Long Reverberated Poems
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I rowed from Cambridge where
my scull was slapped by the wake
of the long boats from MIT and Harvard
then dodged the hodgepodge of
tiny sloops in the lower basin
competing and sharing the venue
along the bank in my "own" space
I drifted
flags waving from the shore spoke of the night
the Esplanade was awash with revelers
so many flags moved and reflected
off the lazy waves and celebrated
to the hum of strings straining to tune
the Anthem was the birthday hymn
The Stars and Stripes Forever
wrestled with my recollections
of "Web- Footed Friends"
Until Longfellow's soul hovered - smiling
and Tchaikovsky's gift reverberated
shell and cannon echoed over the Charles
and through the city spires
in the brilliant sky colors danced with
each embellished percussion
candles for THE birthday and
wishes for peace was in the hearts
of all who shared
Written: June 17, 2023
In a world where shades ooze and swirl.
Wherever fear spreads its nasty curl,
Dread covers the world in an icy grasp.
And bleak stories that often unclasp.
As moonlight weaves a haunting tune,
Tangled threads of a dread commune
Nighttime whispers that are not heard
Fears reverberated, and people fled nerds.
Everywhere you look, every crevice
Dread lurks for the right time to menace.
Those with courage in their hearts
The bitter aftertaste of despair starts.
In the realm of dreams and hope,
Where success and glory elope,
There lies a tale of a soul's quest,
In the face of failure's snide zest.
With every stride, a challenge is set.
The spirit soared, never to forget,
But failure loomed with its snide sneer.
Whispering doubts, filling hearts with fear.
Written on April 13th 2025 for Sara Jama's Prompt The Cold Embrace of Death
Reverberated within the empty chambers of my soul,
As I soak my skin in a clawfoot tub, drowning in my sorrows.
Daring the waves to wash me away,
I lay barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of Merlot.
Dismembered voices and I shared a night of haunting memories,
As suppressed trauma resurfaces,
My life flashes before my very eye,
Murmurs of a soft lament of what could have been.
At that moment, I was drunk with clarity,
As I swashed the bottle swirling, a whirlpool of emotions.
The red-stained taste of tomorrow’s regret coated my lips;
In this state and plane of existence, my ghosts and I find solace
In our shared suffering.
I ask the Lord for respite from the unyielding ache
Of unrequited love,
Lying in stillness, for I am but a cast of your shadow,
Like a wilting deadly nightshade.
Breathless without rays of love to quell me,
Forgotten upon a dusty shelf,
Hexed by Eros’s wayward lovelorn arrow,
Left to wander this plain perplexed.
Pondering if you were both in cahoots,
All the while, the unbearable ache of my burgundy beating chambers
Spills into the tub.
Then slowly,
I sip,
I drip,
I slip,
Into,
The cold embrace of death.
I did not know how to love you,
I burned in silence, a flame wandering
In the forgotten valley, where time stands still,
Your eyes - lighthouses in the night, beads sparkling
In the ash that remained from our love.
Your echoes, in a hush, reverberated,
Eluding my grasp, unable to hold them close;
Beneath my steps, the burning lava consumed me,
Leaving behind the ash of unfulfilled desires.
I touched you, gently, upon the soul, without you knowing,
Windmills scattering the scent of jasmine
Under heavy eyelids; and I crushed you,
Unaware of your astral radiance.
From the ear of wheat, I gleaned silence,
The same mute piety from which distance was born.
I never learned how to love,
I diluted, became part of the river of love.
Beyond me, where dreams end,
The white butterflies extinguish in the prayer of resurrection,
Leaving behind only the memory of what was
And a deep regret for the unfulfilled love.
She was the sparkle at the heart of it
The love we all shared
I don’t remember a day that passed by,
without her friendly smile or wink of her eye.
We lost Hildie in the spring of last year
And now we find, we are losing the very thing she held so dear
Our beloved IND, The Institue of Norte Dame
Our Grand Lady the Oldest Girls Prep school in the Country is closing its doors one last time at the end of this term.
She has stood vigilant for 173 years, and educated us all.
A testament to our City, our State and our Great Nation.
As the bombs of the Civil War fell in the background and reverberated through her halls, her classes went on for the students whom she loved so well.
IND Graduates include Nancy Pelosi, the First Woman Speaker of the House AND Current Speaker of the House.
The Former Senator, Barbara Mikulski from the State of Maryland,
My Mothers cousin Adele Wilzack former Secretary of Health for the State of Maryland .
From the very first day, Hildie was there at the door
With a friendly hello and a smile that was warm.
If you needed new pencils or something more
Sister Hildie was there, she ran the bookstore.
She watched as we grew a silent witness to all that we learned
Our Pin days, Ring Days, Proms, Plays and the like
Graduation with long stemmed red roses and we were all dressed in white.
She was our official cheer squad at basketball games, Hildie was there
She knew EVERYONES NAMES
She even sold pretzels during our lunch breaks.
If you came early or stayed a bit late and needed some help
Hildie was there and didn’t hesitate.
To our friend and confidant,
I pray for her and for US ALL.
Our loss is profound.
It’s difficult to think,
She won’t be around.
I pray for our Students, Alumni, Teachers, Parents, Families and Friends
Of our Grand Lady, IND
Hildie loved us all so very much.
Kimberly Sikorski
Class of 1983
And this bit added to be part of the contest ....
Dorothea,
Dorothea may mean “ Gift from God,“
But Heaven broke the mold when they created Sister Hildie
Written May 17, 2020
For Poem about a Nun
The grief I carry is so heavy
None can sense the weight I feel in my chest.
It is crushing me, I feel it in every breath I take,
And in each step, I totteringly make.
From my heart, all sweet songs are stolen
In my ears, fall a dull, hollow resonance
Where ever I look, I see only an obsidian hue.
