Long Hollowness Poems
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I remember how their mouths nipped at
me.
Fangs of wine-dusted petals, sharp.
Their thorny digits clenching my neck.
In the white hospital room, they come.
With white gowns that swirl like mouthwash.
The gleaming teeth that adorn the
uniforms.
Here, child. The flowers want you to
take this.
And I do, with the orange-peel pill bottle.
Lithium sucks the life out of my marrow.
My family, they do not know me.
And they do not care, to know me.
I gaze into Hades' little den of comfort.
When the shadows shift and shape,
I can see the hollowness of my future,
The futility of my unripe fruit.
Rotten, some of the apples, that's what
They all say. But I see the infant green
Yet, I also know it will never do.
At the hour, and season of eighteen
I slice into the cake of chocolate drywall,
And savor the aftertaste of adolescence.
Its 3 O'clock in the night-
Or morning should I say,
Oh gosh why my eyes & sleep fight?
Can't it just come and stay.
I fear the darkness and its hollowness,
Once I was a sleeping angel;
Now getting driven into the shallowness-
I think about the imminent danger,
Failing to understand,
What is it that bothers me?
I can't stand nor can I flee;
My pain I can no longer withstand,
Day by day I turn into a wreck,
Want to scream and yell my plight;
Alas but I find no one in sight,
My voice reverts and finally breaks.
Nobody has a clue;
Of what i go through-
Or maybe nobody knew;
And none is there to rescue!
Slowly i have learned to live with this;
Falling daily into the deep abyss;
I know something is deeply wrong;
But don't know how far it will go and how long!
The assemblage of PEERS rooted;
row after row of cinema seats held them,
in conformity and order, waiting for the main event;
part of a cast of characters, yet to be determined.
Scattered, slouching, sleeping, separated,
white, black, old, young, male, female;
all self absorbed, without discourse.
No one mingled, no eye met;
each individual psyche lost in mindlessness,
shields firmly in place.
In this place of punishment, power and perversity;
the sacrificial lambs of democracy wallowed.
The hollowness of the hall,
mirrored the hollowness of the statement,
“A jury of PEERS?”
The stained acoustical ceiling and fluorescent lighting,
added a further touch of the sureal to the corps ensemble.
How on earth in this nation “Under God?”
CRAZIEST TIME AMIDST THE UNCERTAINTY
As I sit here battling my emptiness
to not affect me or make this hollowness
sink me, I tried my very best to stir
my thoughts to things that could clear
my mind and uplift and free my spirit
from my feeling of internal conflict.
There are days when the bleakness hits me,
when the pang of longing overcomes me
and I could not bring myself to not feel desolate
from being cut off, totally separated from friends
and for not doing the things I used to do
and for not going to places I used to go.
The not knowing is softly killing me.
The uncertainty fogs by mind and suffocates me,
making me crazy and going out of my head
feeling I’ve been confined in prison and trapped
needing to run away in an open space to breathe
to be in an open space to hear my own breath.
Imagining that freedom makes me
escape this feeling of angst that overwhelms me.
It makes me grounded again and quiets my mind,
calms my emotion and eases the pain in my heart,
gives me back my courage to face this storm
and brings my faith and hope back to come
to terms with the situation and be at peace
instead of thinking of going to pieces.
Yes, I have me and my loved ones.
I may not be with them or may see them once
in a while; but that’s how it would go for now.
So here I am hoping and expecting that somehow
the time would come soon to have the solution
for this pandemic, affecting the global population.
In this quiet deafening sound of silence
and stillness, I feel I am whole again.
8/5/20... choice #5... 287 words
Easily are fires put out by tears and fears
There is a heaviness I feel in the darkness
It was once all lit up all around me—
I was so prideful, so immersed in it
I felt so safe and warm, and happy
Who was I really fooling?
I instead wander my miserable dreams
I write to you desperately
And can barely form the words
Just write it, write it,
I need to know the truth:
“What did I do wrong?”
I only tried to salvage us
In this futile vision
I tried to save this world
As the rest of life was crumbling
Who am I but this lost little girl,
Trapped by my own swallowed shame?
Who am I but this mess I made?
These words—these words I have formed
Have broken us
No—
Have broken me
The familiarity of awfulness pervades
I want to crawl into some form of purpose
Because all I can really do is crawl—
But where can any light be found?
Because I cannot face yours
I need one that cannot be put out
By these sobs of remorse
Whatever can I say,
To make this desolation go away?
Whatever can I do,
Whatever can I hope?
I heard in my dreams—
The hollowness,
I heard the word “empty” being repeated,
Being buried into my skin
Becoming a part of me
You say “live”
To fill myself with courage
And confidence that I lack
You say “face it”
While I am staring at what you left behind
All of my emptiness and nothing more
You say “nothing is stopping you”
But oh how you are wrong
Everything about this life is stopping me
My very mind is stopping me
How can you know how that feels?
How can I stand up and face another day?
Without even understanding why I even wake up?
I would much rather wander my dreams,
Waiting for your answer,
Facing the emptiness
That familiar tingle of despair
Than to face reality—
Your cruel silence
My soundless, soulless roar
May 1, 2018
In my diary of destinies,
your song left a sweet scar.
In the silent savagery of time,
fate falters, floating like a feather,
yet my soul still sings your name.
In ivory and ebony hues of hollowness,
you bring colours to my monochromatic existence.
I find no wonderment in worthless words,
losing patience with pondering in poetic passions.
Intrinsic ink no longer flows in unwavering waves,
yet my thoughts won't stop my heart from bleeding,
seducing me to rewrite our tale in cranberry skies.
