Long Imbedded Poems
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Looking in the mirror
there was my grandmother's face,
several of my paternal aunts,
but not me.
Perhaps I have forgotten what I look like.
Perhaps I have forgotten who I am.
That face looking back at me
is far older than I remember
with wrinkles and edges in a frowning furl
imbedded deep in the forehead, cheeks and jowl.
The years are not always kind.
The mind is full of memories.
The mirror tells no one lies
and offers no deception
what you see
is what you get.
The family resemblance is unmistakeable
There's my grandmother looking back at me.
She nods her head approvingly
as recognition appears,
she smiles widely and speaks
It's okay.
It's still you
and you in me
and me in you.
My intention was never to annoy!
I hope to enchant you with my rhyme.
Repitition's path can lead to joy.
There is magic imbedded in each line.
I hope to enchant you with my Rhyme.
Like repeating notes in a symphony.
There is magic imbedded in each line.
Allow yourself to float along with me.
Like repeating notes in a symphony.
Dance along endless possibilities.
Allow yourself to float along with me.
Escaping our mundane realities.
Dance along endless possibilities.
Others may look and think that we are fools.
Escaping our mundane realities.
True artistry expressed within the rules.
Others may look and think that we are fools.
Repetition's path can lead to joy!
True artistry expressed within the rules.
My intention was never to annoy.
Written May 7th 2014 for Charlotte Puddifoot's Iritate me contest.
Sometimes I wonder about our eyes…
it’s true without them we couldn’t see all the beauty on this Earth
surrounding you…surrounding me.
Our eyes have a direct connection to our heart…
through our veins and nerves and arteries….
which allow us to develop feelings for all the things we see.
But for some reason the way we were constructed…
the way we were designed to be
means our eyes were also created with a perplexing dichotomy.
On the one hand they can relish in the beauty of a mountaintop…
love the colors of the forest…the different shapes of clouds as they glide by…
the changing of the seasons…how the sunrise paints the sky.
On the other hand those same eyes…when they see the different ways we dress,
our different religions…the different colors of our skin
can, within that same heart, find the place where prejudice begins.
The subtle differences our eyes see in nature…that we find beautiful…
that soothe our soul and invigorate our heart…
when we see them in each other can, if we allow them, tear ourselves apart.
And for a long time we have let them tear ourselves apart…
look back and you will see
how prejudice which leads to hatred which lead to wars and guns…
are imbedded in our history.
And as much as we’d love to see them fade away…
prejudice, hatred, wars and guns are sill with us today.
Which makes me wonder…
If we are able to see and enjoy the beauty in nature’s diversity
but not in our own…
perhaps it’s time to discuss:
The problem is not with our eyes…
the problem…is with us.
Deceit and lies
and misdirection
that's what they're good at.
Flip flop stances
hold the attention
only in the moment.
No real plan of action
leaders of the free world
blinded by money, prestige, power plays.
It is the endless dance
of what do you, the people
want to hear and for me to say.
It's not what they'll do
that puts a scare into me
it's the how and why they do it'
Motives and intentions
cannot readily be seen
only what lay open on the surface.
Deep, imbedded,
in their selfish ego dreams
lies the truth hidden well within the lies.
I think perhaps, there is no sadder thing to know
then many of the works of Edgar Allan Poe.
In reading those familiar bardic words
I find I could be scared
of death, dreams, bells and birds.
Aside the tomb of his most beloved “Annabelle Lee”
lie all the stormy raging of the deep Atlantic sea.
Loving and having once been alive and free
but lost in death to someone else’s coveting,
in the end, we all give in
to the strength and wild tempest of the wind.
There are lesson taught that remain unlearned
when life and liberties are too often spurned
and we lie down beside the gentler morning tide
to await our turn to touch the life and death divide.
In the dark shadows of oncoming night
I lit a candle to hold steady, soft and bright
to keep me safe when I was not awake
keeping back the angels from my soul to take
I drifted off to quiet pleasured deeper somber scary sleep,
within Poe’s “A Dream Within A Dream” i did creep.
In silent ponderings I read and clearly heard “the Bells”
awaiting each sound fill the air around which it swells
in the ringing, singing, tingling and clinging spells to tell
of clamoring steel and metal clashing, smashing, trashing,
while all the world is spent of cost within its own created loss
repeating non-jubilant rehashed bashings
that sing out and shout and scream for more
of hate and fear and pain and war
waiting to pounce angrily in the name of God
to perpetrate God’s will in some hidden fraud.
Then “The Raven” calls, causing all to be distraught
at the writings, its verbiage, the readings exceeding naught.
There softly stepping was a vision imbedded in indebting
that around me I wrapped the covers from my bedding
to no avail; the caw, the cries, the yells could not be stilled
and I lost the powers of my mind, my heart, my will.
as voices filled the air with shiver shaking chills four score
while in the shadows crept visions of his sweet lost “Lenore”,
and there I stand along some solitary shore
shouting to the wind,
Nevermore.
What a joy it would be to see you walk the Glens
On purple bloomed heather, on the lands of the Highlander men
To witness your aura, your smile, amidst the Ben's atop with snow
For no matter who stands beside you, being there they'll surely glow
Being there they'll surely glow, proud to be standing there
To your beauty they will look in awe, in wonderment, amazing stare
Whilst all around there grows, many ferns from a forgotten past
For no matter who stands beside you, your beauty will always last
Your beauty will always last for it's captured in many hearts
In wonderment amazing stare, from the Highlands you'll never depart
Now imbedded your heart runs free, to roam these Alba Glens
And this Scotsman chosen beside you, your choice of Highland men
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/lorena-2.php
Pawns Brokers
“Grit is a better word or term”.
