Long Unremitting Poems
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A bad winter
the worst since the last one.
The camp had lost its children and horses
now the owl sees her last step.
Separated, not expelled in disgrace,
but her tribe disenthralled,
deprived of care
by deaths unremitting cull.
She, the last to stumble away
from the brow-beaten village
knowing there were no more paths
for her in this bleak land.
Only the moon was not cruel,
its wane glow
lit her up like its own shadow
in the yowling dark.
Now only the owl does not hunt her.
She knows that if she ever saw herself,
so weary and close to the bone,
she would think of herself as prey,
She would let fly one last arrow
for a piercing end, and
let the owl see what it may.
Not one invitation
No need to ask for an explanation
One more night of chagrin
Heart mimics violin
Should by now have thick skin
But no, still stung by intimidation
It’s all some harsh mistake
Deeply maims but only while I’m awake
No one to understand
Bullying wonderland
While I slide in quicksand
And dread so inevitable daybreak
I gladly welcome rain
That’s when bitter tears I need not retain
I, for courage, inhale
Wish time would just derail
Youth no such fairy tale
Unremitting bouts shed sadness and pain
Assailants rude and crude
What I would give for just an interlude
I’d love a hideaway
Dare dream a better way
Some day without foul play
Hang on, truly believe with certitude
AP: 2nd place 2020, 3rd place 2020
Submitted for contest RHYME ME A POEM sponsored by BROKEN WINGS - January 2, 2018 - RANKED 3RD
The stones slipped through the great fingertips of God
Each ligure staked its existence on the four corners of the universe
The quadrivial region began to spin and pull into a sphere
And pathways revealed their footholds
The fourth ligure bravely landed in the midst of history
So that one day the future settlement of the second
Would be moved by the last—by the past
Suffering much it stayed
Manifesting in incandescent words
Thrusting evanescence upon the weak
Selfless, it's sorrow would move the merriest
Would move the unmovable
The third lies in the profound valley of mystical guardians
Star-recruited, they are the very light above the canvas of gray
They embrace the stone—are inspired by the stone
The very reflection of their creator was evident
Upon their unremitting glimmers
Unafraid to stare the others down
Motivated and construed by the glower of death
Eyes move fixedly beyond the simple vast
The second ligure rested upon the shoulders of invisible martyrs
The hopeful power it planted on the sufferers was unbelievable
For spectators used their disbelief to cover their ever-placed envy
They never were part of the battle—they merely watched
Always seeing truth
But they never quite absorbed
Like a rock hitting the water
The inevitable fate was to fly and sink
The first of the ligures settled in the very reservoir of Satan himself
Even the very heart of the devil is marked
Though rebellion embarked
The cold stone landed upon his naked bosom
He despaired not to the pericopal truth the gods had bestowed upon him
He merely despised it
But wished not to lose it
For such a stone to fall upon that dark corner—he felt pride for the gracious wound
In truth, there are twelve ligures of stone
And four were dispersed, dropped into the universe
The last eight the great Eternal wears upon his breastplate
And only He can re-move these ligures
-July 20, 2013-
-For Shadow Himilton's Any Subject Contest-
-Thanks for the inspiration-
WHEN RELIGION BECOMES
YOUR OPIUM
When religion becomes your
opium you slip into icy pre-dawn
to mosque then lie in fever flu
at dusk as bilal calls again
for you to stumble towards
beckoning forefinger guilt
chalices cringing crying
You chant morning to night
wrapped in dirty linen blights
mantras channelled centuries
ago resin rosary threadbare
kitabs torn, curtains undrawn
biscuits crumbled alongside
salted slippers prayer coats
ghostly watch blustery blinkers
Your heart remains judgement
tight with rusty mental railway
lines unbuckled only to fight
canaries flown from stilted
cages wire worn walls
cracking ceilings catalysing
You speak in unremitting
riddles try not to scream
at dismal doors knitted beard
knotted knives of seamen
gambles enticing lovers of
yesteryear who remain
embedded in elbow joints
as you catch rain in
buckets of shame
You refuse to let in visions
of New Earth as this opium
mix targets rude roaring fire
planets in unrelenting fear
colour remains brown black
tinges of diseased blood
slowly trickle teary
tattered trousers torn
This drug is an only taste
angels fly past in haste
fezzes stuck on mothy mat
knows no soapy skyline sighs
underpinned by judgement
made in desert ritual fears
God knows no such forlorn
framed jibbas or jibe jihads
Opium can open too
tunnels into tortoiseshell
havens of heather or healing
hearths when heart is given
a hexagon hello helix
headwaters can heady rush
or opium can merely remain
the sniffing powder in
your box
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2016
They say that love is blind,
But my love for you isn't:
My heart is with my mind,
My soul is with my reason.
I know why I love you,
And it's completely real:
And unified and true:
I think it, and I feel it:
I love you for your heart,
Your sweetness and compassion,
I love you since you're smart
And filled with joy and passion,
I love you for your warmth
And excellence and wisdom;
For lights that through you course
In every time and season -
For beauty that you are
Both outside and inside,
Because you are a star
In nature and in mindset -
I love you for your will
To help, and for your honor:
For where you've gone and been
And came out all the stronger:
I love you for your grace
And for your dedication
To good deeds; your soft face
And glorious inspiration -
For your resplendent gifts
And what you're doing with them -
And all you are - it is
Completely true to reason:
I love you for your light
And unremitting kindness
All times of day and night -
No, my love is not mindless
I love you for I see
The wonder that you're truly
And from it comes to be
The passion reasoned fully:
My heart and mind are clear
And doubt they both cast out
And there is nothing here
That's blind or not thought out:
I love you with my mind
And heart and strength and spirit
No, my love is not blind -
It's unified: So feel it.
