Long Recovery from Poems
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Written: July 14, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Daniel Henry Rodgers
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I've locked this dark, borrowed shore, Flee this acid-clogged floor.
I guard the vault of my pain, I'm the phantom at your pane.
Cold starlight marks a sharp track, Break from this blind void of black!
I smash the chalice of shame. Escape this specter of blame!
This pristine sanctum stands tall, Smite this driftwood into drawl.
Warped in a speedball slipstream, before this shape-shifting dream.
No liquid spirit shall steal. My eternal cosmic seal.
I steer through galaxies deep, wake from this deceptive sleep!
I smash the siren's black crown. Cast this madness to the drown!
I chart the comets of truth, Reclaim my stolen, raw youth!
The silver slivers weave fate. Rip the fabric of this hate!
A fearless breach clears the sky. Healing wrecked space could imply.
I break from all grips of woe, and leave the strap chains below,
I cast out the shroud of shame, to chase the comet's hot flame.
Trials spur my spirit higher, to chisel out my doused fire,
I weave my nerve through the night, the advent from darkness-light.
I carve paths the stars design, stride their fire on threads divine,
I rise to meet stars above, crown my path with graceful love.
I have withstood this austere year
Waiting on skies which never clear
Shadows away
Fingers restless for an hour's peace
Scrapes gold flakes from a drying crease
of papier-mache
Random resistance too refined
Leisure, a luxury consigned
To yesterday
Now, tart impatience I require
Passive manners swiftly expire
Against delay
In rushing tempo, I rejoice
Straight-held shoulders, marching my voice
Into the fray
On stout cliffs, I refuse the same
Meek rain, in favor of bold flame
Where bright hopes lay.
7/31/20
For 'Tail Rhyme Stanza' contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
(a note on papier-mache: howmanysyllables has it as 3 syllables but in rhymezone.com it is listed under the four syllable words. I used the count from howmanysyllables.com, but to check it in rhymezone, it is under the four syllable count rhymes - just so there is no confusion.)
I always do the best I can
To try and please my loving man
But when he holds me close and tight
Something stirs from deep inside
From memories I can’t escape
Of the night that I was raped
By a stranger with a knife
Threatening to take my life
As he pushed me on the ground
Making sure my hands were bound
So I couldn’t even fight
On that cold and lonely night
As my faith was torn apart
When it was pulled out of my heart
And I could never recover
Because no one ever discovered
All the sorrow and the pain
That I always tucked away
Like a turtle in a shell
Hiding from a world of hell
That causes hurt and misery
Wishing someone could just see
All the tears that I’ve been crying
As my world is slowly dying
12/21/2013
A tune rings in my head
I sing it with silence in the crowd
I hum it along a sigh in the morning hour
I bleed my throat dry of it in the bathroom
Her favourite song
And maybe I'm of bluer hue than I thought to be
For it shows in the refused faces
It shows in the wet pillows
It shows in the bloody mirror
It shows in all darned things gifted of reflection
"Your Nail's not straight, your body's weird
When you laugh it's not pleasant"
There was so much in and of me that they saw
More than what I the host did not
Therefore I raised myself
And learned to stay still
Like a deer on the crosshair
Only difference.. I stayed in it for years.
Now that I've grown better, now that I can pretend better
I play pretend in the lonely places
And allow it in my head only then
It Floods back in highs and lows
Notes and melodies on a butchered head
And I cry the tune
I cry.
Archive November 8'23
An aching meditation on memory and the wounds left by ordinary cruelty. Every remembered criticism hangs from the ceiling like a rusted chandelier, casting distorted shadows over the embodiment of consciousness of the muse. "The Tune" A sorrowful little thing in this poem. Like finding an old music box in the attic and discovering it still knows the song of a ghost from the past.
It’s amazing how you hold yourself
When those around you have fallen away
And there you were, to be or not
They’ll whisper until you break
They’ll whisper until you bow
Visit’s the church of her Christ
But you know it’s not where you belong
They can’t tell you who to be
But then we wouldn’t have a song to sing
Flower girl in her mothers dress
She ran away from home
Knew her worst was she at her best
Handed down jewels around her neck
This is all of my runaway you may love
So it was goodbye to everything
When there was nothing left of you to steal
Something made up when nothing else was real
This loneliness was yours
Because no one knew how to keep your ease
And your family closed the doors
Replaced you
With the love for something they had no use for
Roses in the air
As the weather smeared your smile
If this is where it ends
With the fragrance of a child
She was like roses in the air
You were scattered around your needs
A soft and gentle breeze
But the world was so careless with it’s touch
Her roses felt the air
When the world was not so nice
You held your tears at night
“story of last night”
Since Adam’s fall the human race
has been stuck in a hostile space.