My mind has become a wild labyrinth,
Where phantoms dance a macabre dance.
When I look at the sky, I see,
A pallid moon with a paling gleam.
My mind has become a sepulcher,
Where broken dreams are buried.
My spectral frame can no more, endure the aches
That surround me and draw me in
Like a black hole so dense.
I feel I am pulled deeper in and can’t free myself.
Now sleep eludes me and it is far from my grasp
All I feel is a burning ache, an incinerating pain!
There was a time when my laughter
Reverberated within the walls of my house
I don’t know when anguish took me unaware
Like a slithering python, coiling and unwinding,
Hungry and angry, tightening its deadly hold on me,
Cracking my brittle bones, one by one.
When agony like an ever- swelling current sweeps over me
I desperately stretch my limbs to swim to a safer shore.
Like a dazed baby, kicking and squirming
In a desperate bid to save himself from drowning,
I try in vain to get out from sorrow’s depths.
Empty Depth of Barren Canyon
to know the empty depth of barren canyon,
the reverberated sound of distant fear,
feel the surging scar of river’s scalpel,
bleed the muted red of sun bleached clay.
to feel the eyes of passersby upon you
marveling at the beauty of your loss
awed by your resistance to times passion
humbled by your failing stoics guise.
to hear the lonesome shriek of eagle
fall silent on cliff dwellings gone to dust
and share the emptiness of longing
for gentle songs to interrupt the hush.
to touch the heats imagination
an oasis in the midst of baking sand
hold for but a blinking moment
the vision of a canyon not so grand.
John G. Lawless
1/30/2014
I believe I can visualize a bird and a tree.
This is something I could describe as poetry.
As yet, allow your inner poem to flow freely.
It offers a firm base on which to uplift deeply.
The beauty of "Conceivable" is in its nothingness.
Tidied with the expectation of becoming a star
Scars form on the hands as this occurs in pettiness.
Of the individuals who opt to assess the bizarre.
Therefore, let us plunge swiftly from the heart.
Also, praise your commitment part.
Imagine the happiness that would bring.
Without giving away the game secret string.
The evidence is right here on my fingers.
Your flesh was preserved solely by luck.
Closeness was once divvied; it now lingers.
Your phantom appeared and equally struck.
You must ingest an extensive round of inquiry.
They lurk behind my teeth, where nothing is tidy.
Almost every day, I start trying to light my lips.
Reverberated by the faint voices of my scripts.
I must tell myself to harbor my mouth abhorrent.
This bogus love is a fragmented, twisted torrent.
My pen, for some reason, keeps its artwork.
I opine that's vulgar after so much time at work.
I can barely elude the lump in my throat.
Either that or butterflies in my chest buzz smote.
Each time I mind you, I saw the tweaks to your face.
Thus, anchoring ideas into bits of my heart's grace.
There is no need to drain your inherence.
Or implement the desired appearance.
Strive not to stop till words failed to emerge.
In fact, you may gain peace in your inner urge.
Written: August 29, 2022
I write because Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Aha: a Poetic Noetic Instantiation in Three Acts
rushing inference, imminent insight
suddenly it’s clear, a gut feeling—
swooning, reeling,
cross-connected hemispheres
syncopated, reverberated, totally aware
open byways, ahh blue-sky days, making up my mind
synapses shiver, axons quiver, dendrites deliver,
’lectrik neurons fire—suddenly—in time
aha! aha! oh gawd I see—I ran around ’n cried—
a fool I’ve been; all along it’s there, right in front of me
with a grin ’n a nod ’n twinkly-looking ’round
raised my arms ’n slapped my thighs
’n made a ruckus sound—
donned my hat ’n set it skewed
upon my big bright head,
set off to town in an uplifted mood,
while whistling a sweet sound—
forgot what I had found
#
there’s a hole in my head
where the wounds of reason seep;
all words are dead inside my head—
what’s left is dark ’n deep
@
I’ll always live
and always die
on the event horizon
of my mind’s eye,
where the flash
of neuronal fires
flowers into
sudden epiphany— --
Alas oh how grave and horrendous misfortune...
Relapse written all over whole
fudge besmirched countenance
American as apple pie garden variety troll
tell tale evidence eats away
at me heart and soul
argh so much for new year's resolution
straight and true healthy eating goal.
Lofty ambition to attain once upon time
coveted, prized, and
treasured toothpick physique,
no not necessarily becoming
thin as anorexic pencil necked geek
scores of years ago,
when yours truly resembled
quiet as mouse phantasmagorical
disembodied prepubescent freak
surreally bobbing long Battle Creek.
Morphological body distortion bid me
to allow, enable, and provide suicidal
grimly reaped tally ho
with feebly uttered see yawl
back in the day circa approximately
my thirteenth circuit round the sun,
I sought to disappear into cellular vacuole
formerly carefree boy
his loose higglety-pigglety
hogtied psyche psychological,
(not in yeast wryly bred) did unroll
severely psychological afflicted son
taxed his mama and papa where
somber appalling death knell
deathly silent lugubriously reverberated
figurative emotional bell toll,
Matthew Scott starved yet hungered
for sustenance of body, mind and soul.
Pact nearly signed, sealed,
and delivered signaling demise
(mine) unwittingly inflicting horrific guise
kickstarting pinteresting repercussions no lies
lifetime developmental delay no surprize
even now this aging baby boomer tries
to shake off pervasive thought process unwise
fending off punishing
self destructive reflexive urge
after experiencing wages
of culinary sin where surge
impossible mission just desserts to purge
thus sink dentures into sweet treat
taste buds relishing joie de vivre emerge
(think chocolate fudge) flashes me memory
prior lovely skull and crossbones
nearly acknowledged funereal dirge.