Long Rehearsal Poems
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People say I fall asleep too fast.
That I’m always the first to drift, the easiest to rest.
They see the calm, the early nights,
the quiet that fills the room when I close my eyes.
But they don’t know,
Inside, a story is always waking.
Before my breath slows, before my body surrenders to the dark,
my mind blooms like a secret garden,
full of whispers, of dreams, of selves I have not told anyone.
There’s a certain kind of silence that falls before sleep.
Not the silence of peace
but the kind that waits for a story.
And so, I tell one.
Not to escape the world
but to remember who I’d be if fear had never taught me to shrink.
I build a life behind my eyelids:
a love that sees me,
a power that belongs to me,
a version of myself who walks boldly,
and speaks softly only by choice.
Some would call it fantasy.
But I call it a language.
The soul has always spoken in symbols
and mine writes with the ink of yearning,
with scenes I’ve never lived
but somehow always known.
In these dreams, I am not perfect
but I am real,
and I am chosen,
and I belong.
And maybe that’s what matters most.
That before sleep,
before the world pulls me into its rules again,
I get to remember what it means
to want
to hope
to feel
to rehearse joy
like a prayer I don’t know how to say out loud yet.
If this is dreaming,
let it be sacred.
Let it be the rehearsal of healing.
Let it be a soft place for my heart to go
Until the life I build
starts to sound like the story I’ve been telling myself all along.
And if you do the same,
if you write love letters in your head before bed,
if you replay heartbreaks or imagine a different ending,
if you speak with someone in your mind who’s never really been there—
you’re not broken.
You’re just trying to return
to a self you miss,
or a future you’re still brave enough to believe in.
So dream.
Softly.
Loudly.
Repeatedly.
Until the distance between who you imagine
and who you are
feels like coming home.
When I am grey and old and full of weakness
and nodding in my chair- my book forgotten
it will be in memories I dwell . . .
and in sorrow borrowed from teardrops I will go
to moments of love that were once beautiful
and to forever grief that haunts me still
I will wander the corridors of time . . .
gathering up all my fallen tears over the years
so many I could fill the ocean blue
I will linger in the place I was a little girl
when I was innocent and the world had not touched me
until I met death on a winter day . . . .
death ripped away my sister- too young to die
and every person loved in time
even my baby boy . . .
I see me old full of weeping tears reading all the names
on a grave marker listing all my beloved taken
oh the faces will be changing and I will be crying
leaving this place and I will go back to my childhood
to when I am a small girl holding my teddybear
and walking- where is father I should be holding
his hand -
grandma is telling me a story and I watch her lips
mother is smiling at me then she is slowly fading away
and I am calling for her loudly, "mommy, MOMMY . . . "
then, I am brushing falling tears away-
I am a young woman
looking down at my mother in her coffin bed
then, the story begins again -
the rehearsal is now . . . .
_______________________
January 23, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Sorrow borrowed from Teardrops
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9856-25-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, One In Five
sponsor, Joseph May
Theme chosen - #3 Sorrow borrowed from Teardops
Second Place
Thriller Sauce Debut
--------------------------
All things considered
from a lovers point of
view: specials somethings
a love e anew
---------------------------
regularly scheduled quality
the kinda love that
restores itself
the kind of newness that
restores itself
--------------------------------
when asked how many times had
she said no to you over the weekend
Saturday List Sunday List
-----------------------------------------------
29x 5x
( got mad at lefted early for rehearsal
went to the Club)
--------------------------------------------------------
What really went on
Syon's sister came into town and
we went out dancing
we cleaned her car
and went to the movies
(my wife wanted to see
this movie: I used this as a preview
so I could be a better date)
Sequesers and Xyolophones
_________________________________
one time my Fiancce gott mad cause
I had meet this Broad at Chinkie's Rib's
we were talking she said I'd marry you if
you aint playing: I said yeah
we could name our son Danker or our
daughter Fran. I say she lok
just like you cause you pretty> My fiancce got mad!
Valles Marineris,
I was not born in still water.?I was born in the thick of it—?in the elbow-deep mud,?in the silt of almost and not-yet’s,?in the dark where names dissolve.
They told me?nothing beautiful?comes from murk.
But they never met a lotus.
They never watched a red one?push its fist through the surface of a bruised pond?and open like a mouth?finally done swallowing silence.
I am that bloom.
Red like the pulse in your wrist.?
Red like a warning.?Red like love that refuses to whisper.
Do you know what it takes?to rise without shame?from the bottom?
It takes remembering?that mud is not a coffin—?it is a cradle.
