Long Intrude on Poems
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Dead in the center of her heart I found a minotaur.
Of all things a frigging minotaur.
I stood puzzled as we locked eyes.
When I stumbled upon him he was sleep with today's newspaper drenched across his lap.
He bounced up in full guard.
Me being me I asked him for simple directions.
Telling him that I thought I was lost.
I planned on seeing heart shapes maybe a butterfly or two.
A big bunny shape thing or two but you, just wow.
He grinned slightly and said yeah that's the first time I've heard that one.
One step further, I added.
I take it from the amount of drool on the side of your lip you've been sleep for quite a while.
Now I don't mean to intrude on your guarding the labyrinth thing but,
How about you let me bum a smoke and we'll talk about it at the nearest dinner.
After all who can be mad over breakfast
H ow do memories retain the brilliancy of star’s vanes?
A nother time another place, would memories have such grace?
P erhaps, it’s simply distance, that works this mystery this mischance.
P oor substitute for touch this distance metaphoric rush.
Y oungsters apple cheeked blush, Gran’s lovingly shush.
N otice only the brightest twinkle in a baby eye or a mother’s guise.
E very fused image stays crisp and lovely for all days.
W orry need not intrude on the sentinels of solitude.
Y our heart’s delight will outshine any simple test of time.
E ndlessly remaining new, bright, young and warm.
A rriving at the end of even nights most darkened morn.
R oaring with star fire and flame ‘till all who’ve lived….live again.
Real life
We clamour to be heard for our space which invariably
will intrude on others’ space which we dismiss in a torrent of abuse
we will not listen to voices of reasonableness.
We say they are voices of traitors and bitterly want them silenced.
More and more people demand statehood even if it is within the borders
of the country they already live in; they will not assimilate.
Accept other cultures which are dismissed as inferior to their ideal.
Smaller and smaller allotments of land declaring independence
Isolating their religious culture from interference and using
violence against any seeking sanctuary.
Russia and Ukraine fight a turf war, as do the USA and China demand
fidelity to their culture; there is only one veracity in the one manuscript
written by sages who had nothing new to offer other than hatred
against those that speak in a foreign tongue and preach understanding
This Plea send i before that day,
on this narrow neck of Land,
As here i stand on borrowed breath,
in this uncertain plain of ephemeral filth,
before the maker of all realms,
ere i be lunched on the eternal voyage,
between the duple unbounded paths,
the curtain sooner could be drawn
while the lips uttering faltering strains.
Thy power supreme guides the currents aright
King of mercy,
Let not the hour intrude on me at ill-spent moments
find me wrapped beneath thy cross,
with the blood of the everlasting covenant,
signed and sealed for my pardon.
Thou alone fashioned the wheels of providence.
As this my puny frame succumbs,
grant that when my last hour be called,
the cross my firm fort shall be.
when that messenger unseen, unheard
in dark shades steals through the night,
See the Blood of the messenger of the covenant
My Plea
my petition
from now till my dying day.
Time eases the turbulent days,
And with it comes a deeper understanding of all that life brings,
For every journey through a shrivelled meadow, there is an invigorating hope,
For every darkness in a chamber, there is a rising light.
Monsters staring through the window no longer disturb the mind,
The ominous things that the day brings do not evoke fear,
The strange encounters in slumber do not intrude on the day's goodwill,
The morning light serves as a doorway to a bouquet of hope.
Nothing tosses out of equilibrium,
The mind can discern the seasons and the reasons behind them,
It has learned how to summon the elements to do its bidding,
It has discovered the entrance to the cosmos' room.
My mother journeys and thrives in the light of these truths,
Her wisdom stems from this stream of knowledge,
She flourishes in its vitality,
And she encourages me to draw from it well.
February 11, 2025.
Standing across the street she would always pray the rosary
In the cold, rain and heat, among the bustle, there she would be
Women would come and women would go, but there she just prayed
A daily continuous flow, as on this woman's mind, it had weighed
She was always there right around 9, after the 8 o clock Mass
She didn't carry a sign as to intrude on those who would pass
Simply rosary beads in her hand, a deep sullen look on her face
She wasn't there to make a stand, just to ask God for Hiis Grace
But something happened today giving her a great sense of joy
As a young lady made her way in her arms her inquisitive little boy
But they didn't walk past, instead she stopped and turned
Telling her about her past and what she has since learned
She seen her that day, just before she walked inside
Her coat black, her hair gray, but it was that rosary she had eyed
Like a giant flash of light with that one clear moment to think
Everything suddenly came into sight and her heart began to sink
She had turned around leaving as quickly as she came
That peace of mind she found had led to complete inner shame
Even with three years gone by she still thinks of that day
She just wanted to say hi to the lady that changed her life that day
It’s always a surprise to me
That people are so deeply anxious
Worried beyond what I could believe
Would ever frighten any of our beliefs
Horrible feelings that seem so miserable
Potently searing our dreams and visions
It’s always a shock that shows me
How intensely and atrociously we have
Learned to see our lives from trepidation
Alarmed and panicked, we continue to go
Forward toward a nightmare that fills us
With distress and dread for the future days
It’s always a wonder that rouses me
With it’s frightened feelings of dread
Terror that all we’ve been and shared
Will soon be a distant part of our history
A yearning for the past will intrude on our
Serenity, sweet feelings of thirsting for yesteryear
It’s always a startling thought inside me
That causes my heart to feel the fear of these days
Where a mere breath can be the source
Of panic that sends waves of anxiety and distress
Colors so bleak they caress with their prayers
Hues of nocturnal darkness and storms of apprehension
It’s always a astonishing concept that reaches me
With it’s suffering and cold, hard fear of the moments
Spent dreading tomorrow and all that will unfold
With this history making moment coping and hoping
For the time when we will not need a mask to cover us
Or six feet of isolation to reach out and touch our unease
It’s always a dread that leaves me feeling dampened
By the waters of lost dreams and fears that beckon me
With their pure disillusionment and disappointment
Feelings that cause me to know without any doubt
I will soon discover how dreaded a motive this virus brings
To those who suffer with fear and anxiety of sickness
Soon I believe I will know that there needs to be peace within
Repose for the mystery that we have succumbed to in
Our spirits… it is spiritual death to those of us who know
Love for others and love for God is the answer to our prayers
And all that holds any meaning within this song and dance
That covid19 has us moving to in our deep distress
My isolation philosophy is this… to live as if today is the last!
Isolation Philosophy POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
July 28, 2020