Long Smoldering Poems
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If only we hadn't intertwined our destinies under that sky full of cold stars,
I wouldn't now feel the pain that burns like a smoldering fire in the depths of my heart,
Your touch wouldn't haunt my memories like a ghost in the long and silent nights,
I wouldn't relive our moments like an old film playing on the screen of my mind,
I wouldn't feel the immense void you left, a vast ocean of silence and longing,
I struggle on the waves of time, shipwrecked in search of a shore of forgetfulness,
Not knowing you, perhaps I would have been spared the pain that surrounds me like a fog,
My soul wouldn't have been caught in the snares of endless sadness,
It would have been an escape from the agony of a broken heart, pulsing with the rhythm of longing,
Our love, an ephemeral flower, bloomed only to wither in time,
And perhaps we would have remained strangers, keeping within us only the silence of an untold story,
But without knowing you, I would never have felt the beauty of a fleeting love.
Have you ever felt captivated by someone?
I mean kidnapped, just taken by their eyes
and neither can completely escape.
I don't know what it is about him and I?
We feel drawn together so strongly.
Did we meet in another life?
Your charcoal eyes are always smoldering
they burn with intensity
through every one of your photographs.
Such vivid, heated passion
even in stark black and white.
I have never seen lips like yours.
I run my fingers across them
wishing they were more
than paper and shadows.
Whatever happens to us in the coming days,
I know your image will remain
in my mind permanently,
forever welded together.
Written by Kelly Deschler
March 24th, 2015
Brightening my mood,
With the colors I used,
They fill me like food,
Changing my attitude.
Gratitude is spilling in,
Filling in the spaces,
While my brain chases thoughts,
Paint stains a cloth.
The picture it brought,
Taught me what I know,
I fought hard to grow,
Leaning into the shadow.
Seeing the embers glow,
Smoldering in the sorrow,
I blow through another color,
Uncovering more mistakes.
Taking me deeper,
Awakening the sleeper,
The keeper of secrets,
Making me see clearer.
Appearing before me,
A new energy,
An image of an entity,
Peeking out a sea of detail.
Becoming part of the tale,
The story i tell,
Well into the future,
Suturing a wound,
A stitch attuned to the soul,
The colors now healing the whole.
Courtesy viz (g)natty Thrip Pest...
This client (Matthew Scott)
availed himself at behest
of following counselor
who bares his chest
to Stephanie Dodds
(maid 'n USA name)
taught technique to minimize
ruffling feathers lest
the missus aggrieved
spending her nest
egg, thus self and missus
live destitute oppressed
as two basket of deplorables stressed
nearly every day envisioning
castles in air pipe dreams
when getting undressed
preparatory to dreams
within illusory shut eye
yours truly dons fancy vest
believe me you sold by Kanye West.
DEAR MAN skills
(feeble attempt more daunting
versus scaling Mount Everest)
embraced with zest
supported and blessedly underwritten
by loan granted from Univest
Bank ohm my dog to mitigate electric
resistance while no resistance
against kool psychological aid acid test,
whereby this husband espoused,
to help him recharge, (re:volt if necessary)...,
which endeavor now poetically expressed
concerning contentious gripe(s),
she would concur challenges we contest
beat within mine (possibly her) breast
unavoidable series of parallel events
disallows me to experience respite
as ye correctly guessed
impossible mission until
death do me part heavenly blessed,
meanwhile to maximize insight woke
involving DEAR MAN skills
with following example I attest
triggered food for thought
countless years gone by, no jest
which behavior even
eldest daughter did detest
specifically oft time ebt -
Electronic benefit transfer
i.e. food stamp money addressed
when wife spent lion's share
in one fell swoop, I did level best
to communicate while pride
hide hid ingest, wife acquiesced
yet without fail repeated offense
whereby mister diplomacy here
explained (with diminishing patience)
allocated funds sole comestible expense
then included four family members
issue got heated more emphatically
groused at my sidelined request
invariably spiking discourse
else... I threatened to divest
and stow card in wallet (mine),
yet invariably relinquished said item,
perhaps first will and testament bequest
if imposed, enforced, adhered...
would have nipped in bud
finding yours truly less obsessed,
nee furious every month
the vicious drama cycled
smoldering resentment did crest
into shouting tense match,
thus body electric lamely fleshed.
The certainty of possibility
that the developmental experts
would have our children believe in
during youth disturbs me. Power of positive
thinking: possess it, and accomplish
all you will set out to do…
I’ve tested positive.
And, now, the prognosis does
not appear to look very good.
“Better get your house in order.”
Go figure: The chaos designed or
lit upon used to comfort and/or
suggest repose.
Nothing like a good mess
to make you appear
laid back –
evidence of a careless mind
at ease…
“Nothing can stop it now.”
Time marches on, and I’ve a cliché to beat
away, a fight on my hands.
Damned pacifist.
Lazy bones. Victim.
Come on in:
make yourself at home;
share a coffee or some chopped
liver, morsel of my people, the Jews,
who’d have you eat despite your desires
not to chew on it – that’s just their way to
get pushy with a guest.
