Long Thirsted Poems
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I will die beneath no proper name,
But numbers scrawled in rain and shame;
A borrowed coat, a borrowed face,
The last of me in a friends borrowed grave.
They will find me where the gaslights bleed
A jaundiced glow upon my head,
My tongue untrue, my thoughts undone,
My mind a house with doors all spun.
Was it the drink? The ballot’s fraud?
The fever’s grasp? God’s final nod?
The papers guessed, the doctors stared—
No truth would stay, no lie was spared.
I drifted then through fractured days,
Through opium fog and coffin haze,
Calling a name no ear could hear,
Clutching my ghosts I held most dear.
“Lord help my poor soul,”—so I cried,
And in that plea, unfinished, died.
No lover spoke. No bell was unrung.
My ending—broken, blunt, unsung.
But tell me this, you living few
Who sift my bones for something new:
Had love been kind, had bread been sure,
Had peace been mine, and health secure—
Had fate not thirsted for my pain,
Nor circumstance conspired in vain—
Would death have worn so strange a mask?
Would madness still have sealed the task?
Perhaps I’d fade in quieter light,
A lamp put out by the gentle good night;
A name intact, a hand to hold,
Not “anonymous,” tagged toe and cold.
Yet know this well—though lost, misread,
Unnamed among the nameless dead:
The life I lived, the words I gave,
Outlived the dark that was my grave.
For death may claim the man, it’s true,
But not the voice that still speaks to you.
Long did Odin recline
nursed by the long slain.
Long had he relied for news
from his two ravens,
from a world he still thirsted after
and long did love.
His one eye itched
for their long expected return.
Muninn
(known in the old tongue,
as Odin’s Memory),
at last appeared.
The birds sable feathers
were now ghost-grey.
It stumbled in its speech
as it spoke of
what it had seen of the world.
Long were its strange tales,
long were the gaps in its telling
until Odin could not piece together
the recalled from the unrecalled.
In time his second great raven
Huginn (Odin’s thoughts),
entered his awareness
together with its dark ponderings.
Its dire re-telling's
they smote Odin with such force
that he gasped
in a toothless gawp of horror.
He called for his nurse, alas
no nurse was to be found,
he was adrift
upon the long night.
Dawn found his caregivers
searching high, seeking low.
yet only the long discarded bones
of ancient ravens littered his abode.
I was cursed with ink
intoxicating blank canvases
with toxic scribbles,
releasing twisted tales
of suppressed troubles.
I was a forsaken ebony rose
in satan's grasp,
kneeling on ungodly needs
in a gothic fortress
of woeful odes,
surrounded by black knights
and colorless blossoms,
searching for legitimate sestinas
and versatile villanelles
to ignite my quill to bleed
without semantic barriers.
Swaying like a pendulant,
on the edge between
light and darkness,
resembling midnight's
black ice queen,
I thirsted for a
universal prophecy.
A poet who would engrave
perennial verses upon my
discoloured healing heart.
To paint antique stones,
during sunless days
in a moonless kingdom.
A calligraphic catharsis,
adorning the sincere crown
of an imperial ivory king,
whose angelic voice
glitters like gems,
soothing insensitive beating drums
within my pondering pensive mind.
A majestic master of his quill,
reviving poetic intimacy,
fusing his musings
deep inside untouched chambers
with an unscratched itch,
of my undanced fandango.
F a t e has a way for
versifiers to assimilate.
From the first drop
of his couplet,
he had my tongue
rhyming to the rhythm
of his unspoken lyrics.
Now, I am a slave to
what I have become.
Handcuffed and blindfolded
by preserved petals
between perfumed pages
written from the tip of his
magical wand like fingers.
I am weaving crystal quartz
words in witching hours,
whilst he pours dulcet musings
incensed in white sage
over my rustic bronze silhouette,
as I am his willing mistress:
a submissive subservient pawn
to his silent slavery.
Throned in intricately carved
prose and poetry,
where monochrome strokes
of thin lines no longer perish.
There’s no need for a sorcerer
when his sentimental sonnets
are an addictive elixir.
I am deliriously comatose
and chained in piercingly
euphoric sagas of his saccharine soul.
Even Lilith seized the moment
to behold what belonged to her
In the name of infatuated love.
So this is me, stealing
scented seeds
sown along parallel paradigms
of his rightful Parnassian paradise,
d r o w n i n g in
metaphorical monograms,
leaving memoirs of a poetess~
seething glitters and gold
reborn from the depths of
a savior that saved
me from burnt chapters
of darkest oblivion.
Constitution says All men are created equal
We live in the home of the brave
But we annihilated the Red man
And made the black man a slave
We imprisoned the Yellow man
And judged the poor and the gay
Only a rich straight white Christian
Can be a free man today
We thirsted for power, now isn't it odd
We raped, pillaged and plundered in the Name of God
We committed crimes time will never erase
Then thumped a Bible in your face
We sin compulsively assuming God will forgive it
Then preach Christianity but we never live it
We formed a bigoted society where hate is the rule
If we accept others as Equals we call our own a fool
We sit in judgement of others, I guess we forgot
This isn't the way that Jesus taught
I'm a straight white Christian so maybe I'll fall
But I'll die believing God created us all
So when I read the Bible and God's Children I see
I'll never assume it's only children like me.
I no longer listen to your bigoted view.
Equality for all, not just people like you.
Equality means Equality and Bigotry is Bigotry
Jesus said "Love Thy Neighbor" NO DESCRIPTIVE ADJECTIVE.
For 19 years, I have missed a Lovely Queen; absolutely one of the finest. To my father, she was a kind wife; to some, a beautician; to me, a lioness.
