Long Immortalised Poems
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Dear you,
the markings on my pink wall spelt us
with a pierced heart in between;
11:30pm, a black ink painted
across the letters a stroke
at a time, until they turned into a smudge
of hatred; regret; and lost love.
The pierced heart remained,
but the arrow was never that of
cupid, I realised it was
a poisoned arrow all along,
green venom dripped, jealousy, hatred
for a her I believed existed in your dreams
while you laid beside me
with your arms around my waist,
and eyes shut, you thought
of her till she became
flesh and blood, the one
who you named yours.
12am, I began to ponder
what if she never did exist,
and she never took your midnight hours
and your last name?,
streets in your head I never did cross
cos you never had my hand in yours.
It's a new day, but my thoughts are stale
'cos here I am asking if you still wanted
the heart to stay on the wall on display,
hidden behind my green curtains,
Only to be seen when I needed something
to cry about, and When the breeze blew in
swinging the curtains
to dry the tear drops falling.
I’ll ask again, do you want the heart to stay?
the heart no longer beats, but silly me, it never did,
although there was once I felt it did,
the night I pressed my trumpet ears
beneath your left breast,
it was magical, the thumps called my name,
an electric wave of an EKG bouncing till it fell flat
the moment you cut our lines, and I couldn't reach you.
Dead!, it was,
dead from the very start,
a mere marking never meant much
to you, because you weren't there when I made us
into the markings, Immortalised on my pink wall,
and now you ain't here still, when it's all gone.
part of me knew you were a fantasy
in stormy clouds, but I still dreamed,
and when that rain fell
veiling the sun that we had,
I knew it was time to let go
and free fall back to sleep
where the night mares were less,
and my bed was cold
with just my heat.
It's time to go,
it's time to let the smudge dry
with my tears of you this hour.
9am, I walk down the street
and say how do you do?
as though I never thought of you,
as though I was complete.
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
It was under summer's gaze,
The story of undiscovered possibilities ensued.
Never minding the leap of faith I had taken;
I forcefully tell myself
that it was only yesterday.
But two years have passed since
It would have been a different tale
Had I been a man of greater conviction,
a tale of a more vibrant picture would be told.
Hot simmering emotions consume me
I am no longer the face I try to present.
My mind fizzles out but not like a celebratory bottle of champagne.
Instead she lays witness to a torrid boiling stew of the inner conflicts which I choose to ignore.
A love so stagnant, yet so volatile that it rockets to the surface and
Rattles the lid of my rationale.
But i decide not to wear the colours of love painted on these sleeves.
Let my constant pining not obstruct her path.
If we were meant to unite then let the universe tie those unattainable threads.
Leave me be for now, I shall silently pay homage to her breathtaking aura from a safe distance.
Now and then she becomes the physical manifestation of a poem that has lingered in my conscience.
I steal from one of tagore's verses;
"Mayabono biharini"
The quintessential essence of an idea nesting quietly within the realms of my psyche
"A wandering doe of the enchanted forest of my deepest dreams,
I try to steal a fleeting glance, a pursuit bereft of all reason.
Let her exist in hindsight,
I play my flute, converging my melody to her mind and soul
Defying the bounds of all outcomes.
Shimmering in the gusts of monsoon
Ever so startled by the roar in the skies
She becomes restless evermore.
I shall veil my affliction
In the bonds of seperation
Tying a rope destined to be undone
Bereft of all reason. "
These Lines that resonate with the throes of my secret passion
Immortalised in the transcendent poetry of Tagore.
The falling man, one photograph captured in time
An unforgettable image, imprinted on this mind
He represents us all, weather we like it or not
His faith did not kill him, destiny was his lot
Spiralling out of control, once the planes hit
Acting purely on instinct, not champing the bit
Fire and terror stoked decisions, until overcome
Incinerating heat compels him, never did he jump
This was no leap of faith, Infinitely more than that
A transcendence into agony, he’s looks down at
I try to pen his plight, impossible as it seems
Of a world going mad, upon our Tv screens
I wish it was over quick, that fall to his death
Alas he suffered slowly, until the very last breath
I’m been brutally honest, won’t gloss over the facts
For we owe it to him, it’s with innate honesty, he acts
A picture’s worth one thousand words, some disagree
Falling man, gives nothing away, we can clearly see
My heart’s telling this story, his fall sets the stage
An immortalised snapshot of life, will never fade
For all other innocents, murdered that fateful day
If there’s a silver lining, it’s with confidence I’ll say
Your loved ones cradled you, as the towers fell down
Far across many nations, pain is felt inside every town
Sun and moon appeared together, purposely that morn
Heavenly bodies, bore witness to a new world reborn
And this occurrence, should give a tiny ray of hope
Not used as a tool of glee by Helios misanthropes
Below is a comments box will the Helios misanthrope set foot in it
not a cowardly chance
By
David Kavanagh
Salt of The Earth
Ordinary people
That’s who we are
Our triumphs
Our sacrifices
Loves
And torments
Go unsung
For the most part
Un-noticed by anyone
Ordinary people
Who’s lives may have suffered tradgedy
Quite sperate
From the world of celebrity
Who’s weight loss and weight gain
Who’s lives are sucked up
So avidly
Un-famous
Un-important
That’s what we are
Un-recognised heroines
And heroes
People that the world
Never knows
This celebrity culture
Demeans us
Turn our lives
To a paultry plethora
Of existence
Devoid of the glitter and pomp
Of celebrity red carpet
TV show sold money
Our faces un-immortalised
In the applause
Of the overpaid and wealthy
Of yet another publicity stunts
Awards
Our lives a mere daily
Rigmarol of mediocrity
As we dine on the scraps
Of news and gossip
Of the purile insignificance
Of celebrity
Ordinary people
That’s who we are
The un-discovered heroes
And heroines
Who’s backs and sweat
Hold up the scaffolding
Of the bright shinning
Neon distraction
Media circus
World of celebrity
Politicians
Models
Muscicians
Actors
Football players
All raking the cream
Which belongs to
Firemen
Cops
Nurses
And Doctors
Road sweepers
Trash collectors
Husbands
Fathers
Wives
Mothers
Making their lives ends meet
And staying afloat
Facing each day
Heroines and heroes
Of the common all
And for the common good
Though bemused and belittled
Misinformed
Mislead
And lied to
Still we emerge
As the salt of the Earth
Just ordinary
People
This poem was prompted by the recent death of celebrity Jade Goody, a tragedy indeed. I am
sure she will be sorely missed by her family. As will all the other ordinary people who
passed on recently, be missed by their families.
A second ago.
Yes just a second,
she was beautiful
beyond comparison.
Not a wrinkle or a frown line.
Succulent lips,
glowing skin.
Gorgeous hair
cascading down her back.
Even her hands were elegant.
Men and women alike
looked upon her with admiration
If truth be told, with envy as well.
Her’s seemed a charmed life
there in a city by the sea.
Status, a beautiful home.
She moved through space
like a butterfly,
flitting about without a care.
Perhaps she was oblivious
to the darkness permeating her city.
There were things
done in the shadows.
Evil had also made the city its home.
Her Lot in life protected her and her daughters.
Genesis 19:17
And as they brought them out one said, “Escape for your life. Do not look back or stop anywhere in the valley. Escape to the hills, lest you be swept away.”
Her heart ached
for what she was leaving behind.
The grandeur, her status, possessions and servants.
Sulphur and fire
rained down from the heavens!
The great Sodom and Gomorrah both being consumed.
She stopped to looked back.
Not just a glance,
she gazed with great sadness.
Her anguish immortalised.
In an instant she was turned to salt.
One second.
Yes, in one second.
Wrinkles formed around her eyes.
Her mouth turned downward
in a frown.
Her skin no longer glowed.
With grotesque hands
she held her face.
Her once gorgeous hair
in stone like clumps.
Nothing is left
of her once great beauty.
Nothing is left
of those cities by the sea.
She instead,
like them,
remains a cautionary tale.
Now immortalized
in pages of scripture.
Her, just a pillar of salt
looking towards
Sodom and Gomorrah,
cities that are no more.
Carl Butler’s picture prompt.
I still remember the day I saw you,
It as fresh and beautiful, like the early morning dew.
It was in the season of winter,
when the sky was clear and cold breeze blew.
Yet when I saw you for the first time, my heart melted away from the warmth of that view.
My heart stood still for a while, as I grazed upon that smile,
It was amazing yet simple, which I hadn't seen in a while.
One look at the smile, struck me like fire.
It was warm and peaceful, like an eternal desire.
The feeling that consumed me was different,
As if I had known her for years.
Never before, I had a feeling so strong,
Even in a million years.
Her eyes were black, yet filled with emotion.
Telling me stories of the universe, which I listened with devotion.
The way she nurtured her hairs, moving it away from her face was a majestic scene.
A scene with captivating beauty, one which I had never seen.
Day and night, everywhere at sight
All I could see was her smile.
Feeling such kind of power,
Was never in my style.
One look at her, and my heart said she's the one.
It was ever so true and bright, like that glorious sun.
Be it be poetry or sketch, everything reminded me of her,
One which inspiration for my art.
Her presence was eternal and true, like the stories of heaven and earth.
With every stroke of my pencil, I tried to capture the essence of her beauty.
I used to observe every little detail about her, and aimlessly admired beauty.
Beauty not limited to the body, but the soul.
She was gentle and sweet, that could quench my heart as a whole.
She isn't with me now for i failed to keep her heart.
But she is ever present in my life, as immortalised her presence through my art.
If I had to choose three people who have influenced my life
Through time and space,
I think their diverse backgrounds would be the big surprise.
Yet they all were able to keep their humanity,
Their sense of humor,
And their powder dry,
To make it through the pain barrier,
Despite what was thrown at them from their friends,
As well as their enemies,
And ultimately to be remembered with Love and respect by most.
The first a woman who most had written off as being incapable,
Of anything more complicated than breathing in and out by all but a few.
A woman who fought to be heard and seen as a person in her own rite.
A woman who had to cope with those close to her deciding,
How much she needed to be protected from those people who might hurt her.
Yet we can google amazing quotes from her and her struggle has been immortalised.
For those who haven't guessed her name was Helen Keller.
The second a man who was considered past his use by date,
And an impediment to the advancement of peace,
Yet in retrospect is considered the saviour of the modern democracies,
With many films and books still coming out on his life and times.
Churchill was his name.
The third a man who had to overcome racism and brutality,
To unite a Nation.
A man who is now written into history,
As an example to those who seek to override the influence of hate
And prejudice in society.
If I mention Nelson, his surname should be obvious to all.
The thing that separates these three from the rest for me
Is that they all had or developed a sense of purpose,
That helped focus their energies in the most positive way,
To keep them in the game,
When others were falling by the wayside.
She sits by a dying hearth, an album open in her lap
The cold silent room startles like a slap
Mouldy images stare back from the past
Prints are all she has now
Memories that still cling
To the old Silverfish ravaged photographs
Like slips pegged to a line, flailing in a gale
One minute they’re there, the next they are only an apparition
Burnt to a retina searching the void, of a memory long forgotten
Her finger now rests upon the “rising sun” of the AIF
Of her son’s slouch hat, to which casts a shadow
Across a face too young to shave
Only but a boy, learning how to behave
In a moment etched in time
Yet those moments before it
Remain immortalised within her precious album
And those that came after
Lay buried in the Somme
He leans on a stool, one hand in his lap
The other supporting his shouldered rifle strap
His mouth blurred delivering a sentence
She closes her eyes, with thoughts of his independence
Sifting through the years of a boy in this room
Searching for his laugh through a cheeky grin
Probing for those silvery words etched in gelatine
Of a boy leaning on a stool, a conversation frozen
A mother’s memory of her son, reduced to yellowed images
A mother's loss between these pages
Shreds of the past fog the room
Pieces of a boy lay mute,
Within her reach
Creases form on her brow, a tear escapes
The memory slips, it flaps uselessly from the line
And hangs by a thread
Then it’s gone…
----------------------------------------------
AIF = Australian Imperial Force (1914 – 1918)
Rising Sun = AIF Insignia
Isaiah Zerbst’s Poetry Contest – Pick a Title
23 Oct. 2014
There was a penguin named Billy
Who had dreams which all the others found silly.
Poor Billy caused a lot of tension
Because there were things he needed to mention
No one listened to Billy.
While all the raft were doing their craft
Billy was coming up with his plan that they all called daft.
Oh he loved star gazing at night
Everyday he wished he could take flight.
He was jealous of the petrels swirling and swooshing around
Oh he tried, cried with frustration each time he hit the ground
Wishing he could be them
From this moment his idea did stem.
The rest of the raft heard of Billy's words
To be shunned because he was a different bird
His decision caused vicious derision
Not worried Billy still focused on his mission
To go to the moon on a giant spoon!
It had been a 4 year operation
The task code named 'Apollo Salvation'.
The emperor and king oh they did revolt
And protested against a penguin who didn't conform to social norms.
Billy lay back on the spoon
Leaving behind great darkness and gloom.
Launching in 10 seconds he tightly shut his eyes
Going to the unknown, a penguin forever immortalised.
WOOOOOOOSH!
Now catapulted miles in the air
Feeling weightless, now flying like a petrel without care.
Billy was now brimming
Flying seemed as easy as swimming!
Away from the surly ponds of earth
For this was Billy's rebirth.
For there were no more tensions, no more decisions, no more seals and orcas
Through his body there was now a wonderful aura.
Billy was always a free spirit, he loved mooning about
Now forever on the moon, day in day out just chilling out.