Long Mutterings Poems
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It seems like I fell off the map on my life journey,
my path has been twisted and quite ferny;
and beauty is concealed . . .
I have learned to dip and dive in life's battlefield,
but this warrior of fate could use a shield;
and perhaps an attorney !
Fate just keeps throwing me off mountains I climb,
I end up in dangerous places most of the time;
I could use a fate guide . . .
So that over oceans and quicksand I could glide,
and face- fate's devious footballs with pride;
life is often lemons and lime !
Wonder, would I find contentment on easy street,
no, I like this journey, music and beat;
I like catching the football . . .
Standing strong and tall when I hit a stonewall,
so, I will play the game and there is a windfall;
I could be an athlete !
_________________________
March 9, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Simple Mutterings/Fate
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1002-488-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Harken...those hollowing drums
Over cold vales so beat,
Exhorting a multitude of glistening
Star-tipped spears,
As marching over shattered landscapes
In shinning replete:
Crunch Artumes eternal legions
Across the snow bound years.
Casting down from the mauve
And cloudless heights
The pale witch broods upon her dark
runes;
Chilled breath steaming mutterings
Of meddling spite,
Uttered under Luna risings
Of half waxen moons.
Repulsed from the presence
Of the holy alters sacred glow,
That cuts like a torch
Across Yules Feast of Lights,
She incants of harsh Boreas
To relent his fierce blowes:
Raising high her crystal towers
To breach the walls of stilled night.
Tis now, away from cheery hearths
And the warm fires they keep,
That warring frost tightens
Upon this hardened land;
Happily sated people
Turn in contented sleep;
Motionless vapours are crushed
In the grip of an iron clad hand.
For as the siege heightens
In relentless might
Heavens wheeling sentinels
Begin to slowly withdraw:
Retreating upon spiraling orbits
Fading from diminishing sight;
Ghostly armies embarking
For far frozen shores.
Loosen now the silver longships,
Afloat on tides of drawing moonlight,
For the Red Goddess slumbers
In deep canyons to the west;
Artumes armies sailing
Into grey dawns fleeting respite...
Awaken... Oh Glorious Aurora...
Scattering your foes -
Before Sunrises conquest!!
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring
Everyone had left, the workers, the clients
It was locked up, quiet and abandoned
Left standing lone, proud and chivalrous
Awaiting the imminent coming of winter
With its winds and blankets of snow
Knowing it would remain undisturbed
Through the cruelest season while
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
Wafts of mutterings heard over the hill
Yet abandoned off in the distance
Unaware of its impending fate
As the days, weeks and months pass by
Tormenting and ravaging gusts of bitter cold
Shaken and distraught yet a survivor
Ice melts, revealing secrets- the wheel creaks
The mill owner had been involved in a scandal
And maybe the mill would reopen, maybe it wouldn’t
AP: 2nd place 2020
Insane
All of us
The two of us
The ménage of us
The rain drops fall inside our heads
Just the two of us
Crazy deluded creatures
crawling in the attics of darkness
Breathing, gasping, hold on, hold tight
The air becomes a precious bond
Little one dances in the wind
Precious dreams in white padded rooms
Adam and Eve and serpent roam
The halls of the diabolical
Wondering where I have been?
I am all of you
Mirrors on the wall
Can you not all see?
We are all me and you
Insane inside mindless heads
Random mutterings
Broken bottles
Gods stolen promises
Contracts broken in the night
Insane we are
All of us
From Adam to Dawn
Holding hands for better days
Dying to be uninsane
Wishing raindrops go up not down
ATEN shall again shower us
With sunny days
Dedicated to someone here who told me once, “I am just…………. Well I say you are just a brilliant poet”
She said, if I correctly recall,
That, for her, a sustaining love is an
Absolute prerequisite for what
Would be a total commitment of the
Coupling bodies...and all that
Constitutes the essential parts of the
Eternal Soul;
And I not so assuredly competent
In this - the practice of such a higher
Art!
Adding, some little time later, that
Being so chained, in what she described
As an unfortunate consequence of a
Most regrettable thrall,
To a domineering Harlequin who,
When mindlessly exercising the upper
Whip hand, had neither modest restraint
Or any amount of unimpassioned
Self-control,
Was, in fact, just a flagrant excuse
For a base lust;
Of course this was not to be confused
With the laudable and gallant actions
Conceived within the inner workings
Of a steadfast and more openly honest
Heart.
