Long Shoulders Poems
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In the chamber of silence where souls converge,
Masks lie in wait, the nocturnal guardians of our being.
Adorned with grimaces and velvet smiles,
They are armors against the unknown arrows of the estranged world.
Oh, how they descend like curtains over our fragility,
Sitting so carefully upon the shoulders of pleasure, the cloth of outward beauty.
We learn to parade with them, in a masquerade where every step is watched,
Where each breath, heavier than the last, is veiled by studied nonchalance.
Few are those who dare shine without the borrowed mask,
To stand bare, in the harsh light of day, unafraid of the whirl of rejection.
Even rarer is the creature that, in the human garden, stands unwavering in its truth,
Unfettered by earthly fears of 'seeming' and 'not being enough'.
The mask, once a shelter, becomes the dungeon of the spirit, still in the shadow.
A surrogate of identity, which over time melts into the skin of existence,
Making it hard to discern where the persona ends and the self begins.
You see it, hanging there, lightly, on the hook prepared by the world,
A means by which anonymity weaves its web around our essence.
It is a game of appearances, where we are all unknown thespians on a vast stage.
To traverse beyond the false face and to see the raw core of your proclaimed existence,
Is the art that binds us, without unraveling the ties that keep that sliver of secret,
A silent call to acknowledge the soul, even beneath the daily makeup.
It is not just denial, but the desire to feel understood, even behind the shadows.
Power, the world says, lies in hardening the heart, but how deceitful is this thought!
For true stature arises from embracing vulnerability, a force that lifts us from the ashes of prejudice.
You, be that gentle murmur of your truth in every counterfeit day,
Be that fragment of sync with oneself, amidst a choir of disparate voices.
Do not fear to dance, even when the dance embraces the void, authentic and raw.
In the world of men, to be seen as you are is a gift you offer,
A brave smile in the face of a world that demands you to be unyielding, impenetrable.
Love and be loved, as once said by a sage long asleep,
For in this recognition lies a whole universe of love, before it even begins to be infinite.
AND I ADMIT That IT IS TRUE
And I admit that it is true,
Christ told believers preach.
God's Kingdom's, form of government,
over earth ... this truth teach.
God chose Christ, as earth's ruling King,
His miracles here do.
Gone from earth, all pain, death, dying,
tell everyone ... it's true!
These facts I never heard in church,
earth restored by God's Son?
We've prayed, God's will be done on earth,
in these "last days" ... see done.
And I admit that it is true,
"Good News" in Bible read.
In Paradise we'll welcome back,
our loved ones ... who were dead.
June 7, 2023 copyright
Contest: Random Phrase
“And I Admit It Is True”
Sponsor: Marinda Hawley
Isaiah 9:6 The government will be on his ( Christ) shoulders
Matt. 5:5 Blessed are the Meek, for they shall inherit the earth
Rev.21”4 mentions tears, death etc, the former things have passed away
The first day,
God borrowed a little light from the sun
He promised to return it
But He forgot Himself 'cause it looked too good in your eyes
The second day,
He stole the greatest holiness from all the Saints' spirit
And in the middle of the night,
He tucked it into your soul, so silently that you couldn't hear it
The third day,
It was time for the words to come out of the eternal Abyss
That's why He decided to gather all the divine wisdom
And let you know the secrets of the Skies
The fourth day,
He got a little fire from my candle and lit up your wit
So divine and so bright, that wherever you went
it was enough to light up the whole world
The fifth day,
So proud of who you already were
He cut off the biggest Angel's wings
And with a father's smile on His face
He placed them to your shoulders so you could fly away
The sixth day,
He pulled out a tiny piece of the purity of His soul
And hid it in your immense heart
This way, you had the courage of a god,
But sent you to a mortal world, so that would keep you humble
The seventh day,
You could already see things that mortals couldn't think of
They burnt your wings and tore your heart
You were a Fallen Angel, but instead of Hell,
you fell onto the Earth
Form:
Marvel of fond Mother-Nature,
Carefully carved nomenclature!
Mountains fold hands toward blue skies,
Where stars flutter, like, butterflies!
Water-waves warmly wash the feet,
Fleets on sleets meet around and greet!
High, steep, sharply molded boulders,
Stand in accord holding shoulders...!
Solitary human standing,
On a broken cliff crash-landing!
A bird flying around its edge,
To build her nest, finding no hedge!
An owl dwelling in a small hole,
Lost as though with a restless soul!
Bats, waiting for the silent night,
Alike, are, bleak views of cliff- sight...!
Suffering writs of erosion,
Churned by chisels of corrosion!
Carved, compiled, combined, conditioned,
Into wild bird-beaks protruded!
Steeply, slippery, surfaces,
Sloppy, soapy, still, circuses!
Cliff has its captivating charm,
That until disturbed does no harm...!
11 January 2022
C Form - Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
And when my eyes are closed
In a final deep slumber...
Will there be one to say:
'Here lies the one
Who made life easy to live
For others, other than himself?'...
Will there be one to mourn
To weep and wail
Consolably
Beating my limp body
Crying that I will be missed?
