Long Muddled Poems
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Pick is conflicted by self-ness
She rarely ponders or introspects but it is a weird evening
Pan, her cousin, would never understand, so she will not bother.
She stands at the edge of the swamp,
Was she coming or going?
It is important as water by day is her refuge
Where she is murky, muddled, and angry
Dragging things down, she revels at
their drownings.
She has a quota, and she is not afraid to fill it.
Six kills daily, or she will not get to be her night-self.
Her night-self is what Pick lives for; she loves being good.
Goodness comes forth when she steps onto land;
Good by night, bad by day.
It is her curse,
She can share with no one.
She hesitates at the bank.
Is it dusk or is it daylight?
She has lost track of herself,
and it really does matter...
I spent my day shopping for rubies
It's not a usual thing to do
I usually shop on Tuesdays
Then I just shop for two
I dressed up in my best
And caught a cab to town
Hoping to invest
In a ruby ring and evening gown
Arriving at the jeweller's shop
I was overcome with awe
I felt my chin drop
As I knocked a tray of pearls onto the floor
Madame, "May I help you,
Can I assist in any way?"
"Yes, I came to buy a ruby ring
Could you show me the display?"
The assistant looked happy
He unlocked the compartment of rings
He was so brisk and snappy
I thought he was about to sing
The rubies were breath-taking
They took my breath away
I became more breathless
At the price of them that day
I knew they would be expensive
These were far too dear
The price was so extensive
It made me feel quite *****
I was embarrassed
The assistant looked poised
I felt very harrassed
Silly and annoyed
"Please take a seat, Madame
Sit quietly for a while."
Was there a hint of sarcasm
In the assistant's smile
Other customers were waiting to be served
Looking at jewellery and gifts
They thought they all deserved
Or give a loved one's heart a lift.
The shop was busy
It was abuzz like busy bees
Nobody was in a tizzy
Except poor dishevelled me
Standing up from the chair
Trying to look haughty
Waving my hand in the air
I left feeling naughty
Outside in the mall at last
What a day it's been
My day spent shopping for rubies
Had been like a movie scene
Feeling tired and muddled
My feet were hurting me
I cannot wait to catch the bus
And go back to reality
Maternal never came natural to you
But laugh we did, crazy things you would do,
You caused so much angst, guilt and tension,
But my mother you were, with your fair complexion,
Years went by and we muddled along more
My tears mostly dry, almost closed the door
Beautiful you were I see this all now,
Wish you could see me, and express your pride how
I'm happy and safe, Ed is my rock.
Wish you could meet my friends, my eddy, my flock
Think of you often, today is your day
So I'll bid you goodnight, one thing left to say
Your beauty is famed, your legend is known
I'll see you one day, when I am full grown
Once, there was a time when I wallowed in darkness
wading in the shallows of my flaws, I confess.
Shadows of hovering ravens were my only friends.
I was lost in time as stars died, but made amends
by untying myself from yesterdays to stop crying.
I stopped living in a morass as if I were dying.
Many who remain tethered to their past try hiding
but freedom will take flight in those hearts confiding.
There is a gentle wind that blows through a soul
leaving glittered traces of stardust to make it whole.
Whispers murmur to wings that brighten the gloom,
lifting the muddled veil of death so life can resume.
No longer do I cringe at the dreary thought of death
or gasping for air as if I were drawing my last breath.
One day I will fall as carrion, my body lying supine
and I become a banquet feast where many might dine.
If feathered creatures circle me in skies of ash gray,
who then will come to chase the hungry ravens away?
Despite the crisp chill
She wandered to the pebbled shore.
Cold water washed her tender feet.
At last, she sat beneath a pine tree
on a shaven log, shaped like a bench
A train of thoughts passed through her muddled mind.
She wondered if life was passing her by.
She shrugged. There was nothing she could do.
A grey gull screeched overhead. She laughed.
Ships, small or large, would go on their way,
Especially love boats on their route to exotic shores,
but she had to stay put,
Until he came back to her again.
Then she would be euphorically happy once more.
Thus she dreamed and fantasized,
moulding her life according to her standards.
But love cannot be forced
nor found on love boats.
They are created deep in the heart
or as was her case, lost at sea
in a terrible turbulent storm.
Soul passion is not a simple task.
This is grasped as a soulful bask,
To reserve one's sound mind and soul,
To your loved ones, but not a hack.
They set down those blessed vows as rule,
In a precise scheme, that's the goal,
Since the pen-pusher by now knew,
I don't dismiss the budding role.
Spot our bloodline evolved and grew,
When our souls stand, sorely renew,
Our feelings may become muddled,
With the one, we esteem for true.
Life's chore complications crumbled,
May seldom grasp its rate stumbled,
And shepherd a partner or spouse,
Too wide, gloom, and bleak shaft fumbled.
Although, we relinquish word swears,
To be prized, esteemed with obeys,
to discard each other as well,
our arduous traipse continues.
Our sound bodies are shaped well,
that's why many of us can tell,
In the sort of low dust and grime,
Into the scum of smeared lust, dull.
So, within, there is creed sublime,
Stumbles is near the end of time,
It discloses straight to our thoughts,
And unholy erects in slime.
Attempting to maintain our wrought,
Is challenging without a brought,
One should reach out to the other,
And squabbles should be held as naught.
Such misgivings may be utter,
Despite this, your tongue is tender,
Those who have shown anxiety,
have a rough time seemly hover.