That pressure is not punishment—?it is rehearsal.
That the water above you?is not a ceiling—?it is a mirror?waiting to learn your face.
I have learned the language of roots.?How they tangle.?How they anchor.?How they refuse to apologize?for reaching.
Beneath the surface?I am a riot of becoming—?threaded veins drinking from decay,?making sugar from sorrow,?alchemy in slow motion.
?Petals like a thousand small revolutions?curving outward.
They see the bloom?and call it miracle.
They do not see the months?of blind faith.
?The cold nights pressed against doubt.?The way I leaned toward a sun?I could not yet see.
But I felt it.
Light is a rumor?roots believe in.
And one morning—?without trumpet, without permission—?I broke the surface.
Not gently.?Not politely.
I arrived.
Water slipped from my shoulders.?The world blinked.?And I spread—?not to be admired,?but to exist fully.
Because red is not just color—?it is declaration.
It says:?I have been through the under.?I have kissed the sediment.?I have made peace with the unseen.
And still—?I rise.
So when you find yourself?knee-deep in the thick of it,?when your reflection looks like a question?you’re afraid to answer,
remember this:
The pond does not get to decide?what grows from it.
You do.
Be the root that grips the sediment
of life’s challenges.?Be the stem that insists on still standing.?
Be the red lotus—?unashamed of the mud,
You grew up in.
?unafraid of the water,?unapologetic in your opening.
And when you rise,?rise all the way.
Let them call you impossible.?Let them call you too much.?Let them call you miracle.
You will know the truth:
?that even in the deepest dark,?there is something inside you?is already reaching?for light.
Is your soul waking?
(A lone voice whispers)
Every day, do people look for a life-changing truth but has it become commercial
A new rehearsal by an old hidden hand
For that truth,
The real truth
Is it hidden throughout the land
And is the soul indentured at birth to conform to its new norm
To never see it
But is the human experience
Stripped down to its essential form
Does it have its own unique voice
Light and sound
A soul
Not indentured to wander around self-blinded
If it pauses in a commercialised world to look around
Not indentured to not
learning to read or speak its own inner language
For a lifetime of reading thousands of books
Will not give us the truth
Some are looking for in a quest of soul reshaping
We can only be guided by living life through better eyes
Before we all die
And is that why you're here
Because you love writing or reading poetry
Because it's your soul speaking and expressing its true inner language
As it overcomes indentured barriers of fears
For some say the greater part of the soul lies outside
Not inside the body
In a simple truth called soul waking
Experiencing all we meet
Before our time as human beings is retaken
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Dear wedding rehearsal dinner
Sorry for not speaking sooner
We've been delayed by the bride
'Cause she's gone out for a ride
You know — who are we without her
A question I just can't answer
So let's drink our disappointment to sleep
Because the burden is not ours to keep
Dear wedding rehearsal dinner
It seems you are really getting slimmer
I fed you with so much plans
Including the salsa dance
Toasts and clinkering glasses
Recitals of flowery verses
You were meant to be a beautiful song
But you turned out worse than a teen prom
Dear wedding rehearsal dinner
My heart can't help but to miss her
She is all I have ever wanted
My metaphorical flowing fountain
She flows with life and elegance
Waves of sweetness and temperance
Smashing my cliff-hanging heart
With her I can't seem to doubt
Dear wedding rehearsal dinner
My light seems to be going dimmer
And with every ticking of her absence
I get struck by the whip of my conscience
A moment I have staged all by myself
I'm just a dusty book stacked on the shelf
Waiting and hoping to be flung into Sea
Because that is where my heart wants to be
Dear wedding rehearsal dinner
I'm sorry for being this boring dreamer
But I'd like you to know this
That I'll live on in one piece
And even though I ruined you for us
I would love and wait for her if I must
So send my apologies to our guests
I love them! They're the best...
Thinking about Nevermind!
Skinny dipping soaked in bleach, albino by design
Eyes burning, -Something in the way- future gives a sign
No pacifier needed, when remuneration’s on the line
Keep calm it’s just rehearsal, will sink lower another time
Born too soon, umbilical’s frayed by a toothless bite
Lure instills urge to swim, bypassing baptismal rite
-Come as you are- take a breath, be sure to stay airtight
Nevermind the grunge, it’s less dirty with a soul of white
Zero in on bait, the watermark hides a sell by date
Perhaps-stay away- not much change at going rate
Don’t lose sight of legal tender, it won’t always sate
Take a breather, rest assured, if lungs don’t reinflate
Swimming in circles chasing what is never truly ours
Set in ripples, a reflection of mankind’s weakest hour ?
