Long Stroke of the pen Poems
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Melody Maker
The music in my mind plays softly.
It is quiet today.
I can write and enjoy
each stroke of the pen
as it touches the paper...
like a lover for the first time
with their dearest one.
Gentle, soft, and methodical
the sounds interlace the moment,
with memory, to create remembrances
for later, when the resonances have lessoned
or stopped altogether. .
In the distance
I can see the white clouds,
they are rising slowly,
and gaining power, and physical strength.
My heart beats slightly faster, at the sight,
and the music responds.
Somewhere nearby
harps were joined by lutes,
and flutes.
Not dancing and prancing,
but bouncing against the unseen
droplets that will fall with the coming storm.
It has not happened,
but I know that it will... still.
I rush to finish the equation,
of love and forever,
the answer clearly presented.
The tune changed,
and rearranged...
the water touched the paper,
and caressed it anew,
the secret was then lost.
no storyline can thrive to throw off loves balance,
to purposely paint a picture to detour its countenance,
the stroke of the pen changing in every moments release,
unconditional love neverending in beauty with each piece,
to place the heart back in its proper alignment,
in the changing of each moment with loves new assignment,
in the blink of an eye the storyline can change,
the plot, the characters, don't always end up the same way,
what you expected at the end of the story to be,
what you thought you rationalized becomes the opposite of what is seen,
love can thrive in ways past our own understanding,
the pace of his heart, God's happy ending...
In the depths of solitude, a poet dwells,
A lover of words, where silence swells.
His heart, once vibrant, now laden with pain,
A life shattered, lost in a torrential rain.
A child, once joyous, his laughter's delight,
Now a memory that fades in the night.
A marriage, once promising, crumbled apart,
Leaving him broken, with a wounded heart.
Yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker remained,
A glimmer of hope that still sustained.
For deep within his spirit, a fire burned,
A steadfast belief, a lesson hard-earned.
Depression's grip tightened, a relentless foe,
But he clung to faith, refusing to let go.
In the depths of despair, he found solace there,
Whispering prayers, releasing his care.
Like a solitary phoenix, he emerged from the flame,
With resilience and strength, he overcame.
For trials and tribulations had shaped his soul,
And from the ashes, a stronger man he'd grow.
He sought solace in the verses he penned,
Pouring his anguish, a cathartic blend.
With each stroke of the pen, he found release,
A balm for his wounds, a gentle peace.
And as he shared his poems, he touched hearts anew,
For in his words, others found solace too.
His story became a testament of grace,
A beacon of hope in a desolate place.
Through the darkest nights, he trusted in God,
His unwavering faith, a staff and a rod.
And from the depths of despair, he arose,
A testament to resilience, where hope freely flows.
So let his tale be a reminder to all,
That in our darkest hours, we need to recall,
That even when we stumble, lose our way,
We can rise like the phoenix, find light in the gray.
In the pages of my journal, I find my way,
Reflecting feelings, I scribble and convey.
It is a path to self-aware,
Discovering who we are, and learning how to care.
A lifeline they provide,
For what I write today may heal wounds deep inside.
It is a remedy, a panacea for the soul,
Each stroke of the pen, a balm to make me whole.
In the night, anxiety's embrace,
My journal hears my fears, in its warm and safe space.
A voyage, within and deep within,
Through the ink and paper, I explore what lies within.
A ritual of the heart,
Transforming life's moments, a profound work of art.
My voice unfiltered and pure,
In my journal, authenticity is the only lure.
.
In the stillness of dawn, a primal question awakens,
A whisper that dances, a quest that never dampens.
On the blank parchment with lines, I lay my thoughts bare,
Each stroke of the pen, a truth I must share.
You define your font, size, and spacing that is life,
In the chaos of letters, I seek to find light.
In a sense, we are kin—words on paper entwined,
More woven than we know, in the fabric of time.
Shelter in syllables, where our stories reside,
Reaching for heights, aspirations as wide.
Like the ants in their labor, I’ll learn and I’ll grow,
Building bridges through trials, in the ebb and the flow.
Boys and girls, we gather, each voice a bright thread,
Mothers and fathers guide us, where hopes gently tread.
In the tapestry of society, we weave our tales,
Finding strength in our numbers, as each heartbeat prevails.
So why am I, a question that bends and expands?
In the ink of existence, I craft with my hands.
Through the lines of my journey, I’ll seek and I’ll find,
In the vastness of being, the answers unbind.
In the tapestry of life's intricate design,
A journey filled with love and loss intertwine.
