Long Misplaced Poems
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Your laughter’s echoes are like a broken record in my hysterical brain
I misplaced my journey-like notebook, written in pen and pencil prudently and sincerely
Solace sunrays are embedded in your blue-green eyes and it’s driving me insane
Change is a challenging chore, but as someone once told me, “No one ever stops progressing, but it’s your job to improve frankly!”
Confined to this Depression wars, I feel like I’m frozen forever in his ribcage
Don’t accuse me for committing atrocious felonies – my intentions don’t lean on greed
I love God’s Wonderful deeds indeed! I loathe this fast-paced world, especially in this day of age, sponging up avarice and rage
Be careful what you watch, say, touch, hear, and taste – nourish your family seed
Visions of unforeseen, unforced miracles is a memory I hold dear honestly
I recall years spent on pondering about the tragedy in this fast-paced world and its many crimes
You scan my verses as if it’s a short story, catching your sheer curiosity
You have read me several times like a children’s book with silly Mother Goose Rhymes
I resemble shrouds of misfortune for cat’s sake...Now, am I worthy to be compared to a children’s tale? Am I the cause of the world’s calamity?
The dusk has dawned upon me…unearth the mysteries in the hollow, tacky atmosphere
Man’s plans were destined to be a fail from the beginning of time – why’s my heart thumping with pride and vanity?
Why should I rely on Man when I have God by my side? He’s the one and only that makes me have tears of hope, not frantic fear!
I’ve seen his wonders, so imperishable! I’m a witness to God’s phenomenal, faultless Work!
Why don’t you look at yourself in the mirror? Let’s face it – we’re all playing roles in this world’s tragedy!
Why are you throwing the blame on me? You resemble an irrational jerk!
I can’t bear being that individual who speaks his mind deliberately – I’m not acting immature! Straighten up your mind; stop acting so silly!
~!@#$%^&*())(*&^%$#@!~
Inspired by Jake Ponce’s poem: Ephemeral and the verse (entitled: The Key To My Heart) written by Jan Allison! Check both poems out and you’ll be amazed and it feels as if you’re placed in their shoes. It’s remarkable. Do look them up and read their works. You won’t regret it.
^Written by David William Breidenthal^
***Date this was written: Thursday, May 29, 2014***
" My mother shed her protective love around me and without knowing why, people sensed that I had value." ~Maya Angelou
" As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. " ~Kristin Hannah
“ I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind"
Born female, and upon my brow the magic mark ,
as my mother's mothers before me.
Red pigmented and shaped like a broken heart,
the very heart of my story.
From generations of wombs and bloodlines before,
I am chosen to take up these stones.
And being apart of this family,
I am yet destined to be alone.
The Amber, with whiskey color glowing within…
pumpkin tinged and power singed.
Giving its wielder healing power and
protection through the midnight hour.
The Sapphire stone, deepest indigo,
as the depths of the ocean's foaming folds.
Granting wisdom within it's warming light
and discernment of truth, of wrong and right.
And the third stone is a Ruby of red,
whose clarity muddles the mind and clouds the head.
Releasing passions once held in check,
while you see clearly, their pulsing neck.
Combined the three, passed down to me,
from maternal bloodline flows.
So now with these words and the heat of my hands,
I part the veil to long ago...
Though darkly, I see, far back through time,
this several great-great grandmother of mine.
And watch as she, undeservedly,
is made to lie in an early grave …
No knight in armour in this tale,
Herself alone she must save.
These stones that I now hold, she finds,
as in darkness they begin to shine.
All air is gone, her breathing stops
and the heart inside can beat no more.
Until the magic finds a home in a wronged woman's maternal core.
Then hearing
a weak pulse,
somehow
MISPLACED...
upon her brow I see
the red- pigmented mark,
the broken heart
Upon her brow,
BEGIN TO B E A T....
And now we know this history,
the story that began my own.
I await the rest of my family tale
from inside the stones, I'm shown.