"Don’t get out of line, now."
But what if you had nothing to lose?
Would you build a bomb?
Blow your house to smithereens
just to witness the burning, smoldering, ash?
(Some idealist I’ve turned out to be.)
"Are you positive?"
It’s asked innocently enough.
But, still, one can never be sure.
As your dreams disappear, hope's
all you have left... living a
life that's merely a collage
of failures, fate makes fun of.
Love, was to be romantic,
filled with only happy thoughts.
Yet, when reality's tossed,
dreams sometimes just can't hold on.
You gather up all of the
slowly smoldering embers.
And doused their flame with drops of
tears salvaged from yesterday.
Yet, you never stop trying,
or ever feel you want to.
For a smile can reignite
passion into searing flames.
You want what dreams are made of,
to feel your heart on fire.
And that requires both hope and
an unquenchable desire.
Written Aug. 11, 2015 for " End Line Word - Poetry Contest".
The last word of each line reads as, “Hope’s a collage of romantic thoughts tossed on the embers of yesterday, trying to reignite flames of fire and desire.”
When you insist on playing grownup games,
you've only yourself to blame if you lose.
And though some signs can easily confuse,
smoldering embers don't equate to flames.
Innocence can't protect you from love's pain,
like a moth; you're attracted to its flame.
And though it burns, you crave it all the same,
risking all, over and over again.
Unskilled in deceit and detecting lies,
you naively believed his love was true.
And yet, trust was partially the blame, too;
betrayal came as a shocking surprise.
You feel like drowning in a pool of tears,
devastated, you're unable to cope.
And you're clinging to fragments of hope,
as possibilities morph into fears.
He swaggered off and didn't even look back,
his departing laugh, flippant and cruel.
And sobbing like an incoherent fool,
you're having an anxiety attack.
I still adore this man who was my lover,
his dark smoldering intensity and his blazing kiss.
He had charisma that seduced me into his abyss,
but soon I found discomfort- dreadful things I did discover.
For eight long years he hid a secret life from me!
He was a paragon, a handsome, charming, perfect man,
and from pulchritude, physical beauty and charm- I ran;
the revelation- he was married- and still, I f l e e . . .
_________________________
July 6, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Lucky 8
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1038-686-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Rhyme Time 5- Lucky 8
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
If I were not so fat
I could squirm under the wire fence,
and resting for a moment
while leaning on the parked silver Mercedes
which is always there and never seems to move
I proceed.
Further down the utility road
(I think it is actually called that),
the fire station dozes
in-between periods of alarm.
Just yesterday
the bright red engines
screamed away
to put out a smoldering tabby cat,
poor thing- no one knows how or why.
Eventually my feet end up
on the curbed edge of the usual industrial
and barely ornamental pond with its
rudimentary fountain.
Today a white goose
wanders around a plastic swan
that bobs and wobbles just a bit
providing the illusion of
a real plastic swan.
The goose is very pretty.
Too pretty really.
The stench of blood so thick you could taste it
Raivel swallowed hard amongst the slashed
corpses of terrified souls littering the field
A harvest of death gleams and sparkles
as the crimson dripped from his swords edge
Duty is duty, never question, everyone dies
Untangle the mortal souls that clutch the earth
of their graves. Send them to the gods...
Raivel was half divine but pure evil
numb from life, dark inside
His eyes slits of glowing hate,
Only fully opened when he killed
with a bosterious laughter of doom.
Raivel was created for the kill
Killing all, good or bad, young or old
ugly or beautiful, dead was dead
Death was his wages for his being
and he was always paid in full
Demon perhaps, Vengeance not quite
Justice? who amongst humans can judge the gods
His face was void, only devil eyes and open mouth
of laughter. Mercy never, emotionless but beautiful
in a haunting ballad of slaughter.
All who saw him fell and trembled
All who fled impaled on his spear
There was no where to hide
Only time to die
Prayers to the gods who sent him
mocked the very existence of his being.
Was Raivel sent to perish the human race
were the gods tired of disappointment
or was slaughter morbid enjoyment
Fire from the sky would cleanse the mounds of dead
flames licking away until the smoldering ashes
blown into the wind would darken the sky
and fore warn others of their fate.
On the Field of Jade, earth's perfection
of grace and beauty
Raivel kneeled a wash in the splatters of blood red
His back towards the dead polluting this sacred place.
Raivel stood and open his eyes and screamed the pain
of millions of butcher souls. He swung his mighty sword into
heaven to pierce the bellies of the gods.
No more my lords, no more...
A shiver of mist blanketed the earth as soft raindrops cried
upon the land. Raivel his open eyes full blood red shed a single tear
as he combusted from within shooting flames of hell so high
the ashes of heaven buried the dead.
Time has passed, legends are born
little children be good or Raivel will slay us all
And people to this day still visit the wonderful
Field of Jade where roses bloom full and heavy
colored deep in the hue of Blood Red.