Ne'er deem without proof utterly,
Or to be selfish and greedy,
Doubt is a marked first point of this,
We judge that evil eats, truly.
Don't put your faith in people's glitz,
Since he, too, is made of brain blitz,
Believe in God with all your heart,
He'll view through, stow you on the ritz.
Written: May 11, 2022
He travelled.
He walked down
a new street
with new people lining it.
Songs of romance
re-entered his mind.
He even forgot his age,
imagining himself much younger.
With identity changed
the past and the
counts of years
were muddled in his mind.
All the things he
couldn't have before
now seemed within reach.
He gave himself
permission to reach for new joys.
When the past is lost and
identity changes and
life continues innocently day by day
with the sun rising and setting
and things not painful,
it was more than tolerable, it was fun.
Never mind the occassional frights
that happened
just to keep interest up.
The meals were wonderful
and he looked forward to them.
You have raided my night again,
as the burst of a sudden storm,
sneaking into my loneliness,
at the most unexpected hour,
plunging me into swirls of pain
too deep for expression,
leaving me in utter disorientation.
I now drift aimless with muddled thoughts,
through the dingy avenues of the past,
never once able to sever the chord,
that binds me so tight to those memoirs,
exposing me to torrid heat
with my soul, burning down….
like a piece of smouldering coal.
Sleepless are my nights.
Dreamless are my days.
Like the sundown shadows growing bigger,
with every stride I take,
the farther I move, the closer you follow.
Can I convince you ever again,
I never meant any harm to you.
How wearily have I watched the flies,
lured by the dazzling light,
char into diminutive specks of black,
by the scorching tongues of flame.
Still, why did I let you burn,
in the flame of my accursed passion?
You were like a flower admired from afar,
afraid of even the gentle breeze coming near,
lest it might jolt the delicate frame,
and shake the petals down, sooner than due.
Yet vulnerable turned the moment,
when all of a sudden, it started to rain.
Like a child, eager to play in the puddles,
you ran out into the pouring rain.
All soaked through and through,
You came in…. awhile my gaze,
rested on the filmy fabric,
seductively clinging to your curves.
Then, that wild surge…. beat me down.
And Alas! Under a magnetic pull,
surrendered your fragile self with ease.
At that moment of self-abandonment
looted off all that you held chaste.
Never surmised, you were crying,
when I felt your cheeks, so wet.
Now I know, it was agony,
not ecstasy that I, then, beheld on your sentient face!
You refused to respond to my calls.
Unanswered went all my anxious queries.
Like a hibernating toad,
to some dark underground cave, you slid.
Abruptly, alerted on call,
by an alien sound, far from familiar
I hastened to the casualty ward,
and saw you lying limp,
with drops of blood, still dripping down
from your slashed wrist,
staring at me with an open mouth!
As I watched you lying still
with your eyes refusing to flutter,
I knew my world tottering below,
and my heart, set ablaze,
into a funeral pyre.
"Red Hearts"
In black and white,
openings
and dead ends abound;
Words read.
Hearts read.
What matter the colours
of skin and minds now?
The best of us
sat in hell.
Take consolation in that -
He made His way out,
for us, for Himself.
A Poet-Prophet - no doubt,
lessons in complexity,
embedded deep,
forgotten by most of such belief.
Isolated and removed, we try hard,
we try our best to follow
like hungry sheep.
You’re in good company now.
Aren’t you?
You’re in good company now?
The best of us
has sat in hell,
He,
made His way out.
We look inward daily
at our self-imposed rituals,
each word hung on a line -
dissolving into a wall, we're just residuals.
Our reflections mirrored in the all-seeing power,
the paler shadows cast outward
from our removed selves, where –
Love casts its spells.
Love will always cast its spells.
Blind eyes turn away,
laughing it all out loud
like simple jokes needing to be expelled.
Blind eyes turn away.
What is past is forgotten here,
in the mostly untarnished always.
Hearts hearing truth
will tell it as it is –
always.
Without hesitation, without doubt,
they cast their spells out loud.
Their words speak truth, bleeding,
swimming like salmon upstream,
just as they are –
alone, unclouded, would-be poets
with muddled hearts up in the clouds,
watching for their Shining North Star
amongst all the falling stars.
We look inward, some of us,
for the meaning of who we truly are.
It seems so close, yet removed, so far;
We make our way out,
in the end, somehow.
Words read.
Hearts read.
Love
has the strongest power,
somehow.
Love
is what is needed most.
When delivered without proof –
unconditional,
Love will always save us.
This could hurt…
pierced hearts are read here,
bleeding strong power.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
When you are a widow
They look at you kinda strange,
Initially sympathetic
From any distance-range.
They often don’t come back
Unless you are real rich
Their presumptions carry on;
Assuming you're a witch.
Funny how they make you feel,
They once were warm and friendly,
But now they think you need support
Or a supplementary.
Always seemed to click with them
Though now a foreign language,
Making you feel miserable
And all and all just anguish.
Some need to know more and more;
Extracting information
You’re honest, they’re astonished
With ghastly devastation.
Vulnerable and muddled
From heart break tragedy,
They make you feel so awkward
With incapacity.
When you are a widow
They look at you kinda strange,
Tell them you’re a widow and
Watch how they all change…
Or
Maybe keep the ring on,
For a year or five or ten…
Never thought when vows were made-
I'd be thinking ‘when’...