The dollar breaks, revealing depths we’ve yet to scour
In the murk, no god we trust, just a bill we all empower
Myth may it be, or be it man's blind faith,
A rehearsal or else, a dance of death,
Life lives on edge, death at each passing breath.
A cosmic law, death is preordained fate
To welcome, kiss life on a fresh new date
For one more dance of destiny in wait!
Be it a fruit, flower, be it a fly,
Man, matter, none whoso can death defy,
Everything is destined one day to die.
Yet, for morbid phobia man stands alone
Far too scared of death, or of life unknown,
Not knowing, life comes, death-seed duly sown.
And Death, not just a balm to every pain,
End of every suffering, every strain,
Sunny rainbow, were it perchance to rain.
What dies is just raiment worn out and old,
Death delivers a new garment of gold,
God-given gift, death’s life in a fresh mould.
Let it what be, death's no devil so grim,
Nor a poet's pet theme, nor yet a dream
Snapped, but a golden chance to rise like cream.
So, wish me not well to live on for long,
Just wish me to write and compose my song
And await my new journey’s start-off dong.
__________________________________________
Musings | 07.02.2007, revised April 2023|Tercet
Poet's note: Should this be called a Terza Rima, or a Tercet?
Terza Rima is more of a part of a sonnet's sestet. Tercet is more generic, but not included in the list of poems here.
I had seen lots of babies.
Had taken care of plenty.
But it was no rehearsal for having my own.
Nothing prepares you for your own baby.
No one can tell you how it feels, because you have to be shown.
These protective, loving feelings have never been felt by you before,
And you will never feel them again because each baby is different.
One baby wants you to eat only meat.
Another gets sick if you even smell bacon.
Some babies are pure dairy lovers. Other abhor milk.
Yes, babies are opinionated and stubborn from inception.
The instant feelings of love and reverence
That come along with each baby take care of any resentment you might have about
Them imposing their will and opinions on your will and opinions.
When that darling angel was put into my arms and l looked into her trusting eyes,
I instantly forgot all of the things that preceded her arrival.
The pure goodness I saw staring back at me eliminated everything
But her essence and her godliness. You could tell she had arrived two seconds
After being kissed by the angels. The pure joy and humbleness invoked in the realization
That I was her mother, and she was my child eliminated all other knowledge or awareness.
There is such a godliness and pure joy in becoming a mother, it cannot be explained.
It must be lived.
Written July 9th, 2018 for Joys of Motherhood Contest
Sponsored by Olive Eloisa Guillermo-Fraser
Benjamin Franklin said
“but in this world nothing
can be said to be certain,
except death and taxes.”
Paying tax may be painful
Yet our death is the singular
Most feared eventuality.
For us all, we know from birth
We will, at some point, reach the end.
So many say clichés,
Don’t waste time
Not a rehearsal
No pockets in a shroud
YOLO.
All true, yet what I fear
More than my demise,
The final breath,
The end of existence,
Is the fact I will be forgotten.
I will be mourned, I guess,
Never a certainty.
I will be missed,
In whatever measure.
My children will grieve.
The loss of a parent at any age,
Disruption, normality smashed.
The day after a fatality,
Of an elder, parent,
The first day in this earth without them.
Raw.
But time passes,
Grieve eases,
Mourning peters out
And life continues for those
Still residing on this mortal coil.
The fact I will be forgotten.
A day to day memory
Becomes weekly, monthly
Annually on special anniversaries.
In time those who dwelt
Along side me in this plane
Will join me on the other side.
In the realm where we know not
What happened until we get there.
If anything.
The ultimate unknown.
My name once dropped in conversation
Tense changing from present to past
Then distant memory.
Then what?
I fear one day I will
No longer echo in the mouth
Skip from the lips
Of those who knew me in life.
They too will become a distant memory
for those who dwelt and walked with them.
I cannot change how
Others will choose to
Remember me when I am gone.
Yet to pay it forward
With a wing and a prayer
I choose to remember those
Who walked before me.
I did not know them
Yet as I move through
The graveyards and cemeteries
Scattered on this land,
I speak forth, out loud
The names of those who
Dwell in the next world.
Allowing their names to
Echo in my mouth
Skip from my lips.
Bringing back the energy lost
To time and space,
Since their last breath was drawn.
Young and old, man and woman,
Child and criminal, saint and sinner.
All of us leave our stretch,
Square with the house.
So speak forth the names
Of those who shaped our world,
Bore our ancestors and
Hope your name is uttered
By Generations to come,
by those who come after.