From childhood's embrace to the call of duty,
A path of resilience, courage, and beauty.
Blessed I was with parents whose love knew no end,
Guiding pillars, companions, forever friends.
With every step, their love paved my way,
Teaching lessons of kindness, all through my day.
I joined the Marines to see the world's vast expanse,
Encountering new cultures, taking a chance.
In the midst of service, love's light I did find,
Meeting my soulmate, destined to be mine.
Love at first sight, a bond unbreakable and true,
Discovering in her, my reflection, a clue.
Embracing the role of husband and father with all of my might,
Living my life, filled with love's pure light.
Tragedy struck, tearing apart my happy home,
Loss of my wife, and mother, I was left alone.
Grief's heavy cloak enveloped my days,
Yet through the darkness, my spirit would not be swayed.
The strength of a woman, my mother so dear,
Fighting through pain, and facing her fear.
Caring for her, as she faced her final fate,
In her grace and courage, with God there's no debate.
Through loss and pain, my writing became a guide,
A channel for emotions, for tears I had cried.
Penning poems of raw truth and grace,
Touching souls, shining a light in that dark space.
Seeking to share my words, to reach those in need,
To offer help, hope, in every word indeed.
Mental illness, struggles, faith's ebb and flow,
Uniting humanity, in joys and in woe.
I hope my verses find wings to reach far and wide,
To touch hearts, to heal, and in love abide.
In sharing my story, my voice it finds its power,
An offering of empathy, in life's uncertain hour.
I can only hope my poems are a beacon of light in the night,
Shining for those who may have lost their sight.
A testament to resilience, faith, and love's grace,
In a world that yearns for kindness as it's embrace.
With each stroke of the pen, my story is told,
Of love, of loss, of courage so bold.
In sharing my journey, and truth leaving nothing unspoken,
May hearts be lifted, and barriers broken.
Thank you for reading my tale of joy and woe,
I hope my words continue to inspire, to grow.
For in storytelling, I find my peace, and in the memories I hold deep.
And in love and faith may our souls the Lord shall keep.
Have you ever wondered about all the things that require your signature in life
How about a marriage certificate, I now pronounce you man and wife
A steady hand is needed as you buy your first home
If a writer's cramp occurs with so many places to sign, you are not alone
The car of your dreams you are about to drive off the lot
Or maybe the insurance for that car you just bought
Your passport for an upcoming dream trip you are about to take
The officer speeding ticket for moving too fast, oh for heaven's sake
Your birth certificate your parents sign to prove you are alive
Your driver's license after you show you know how to drive
The only thing I would like to sign is a big check from the lottery I just won
One more stroke of the pen and my work day will be done
no storyline can thrive to throw off loves balance,
to purposely paint a picture to detour its countenance,
the stroke of the pen changing in every moments release,
unconditional love neverending in beauty with each piece,
to place the heart back in its proper alignment,
in the changing of each moment with loves new assignment,
in the blink of an eye the storyline can change,
the plot, the characters, don't always end up the same way,
what you expected at the end of the story to be,
what you thought you rationalized becomes the opposite of what is seen,
love can thrive in ways past our own understanding,
the pace of his heart, God's happy ending...
Story Structure
Some writers leave a story at the climax,
like an adolescent male leaving the reader not totally satisfied.
Other writers never bring the reader the climax, of their story.
Good writers take the reader with them.
They start the story with an introduction to the body of characters.
Learning every nuance and curve of each, the writer brings them to life with every stroke of the pen. Gradually easing the reader into the main body of the story.
Building page, by page, and chapter, after chapter,
until the readers are unable to restrain themselves from turning the next page.
Slowly the reader becomes the main character.
Living every moment, feeling every pleasure, pain, and sorrow as slowly the reader reaches the climax. Then after the reader is spent, the writer eases the reader down slowly with the epilogue.
Ending the story with the reader in the afterglow of the tale.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Downward marriage falls seeking some relief
Children follow awkwardly, senses moan
Husband and wife acting out of belief
Three children entering chambers unknown
Locked in battle, the wife reaches for sword
Under advice, she unleashes all hells
Falsely accusing the husband deplored
Of abuse, harm, and hate to citadels
With one stroke of the pen, I was condemned
Guilty 'til proven otherwise I was
Cast out, no home, no gold, no kids, clemmed.
Without, alone, despaired, scorned, for no cause
Time to think, time to ponder, time to pray
My children became my crusade, that day
09/21/17
'Taking a disappointment in your life turning it into something positive'
Form: Sonnet
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri