Long Unfastening Poems
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I walked by the old cafe on Rue De Sienne and heard an angel playing harp
a cherub an ethereal mome bewitching me and playing softly with my heart
she wore a halo made of gold, a soul that laddered up beyond the tarp
and as the fluent clouds rain-teared upon her alabaster tunic.... Art !
Each star a studded light inside her angel eyes of blue. Each note
commemorating, unfastening, abducting, a copious symphony of one
The buckling breeze became her muse I, a kite released in far remote
a Mystic with no malice in sight stringing up the moon and jealous sun.
June 20, 2018
Chasing Rainbows
I've never believed in chasing rainbows.
How would I find the end of one of those?
Where do they begin? Where do they close?
I never have learned where one quickly goes.
It's as elusive as a night without sleeping,
Or wasted tears over lost love's weeping.
A love no longer held in safe keeping,
Caused a pain in me that was deepening.
I couldn't climb the mountain, though I tried.
I had to reach the summit before I died.
After my teardrops had all been dried
I found the courage to say goodbye.
Climbing my way up was no easy task.
I knew the answers to questions unasked.
No guiding light in which I could bask.
I couldn't live my life while wearing a mask.
I'd been living in subtle shades of gray.
Love faded like rainbows that never stay.
I stumbled and fell in so many ways.
I was lost within an inescapable maze.
Life is not a game played without care.
A cloak to discard when too warm to wear.
It shouldn't be filled with grief and despair,
And never treated as a burden to bear.
I had many doubts as I was leaving,
But I had to end my sorrow and grieving.
And through it all I went on believing,
It was only himself he'd been deceiving.
I'm no longer haunted by the falling rain.
I freed my heart by unfastening the chains.
I frayed the ropes that caused me pain.
But terrible memories will forever remain.
I shouldn't hold on to them. I shouldn't cling,
Nor penned these words to give them wings.
But perhaps it's good to remember the sting
Of chasing rainbows and illusions of things.
~ April 2015 ~
When I read, gravity loosens its grip,
a small unfastening felt first in the ribs.
The page tilts the air, bending it around me
like a soft distortion in the fabric of breath.
Words behave as particles~
colliding, scattering, recombining in the quiet behind my eyes.
Characters arrive as changes in mass,
their presence altering the room’s center of pull.
Some make the world lighter;
others press gently on the sternum
as if adjusting the density of thought.
I feel them move through me
like currents slipping along an unseen axis.
Sentences stretch time~
not metaphorically, but with the slow elasticity
of something being warmed by attention.
Moments dilate; minutes contract;
the clock becomes a suggestion
rather than a law.
My pulse syncs to the story’s frequency,
a low hum of shifting energy
that travels through bone and breath.
The book becomes a field generator,
rewriting the physics of the room
until everything around me feels slightly untrue
and beautifully so.
By the final page, equilibrium returns~
but not the same one I began with.
When the book ends, the world doesn’t snap back.
It settles slowly, in its own uneven way,
as if the constants I rely on have shifted a little.
I move through the room with a changed center of balance,
still feeling the story’s pull inside me,
a private force that lingers long after the cover shuts.
A death I have carried since youth—
not the grave’s hush,
but the slow unfastening
of all that was false in me.
Each dawn, a small surrender:
the tongue bridled,
the anger banked,
the shadowed thought laid bare
before the Father of Lights.
I have walked with this inward dying
as one walks beside a stern companion,
learning its counsel—
that faith without its burial
is faith without breath.
For the world woos with crowns
that fade like grass in scorching wind,
but the soul grows only
where it lets go.
So I have lived with death
as with a discipline—
its quiet blade
paring away the double mind,
till what remains can stand upright
and call itself whole.
If this, then, was my long death,
blessed be the One
who taught me to lose myself,
that I might finally live.
life knobby knotty
does not run smooth
but tangled in thorns, weeds-
winding twisting curvy-
complication confusion
perplexity on enmity
always to confront
with confidence and courage
accepting life as challenge
not always uneven
all along life does not show
dark charcoal night-
bright full moon also illumines path -
sometimes you can untie knots
though mostly get chained in shackle
yet not to give up
but to rise above
having patience to win
unfastening
unleashing
knobby knotty
life
I'm not one to believe in chasing rainbows.
As quickly as their colors show,
they fade and suddenly disappear.
They're as elusive as a night without sleep,
and a cause for weeping over lost love.