Will there be one to cover me
Faithfully and fatefully
Looking into the closed eyes
Thinking about the vanity called life?
Will there be one to announce
That this nameless being is gone
Telling the world that the corpse
Is leaving for his main home
In a few hours?
Will there be one to clothe my carcass
Gather my heavy bones
With the woolen shroud
Covering me head to toe
In a maddening lift to the grave?
Will there be ones to pray
Seeking forgiveness for my sins
Calling for my debt to paid
Asking that my transgressions
In their multitude be forgiven
Yielding their shoulders
As a final vehicle to my final home?
Won't there be ones to laugh
Mock
Dance
Rejoice
That the lavishly-foolish man
Is gone
That the ridiculously-disturbing idiot
Has left
For them to dwell in their rots
For them to live eternally
In their blackness?
Won't there be ones
Who will be happy
That their enemy
This fine world has left?
(c) Yettocome '2019
Falling leaves trace ancestral tracks in empty air
and their whispers echo secrets, ancient;
lost to most mortal ears, suppressed,
Stifled as techno-shrieks from MP3 quicksand,
cell-mania and industry drums
drive them into near oblivion.
Soot-browned, crispy hairs fall upon Earths’ shoulders;
dancing on Fall winds, singing messages loud and clear;
we must rest now, hibernate in her womb.
“Child, when ice-time comes, her steely cold grip will crush us in our slumber.
Gaia, like the phoenix reborn,
renews in sleep her life power;
pours us into leaf-molds.
Once again; death is some mortal illusion,
but most never hear our whispers.”
Listen with your soul,
ears never truly hear these whispers.
Selective hearing is mankind’s’ undoing.
Violent heartbeat
Poets are sponges, we take it all inside.
We keep it for use later, safely in the back of our minds.
A memory, an image; a picture of a picture.
We are the student, the expert, the novice and the teacher.
This is all I have to give! This and nothing more.
Nevermore shall I lead forward; stand alone and learn to crawl.
For I am but an infant, inside this land of experts;
I have nothing of importance to say,
Except, I love the way you use those words,
With a memory so clearly full of megahertz.
I am forever learning how to talk in verse;
Exaggerate the truth, some say there are lies beneath those words.
Poetry is yours to do as your own.
Someone else’s opinion shouldn't affect your writing,
So find your feet in your own time and hope to become well known.
Empty your mind of negativity, so you can become free and shapeless;
Then you can become anything you want to understand.
You can become that thing without effort ever being wasted;
Write like you mean it, with a violent heartbeat
And all you will become is a writer and a poet
And on the shoulders of giants you shall stand.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
~ for Karin ~
oh how a fair breeze of Autumn can stir
my heart with reprieves - the redolent leaves
remembrance of romance with you in a blur
soft eyes in a camber of absinthe and amber
wheaty hair spilling like corn silk to shoulders
framing two spicy bow lips as they smoldered
falling like leaves … for you
oh how this time lifts me back to a dream
our ivy-clad schools - such unripened fools
a world as our oyster, and raw it would seem
escaped to the woods - discarding our goods
we swam on a blanket of bright leafy death
straining in passions to fever each breath
falling like leaves … for you
oh how the chill always kindled our flame
pining each week for the rose of your cheek
weekends adoring the ways that you came
our fleshy memoirs ‘neath branches and stars
each mutual climax much sweeter than last
the moments exhausted like us, far too fast
falling like leaves … for you
oh Autumn yet sings midst my sinews today
the libertine flood still coursing my blood
you ‘waken my core in the most vexing way
when October flies I ache for your sighs
tho’ marrow grows icy the mem’ry remains
chaotic obsessions through prurient pains
someday I’ll surrender them - tears in the rain
falling like leaves for you …
still falling … in Deja vu.
* This is a very rhythmic and musical form I created called ‘QARINAGE’ I hope you enjoyed it. *
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with GALA AI software )
Such a busy life some parents
have, running here and running there...
never telling their kids to sit down
and have a serious talk with them.
Yes, all kids should be heard,
yes, all kids shouldn't be silent: that's
when they start to break down
and take their anger somewhere.
Don't turn your shoulders on them,
had they been heard: no harm
ever would have come to them;
had they been loved: no lonely
tears they would have shed in misery...
hold them tight and end their agony.
Be the teacher they need when they
seek answers, then they can understand
themselves better and be very lovely;
be their best friend in any way you can.
Had they been loved as others:
no isolation they would have chosen;
had they been loved: their smiles
no sadness or pain would have known.
Song: Mad World by Gary Jules
Cliche': Frightened To Death
Picture: # 1
Written on 4/21/2016
spring walked the red carpet dressed in a suit
of blossoming colors that released a delicate inviting fragrance.
summer followed in a scorching hot vibrant green piece
accentuated in bright yellow gold.
autumn showed up in antique shades of reds and orange.
a striking shawl dropped beneath her shoulders.
winter was the last to arrive and appeared in a pure white evening gown.
each and every sequence unique and separately sewn in.
as each season complimented the red carpet
all life showed up to marvel.
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Contest Name: Any Poem 12- line MAX