at first it was unbearable i must admit
i wanted to stay home, i told my mom i felt sick
i understand now why they say time heals
it does
kinda funny though, its healing what never was
the first few weeks i’d wake up and try to get out of bed
awakened from a slumber that was only induced to silence the sirens in my head
carefully watching my steps to avoid the shards of glass scattered across the floor
leftover pieces of my heart that you forgot to pick up, the heart you said was yours
our paintings, you left those too
embarrassingly enough, for my birthday all i wanted was a text from you
eventually things got easier though, or maybe i just got distracted by the bells and whistles of life’s orchestration
you’ve given me no closure yet endless confirmation
unremitting sobs and no one to talk to
everyone was sick of hearing of my suffering, it was awful
then the hurt started to leave, and arose the confusion
how could you pretend? how wasn’t it real? was it all an illusion?
was i just another girl to you? how could my everything be nothing to you?
silly little questions that i realized i’ll never find answers to
because i evidently don’t know your heart, i don’t even think you do
the confusion was cut short along with my livelihood when i was met with you know what
funny, it’s actually only you who knows what
do you know what?
don’t you care?
it doesn’t matter if you do anyways, evidently you lied when you said with you i could always share
now, i still see your face when i walk around my house
it scared me when i tried to remember the sound of your voice and it was faint as a mouse
yesterday i passed the photobooth we took those cute pictures in
the ones i had hanging on my wall
i took them down, but i still look at them everytime i have no one to call
i look and remember when i had you and for that i am grateful enough
i won’t lie and say i’m completely over it, because anyone could call my bluff
i am becoming empty now, i actually understand you more
things hurt less and i’m no longer frazzled when people walk out the door
i’m starting to get back to okay again, but its an ephemeral feeling
shortlived by the memories and remembrance
its mostly emptiness though
mostly nothing
just like you
i guess nothings been the same
not since you left
miasma of despair
motionless
matter-of-fact
in brooding silence
loneliness
a sense of isolation
so near
so intolerable
unremitting
a contant pressure
to conform
this unique challenge
to unblock
the creative urge
to free the muse
within
trapped frozen inert
run dry
lacking in confidence
impatient
awaiting inspiration
a trickle of anything
to hear to imagine
visualise
an unspoken intimacy
an eye perspective
a space to dream
the intimate unspoken
a flower of creativity
a moving image dedicated
to life
unique in a style
from this diary of existence
in this
dream
landscape
face aglow
raised to the sky
warmed through
recollecting thoughts
all senses open
an accustomed feeling
lingering awhile
unobtrusively
adjectives arise
in metaphor moments
illuming the process
organically
this concept
delivered as
a poem
on this
page
I wandered lonely as a cloud "
~William Wordsworth ~
Wandering lonely I am a lost soul
Drifting never settled down
Begin to think was never whole
Never complete so lost not found
Sadly was blind to simple fact
My thinking was not quite intact.
Aimless years wasting precious time
Time not well spent I do admit
Frittered away years 'twas a crime
Now I am feeling quite bereft
Was all my fault I do confess
is it too late to readdress?
Not anchored my spirit drifting
Around the yew trees, I linger
Amorphous thoughts unremitting
Yet, a sliver of hope lingers
As I humbly wait for redemption
Universe makes no exception.
Pixabay image by: Mazoka
Sometimes we see a glint of gold or red
emitted sudden as a warning through
the greening water of the old square tank outside,
an evanescent wink from just beneath
the awning of the lolling lily pad.
Within this viridescent bulk of water pushing
against the stark and square formality of fibreglass,
the teasing crimson twinkle
frees our eyes from what had become
the prison of their gaze in which they were held
unblinking by the flat rigidity
of unremitting quadrilateral form.
Once more a gleam of carmine charms our eyes
into the still, green patina of this exotic liquor –
another world, so far removed
from our dull logic of normality.
With the onset of advancing age, so I find,
A man grows weary of all mundane talk;
Occupies his every spare, idle thought
With that of the slow, reflective kind.
Regretful of many a squandered hour,
Turning his back on the squabbling nations,
Their woeful, self-serving deliberations,
Dreams wistfully of his own starlit tower.
Should he hopefully find that blessed stair,
Wound insides of the ancient, dim lit wall,
Where tread from unseen feet sometimes fall,
He could but elevate himself above his cares;
There, throwing his soul upon the night,
Lift his gaze upon a tumultuous crowding!
His thinning pate adorned with a crowning
From a far-flung, pale, distant light.
And if he was to fix his mind upon that point;
To that moment forcefully bring to bear,
With every ounce of fibre when stood there,
An unremitting will to somehow exploit,
That, which, the mystics so jealously guarded...
Then, perhaps, he might too ascend?
For, in all reality, at the very end,
All is thrown off...the very body discarded.
Therefore I will choose my own finality.
I give my remaining days to old worn steps
Enclosed in rock, a turret that silhouettes
Against an endless sky; and if it should be
That I find such hallowed battlements
Give aging legs the strength to slowly climb,
To praise the celestial and sublime,
When reaching up where my God frequents.
For though those stars seem out of reach,
Unattainable by grand, omnipotent design,
Nevertheless I am thusly to be inclined
To offer up a prayer and unto him beseech:-
"Immortal father who created mortal man,
Ye who sits above all earthly thrones,
Give unto me old tools and rubbled stones,
And I shall endeavour to do what I can...
To rebuild that abandoned, crumbled tower...
For, Lord, be it only by dreams men are
Truly empowered"!