They have it – these “Grunts” - grit –
that sandpaper bearded coarseness
structure in the face of fallacy,
backbone to support the flaws
of the wishy-washy conspirators.
Perseverance in the face of punishments
wet boots and leaky tents,
rubbers to cover “rifles and guns”,
tenacity in the face of tedium,
the character, will, and fiber of freedom
melded into unified intent,
a molten steel adapting
in the face of resistance.
They are the “grit” -
dirt, gravel, pebbles, stones –
assembled, mixed, imbedded,
into the foundation of flexibility.
G I’s, ground infantry, “grunts”,
foot soldiers, men, women,
volunteers in a world of privilege
honoring history’s forebears.
First brazen move of chessboards
unseen pawn brokers, last weary
card thrown in game of war.
“Brothers” – back to back –
protections tough guys
carrying the weight
of battle’s lies.
12/22/2015
submitted to ---------IS A BETTER WORD – Poetry contest
sponsor – Verlena S. Walker
It’s up for sale again,
the Long Street house
of our childhood.
This cream chrysalis
once housed our lives.
Fresh paint bandages
deep cracks as old as history.
Inside its rough cast façade,
memory tours each room
and roams the backyard.
The fence pillars I climbed
as a child that seemed
so high, are small.
The almond trees
are gnarled and bent.
The vacant land next door where
rusted out old boilers
grazed like dinosaurs
in the long grass,
has been replaced
by a block of flats.
On the other side,
Mr Oakey's cottage is now
a triple fronted brick veneer.
The secrets that he once hid
in the dark shadows
of vines and overgrown trees
have been sealed beneath
a mote of paving bricks.
Back then his driveway
was a tunnel of treasures,
with tiny bits of coloured glass
and pottery pieces imbedded
in gravel. I would pick them out
and take them home to keep
in a Bex bottle hidden
in a drawer beside my bed.
It was like stolen loot.
After all this time,
our house seems almost
unchanged.
All is familiar. The old
shutters haven't moved
and hang like petrified wings
on the sides of each
front window. Afraid to leave,
you look out from behind
a curtain onto this world
where I am, unable
to get back inside.
Richard Lamoureux-figured out
Richard Lamoureux,
even his name speaks of love.
The LOST AND FOUND kind of love
The kind of love that can contemplate
THE EDITING OF ME.
Richard is a true realist, never MINCING WORDS,
he says it like it is, but with a kind manner.
He is LISTENING FOR A CHANGE, because that
is what BEING HUMAN is all about,
and that's what he does best.
HIS HUNGER is for truth and justice,
with a little SWEET SCOUNDREL LIES,
thrown in the mix.
WHAT YOU DON'T SEE in his words,
are THE LOVELY BONES, RUNNING AT THE SPEED OF LIFE!
Richard wants to CHANGE THE WORLD, and the key he has,
IMBEDDED IN PAGES, so it's a little hard to find.
Richard always asks WHERE DO POETS GO?
I don't know where he is now,
but I DO know he was, on the SKYTRAIN,
BUT HE'S NOT SHOPPING.
I know, because he came home with a CUP OF EMPTY,
maybe that's how he knows that BIG GIRLS DO CRY!
Richard and I share similar backgrounds,
and we yearn for the same things,
a fathers love for example.
We, KEEP TRYING TO REACH
BEYOND WHAT WE HAVE REACHED,
TRYING TO GRASP THE MAGNIFICENT.
If we keep trying, Richard, maybe there will be
LIGHT SUSPENDED, ABOVE FOREVER, for us.
October 16,2016
Got you figured out contest
Alas I fear, we part again.
Time won’t still, for you my friend.
Tender thoughts, refuse to help.
Scars we bare, in dreams are felt.
Time does pass, how long or when?
To meet, to see, to hold you then.
Distance is a hateful fact.
Cruel enough, to force this act.
But do not weep, for when I leave,
Our next encounter bittersweet.
Lonely feelings hold no use,
Cast aside its awful truths.
To miss, to grieve, your company pass.
Clog’s the soul, a dirty task.
Happy hope our best disguise,
Relinquish when I next arrive.
I’ll seek you out, unconscious mind.
Hold you there, a treasured find.
My biggest demon, shows no care,
Your absence long, I have to bear.
Hunger deepens, Starts to gnaw.
Forbidden touch, wanting more…
The holes you leave, your presence gone,
Kills emotions one by one.
Come to me, remove this loss,
Misguided will, to big a cost.
It dissipates in single touch,
Kiss me now, it hurts too much.
The darkness thick, it’s moving in…
It seeps down deep, on frosty skin.
Time is lost, no measure left.
Come to me in my bereft.
Sleepy movements, tough to see,
Next one leaves, an arm on me.
Mewling noises, I am robbed,
Rouse me into wakeful sob’s.
Strong arms grip, their hold is tight.
Sheltered from my sudden plight.
Lover’s whispers, soothing touch.
Understanding starts to rush…
Never had, you left my side,
But in slumber, soul still cries.
My love for you, is so intense,
My mind revolts and looses sense.
I fear it will, forever more.
Imbedded deep, my centre core.
Cope I can, in times like these,
If when I wake, it’s you it sees.
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