Long Untarnished Poems
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The desiccated book feels lighter than I remember,
its leather cover softer,
the seventeenth century binding more fragile.
The inside cover reveals a name,
written with sharpened quill and calligraphic skill,
capital letters flaring in black ink.
To add my name would desecrate.
This can never be mine,
I'm just the steward for a generation.
In spite of Atlantic travel on wooden ship,
and long seasons of silence,
its content remains unweakened.
Aging pages bend with ease,
inviting eyes to sup and linger,
taste the unfamiliar,
Connect with someone never met,
bond to the one speaking
to an uncertain future.
His words make their impression,
influence feelings, change opinions,
affect another beyond the grave.
Although its body slowly tatters,
some pages soiled and torn,
the untarnished message awaits the next protector.
I hope this letter finds you in a quiet moment,
for I fear it carries the weight of my own heart laid bare. Forgive me, for I have let you down.
You were there when I faltered, your hand clasping mine as we wandered among the Christmas trees, their twinkling lights mirroring the colors of your soul.
I see those colors still—vivid, unyielding, alive.
You have always sought to live within that vibrant glow, and I have long admired it from afar, wishing I could join you there.
Since childhood, I have wanted to hold your hand, to walk the same paths and share the same dreams.
Yet life, with its unrelenting tides, pulled us apart—you one way, I another.
The sky remains blue, the night eternal in its scatter of stars, but I cannot look at them without thinking of Nathan, and the depth of a mother’s love for her only son.
There are oceans between us, waves of loss and longing, yet I urge you not to be ashamed of what was.
Love, as fleeting and profound as poetry, is never in vain.
In two days, I have thought of you more than I have allowed myself in years.
Your laughter, your pain, your resilience—it all lingers like a melody half-remembered.
I feel your sorrow as if it were my own, though mine has become a ghost, haunting the corridors of regret as the years slip by.
But in those fleeting days, there was happiness, wasn’t there? A spark of something pure and untarnished.
Hold on to that, Theresa, for love, though ephemeral, is the truest gift we can give each other.
Yours always,
James McLain
The air is thick and sweet with the promise of rain
I long to abandon my thoughts into its depths
Flooding my senses with hope
And forgotten memories of the past …
The pictures are long faded from my mind
But that warm sense of joy…
Yes, it still lingers untarnished
Filling me with the wander of youth,
Of innocence and a purity only seen in the eyes of babes
Bits of memories flick past
Played out like an old movie projected on a wall
I can almost hear the ever click-clicking of the rolling film
‘This is your life’, whispers my thoughts
And still I feel warm joy, lying just under my skin
A slow smile reaches my lips at the sheer wander
That there is still soo much more yet to come
I am soo grateful …
So blessed …
Life is beautiful
13.06.2021
"I filled the night's chalice with knots of desire..."
For you have set my untarnished heart on fire
"I learned how to live unkissed, until" we met
Now, we dance all night long, a romance duet
"The moon is an honest Manipulator"
Gives us away with its light, like a traitor
"It's raining roses and love riots" tonight
Together, we make an enviable sight
I'm the passionate pulse that beats in your veins
Wholly yours to explore, 'coz you hold my reins
The midnight stars groove to the rhythm of our souls
We are in a place where amour, us controls
Let's share our ardency with milky moonbeams
And with the sleeping world, our soft stardust dreams
Hands joined, lives intertwined, we will never part
For you and I, we live in each other's hearts...
I look down the hill and see the plague in the valley
Ravaging farmer, field and crop alike
Where the bundles are stored and young children are carried
Every motion they take, they go farther from light
All that can help them is the plow of compassion
It too has a memory, it too can yield
May it help them cross rivers of poisonous passion
May its fair irrigation revive every field
I look in the news for one sign of improvement
A chance that conditions have stabilized
The faithful and hopeful are all-too-human
They seed their land to adapt and survive
All that can help them is the plow of compassion
It too has a memory, it too can yield
May it help them cross rivers of poisonous passion
May its fair irrigation revive every field
I check in on the children before my own nightly struggle
Their faces untarnished by the slightest corruption
What weapons have I to protect them from trouble?
What lessons have I to teach them life’s repercussions?
All that can help them is the plow of compassion
It too has a memory, it too can yield
May it help them cross rivers of poisonous passion
May its fair irrigation revive every field.