When I know my true life's purpose,
when I am connected with all of them…
then my hearts blood will stop beating...
...but my magic heart beat will begin.
The future will bring unexpected things,
A woeful tragedy our heart to sting,
And though our plans be laid so well,
A power, from where we cannot tell,
Moves, or turns circumstance around,
Here giving joy there bringing a frown.
An insignificant spark, a slippery spot,
An induced germ, a misplaced dot,
Can turn someone; a group, a horde,
To bring about peace or bare the sword.
What say ye then, my wise friend you;
Is it blind fate and a little luck too:
Some random power to tip the scale,
And bring forth heaven or show us hell?
Concerning the puzzle of seeming happenstance,
Can you of the future perceive a glance?
Has it reason or design at all,
Can man influence how 'fate' must fall?
How helpless then we tend to be,
If we be pawns in a random sea,
Where utmost effort is brought to naught,
A battle comes that would not be fought,
And all this turns on the merest flick,
Of someone's seeming uneventful trick.
Who can approve such an absurd display,
Of struggling mankind's effort made,
And undone by a change of wind,
The toss and turn of chance to send?
I will not accept such an odd charade
Of appearance too early or too late,
Of a random force that turns my way,
Into some strange and awkward play.
I choose a design of great import,
A meaningful kind, of a rational sort:
With a purpose far above the crush
Of humanity's desire filled headlong rush.
An intent supreme,of a virtuous kind,
With purer motive and reasoned mind;
To set things right and bring an end,
Far more desirable than chance can pen.
To vindicate the cause of all,
The pain, the strife, the rise and fall,
Of man's travail from then til now;
Though to prove it to you, I know not how.
Please bear with me and consider this,
Lest some good purpose we should miss,
Could the answer be thus simply stated:
"By Him and for Him they were created"?
The purpose of creation and the Adamic fall,
Could glory for Christ be the reason after all?
More magnificent a claim cannot be made.
No more noble reason for existence laid,
Than for my existence to be,
To glorify the one who is most Holy.
The Spirit written text does make the call,
Of one Lord supremely over all,
With a secondary purpose in mind,
Of a merciful and a redeeming kind.
All wrapped up in this purpose too,
Could be salvation for me and you.
I ask you now, does this ring true,
Creation made and with good purpose too?
Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
Chosen to be a perfectionist
all things in order
not out of order
the pantry is orderly
the shelves are amazing
the dishes are placed
neatly arranged with a homemade cake
perfectly amongst the race
clean clean clean away
no time wasted, non-worried faces
this is right, that is wrong
a perfect home
If it means being alone
straighten out items, neatness all around
when leaving, must come back to the cleanness
orderly you see, nothing is thrown around
If it is, you have to get down
seemed perfect in all that was done
the atmosphere is right
each day and night
shoes come off at the door
sinks are wiped down after repeated usage
no time for disorderly, nor items misplaced
a day to relax, some days are amazing
the perfectionist, having some patience
what a view being seen
overall, it's clean clean clean
neatness in appearance
nothing out of line
even the clock on the wall
cannot be the wrong time
a picture that is crooked
has to be straighten
don't keep them waiting
Some things are not outdated
not a lent on the floor
that cannot definitely be ignored
a life with the perfectionist
as time definitely goes by
sometimes asking, why? why? why?
the dinner invite, extended settings
just a piece of the delicious apple pie
the hand slightly was hit twice
barely hurt, a smile with love
no, not now, that is the dessert
just wait for the appetizers, the entrees
fancy elegant dinner plates are placed
gold silverware, decors, red flowers, and more
the table is so extraordinary
the view is so nice
the room is full of peace, love, and joy
If you're messy, you might not be invited anymore
oh well, the day has gone
all family, friends, and others went home
until the holidays come again
invitations are amongst limited
maybe next time the host will be the guest
and all, figuring out the rest.
The perfectionist.
Note:
Sometimes a perfectionist will change some guidelines.