She was neither a 'holier than thou', nor robed in deceitful righteousness. But she was very much clothed in love, like a feathered dove in her nest.
We neither saw in her any form of coldness, nor bitterness. She learned to absorb the storms, and 'move on', I guess.
She wouldn't dream of giving us anything less than her best. She was direct and never distant; none were ever denied access.
She shared her love freely, never portraying frustration and stress. We never hungered or thirsted; but were always warm and dressed.
We were made to feel secure; experienced lack, but never felt less. Born in 1928 and perfumed her world for 70 years; mama died in 1998.
05072017PS Contest, Easy, Slat A
With every gust of wind, secret taboo,
secreting a web a cocooned prison
of liquid knowing, flowing,
emulsifying impossibly old and new.
In the beyond of the known, stair-stepped,
desert bone flashed into
your consciousness a confident cajoling.
To stew, on the broth of you.
A teasing shot across your bough
of lost resistance and preservation
your eyes rolling white to the out of blue.
Sailing magnetic across it's salivate maw
and unflinching gaze
You are its pupil satellite Positron of drug,
positioned, strung shift of phase shift
of new vistas of truth and beauty unsealed,
inlayed in the naked language of the Angels, stage.
You are, quickened.
Quickened-Quicksilver, tuning, dimensionality,
Principality.
Hidden depths of self,
trigger emotion and thoughts
of infinity divided by three.
A black hole of obscene curiosity
swallows your mind.
Consciousness crests
in trans-mission inflated verbose
relay of Celeste divine? Freet?
You are a place of shipwrecks and mires,
Vagabound desires.
Who dares to sail beyond the horizon of the known retreat.
You come to an isle
of Precious golds and silvers
in frequency bands of holo-hold.
Land of spellcraft, music, heresy, thrones.
Centrigual placement of palaced
internment, camp of strange instruments,
beautiful adorned accoutrements, and contrived designs.
Rune of keys you can feel, the need.
To play them, a feeling, freed.
You shape the music into an arch entity
that offers you it's drink.
You become a dizzy swirl, unable to think to speak...
Of
Silk robes of every delicate fabrication of sin.
Jewels undone, in mythos biolocationed- transmogrifliquesatisfactions.
Yet the symbology remains constant
in it's sustain of visual topology.
Guiding you through the choppy waters
on ethereal landing
in land of the cloud of uncertainty, in hymnal,
refrain, refrain from it's hypnotic beat.
Hold on tight, Jane, Jason of the
foams and eddys and strangered things.
The exhilerating peril, in para parable.
Epic Tome, seasoning tomb of forner deed, denial plausibility causible.
Be ye not
thirsted for the salts of her drink.
For these are the Seven Seas.
I gave you a balloon,
It held my life inside.
Within a shiny rubber tube
components of my soul aligned,
a sign,
I became something new
for you...
Memories
Feelings
Ideas
Each speck
a tickle upon my breath,
a tiny bubble
of nuanced personality;
The strengths of me debrided
the secrets of my lungs,
pink and untold
for you to confide,
ease trouble
in eyes before me.
Yet
were you astute?
Could your mind compute
the depth
of the beautiful find
floating before you?
You bent,
my unique particles ended
their show of strength
broken in length;
You twisted,
crushed and divided
my dreams subsided...
Molded to an unrecognizable form,
I became your norm.
Though you never knew,
my secret hope to survive
my own gift
thrive and lift,
lay within you.
Your grip thirsted control so long,
the pieces of me left burst
to skitter away in song
among soaring clouds,
leaving shrouds of pain
grounded and gone...
Flying far from the land
one beautiful day,
away
from you
and the broken balloon that laid
in your hand.
LOST AND FOUND
My world was empty, and no real joy filled my life.
Lonliness, Depression and Fear,
Were my constant companions.
I sought relief from my lonliness in dreams and books,
For they were my only friends.
Then, You found me, You quietly called to me,
You patiently waited for me,
To finally hear Your voice.
Your gentleness slowly calmed my fears,
And assuaged my emptiness.
Now my world is no longer empty,
For You have filled it with Your love.
Joy fills my soul,
And I no longer seek escape,
In dreams or fantasy, for Your love is real.
I hungered, and You fed my spirit.
I thirsted, and You filled my soul.
I feared, and You comforted me.
I was so alone, and You called me Your Own.
I was lost, and now I am found.
I Love You.
Judy Ball
Dear Mom, you are someone very good.
That is how I’ve always thought of you.
Embracing your station of motherhood,
You raised five daughters well, and still you do
Everything you can for family; your love is true.
Always you have thirsted and searched for truth.
You passed the thirst for knowledge down to me.
Reading Bible stories of women strong like Ruth,
You taught us well about morality.
And we were blessed by your sincerity.
Yes, goodness exudes from you, Mother dear.
I can love my life because I’ve grown
Knowing I was loved, and though you are not near,
It’s for your devotion that to us you've always shown
that God is with you, and you’ll never walk alone.
Written April 23, 2016 for the To Mom Poetry Contest of Francine Roberts
A visionary wandered lost one night
inside a tempest thunderous and strong.
He looked for shelter in a canyon. Light
of moon poured down and bitter sweet of song. . .
For as the storm abated, he could hear
a tune that seemed to claim the palisade.
How haunting was that sound that filled his ear!
But no one was around. How was it made?
He sought, as one who thirsted for the truth,
illumination of this mystery.
He climbed on ancient rocks, an eager sleuth,
then came on what he knew to be the key. . .
He found a ghostly clue, a hieroglyph
of one lone flutist, on a smooth-walled cliff.
For Ghosts Contest/Sponsored by Carolyn & Jack