Long Introspectionmay Poems
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When you turn your head to time
Do you listen to whispers on a vine?
Sounds that may mean no
Voices that tell you yes
A whistle when it is time to go
What are these whispers on a vine?
Are they strangers passing by?
Are you too afraid to ask them why?
Noises too noisy to hear
Your silence and quiet
Replaced by violence and riot
Who is it that whispers on a vine?
Your parents, brothers and sisters?
Friends, well wishers and keepers?
What do they whisper?
To do things, to loose things, to make things
Whispers that tell you
Of winning, defeating, choosing and loosing
How will you know when you are not listening?
Whatever the whisper whatever the vine
The effort to listen is neither yours nor mine
We who are walking, no, we who are stalking
Following behind the whispers found on a vine
We think we see where we go
We think we see where we’ve been
What is it to listen if we only have eyes?
How without hearing will we determine the lies?
Will you heed a whisper on a vine?
You may from a lover who shares your mind
But heed only whispers that you heed with your heart
It takes more than vision and it takes more than wishin
To think only of hearing will hardly afford a start
You require firm standing and hands at the ready
With whispers you must grasp and hold them quite steady
Finally you’ve caught one and now may ask it:
“oh whisper, that comes and goes, hold one moment,
for I seek answers no one yet knows. If you grant me this favor
I may still yet reward you. The single request I pray you,
whisper your whisper just a bit louder? ”
Form:
If I were to make my X-wife’s fury into a Star Trek analogy
It may end up looking quite similar to the Wrath of Khan
Each bridge red and smoky, ‘Red Alert’ til it’s annoying
As I ask for counsel from my trusted, “Suggestions, Mr. Spock”
"If we are all one
And there is no separation
Perhaps the birth pains have begun
For your soul’s evolution
Perhaps she is you
All the while you are she
Now the test is what will you do
To your ‘perceived’ enemy?
Possibly my most helpful tip
If you want to move to another level
If you were to destroy her ship
You may really destroy yourself
This scenario is quite similar
When the transporter had that quirk
When you beamed through the transporter
Producing a ‘good’ and an ‘evil’ Kirk
There is no logic to her actions
Evidence this is an illusion
Maybe the test is your reaction
To this potential self destruction
Perhaps now you must decide
If the events you see are real
Thus the question from your guide
Can you learn to lower shields?"
So how much time would it take to unlearn reality?
Perhaps this is the illusion for me to build upon
But I remember finding out that my accounts had been depleted
And my red-face bobble-head furry as I scream aloud “KHAN!!!!!!!!!!
…………..CON!!!!!!!!.........................................................
………………………………………………KHAN!!!!!!!.....................
……………………..CON!!!!”
Form:
Getting older, mortality is questioned.
Never knowing how long is left.
Has enough been done thats right?
Has everything tried been done to the best?
Doubts and regrets sometimes cloud the vision.
Sometimes judgments given carry there weights.
The path taken may not always have been right,
Maybe time has changed and made the road better.
Maybe those looking into memories will remember,
The colorful child of long past with kindness and love.
For it is time to remember the effort made and forgive.
The smile and flamboyant youth may be fading, not dead.
Maybe somewhere in the passing from this world,
Colors effervescent will bring back the warmth once held.
For all have unique roads to travel, challenges to meet.
All one can ask is to have left there hues of heart behind.
Getting older, mortality is questioned.
Never knowing how long is left.
Has enough been done that's right?
Has everything tried been done to the best?
DOREEN CYR
OCTOBER 17
Form:
White Hot
Some feelings burn white hot
If you look you may regret it
The pain may knock you down
Understanding is not an option.
The dark is not enough this day
To hide the shame and terror
I burn with the hope of a blank slate
Hoping to breath without restraint.
