Long Stain Poems
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Cicadas drone their sun-drunk, tireless hymn
as July swelters, gold and overfull.
the driveway steams, the plastic buckets brim,
and heat, like dye, won't sit still or stay dull.
We cinch the cotton tight in twisted rings,
as if a knot could hold the blazing tide.
but sweat and color are unruly things:
both spread, both stain, both won't be denied.
Cerulean and crimson breach their line,
seep into one another, slow, unplanned,
and thicken into a hue with no design,
no name the rubber bands prepared it for.
The soda ash unlatches what was sealed;
the color doesn't sit, it moves in deep,
past cotton's threshold, till it's not revealed
but lived in, permanent as things we keep.
So heat unstitches winter's careful fold,
loosens what was buttoned, cinched, and pressed,
and turns the plain, repeated days to gold
the way a fever turns a body's rest.
Unwind the bands. Let August find the proof:
a swirl no ruler's hand could have designed,
the driveway's stain, the sun-bleached, faded roof
of summer, fixed now in the changed mind.
Touch tender has now gone extinct
Nobody has the time
Deadened hearts, no longer love inked
Mankind’s deaf to love’s chime
To be a child again
Devoid of feral stain
Mindful of other’s pain
Mind bender
Touch tender
~~~
Touch tender that once was the norm
Is nowhere to be found
Sharing, caring, endearment warm
Now buried underground
Fast pace makes life a blur
Feeling not love throbs stir
Unless head-head concur
Heart mender
Touch tender
~~~
Touch tender, not felt in a while
Those once close, now distant
So alone we trudge, mile by mile
To love, hearts resistant
We once walked together
Love the binding tether
Caring for each other
Love blender
Touch tender
06-April-2022
Triple Quietus
When nobody embraced you to stop
those tears from falling and restore
your sense of existence which relied on prayer,
not entirely on my comprehension and thought;
this guilt was my eternal damnation not
to have given an apology in a timely manner....
No scar is deeper than this one
when the weight of remorse can't be laid to rest,
long before I said all the unpleasant words,
I should have considered kindness,
and took a closer look at the pitiful one;
I ask myself how I resorted to madness!
Some men intentionally hurt their sweethearts,
feeling no compassion in their accusations,
and keep on lashing at them as if they were the guilty ones;
o most of us are the delirious fools acting on a stage without an audience,
where we don't see ourselves as we actually are, weakening the fortitudes
of those we should love and hold to our chests!
No scar is deeper than this one,
hidden in shame for the fear of revealing its pain...
somewhat indignant and reluctant to come out and face alone
the punishment for its malevolent intent;
and what can torment us is this conscience tarnished by stain,
so why be heartless and uncaring when love can heal our hurt?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
. . . I am lost in a sea of memories
that scar the roadmap to my soul
and my words- are the highway to my pain
as I follow a labyrinth of passages and corridors
curved and contrived-
and here, I am a child praying
oh, my withered dreams, my hopes, my aspirations
why do I dreg up my past sorrows
that come drifting like a dark death melody . . .
my grief comes unbidden to stain my years
and my tears hang from dripping branches in a
. . . graveyard where tombs stand in rows and rows
where grass grows greener
and happy hummingbirds hover in heavenly harmony
and red roses decay- and the wind is a violin . . . echoing
and blood seeps from the forever dagger in my heart
barefoot, ragged, hair tangled- I am a little girl again playing
and again lost in the sad wail of violin and wind
. . . life stretches before me like a long road
and I am sick of all this sorrow- and rose decay
I want days as clear as sparkling wine
to live a life full of serenity
with days brilliant blue and nights of sparkling stars
instead of this vast empty place my thoughts wander . . .
oh, bitter and cruel is this life at times- yet a fire burns
within me . . .
______________________
July 8, 2021 - Repost/Edit
Poetry/Free Verse/within me
Copyright Protected, ID 07-1369-715-08
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Brian Strand July 8
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 07/08/2021
First Place
In the dark of night
The monsters came
Creeping and creaking,
Breathing my name.
Peeking through windows
Slipping under my bed
Upon closing my eyes
They entered my head.
Coming out of the fog
Intending to kill
Chasing and racing
Craving blood for a swill.
I’d wake to my screams
Coming out of my throat
Heart beating fiercely
Like a drum to the note.
Then they’d be gone
Heading back to the shadows
Waiting till dusk
Like death for the gallows.
They'd always be back
Taunting my mind
Scratching and scraping
Whenever inclined.
As I got older
They changed how they fed
Feasting on doubts
Their method instead.
Using my forbears
Their sins and their crimes
Planting the seeds
In the back of my mind.
Could the sins of the father
Be the sins of the son
Promoting the notion
Wrongs may be rerun.
Could the demons from past
Walk to the future
Festering inside me
Much like a tumour.
