Long Life or death Poems
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Are you lost inside nostalgia,
blinded by its call
Self convinced the past is king,
old romance to enthrall
The facts proclaim much different,
in science and the arts
Awareness of what we’ve become,
the most illusive part
What you bought for fifteen dollars,
that CD with thirteen songs
Now can buy the music world,
Ipod’s carry on
The doctor’s diagnosis,
beyond mere life or death
An MRI can then confirm,
and protons will arrest
The scope of human nature,
to hold on and not let go
Ties us to a bill we’ve paid
—resent from long ago
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)
A return to Normalcy
As night comes, all are at ease
We return to slumber
In the electric comfort
Of artificiality that is our lives
We revel in the false sense of our own
Modern conveniences
We forget the thin veil between
Our electric life, truth of nature’s brutality
Of our existence, we believe we are
Immune to the real world, harsher realities
Till only a loss of electric life or death, finite
Our comfort zone is rot, lost, and won
Something jars us back to reality
Of the world so frail
So it goes for everything n anyone
We are wrapped in ourselves
We are ignorant of the truth, in flesh
We hid in the comfort of our arrogance
We whitewash our history
We tell ourselves one thing
We miss direct our attention
With glamour, illusions, n media broadcasts
Peel back the thin layer of civility
See the bones of mortality
The flesh of humanity
The blood of our souls, vanity
We are primal and dangerous
Everything foretold, lost
We are comforted by our excesses
We fear what we cannot hold
And believe all we are sold
As we turn in for a much-needed reprieve
A needed night's rest, we are in our woolen
Wilds and slumber in our hypocrisy.
5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love
or i do love to think
that i’m loving
and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love
my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less
6.
in course of burning
i look around
the chilly-plant in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies
oh-ho how sweet they are
it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death
no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf
now easily some words
can be written
on you
i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem
7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another
there is the far-off
whispering
at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly
i notice her
for the first time in six weeks
the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence
within our skull
there is the love
or the midnight of the orion
the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties
those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling
the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses
would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper
in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain
within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time
had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger
9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself
whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die
rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look
beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues
beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be
is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra
tell me
i would now make love
with that idea from you
When we give life, to those things, that only bring death,
then we are truly, killing our life’s breath.
It turns our hearts, toward the darkness, you see,
when with our words, we bring forth misery,
We then destroy, our own hearts, as we live,
as we are judged by others, in what we give.
If we don’t change, the way we live you see,
then this life, will change you and me.
Deeper and deeper, in despair we go,
when, in this life style, we choose to flow.
Trying to live, and never understanding, how or why,
when we speak those things, that only bring death, we also begin to die.
Life or death, is set in front of us you see,
those things we speak, come forth to be.
Begin to speak only words, that brings forth life,
and in our hearts, the truth, will overcome the strife.
Excise Exercise 2:
In a wasteland
decision is a choice.
Faced with Life or Death
makes progress clear-
What are the options?
Face the Fear of both.
One brutal truth.
Find love's survival hope.
Cut off black poison.
Amputate the hate
that cast love out of reach.
Gangrene was never the colour of Peace...
In a wasteland,
Green is the colour of Relief.
Nestled in undulating dunes,
crystal clear the clarity that dispels
myth's mirage shimmy shake
Faith is a caravan-
Tuareg Blue and White.
Waiting out duststorms.
Burnt Umber.
Brief.
Aqua M Pen Umbra Poetry.
27 January 2024.
Choose to live.
127 hours. A story of survival.
"To err is human."
To err is to miss the point.
Another day, no food
Another night, no sleep
Cords, tubes, needles and beeps
The negligent hospital controls,
The outcome of health
The outcome of life or death
Suddenly, my life feels no longer my own
Doctor's lectures, doctor's decisions
Wanting answers, stories changing
The mind screams to be heard
Who do you think you are?
Runs through the mind
Over and over and over again
Trapped without a choice
Alone with vital signs dropping
What if I don't make it?
What if this is it? And Here!
While stuck looking at dropped ceilings
Gray walls, with a round clock ticking
The minutes and hours away
Still no help, pleas for help go unanswered
Pain rages on, as time ticks away
---Another Day---
Heidi Sands
2/17/18
"This is funny"— Doc Holliday
A cowboy’s whispering
a devil may care response?
I give as good as I get
Doc Holliday gave his services,
saved a lawman from sure calamity
brave, never a streak of yellow
perchance it was his caustic wit,
a humorous bite, and sense of humor
as dry as the dust
I am your huckleberry
do or bust!
At the Ok Corral
horse’s trotting
horse neighs, grunts
a nickel plated pistol fires
the infamous gun fight prior
what’s not to admire?
Cavalier as Doc may be,
a baptized sinner’s gunslinger
who’d specialize in dentistry
at a time when a bottle of whiskey
and a pair of pliers were the tools of the trade
he gave and gave
"Best set of teeth in gold"
claims he and partner
and true it was awarded and to showcase
annually at the County Fair, praise oh praise!
Tuberculosis
the death of him
the “White Death” shall soon take its toll
coughing spells untimely discourse dispels
a recourse to gambling after all
dexterities hold steadfast
Faro, a master’s game
no real family but the wild and woolly west
when shooting it out its life or death
Or knives be it
the heart bleeds, its beats slowly
as the lungs fill with unrepentant decay
a dagger's stabbing pain
The sulfurous waters
the distant wind yearns and blows
like the drums of passion,
a harpsicord ominous,
an urgent cello
exposing desert sands
it reveals one’s true nature
an inherent caliber it shall define
For every sinner there is comfort in knowing
there is forgiveness divine
to err is human and in the depths of our sins
the light will shine
so it shall be for him
I always figured I'd meet my fate someday
with my boots on…
but in the end
in his bed
boots off
An old poet
I want to write a book, and write poetry books,
But I can't even get the people to take a look.
Nevertheless the comments that feed my soul,
Feed my ego and my appreciation is never so, so.
Sick of growing old when all I want to do is die.
Time to give up on giving up and give it a try.
Will I write a master piece, before I cease,
Or just throw away the piece I tried to write before I decease?
It’s life or death or death or writ.
If it ain’t in me, then I’ll find a lift.
A way to raise my dead corpse once more,
To write a book, or die a bore.
(C)2023 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Life’s one and only guarantee
is one of Death for you and me,
no other promise can it make
however long your Life may take.
In certainty we can be sure
that Death will be the final cure,
for nothing we can ever do
will change the end for me and you.
Is Life or Death the spirit’s home,
are both just places that we roam,
and are these places where we dwell
both shared again by Heaven and Hell.
If all dimensions interlink
maybe mankind should stop and think,
for Life and Death and Heaven and Hell
may form eternity as well.
Life’s one and only guarantee
is one of Death for you and me,
but Death may hold a promise too
depending what you choose to do....
Ivor G Davies
Never say die or you just might believe it.
The words you ingest go straight to your chest,
and if your heart is sick you just might heave it.
Speak to your greenery in such mean terms,
and they certainly react, withering slowly on impact,
as if physically attacked.
Talk to water molecules, and microscopically watch
the astonishing effects of speaking life or death.
If you say "die," like a severing knife, they disunify,
but speak of love and kindness,
and they miraculously bind in fascinating patterns.
Likewise, you are water --- over seventy percent,
so make every intent to speak life.
Each frozen drop of rain is shaped uniquely,
fashioned in a unified design.
What words are spoken
to these snowflakes as they fall?
The Lord of all whispers words of life.
So likewise, speak of life
and thrive beside a lively creation.