Long Spilled Poems
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I'm old, almost blind.
I see the grey shades of nothing as I wait for the end.
A lilting melody sometimes reminds me of
the colors of Autumn leaves:
the yellow sun which shone on us,
golden hair curling and cascading down her breast,
a fireplace of orange flames
flickering like teasing fingers and ardent tongues,
and the colors growing deeper,
and her final words,
and the crimson blood that spilled and bled,
as the sky turned black forever,
and everything below was grey,
except a cold bone white moon
and skeletons of leafless trees,
until,
a lilting melody reminds me of
the colors of Autumn leaves.
Standing at the cross-roads of
past,present and unseen future,
holding the truth so strong & firm,
fearing it may slip out of the lips.
Weeping heart hopes to shout the
truth to the world that I aint a
bad human as you perceive,
but the silly heart also
wishes the truth may never come
out which shatters your beautiful,
rosy picture on moral pedestal.
Balancing my bleeding feet on
the sharp rubble of my broken world,
with dagger piercing my tongue,
so not even the moans of
truth are spilled.
Shouts are so loud that no one
hears them and the eyes
silently sheds tears which
no one ever sees.
Hope we see the beautiful
sunshine together rather me
having heart in dark and smile
in the bright light.
Written On:26/01/2025
PS:About people who cant let out truth ,even when hiding the
truth hurts the person holding on it,in keeping his loved ones
safe and happy.Those loved ones have no idea what the person
is doing for them.
Notebook, my dearest old friend from the past,
I know you feel abandoned and disgraced;
Times drastically changed and progressed fast,
I traded crafted notes for databased.
Convenient and prompt, with click and scroll,
Personal handwriting now obsolete.
I am ashamed to tell you -“select all”,
Then paste and writing mission is complete.
Do you remember calligraphic pain
I endured with unwilling, awkward hand?!
With letters dancing backwards, seemed in vain -
You were the only one, who’d understand.
I made mistakes, you laughed, you didn’t fret,
I rubbed you the wrong way, that was in style,
I even spilled and got you soaking wet -
You turned another page with a dry smile.
I miss those days when over you at night
I confided my secrets into you,
And shared my happy moments with delight,
When stubborn words did not comply, I drew.
I note with pride what a great book you’ve been!
But please let’s keep between us what you’ve seen!
March 21, 2023
Sponsor: Constance La France
Contest: Notebook
My heart a pouch of rich wine overlays yours
a drop of blood spilled over an arum lily
waits with longing intense, retains no tears
as it remembers its cringes of final fear when it
jumped into your chest of steel, smell of fruit juice, water and old leather all around
My soul lays naked in a room of light while your music plays next door
two plumed serpents dance slow dances to rhythms of drums and pipes, notes of knowingness, sounds repeated
I listen again and again
Spacious a white room waits aged and innocent
in a no-zone forest of mushrooms, poppies and pebbles as the piano vibrates with silence
while Goddess does not speak of a mission that never ends, watching for symbols that appear and vanish while progress moves worse than a snail with a footsore over splintered glass
Surrender struggles to be free !
Drops in space hung on Venus threads
breasts heaving and falling, passing tests of temperance, strength, solitude
swallow death and darkened silence deep
in a psyche of five thousand years
Across oceans of space my thoughts travel
not knowing whether they reach your light or
hermit in your head or the warehouse in which
you play with waves of froth on dirty sand
seals and gulls glide and shout
A lighthouse looks on still and sure
muck in the harbour awaits an embrace
fried chips beckon and call to fill my open belly of waiting Sun as love struggles for freedom on a higher plane with yours in ether on a wall I read
Still you sleep a hundred thousand sleeps of
fear and watchfulness
in the distance runs Skeleton Woman with tangled bones to be untangled
knowing that long ago she completed her work
of inner peace with honours
Spartacus and Helen looking on
I wait not for you alone but to fill your Heart
for another work of love, to drink your tears
slate your thirst ~become one, two, three to
ten again as dough rises with surprises inside
eggs fresh full, two yolks and cream to be
eaten on a jetty of harmonious voids
Love lost and found, lost and found
all over again
Awakened through the morning sun,
facing the unknowns of the day,
the night of rest now is done,
as I struggle to find my way.
Engaging in what I think is right,
in a lonely world of sorrow and pain,
often leads to a deadly bloody fight,
when the dust settles there is no gain.
Precious moments of lingering thoughts,
hearts become wrapped in heaven's love,
true treasures that can never be bought,
a beautiful gift from the Savior above.
To light a world, beneath the sky of blue,
courage and peace spilled upon the ground,
the essence of Jesus I know, ever so true,
brings on a night of rest and sleep so sound.