We've been engraving metaphors into our souls,
portraying purple star kissed tulips between our poems,
blossoming bronze blushing gardenias in my love garden.
When the last petal falls as prose like personification,
I'll place you gently in between unread chapters,
for you're the embodiment of my poetry of colours.
I gaze beyond enchanting hills draped in green silk,
wondering if love was a thorn less rose in an empty desert,
would it perish like lonesome lips without your kiss?
My muse is floating towards your majestic shores,
but will I be cursed with a thousand springs without you?
Distance can be cruel with melanin dreams and muted nights,
serenading sweet symphonies and melancholic melodies.
In my beloved's oasis, maybe jasmines have thistles too,
like beautiful memories of a once majestic masterpiece.
The horizons to your eyes can be violet, marigold or indigo,
you could be a lily, lotus or an orchid in fluorescent orchards,
just don't abandon me to bloom under midnight tones,
as my forever ends with you under sapphire skies,
as your eternal gardener radiating in saffron rosy rays.
The city has evacuated the streets at this hour,
and vacancy has given his unsteady feet
right of way at every intersection.
The traffic lights, sticklers for rules, continue
color-coding priorities for non-existent movements,
frowning on his jaywalking but indifferent
to his zigzagging.
The bar has dispensed all its sympathy for one night,
so the flood of misery has now been diverted
by closing time into the open,
private grief on public display on an empty street,
the whiskey in his stomach threatening an uprising,
pushing his upper body and legs in two different directions
but doing nothing to blot out the
full-screen news ticker rolling across his
consciousness for the first time
with a single breaking story:
SHE LEFT ME FOR ANOTHER MAN SHE LEFT ME FOR ANOTHER MAN
SHE LEFT ME FOR ANOTHER MAN . . .
He’s reeling from the hollowness that still seems
to be expanding in him,
feeling singled out for suffering,
not yet knowing that he’s merely
following in the footsteps of countless others
who have lurched and stumbled in the same way to
a semblance of emotional balance,
the pain inoculating him against future pain.
Through all the green and amber and red lights
he staggers on towards the limits of innocence,
until the night furls its shadows,
and the sky is a furtive grey.
a carefully curated posture
shoulders back, chin high
bathed in self assurance
wearing a veil of confidence
thinking can sway the earth
always at centre of stage
fishing for recognition
taking inflated credits for success
bragging of achievements
fancy knowing all
not inclined to learn
to avow mistakes
self-conceited
sense of self- importance
holding themselves in the sky
others as inferior
on low ground
heart turned to stone
seeking own gains
rooted in self exhaltation
raising own ranks
heeding not what others think
words chosen
like precious stones
each syllable weighed
polished, and displayed
for admiring eyes
speaking of journeys
never taken
of battles fought
in hushed rooms
victories whispered
to an invisible court
laughter too loud
too bright
a manufactured chime
to mask silence
that would otherwise reveal
hollowness within
inhabiting a rarefied air
where common ground
is but a place
they condescend to visit
a fleeting curiosity
before returning to their peak
building castles
on fleeting sands
fortified with opinions
that echo their own voice
a fortress of ego
impenetrable
sadly, alone
constant striving
not for growth
but for image
reflecting in lake
that never ripples
always perfect
ever staged
in quiet moments
when performance falters
when mask slips
a flicker of doubt
a tremor of fear
reveals the fragile soul
beneath the regal facade
soon curtain rises
spotlight finds its mark
and the curated posture
steps back into place
the perfect illusion
restored once more.
Some days I fly like an eagle,
some days I waddle like a duck—
today I’m fried chicken
crispy, cold, out of luck.
Some days I run with wild horses,
some days I hunt with the wolfpack—
today I’m a belly-up snake
on asphalt cracked and black.
Oh, how I swam with dolphins,
struck like white sharks through foam—
today I’m gutted salmon,
smoked and salted far from home.
On the cutting stone.
Some days I prowl like a panther
through jungle thick and green—
today I am scraps for rodents
on a stranger’s kitchen floor unseen.
Some days I howl with coyotes
at moons both dark and bright—
today I’m roadkill possum
as vultures circle, rip and fight.
Now I feel like a broken song
my voice ground coarse and gray,
wondering what cruel appetite
has left me spayed flayed betrayed.
On the grinding stone.
It’s the hollowness of silence
when the wild has moved on through,
and you’re served up on life’s table—
nothing left that’s truly you.
It’s the break when seasons stagger
when the night gnaws through the bone,
the crack where time is splintered
and the sky abandons its throne.
On the whetstone
I lie between migrations—
wildness gone, yet not my own.
Not on my own, not on my own—
On the tombstone.
Caught within the fault-line
turning like a prayer all alone all alone... so alone.
Wait—
the Potter’s shaping stone.
After the party ends,
the guests leave one by one,
the psychedelic light dissolves,
the static air loses the cadence of music.
What takes their place…
the stillness of darkness disowned,
the silence of emptiness desolate,
waiting obscure for long outside.
Then the darkness melts,
a stream of umbra flows within,
cascading in the valley of blankness…
you swim in its scintillating rhythm.
The whistling ripples of air glide,
dancing in the abyss of void within,
hold your hands abandoned…
you merge with the music of silence.
You see the return of the guests,
chiseled now from blocks of darkness,
coming to life before your eyes…
sing the song of somber quietude.
The frames configured from dark hollowness,
assemble to fill your secluded space.
When they dance to your music,
the party never ends.
_________________
Written : June 21, 2022
June 27, 2022
Contest : 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5
Sponsored by : Mark Toney