Faith, Prayers. Jesus. Grace.
Can this be me? You?
orderly, clean, & neat.
Some people have said that cleaning can be mind relaxing. Also, a form of exercise because you're always moving. After the results, you can see the finishing.
An atmosphere that is suitable to live in.
alienated and separated has become society
disenfranchised and distant are now the state of families
all of those systems designed to make us feel connected
have fallen short and now we feel rejected
we're just a bunch of numbers and no one even knows our names
we're just a group of digits and that's a darn shame
but we're more than pieces of silver for we do have hearts
for we are the blessed children of the Lord Of Lords, Our God
and it's only in the church where we've kept our sanity
for out in the world it's just total anarchy
we're more than just objects to be used and misused
we're more than just bodies who by our bosses are being abused
dehumanized and desensitized is how we've been treated by the status quo
but we are treasures in the eyes of the God we all love and know
God loves us and it's time we loved ourselves
Jesus loves us and died to give us an eternal wealth
yet people are more concerned with amassing monetary hordes
no compassion for each other and no love for the Lord
we need to seek the word of God with a desire to be changed
for now is the time for our spirits to be rearranged
no longer to take each other for granted but to treat each other with respect
to see ourselves as more than pieces of silver as more than just objects
to be like that woman who lost her coin and diligently searched until it was traced
and then to rejoice upon finding it for her treasure was now fully replaced
to diligently seek the treasure that is the word of God
and then to apply it directly to our hearts
to comprehend the true value of our fellow sisters and brothers
and come to understand that we need to treasure one another
for at some point in life you will need someone's support
for life is like a basketball game you need a team on the court
10 pieces of silver, Stella had a house party
a single coin restored, a parable about rediscovery
for whatever it is in life that you feel that you have lost
just take it to Jesus and lay it on the cross
let Jesus restore it, let your treasure be refound
let God reform you and place you on higher ground
to look high and look low for that which has been misplaced
to seek that treasure of the spirit, God's saving grace
and once it's restored to rejoice and celebrate
Stella had a house party upon the restoration of her faith
I was walking down the neighbourhood,
reminiscing how it all
used to be where we made believe
that we were nymphs in a wood,
except the once moist earth was parched,
and the once white air was brown...
and footpaths and landmass
were suddenly under a filter of grey...
Here I stop by this grandfather tree,
one in my eyes would be older than me.
But when I touched the bark
and the lowest leaf,
it whispered, "Speak, child of Eve,
now that I'm awake from my sleep."
I walked backwards,
scratching and tilting my head,
wondering what was messed with my senses;
had climate change really gotten into my head?
Now although I am shocked,
and my mind can't think so fast,
my tongue does the work for me:
"How have you lived this long?" it asks.
A wind blows, and my eyes take up,
imagining him stretching the rusty spine of a trunk.
He then speaks, in the gruff and cranky voice:
"You humans do whatever you want,
kill what you see with your eyes,
and spare what they think would fit their design best."
My eyes wander, to the settlements gray,
and remembered, the green kingdom where we'd played.
"Do you ever miss them?" I wish I hadn't asked,
but there is no way of turning time, and I continue to ask:
"The others of your kind, the ones that fell,
were they family, or friends at best?"
The grandfather shuddered, cold and angry,
I could feel his thoughts, how he wished
that I'd not reminded of what sored him.
"But what good would it do to think of the dead all day?"
He adds, "Isn't that what your mother always says?
Best ask her yourself, I'm sure my answer would be same;
for though you'd branched out early, we share one ancient family name.
But for now leave me be, your kind has hurt me enough,
to be sworn enemies, still, I'd rather sleep it through."
I turn around annoyed, wandering what tricks my fancies play,
then I stop so suddenly, with one last question to say:
"How do you know me?" I ask, not expecting replies,
but he says in return: "I used to watch you as a child,
"And in your early days I'd hold you when your limbs weren't so ripe,
I'd watched you walk, then I was worried,
when my own limbs tripped yours.