ThE BaLaNcE
Your eyes brighten boulevard ho-hum
Sweet music spreads beyond yonder valleys
Flees all pain when beside you darling chum
Its only love that your good heart carries
Treasure trove of gentleness pleasing all
Sprinkle happy smiles and pleasant surprise
Mannequin of joy in spring and in fall
Untarnished charm while the ocean dries
Plumes of hate fly everywhere in air
Cosmos delivers you gullible tag
Only love in this bad world isn’t fair
Hate pushes love to hoist its glorious flag
Penchant for love grace the infinite sea
Its nectar be served to well-deserved bee!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak, 2016
An impossible love, too gentle to touch
A night-blossoming jewel, a rose-golden blush
A yearning surpassing the passions of man
A chasm of longing too deadly to span
Songs made of laughter, poems of tears
An echo remaining from previous years
Whispering fables to satisfy dreams
Unraveling slowly the world at its seams
Brilliant dust from a butterfly’s wings
Transcendent and lovely, dawn’s evening
A language forgotten and rusted by time
Scars crossing a sky untarnished by grime
Hope is the sunrise, a frantic race eastward
Spinning to a sunset, a plea sent skyward
Night billows out, a thunderhead over us
I am abandoned with fictions of what almost was
Is Donald Trump a saint or a sinner?
This question hangs
in bars and in corridors of power
This man, Trump, is habitually torn to shreds, by political editors representing the opposition, while some
people point out the country was in good shape under
Trump's leadership and middle America applauds
Donald, let's see him as a golf-playing human is criticized for his tie, which appears too long, he is also obese, he was but is not obese anymore.
The daftest accusation is that Donald doesn't drink, which should be an example for all politicians, did they think a Donald- drunk, like Yeltsin but funnier.
When the intellectual class and the Washington elite are
up in arms over our Donald, it is time to ask what the ordinary workers and the small shopkeepers think about
him; to the elite group( those who drink French red wine for lunch) surprise Donald, the man, who is admired.
Yes, the people of middle America, the flyover states
who supply the army with soldiers to wars called to free
the local of the wrong tyrant, who will be replaced with one they say is a true friend of democracy
They are the people badly informed by the mass media
endlessly lied to; Donald enters and tells his audience the untarnished truth, and the wind of hope sweeps over
Minnesota, Idaho, Indiana, and Kansas, at last, a man who cuts through the waddle in Washington and cuts to the chase. They are the people Hilary Clinton, called
the deplorable, well, they are back and bit her ****.
I don't think Donald Trump will win, the black cabal of Washington will see to that.
If something good has to come out of this sorry saga it must be not to take people for granted.
gallant knight on snow white charger
rides to fame and noble deeds
finds some roads go on forever
hero whom nobody needs.
helm is shining, sword belt buckled
bears a straight untarnished lance
rides across a hero's desert
doesn't get a second glance.
'cross the land dark forces triumph
do not waste time on the fight
never muster for the conflict
have no need to prove who's right
there's no battle good and proper
there's no noble war to win
grey stores open up for business
wisdom watches fate's coin spin.
good marches under bright white banners
defends the weak, lifts up the poor
the devil only moves for profit
not to risk that in a war
traders move across dimensions
lovers meet in trysted time
riddles twist the mind's eye vision
find romance in mundane grime
plots remain in dusty novels
wordbound fast their stories hold
do not let their charges wander
nor their tales for real unfold.
white meets black in chessboard logic
moves in clearly set out ways
black meets white and moves conversely
rules bind both in see-saw plays
manichean filters shelter
grand chessmasters in their play
do not face the moving shadows
or checkmate the king in grey.
A room filled with sadness
Standing alone in a room filled with sadness
Photograph smiles in a frame on the shelf
Ashtrays are filled with a death wish still breathing
Lighting another in spite of myself
A hand full of pills and a glass of Jack Daniels
The tube shows a movie, Bogart and Bacall
Through heavy eyes, I am still thinking of you
Only the floor there to meet as I fall
When on the door comes a knock unexpected
Shattering plans that I must put on hold
Closing one eye as I look through the peep hole
A shadowy figure is there in the cold
Twisting the lock and then turning the handle
Chilled is the blast that runs into my face
There I find death with his sickle untarnished
Needless to say my sad heart starts to race
“What are you doing, you can’t be that stupid
It’s not your time for this world to depart
Just for some girl who has left you here crying
Wanting to die for a damn broken heart”
I stopped and I thought as I heard this thing speaking
Then shoved my finger inside of its chest
“I’ll do as I please you know not what you’re saying
It’s my time to go and I think it is best”
“God what a loser, oh wait, I meant Satan
Fine, suit your self, we’ve a place you can lie
Swallow those pills but I’ll take that Jack Daniels
I will get thirsty while watching you die”
I thought of us and what I would be leaving
How much it hurt you had found someone new
Then of my heart that was shattered in pieces
The sound of your voice when you shouted, “we’re through”
That you are happy with some other poet
How every scar of my life has now bled
Why would I want to give you satisfaction
Knowing you’d smile when you heard I was dead
Then like a bolt or a light bulb exploding
Came a decision as clear as a bell
I’ll stick around in this room filled with sadness
It’s got to be worse than that place he calls hell
This is one of two poems I have written for John Hamilton’s Lost Love poetry contest, but haven’t decided which I will enter. I will post the other in a little while. : )