the truth,
Unmasking life's eternal ruse,
They face the world with open eyes,
But see its depths, its stark goodbyes.
And in the depths where shadows dwell,
A tender heart can falter, swell.
When all seems lost, no solace near,
Despair whispers, breeds ancient fear.
It's not just mental illness, friend,
That leads some poets to their end.
Their struggles vast, beyond our gaze,
Invisible chains, a silent maze.
The weight of expectations' toll,
The battle to regain control,
The isolation they endure,
In quest for something pure and sure.
Yet 'midst the darkness, let us see
The brilliance that these poets be.
For through their pain, they gift us light,
Their verses sparkle in the night.
Their words, immortal, touch our souls,
Ignite our minds, make us feel whole.
Their sacrifice, a tragic cost,
But in their art, forever lost.
So let us honor those who fell,
Their legacy, a sacred spell.
And in our hearts, may we abide,
The poets' flame, undying tide.
For in their verses, they survive,
Eternally, their spirits thrive.
Beyond despair, they find release,
In poesy's eternal peace.
Things started to go down
In the mountainous town
A major shake
From a rumbling flake
“It was not my job!”
LeClaire stated to the one man mob
A knight who had golden locks
Enormous gigantic power to shock
“It was an easy story to write
Unbelievable heroic sight
Readers will want to know what you were doing
Stopping the avalanche no fooling
It was a good win
And by the way how have you been?”
Peering into the reporter eyes
Seeing right through his disguise
“You have the say the Indian seller was good looking
Made people gossip and that would get you another interview booking.”
Hearing this
Made the Knight unleash an angry hiss
Taking it as a guilty confession
He taught the sensationalist a lesson
Putting him in the ground
Without a sound
Impossible to be found
LeClaire knew it was over
No one watching made it colder
Headed back to the house
Being quiet as a mouse
Our faithful knight snuck under the covers
Next to his honeymoon lover
“My coyote is gone
Taking by the evil avalanche bomb
For the most part I am pretty calm”
She said in a cry
Concluding her four legged companion did try
Outside there was a ghostly howl
From an angel on the prowl
Checking out not giving a fight
Drowning in all the frozen white
“I am still here
My lovely dear”
Her faithful knight mentioned holding back any tears
“That is true
I do not feel so blue
Since I love you”
That is when he gave the gift
Supposed to be an emotional lift
Doing it in style
Getting returned her romantic smile
“That is why
The newspaper lied
I will always be your life long guy”
This comment received attention
Final thing that evening mentioned
From the dirty blonde knight and his bride
Falling asleep to each other’s sighs
A TIME FOR US
I loved her more than any girl
I saw before or since.
I wanted us to marry
But she was not convinced.
She told me we were much too young
And, although we might one day,
She was off to university
Two hundred miles away.
There will be a time for us,
She promised at the station,
As she climbed aboard and left me
To three years of frustration.
But, at the university,
She discovered boys galore;
Far more than our village
That had only three or four.
She met an undergraduate
Who swept her off her feet
And, on the day she married him,
My misery was complete.
And so there was no time for us;
I’d read the signs all wrong.
I don’t watch West Side Story now
Because of that haunting song