Tomorrow is here, it always was
It lay in wait for my arrival
It brings the same blurred canvas
To late to change the painting……
I watch as stillness spread over me
And now the crickets speak
For during the daylight they are concealed and meek
Earths soil must rest and cool
The moon beams like a fool
Night has transpired
And concealed day light that has expired
So now the eyes shall roam the forest
From the farthest of west to east
Alluring the minds apprehensions and testing its bravery
Of what may come to seek in the dark that may be unsavory
Rattling of leaves
And quiet distant, approach the evening thieves
And my breathe is shallow and still
As I walk slowly and mill
The day’s events do echo through the woodland
As though a friend had thoughts and my hand
Guiding me, hiding me from my deepest intellect
And my head won’t draw a closing and deselect
Till I clear my senses and rest for sleep
He may have worn my father's uniform,
lived next door five years ago,
took communion with my uncle
each night for a year
in the jungles of Vietnam
but the familiar heap
though weak and unthreatening
is dangerous.
I may feel shame,
tossing him a five
and whispering a Merry Christmas
when I know that his will be
a melancholy meal spent
at Saint Peters (if he gets there early)
and that he would be able
to comfortably forget the holiday
if not for donors like me
mumbling guilty-good wishes.
but I can only see
the shivering heap
asking me to forget
my society taught survival instincts
to invite danger
into my locked car,
behind my locked gate,
into my locked home
and into my locked heart
that cannot afford to lose faith
in yet another human being.
STANDING STONE.
In my image of standing stone
I dared to move beyond
Chilled time lines
Or perhaps my physicality
Will evolve
Like unto some warm flesh
Exposed to the wintry rains
Or to vagrant summer nights.
I may be a word
In constructions of dreams
An angelic legend serrated
With wings clipped
An eagle soarful of
The harassed heights
Spurred by winds
Of the plaited horns.
The bright white
Lights of afternoons
Will snatch horizons
From trembling shadows
And might smuggle in
A maudit melancholy
To upset prescribed sermons.
With cut face
Within my stony profile
With chipped voices
Within my throat
A circular solitude
Within my dreams
I may be ready to scribe
Some strange tales
Quilled in dripped bloods
For annals of the unknown.
To you
I am
your friend
your acquaintance
your daughter
your sister
your aunt
your cousin
your niece
your in-law
your neighbor
your girlfriend
your ex
your classmate
your coworker
your dealer
your customer
a poet
a comedian
a girl
a musician
a seamstress
an artist
a weirdo
a bore
a joy
But those of which
I am to you
are all the things
I could be, too
I may lend my ear
I may give advice
I may ignore you
I may not treat you right
I may have hurt you
I may have helped you out
I may have made you smile
I may have made you warm
I may have changed you into someone futile
I may have been cold
Before I am who I am seen as;
Before I am who I could be;
Know the written word
is what's in me
And it will always be who I truly am
Form:
scared to wake up everyday
you the ones like me
know who i am speaking of
the morning begins with a rude slap from the alarm buzzer
work calls for some like me
and although the morning may start out sunny and bright
it may turn a murderous black
and flit from shades of grey off and on for hours ...
this murderous black
unpredictable in nature
can
when provoked
spill out into murderous rage - splattering innocent bystanders with rains of the past
so scared to wake up everyday
you the ones like me
know of whom i am speaking to
and i have no answers
no solutions except to learn to feel compassion for yourself
expand it outwards
even outwards more
and by consistency
perhaps one day
rainbows will come out to play.
Form:
He may be a friend
A lover, a sister, a brother
Some kind of kin
But,
Their are five minute's
That I may never get back
That was on the eve
It was a silent attack
When all the Snail's came
In a pact
And thing's even get
More fuzzy than that
Yes, we should pay attention
For what we say and do
And make sure that only
Good thing's get back to you
They are slow to react,
They are hard to track,
Know that they are serious
And will strike right back
-
I never met many
Yes, I know it's a fact
But, Hell hath no furry
Like that,
Where their a no
Honorable
Mentions' either!
GF