I'd been living life in solemn shades of gray,
and got lost inside an inescapable maze
filled with grief and despair, a burden to bear.
Through the years I desperately held on to hope
and had many doubts about what I should do
until I realized it was both of us, he was deceiving.
There's nothing left of us, no reason to stay.
He did with our marriage what was his will.
I knew it was time to leave and say farewell
but first there was something I had to do.
I collected the mementos I'd been keeping
and searched for a large carboard box.
Into it I placed things that once were special...
pictures, anniversary cards, my wedding rings.
The important keepsakes I used to treasure,
Now the sight of them filled me with angst.
I should throw this stuff in the trash and be done...
watch it all burn in flames until it's ash.
I felt the need to say goodbye but not in person
so, I wrote the thoughts that were in my heart
and taped the note on the top of the box.
He would read about the dreams he'd killed
and how skilled he'd been at planting the seeds
that he forgot to nurture until they withered.
I wrote...
"In this box are keepsakes from our marriage.
I'm walking away but decided the box will stay.
I've no need of reminders of what we once had,
insignificant remnants of the life we'd shared.
I'm freeing my heart by unfastening the chains
and stopped chasing the elusive rainbow...
the one where I thought someday I'd find you.
The box is yours to keep or to trash...
Do with this what you will; I no longer care
for I've given myself wings to fly."
Porky Pig plastic bank, streaked with tears
Offered at my parent's bedside as they quarrel
over money scarce like the scent of angels
Bickering exhaustion
that steals the dark's stillness.
______________________________
7am Saturday morning cartoons
incentive to rise and spy Bugs Bunny
a trickster, brash, cocky
pulling me into rabbit hole hijinks
Elmer Fudd befuddled - Daffy Duck diddler
Road Runner renegade, as Wile E. Coyote flattened
explosive pursuits
surreal mirth
Jarring clang of animation - smack down liberated
from the blare of discontent
Saturday morning cartoons, Looney capers,
sketching my childhood fantasy
in flannel pajamas comfort
For a TV box, within my reach, magical getaway
vortex of forgetting
Cartoons of hilarity
washing my sealed world in whimsy
unfastening laces of grit
thriving like the history carried within us
robbed, from a child's bank of remembering.
Poem revised: January 27, 2021
He, a seeker after Truth, set out
on an audacious journey
to see his old master
with a handful of blooms
he paused before the open door.
from deep meditation
the squatted figure, looked up.
in a trance, he saw the silhouette of a man.
on gazing intent, emerged distinct
his former disciple, left long ago
seeing his hands laden with flowers,
the master smiled a recognizing smile.
in close surveillance, the penetrating eyes
gauged him through and through.
the master’s pursed lips opened ajar.
from him, arose a single word-
‘’ Drop”
gentle but firm was its timbre.
he dropped the flowers, one by one.
in sterner voice, the master said,
‘’ Drop”
all at once, he let the remaining blooms
go off his clasp
and down they fell around his feet.
folding empty hands, he stood,
waiting for the master’s behest
after an eerie silence,
once more came the hefty command--
‘’ Drop”
stupified, the disciple queried-
‘’ what more should I drop? “
eyes emitted sparks!
‘’ not the flowers, but your ego”-
instant was his reply.
a spear stuck deep into his self.
as by a whirl wind, his body tottered.
he felt a deep twirl inside.
unfastening the hinges
of the imperious shutters,
a boulder rolled down,
dropping to the ground with a thud.
back home, the disciple gleefully walked,
the clogged fog clearing from his head
ego shorn, here now reborn
in a state of divine transcendence
feeling as weightless as a feather
~Placed First~
8. Jan. 2022
This or That.Vol.9. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
~Placed Fifth~
In 'Ego Shorn, Here Now Reborn' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by-Unseeking Seeker
Unfastening clusters shining
one treasure in the mind
planted with seed of joy
you're the life within this garden
Sunlight of you absorbs into my being
petals blushing lips of truth gently whispers
Blowing in the wind beautiful flowering leaves
a warmly misting vision colors beauty in your eyes
A single flower leans into the waterfall
pulling me down under
delicately broken in a gentle silence rustling
when the cherry tree opens its blossoms
Embracing feelings in the merest touch electric
holding hands wishing in the sweetest moment forever linger
Dream you sing with the songbirds
amongst the angels chants your harmony a blessing
Sweet scent of summer hawthorn blossoms
you take me away into another world sailing on your tide
A co write by Maria Mc Laughlin and Liam Mc Daid