And was I convinced that I was indeed
Sincere in all my avowed pledges?
And did I truly understand that all her
Troubled life she had tirelessly
Searched for one such as I purported
To, somehow, seemingly be?
How I instantly can bring to mind
Those obscure and doubting mutterings...
Still carrying upon an ill wind I
Should not wonder;
I think of them like the songs of the
Naiads: what woefully remaining
Sounding endlessly above the glassy
Tinkling of a mystical lakeside's
Stiffened and shuffling Sedges;
You a modern-day Danae, infant Perseus
Clutched to your swollen breast, your
Little box, in all its abject
Loneliness, now set adrift upon some
Desolate and open sea.
What turned out, in the end, to be a
Pointless charade. Perhaps; but that
Which, despite shortening periods, whilst
Enduring felt almost timeless.
Then of course this shared guilt...
That will, shamefully I fear,
Forever bind us.
The day I found the butterfly in me,
I was changed forever to- delighted.
I found dancing where I could soar carefree,
the butterfly and me are so united, that
we twirl and swirl blissful,
we dip and fold gleeful,
we fly up high cheerful,
optimistic,
aphoristic,
spiritualistic . . .
My dress is gauzy and purple feathery,
with butterfly I am ignited . .
entwined, we are one with wings filigree,
and when we dance I am happy excited.
______________________
February 17, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/'The Butterfly In Me'
Copyright Protected, ID 17-10001-368-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
I am dying and that's fine
Because You are also dying
Albeit more slowly and less frequently
But misery loves company
So, I count you into my suffering
For me I prefer to get it over with
YOU ARE DEAD
MOSTLY BECAUSE GOD LOVES YOU MORE
THIS WAY WE DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU ARE GONE
BUT MAYBE WE WILL SEE YOU AGAIN
WE JUST NEED GOD TO REALLY BE UP THERE
But the will to jump off this story is faltering
Let the tale decide my time of no glory
Playing secondary roles in all your synopses
I live to die again tomorrow in the morning
For you let it happen just slowly
To allow you to keep doing it seminally
It matters yes but only in a jiffy
Good thing is it will be over finally
And we will all understand my mutterings
I am dying you are dying we are dying
A defiant chant to remind us of living
And that’s fine and comforting
I am dying and that’s fine
Because you are dying too
Writing,
is everything to me! It is my true passion-
MUSE found me, a lonely little girl weeping,
with deep swirling words in my head
and in time, I wrote the words down. My thoughts fell, and
a writer was born in me- the poet here.
Today, my writing has more style- but I still
pour my heart and soul out on white just like that girl, with
words that twirl and whirl in the corridors of my head
until they must d r i p from my pen.
___________________________
November 18, 2017
Poetry/Verse/Simple Mutterings/Writing Is My Everything
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 1000-06-00-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
JOTTINGS
Folded paper and scribbled notes
Mutterings of my cluttered mind
Things to do I hope to remember
The memory club, I’m a member
If not, then that’s why I will find
Ideas are sheep, words are goats
Jottings serve as an aide-memoire
Notes to self, so that I won’t forget
Phone numbers or reference codes
My brain cannot handle such loads
I haven’t sorted through them yet
Mental logbooks can only go so far
A thought is ethereal, like vapour
If written, it serves as an anchor
Words can be both meat and rind
Helpful, especially if underlined
Minds turn slow, like an oil tanker
That’s why I get it down on paper
I will wear a mask
but not a blindfold
listen as the lies be told
while others have a line to hold
I will not succumb
to mindless mutterings
of inane conspiracies
always pointing .....elsewhere
I will stand
because I stood
before hate's onslaught
bore its tainted touch
I did not yield then
nor will I now
to appease the soft skinned
bullies of academia's alchemists
I am of simple birth
a wearied warrior
scarred by schoolyard tongues
molded by fear's response
I will not tolerate
the crushing of the dreams
of those not yet hardened
and shaped on life's anvil
John G. Lawless
8/26/2020