Maybe this blood
That courses my veins
Is genetically soiled
Carries a stain.
So if you hear screams
In the dead of night
It’s me and my terrors
Please consider my plight.
For every breathless air,
I breath, to catch wind,
Jolted by the ruthless,
Violence, corrupted, these,
Islands, to hinder, all I fear,
Darkened by Grey, clouds the,
Mind, I bare to restore, it's green,
Pastures, that once built me,
Pouring on the Rain, in my eyes,
I ask GOD, to replenish, me from,
The blood stain, on my hands,
To clean my, Consumed Heart, for,
It is not me, who dies, time and time,
Again....
As he lyes nailed, to this, CROSS,
Forgiving SIN, NO QUESTIONS, asked,
His SOUL, is humble, and LOVING,
For he is OUR SAVIOR...
Despite what I've done, I know, You know,
We are guided, in open Doors, of strength n' faith,
To empower, the house of fruitful, Blessings, in
open arms, For I LOVE my Almighty KiNG, GOD,
For I will not LOose sight.....NO MORE..
The urge to travel
rises when least expected,
without reason or warning.
Unsettled, is how I describe
my feelings as it develops,
like an autumn storm beginning with clouds.
The day arrives
and I leave the homestead,
disrupting my structured life.
Normal routines give way
to silence and simplicity in a campsite,
among trees in a distant place.
Some days I observe small things
from my old folding chair,
not moving between breakfast and lunch.
Other mornings might require
a sweaty hike in any direction,
allowing feet to share what eyes enjoy.
But the highlight of the journey,
the apex of plans and expense
is sleep. Campfabulous sleep.
Entering sleep like a falling leaf
and waking in uninterrupted stages,
like the smell of brewing coffee, changes everything.
It takes three days
for the numbness of city life to fade
and submit to nature’s exhilaration.
Increasing energy and desire
encourages me to follow more trails,
leaving footprints where few have been.
When departing day arrives
time slows and I face a chasm,
looking back at a life I’d almost forgotten.
Each mile of the return journey
is another stain on the fabric
of what I most desire.
Your song resists the lyrics mine proclaims
by measured whispers begging Autumn’s reign
not drown this season with unreasoned pain
nor hobble Winter leaving April lame.
Just as the wick betrayed by yellow flame;
I feel a waning candle nearly slain;
reduced to nothing but a hopeless stain
in empty darkness where the strained are tamed.
And though the morning sun surrenders red
upon an apple by the skylark’s song -
don’t shadows lengthen as they glide along
until once more the naked fall is dead?
Such are the mournful notes my lips undress,
while wishing yours on mine again would press.
Some songs remain unwritten,
so many unsung.
Sometimes there are words,
but no background music
so I curse this refrain.
Unable to find the perfect blend
My art remains unappreciated,
my soul blames my spirit,
my spirit my heart,
my heart my mind,
yet my mind remains mute.
Too fatigued to fight,
constantly pondering
why do I let myself create a
vocabulary of unspoken language
where a brittle bridge of
mulberry memories still stain.
Why do I remain in perpetual pain?
I know I cannot sing in tune,
nor play in an orchestra,
but, If you knew the verses for these violin strings,
then would you sing..... With me?
Too feel
Too believe
Too be heard
Maybe then, I too, will know if I'm understood -
bringing an end to this ebony eye existence.
Only the birds know my ballad,
but this morning they have no melody,
maybe they have forgotten the chorus to our chant,
so now my anthem of angst is surreal silence.
Why do they supress the lullabies?
Lyric less in lament,
I'm a nightingale surrounded by a murder of crows,
and I see cats prowling,
they seem to sense my breathless beats.
Yet, I know in a playground of pitfalls,
the canvass must bleed in a brush of emotions,
so blank pages portray lyrics of a sincere symphony,
blasting in colourful sounds, merging forever
because the world is the music,
my life a mere note
hoping it is never abandoned.
Love said in truth
It takes a slueth
To know if it is true
Or just meant to leave you blue
Should I hide
I can't decide
What does it even mean
After what I have seen
Should I run
What can be done
Can I afford another fall
Build around my heart a wall
Is love real
What's the deal.
Should I stay alone
You know what love has shown
Don't know what to do
Don't know if love is true
Is it even real
Can someone really feel
I want to hide
I must confide
I don't understand this
Is there really bliss
The first kiss
I have my fear
It ends in a tear
Should I close my eyes
Pretend it's all lies
Walk the other way
Alone should I stay
So set in my way
Love means pain
Nothing will I gain
By letting go my heart
Nothing must I start
A heart that knows pain
Such a dark stain
I wish I knew
What was true
But I really don't
So I guess I won't
Risk finding a heart that's fake
Not worth the chance I take
So why must I try
If I'm only going to cry