The evil forces wage a war,
God’s pure image they seek to tar.
This war is fought within our hearts,
with thoughts that wound like whizzing darts.
The fiend’s ghoulish goal is mind control,
to lure, entrap, and then destroy souls.
From whence spring wars which waste young lives,
that scar men’s souls and widow wives?
When reason dies and passion reigns
then wars are born in human brains.
Wars rage in the rejected soul
deprived of love and left unwhole.
The winds of war that within rage,
wise, winsome words cannot assuage.
For reasons that are not too clear,
some in their bodies feel real *****.
Men in women’s bodies feel trapped,
and women in men’s try to adapt.
The war inside is very intense,
and the mental strain is immense.
Many fall prey to false beliefs
while some experience real relief.
These inner wars drive some to drink.
Others are pushed over the brink.
Many find help that makes them whole,
and brings real peace into their soul.
So, if you’re caught up in a war,
don’t let it define who you are.
You cannot trust the way you feel,
to reveal what is truly real.
The ones who pander to your pain
are not the ones who seek your gain.
Let not the war your self-worth steal,
but seek solutions that will heal.
Be quiet quiet quiet
Shush shush shush
We’ve spoken too much
We haven’t listened enough
Black men and women
It’s not easy to be brave
Oppression and inequality
make you feel like a slave
Your struggles are constant
Beyond what we realize
What we take for granted
Should be a right not a prize
Stand tall men of principal
take to the streets
Chant Black Lives Matter
Share your beliefs
We’ll be quiet quiet quiet
Shush shush shush
We’ve spoken too much
We haven’t listened enough
Change shoulda come
So long before today
Our river of cruelty
is still on display
Brother Malcom X
Joined with Muhammad Ali
Their life force and bodies
Cried out for humanity
Then Sam Cooke sang to us
“Brother help me please”
So why are his people
knocked back on their knees?
Jim Brown broke boundaries
While playing on uneven ground
Later movie star and activist
Why has his voice had no sound?
So yes be quiet quiet quiet
Shush shush shush
We’ve spoken too much
We haven’t listened enough
I wrote this piece after watching “One Night in Miami”.
The struggle is real!
looking up at the new light ahead
i have never been excited for the New Arrows
the green lights feel good after years of reds and yellows
i can now see new scenes and smell new smells
the stale stench of payback is behind me, and now my view is clearer
the alarm goes off, and we wake up with kisses
we are kids all giddy tripping over routines and plans in our nappy heads
i get up in the shower while she gets up on the cell phone
i know we will not come close to getting out of the house on time
however it is the thrill of the adventure that stops the concern for punctuality
looking at the new light ahead
i have never been so anxious for the upcoming memoirs
the nodding from north to south feels a whole lot better then the shaking from west to east
i can now tell new stories and inspire new inspirations
the offensive scent of ramifications is past tense, and now another dream is nearer
Some Day I’m Coming Back
The things that made us who we are
aren’t written in a book
nor do the things they gave us
equal what they took.
Hands that rocked the cradle
soon left welts behind
the harshness of their laughter
made it less than kind.
Priest at Sunday dinner
guest at a meal he’s leeching
washed down with Irish whiskey
and the ******** that he’s preaching
of the sacred and the pious
and all the souls he saves,
bite your cheek and do not utter,
kiss their ass though they are knaves.
Walk the streets in other’s clothing
knowing that it once was new,
bear the brunt of other’s laughing
at the coat and not at you.
Grit your teeth and sheath your anger
for you must be kind and meek
when just once you’d like to give them
the beating that they seek.
Harden heart and nerve and sinew
refuse to knuckle under
protect whatever’s left
from the hands of gods that plunder.
Savor freedom’s single breath
view escape through dungeon’s crack
holding tight to rage’s mantra
“some day I’m coming back”.
John G. Lawless
for Vicky Tsiluma
contest – I’ll Be Back
While midnight wears the longest hours
I circle around like a threadbare of glow
When the bulb in the room snuffs, fades
Leaving me alone in throes of love's farewell.
In a world drained by pain, somehow void
Of claritv and filled with unbearable angst
Its pale twinkle seems to speak of loss--
As I uncover this heart's misgivings whirling
like ghastly shadows,
That even the crush of leaves cannot hold.
How my heart leans nearer to understand
All the secrets my voice needed to disclose...
I wander around the yard... mv arms
Hanging at the sides: a whiff of air blows,
In need of a private confession, of my acceptance ,
To unleash such heaviness buried
Within this soul: love 's second chance
pleading for my vulnerable strains...
Finally, fresh blossoms open heart- space
My pride slain across the mirror of twilight
Until closure ends in deliverance,
With my heart seeking relief from cold, cold arrogance.
First Place