Long Invisible Poems
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"our invisible, celestial, sublime, beatific angels . . . "
Quote by_Constance
when my father and mother died we were broken
but knew they would be heavenly spirits
dear God, we give you our angels,
angels now guiding us . . .
they are God's messengers
no better angels could we have
full of love, light and with beautiful souls
because of our guardian angels we transcend
when my baby and husband died I was shattered
my baby lived a few hours in this life
but that small angel has his wings
we are sure he visits . . .
is my husband with God
for he committed suicide
God, we pray that you give mercy for him
in life he was kind, a giver, and a treasure
when our grandma passed we were left with grief
she was the family storyteller
and reason I am a writer
often, she guides my pen . . .
At the mercy of anticipatory anxiety, hence...
viz hitted courtesy debilitating panic attacks
Upon waiting for vehicular repair
today November 19th, 2019 at:
CJ'S TIRE & AUTOMOTIVE SERVICES
(1405 S Township Line Rd,
Royersford, PA 19468),
yours truly, i.e. mister re: man
registered lamentable paroxysm.
All thru mein kampf inferiority complex
analogous invisible muscular heft did flex,
quaking, hijacking, agonizing...
jinxed irrevocable hex
re: heredity did initially index
courtesy Boyce and Harris,
who begat me
guaranteed, fixed, decreed...
courtesy accursed lex
lucifer mortal christened
Matthew Scott Harris – insinuated
jackknifed, kickstarted, limned,
machined, nixed, ordered... orifex
encompassing hardiest inscrutable
seminal entry point
penetrated zona pellucida, qua Rex
wrought flawed crown
faulty erroneous biological code,
within body electric mutation
fleshed out, I lament
analogous courtesy neophyte Unix
programmer, yes I hedge
to intimate biological event
upon impregnation sent
reproductive juices into action
miracle whipped processes
wielded unbeknownst advent,
whereby subsequent
cell division manifested,
albeit nine months later enfant
terrible asper:in,
this then newborn gent
lo' within zygote,
every generic ingredient
already harbored yours truly
characteristic weaknesses full extent
unbeknownst until DNA blooper rent
birthed, thence as I developed absent
pronounceable kinks vis a vis
trademark characteristics became present
evinced thru behavioral, emotional,
interpersonal, neurological aberrations
costing me (lake dude...) woebegone descent
wretchedness faux forfeiting every moment
only recent (think today)
entire existence misspent
oddly enough even compromising
ability to serve meant
two daughters, (especially eldest)
decry horrible life pent
up with rage against human machine
referring to paternal birth parent,
whose pathetic example rent
asunder psyches linked with offspring
hence, I best ought to have
joined a convent (ha).
Twas really only of late,
I realized fuller blown extent
house zing deplorable... state
absolute zero scholastic, tete a tete
opportunistic, generic, athletic...
*****sapien astride oblate
spheroid devoid of any
marketable skill doth resonate.
the demons are on the hunt
they lurk in the shadows
these days without sun
dark
dark
these days
the demons take pleasure
from the victims pain
a cycle never ending
round
and
round
it goes
eyes soulless
ice drips inside veins
as the hammer falls
time
and
time
again
in packs the soulless hunt
their eyes aflame
when prey lay
hurt
injured
easy
pickings
a bloodlust
trying to be quenched
but it`s a thirst
that can`t be satisfied
try
as
they
might
many scars show
and many are invisible
but most wounds
never heal
Perhaps among all the barricades I could have held,
I was born to be read once and never to be opened again.
To be glanced at in passing, but never the one who turns heads.
To be a writer and never the one written about.
To immortalize the beauty I find in others,
But only to fall under the shadows of my own mortality.
Perhaps the simplicity of my existence is what brings comfort to the main character.
To become a poet and never an imperishable poem.
Capturing words from a glance as they pass by me,
To catch the hooks under the bright sunlight.
Perhaps among all the barricades I could have held,
I was born only to be read once and never to be opened again.
And somewhere in the chaos,
I learned to live with grace.
In a world of shadows and lights, where stars fade and are reborn,
I stand at the edge of time, a poet draped in melancholy.
The barricades of my life, invisible walls, have held me in place,
I was born to be read once, a book lost in dust and silence.
Glanced at in passing, but never noticed, a shadow among lights,
In a world of turned heads, I remain unseen, a writer of silence.
There are no writings about me, for my words are for others,
The beauty I find, I immortalize in them, but I remain ephemeral.
The simplicity of my existence, a refuge for the heroes of my stories,
I am the poet, but never the immortal poem,
Words pass by me, I catch them, enclosing them in verses,
Sunlight envelops them, but I remain in the shadows.
Perhaps among all the barricades I could have held,
I was born to be read once and never to be opened again.
And somewhere in the chaos of life,
I learned to live with grace, a melancholic poet draped in metaphors.
In a world full of noise, I listen to the silences,
Finding my peace in the chaos, beauty in the ephemeral.
And perhaps, among all the barricades,
I am just a poet, read once and forgotten forever.
Mein Das-Stilled Vintage Spirits Score-Hitched...
From Bottled Up Rage
Daily app pair rent
revelation, observation, and
intimation invariably concludes,
this aging baby
boomer (albeit youthful)
inescapably lock up
(until death me part)
inside complex edifice
re: guarding self made trap
rocketing into orbitz
of mine twilight years thrusts,
upon this pop (sic) crack
kill forcibly to snap
attention back into
the present, yet unable
to shake off feeling dismayed,
viz hit ting head
with bleak recap
cha regular basis finds me
reassessing, reliving,
and reviewing
psychologically pock
marked scarred
psyche indelibly mapped
e'er since this narrator hapt
tubby a little boy at
tender preschool age
his esprit de corp
joie de vivre analogous
to a rat locked
in an undersize invisible cage
devoid of emotional, physical,
and spiritual equipage
with 20/20 hindsight, I attest,
he seemed bereft
of empathy gauge
as attested by donning
slovenly swiftly tailored,
unkempt harried styled
appearance, a foiled image
that any stranger, family
member, or classmate
could discern, sans
intuitive knowledge
Hawaii didst poorly manage
thyself and island
did self smoldering
wool worth deadly sabotage!
Line of inquiry: “Of the fact we are alive, we are sure. All else scriptures say, may or may not be. So presence vibrant, heart pure and demure. As formless awareness we become free."
I wake to the fact of breath~
a small certainty,
steady as dawn warming the edge of a curtain.
Everything else feels like wind-light pages
turning in a book I cannot fully read.
I keep God by keeping still
letting the mind unclench,
letting the heart grow quiet enough
to hear its own unbroken pulse.
“Be still, and know…” (Psalm 46:10)
Presence becomes a soft radiance~
not seen, but felt the way warmth gathers
around a candle’s invisible center~
formless, yet more real
than anything I can hold.
Simplicity is the doorway
where I set down
the heavy furniture of belief~
the arguments, the certainties,
the need to name what is already here.
In this uncluttered awareness
I sense a quiet truth:
being alive is miracle enough,
and the rest is a gentle invitation
to trust what moves through me
without shape,
without demand,
yet wholly holy.
Once, when I was small,
and banished to the hall
for something I had done that wasn't right,
I stood awhile in shame,
but then the sunlight came,
and lit the dusty air with dancing light.
I watched in wondering awe,
as suddenly I saw,
what, standing in the shadows, I'd not seen.
Invisible, but there,
the dust that filled the air
had caught the light and turned to silver sheen.
Now sometimes, when I find
this life to be unkind,
I view my world with sorrow and disgust.
But then God's radiant love,
like sunlight from above,
streams in, and I see beauty in the dust.
Oh, what a beautiful tree
With glistening leaves
I wonder if it has fruit
That will cause me to believe
...again
Wow! What a tall building
It ascends into the sky
I wonder if it contains answers
That will tell my why information flies
...upward
What on earth is that
What is that thing man is building
Claiming water is coming
To the object his GOD is gilding
...outside the box
It looks like a tree on the surface
With branches and roots running deep and wide
But it looks like a building
Once you take the courage to step inside
...to learn
The structure is invisible to sight
But the sighted choose to be blind
They rail on and on, boasting of freedom
While setting bound in a double bind
...of methodology
What River of Life can float
A tugboat made for launching liners
Into an Ocean of the abyss
Where patterned patrons worship diviners
...of magic
Systems, Systems, ever climbing systems
Of powerful knowledge, how can puppets resist 'em
I wonder if silencing the five senses
Will fit us with lenses
...to KNOW
Truth
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-15-2019
You were there, an outline of a quiver in the light rain falling unabashedly,
Ignoring the tapestry of silver in the sky that wept speechlessly.
Beneath the somber crests of clouds that caressed your face with heavy gazes,
Your shimmering splendor called forth feelings in playful waltzes.
My heart was a field of gemstones beneath your unlearned dance,
Emeralds and sapphires twinkling in the galaxy of your roving glance.
When your smile unfolded warmly like a shy sun,
The quietest symphonies awoke to catch the rhythm of my restless heartbeats.
Silent poetry does not give itself to the crowd,
Thus we, in silence, quenched our hunger for words.
The tattoo of invisible ink embraced our skin,
When the pen fell into its frenzy, inscribing spumes of legend.
Two souls composed sonnets that watched over the stillness,
Luring harmony from the labyrinths of the soul.
Fragile in its natural grandeur, as if time had sown it,
Our love, a perennial flower, was opening in a string of springs.
Lost we were in that oasis of nirvana,
Punishing with gentle kisses the paths in blessed warmth,
Guiding steps towards meadows of inflamed passion.
Our story is not written in earthly scriptures,
It will live among the tireless stars,
An eternal parchment unedited, where words are just whispers
In the temple of eternity.
Before the black hole,
There is nothing.
Even if you wish to die, you cannot die.
Even if you wish to live, you cannot live.
We do not know.
Open your eyes.
Close your eyes.
As the Bible breathes its breath
Upon your lips, your nose, your eyes, and your heart,
In this moment, there is no good and evil.
In this moment, there is no man and woman.
The very first cry of genesis:
~Waa-waa~
The swirling sound of the first black hole.
A tiny seed falls upon some planet.
Friction, the laws of action and reaction.
Something is created.
We are
"That which is invisible,
Before the crying of birth!"
You are reading my words.
"This is the beginning of all things in the universe."
How?
You ask me.
What you are asking
Is not asking me,
You are asking yourself.
"Has not the Bible already answered you?"