Anthony Slausen's Contest: Jesus
June 6, 2016
On an old windowsill of a crooked windowpane in a beaten house
Lies a window-moth on a dirty window cloth.
drained, defeated, and done
Time and again,
It tattered its wings and shattered its face,
plunged at the glass, losing its grace.
She's drawn to a dim light
spilled through a cracked window
into the darkness of the room.
Like a waking terror of the night,
With one half there and the other out of sight.
Hallucinating a pathway through fantasy
Seeking clarity in rays of insanity
Contained by a glass and wooden frame.
painfully numb,
with an urge to move forward
A consuming obsession,
to make it to the Moon.
That lambent orb in the skies
A brilliant ball full of lies
Ignorant to the impenetrable mass,
or the number of miles between the moon and glass.
No matter how much it desires,
No matter how much it tires,
No matter how large the power of will,
The glass is unbreakable,
the goal unattainable,
The truth unbearable.
The Godforsaken feeling,
of seeing, and believing,
yet never achieving.
I finished writing in my head
And reached to type it, but alas
I dropped the text, and it fell dead
Just crashed to pieces, like a vase
Words on the floor at random order
Glint in the sunny afternoon
I wrote them narrow, they get broader
And jumped away, to die too soon
Words quickly rot, but some look fresh
Like fruits in autumnal decline
Few nouns shine, like burning flesh
Verbs ill-begotten, spilled like wine
Visceral fear I tied with hope
What was the purpose, can’t recall
Hopes rolled like pebbles down the slope
And fears ended with great fall
Words on the floor, farewell, my dears
I need to clean the room today
Brush off the trash of hopes and fears
They weren’t needed anyway.
Jacque had been a flower girl in Jack’s brother’s wedding.
He was the ring bearer, who picked her basket up when she spilled it.
He dried her tears, and helped her collect the red rose petals.
Together they proceeded down the aisle, and she was in love.
They met at Jack’s brother’s sixth wedding. She was grown up.
She knew his eyes, but could not remember why she knew them.
No one remembered the story until after their own wedding.
Jack's Aunt May had discovered the photo of the two of them as children.
Gave the framed photo to them as a wedding present.
Saying, “God knew that you two were always meant to be.”
They could not stop smiling or dancing after they opened this gift.
Not remembering it on a conscious level, but loving the story.
Half-hearted
I do everything half-hearted;
Never giving it my all.
Always spreading out
my contents,
Across the galaxies,
in awe…
Of the war inside my head -
Never trusting anyone.
Breaking; in the silence
Of the damage
that’s been done.
I do everything half-hearted;
Mechanism of defense -
if I spilled myself
for everyone;
All I'd have
-would be
a mess.
I did everything half-hearted,
til the day
I learned your heart.
When it all fell into place
I knew;
there were
no missing parts.
I did everything half-hearted
til the day I fell for you
Then, put my faith into forever
And started
every day anew.
I do everything
half-hearted
Since nothing -
Now, the same.
Lock this cold
black heart
back in its box
and toss it in the flames.
I do everything half-hearted though;
my heart
still speaks your name. …Believing yours
would speak mine, too - I've just myself to blame…
-Marion A. Yost-
The buzzing bee, moves swiftly around the shaking trees, absorbing the tainted honey. Suspense is flowing in the air with a message that is loud and clear, and the sound of the cracking leaves is dancing with the unforgetful wind. Its wind, water, air and fire that is mixed up with the tempestuous sorrows and the growing sound of the music band is battling in the far away land.
The pounding sound of the boisterous cloud spreads its ash on grass land moving shattering windows of doubt in front of corridors of hope. I wasn’t sure if I was asleep or it was my imagination passing through the breeze but something awake to the thundering sound of a mountain owl in the distance; it shook the earth for five minutes and tens second.
It spilled ashes mixed with stone, dirt and thick lava filled with chatter and laughter. Everyone watched the amazing scene with curiosity and excitement, a work of art fashioned out of nature spewing out of the natural ground heading to where destiny is bound.
It carved out holes in the gigantic rocks forming an island that is deadlock. If you look long enough you will understand how the world was form, and you could scoop it up in the middle of your palm. Is it God or the creation, or is it the avalanche, the volcano or the titanic. If you look long enough you will see the truth in volcanic rocks.
This self contained island formed in front of me wraps its corners all around me, a beauty that no one can resist, and a passion that hardly anyone knew exist. It fills the deep, coral reefs at the bottom of the sea and colorful fish swimming around with glee. Big fish and small fish standing in line catapulting like a sea eagle in the sky as destiny floats by.
There are plenty of volcanic rocks to put your picnic basket on and motor boat to take me to and from the distant island. Oh what beauty is set out before us, oh what strength is taken from the sea and the danger that lies ahead has sunken underneath the sea bed, and sea is the gateway through the door as beauty rest solemnly on the seashore. Out of danger beauty is formed, and out of struggle a new career is born.