I'd thought since that misplaced root, that you'd never come back.
But now that I've talked to you, I feel
weirdly warm and comforted to sleep."
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
Our lives are not immune to the impact of time,
nor is our mind between the tensions of love and hate.
That's why I curse this wanderlust heart -
still searching for that wandering star.
without a guide - without a love to call my own.
I try not to look back, but sometimes certain scents,
remind me of things that saw me as a minority.
A summer heart misplaced in winter's wickedness,
a child frozen in the passages of a stolen childhood.
Ingredients of my life are a juxtaposition of flavours,
finding purity among diseased hearts,
fighting against principles of corrupt minds
and I hurt nobody - until they pushed me,
it was never about the physical - but the mental.
Silence is different in adolescence -
suppressed into a protective bubble,
you reject the harshness of existence.
My small hands could not hold the burdens,
so I was mute as demons slayed my father,
his anger drowning my brothers into darkness.
Tears of my mother, dehydrated my soul,
so I grew like a tree with broken branches -
sometimes naked, sometimes an abundance of green.
Even in an obscure world of nightmares,
my heart was a light bulb, full of dreams -
but misplaced in a place of misunderstanding.
I adopted silence in the violence,
because I struggled with reality's fabrications.
Fatherless,
I found acceptance in the war on the streets,
where love was poison, but hate brought prosperity.
Only surviving due to my father's name,
yet I knew it was an unwinnable game.
My hands were pacifying guns,
so I learned to exist without bullets.
I was a black sheep in a strange white herd,
opposing shepherds who couldn't tolerate me.
A clean soul in a dirty social order -
a peaceful heart seeking a place to call home.
Silence is a choice in adulthood.
I used to ignore the pain from unhealed wounds,
but today the inner child screams and shouts,
because oppressors can no longer mute my tongue.
Death taught me not to be bitter,
stubborn fingers how to bleed ink onto paper -
showing compassion in an ugly world.
If life was so simple, we wouldn't look at it differently.
Our perceptions are based on what we have learned,
what was, what is to come and what we search for.
Where you end up depends on how you deal with the past.
Your path to achievement is surely met with obstacles
But understand they are instrumental to your success.
Though you are meant to compose your own chronicles,
You must have confidence in your world’s silent process.
You can live your life in your own terms and conditions
But many doubts you will have to confront and sustain.
You will have to face many concerns and complications
But not give yourself time to apologize for it or complain.
Struggle and pain remain everyone’s lot to go through.
You can take them as misfortunes or lessons to learn.
The choice is yours to take and the consequence of it too
But remember that hard times await you at every turn.
Help might come from the most unusual of all places
And accept it you must, whenever it presents itself.
Be grateful when it comes from many unknown faces,
And feel blessed if it springs from within yourself.
What might need your full attention is the voice inside.
Stay still and hush the chatter disturbing your peace.
If you care to listen, it will bring the answers required
And provide for a much appreciated and sweet release.
You will be free to follow your own personal aspirations,
Regardless of strange discontent or misplaced envy.
The road you’re treading is dignified by your inspirations
And will boldly guide you to your envisioned destiny.
The sins of your fellow man are not to be endured or shared.
You have your own to worry about, hold in check or fight.
Countless efforts will be deployed and your mind prepared
Until your efforts are rewarded when the due time is right.
You must see your goals accomplished. Make it your duty.
Persist in your efforts and accept the barriers as challenges.
Never accept self-imposed limits. It’s your responsibility.
Make persistence your creed and accept the critical changes.
Mistakes and fears will certainly join you along the way.
Don’t be angry or afraid for you set your mind to victory.
Whether you look inside or look up in the sky and pray,
Your inner light will ignite; your concealed divine energy.
Find the strength to conquer the fiends battling for your soul
And you will discover a grander plan and harness its power.
Your vision will be much clearer, much wiser your control,
As, unbroken and unashamed, you will live your finest hour.