Long Veiling Poems
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Born to take unknown and uncertain journey through life that I don’t know if I live at free will or somebody has designed but I travel along the road I make or someone makes for me, see many suns rise and set and many storms blow and go until the time time would disown me. On the way to the destination that remains shrouded in uncertainty veiling the past and in the journey with the companions who soon become teeming aliens I forget where I came from. The roots have disappeared and I traverse life in confusion, unanchored and unrecognized, and not even knowing where the abode of peace is. In introspection I discover you within and ask you this in the sound of silence.
Drifted long searching
Lost in faceless crowd swarming
Will you take me home?
July 26. 2017
NA poetry contest
Sponsor: Ink Empress
3rd Place.
The beauty you see in me is a reflection of you ~ Rumi
To me, you were
my youth.
The remainder of my childhood dreams,
the obscure smiles of benign warmth
the gentle whispers to a tear so meek
the flower bed veiling a breathing corpse.
And I had seen cruel strife
Trees of shade being cut off
Sipping the blues drained of life,
I bore the scars of alabaster loss.
And I was told miracles exist
but people who get them don’t prevail
you lifted me so, I insist
painted my days, thawed my scalding maze
Stringent change left my cries muffled
I was just running, regretting the passing days
But you changed how I saw the world
let me pause, if not stop my ways
You made the skies live
you gave rain meaning.
You made winds breathe
you gave me meaning.
And I-
Loved.
boatman on the lonely boat
rowing east to west
with the rising sun to setting down
folk-songs play a Cupid game
in the alone heart
an abode of naughtiness
builds a palace to the far
mountain of darkness
moonlight there are
under the veiling of new nymph bride
rhythm of mind river
hails the graceful virgin night
twilight praying
in the peace and war of lusty life
Vesper comes to pour
the petals of night jasmine
starfish walking
on the footless pebbles footprints
girdle ornament sounding
with the narcotic senses
inebriated the around
none there is
just whispering of love
the whole night
the next dawn sun
discovers the two
in the court of intimated love
-08/01/2020 CTG, BDT
The press was driving Humpty Dumpty mad,
thinking about the bad fake news.
He'd debated whether to venture into the press room
and finally decided, to walk through the enchanted garden.
Looking upwards taking his steps for granted,
he fell, whirling, falling, falling down a rabbit hole.
With his magic ability to shift,
Humpty Dumpty hid in the shadows veiling himself.
His lodestone attraction to snooping got him caught on a spider's web.
A troop of fire ants came marching in with pikes in hands.
He twisted, wiggled, and squirmed.
What a mess he'd gotten himself into.
A woman pushed her way through the throng of fire ants
trying to get to the victim stuck in the web.
Humpty Dumpty found her exquisite,
having long waves of dark ebony hair
that fell around her shoulders and down her back.
She was clad in all black from her high heels
to her sheer blouse that molded her breast.
Humpty Dumpty knew he was doomed,
even his magic couldn't get him out of this.
The queen gave the order to her children to aim and throw
their pikes.
Poor Humpty Dumpty was dinner!
6/29/2018
Poetry Contest: The mystery of Humpty Dumpty
Sponsored By: Faraz Ajmal
tired from crawling
no desire to walk - bless me with wings to fly
in the midst of melancholic melodies of rain
through monotonous tones of charcoal clouds
take me to a place where eagles soar
free me from those who preach in shrouds
ascending above snow drenched Himalayan cliffs
far from cultural vultures preying on my mind
take me to a place where eagles soar
before sleeping volcanoes, veiling lava unwind
through soundless valleys of wasted emotions
where grave yards have become soulless meadows
take me to a place where eagles soar
to tune in with music - bubbling springs compose
away from seagulls too far from the shore
gliding through Iguazu waterfalls of regret
take me to a place where eagles soar
before my feathers become too wet
flowing from the Nile towards the Black sea
surfing over ripples of wanderlust waves
take me to a place where eagles soar
carrying me to a province our heart craves
against storms where adversity engraves wounds
towards the light where rays of sunshine reflect in golden hues
take me to a place where eagles soar
where poetry meets the alchemy of its muse
among coral lanterns floating in lilac skies
beyond the serene silence of the moon
take me to a place where eagles soar
before a skyline of stars are gone too soon
towards the aroma of my beloved's garden
where my enlightened dahlia still delight
take me to a place where eagles soar
where angels recite poetic rhymes to kiss you goodnight
resting upon ancient trees full of verdant leaves
recalling childhood dreams and that forgotten playground
take me to a place where eagles soar
creating a nest in an abode we can call our hometown
and if I could fly.... would you soar with me?
—The Ancient Address—
All suddenly creation lost its tongue,
and streams, repudiating law, climbed high
toward hills whose ancient thirst had long been sung,
whilst astral fires came trembling from the sky
to rest within my hands; the clouds hung down,
their inverted bosoms veiling earth;
the trees relinquished green, and every crown
assumed strange hues no mortal bloom had birthed.
The oceans kindled with an inward flame,
and fishes, burning, breached the firmament,
their scales inscribing stars no chart could name,
whilst distances drew breath where none was meant;
the road remembered feet not yet made flesh—
yet thou didst come, and being knew thy breath.
Purple Butterflies and Raindrops on Roses
Open my eyes. See the window covered in tiny beads of wet. Hear the raindrops on roses that line the building. That isn't right. Why can I hear the soft beating of rain? Smell sulfur and smoke and ozone? I turn my head.
Soft, cotton leggings of pink and white, hug chubby, adolescent knees tight.
A long tailed pale pink shirt with white ruffles on the neck line, hem, and arms, Picturing Sponge Bob Square pants and his BFF Patrick Star.
Tiny white sandals with pink plastic flowers.
Purple butterfly clips hanging onto blonde pigtails on each side of her head. Kindergarten lunch hour.
It looks as if the butterflies are struggling to lift her up by her blonde curls to fly her far away.
Bright sky blue eyes…eye? Eye.
Empty orb but for the black blood, framed by stark white bone instead of long, flirting lashes.
Like a candle crying tears of wax,dripping red,
Veiling pale cheeks and freckles. I turn my head.
Raindrops now streaming down the window, each one rushing toward something…frantic, panic. Wash it away! Wash it away! Wash it away!
Soft, cotton leggings of pink and white, hug chubby, adolescent knees…
that will never again kneel by a bedside to pray.
Red polka dots on white sandals, one covered in congealing Salisbury steak gravy and spilled milk.
If only her purple butterflies had flown her away from school today… taken her to the fairies to sing and play.
A high pitched tone, raindrops now slowly, plop…plop…or is that blood dripping?
The ceasing rain and silence merge.
The stillness after gun fire is the loudest noise ever heard.
O to be in England
in the early days of spring
when the golden daffodils
steal the heart and make it sing.
Roaming the Lake District
far away from urban noise,
by cascading waterfalls
enamoured of nature’s voice.
Up the craggy mountains
or on hills in shades of green,
watch the sun as down it slides
veiling tarns with sanguine sheen.
O to be there with you
holding hands in amber light
basked in aural twilight field;
daylight melting into night.
Fireflies or fairies
My mind cannot well discern.
Feelings surge within my soul,
Nature sighs with me and yearns.
Time and breath both bated
as your lips touch mine with bliss;
stars aflutter, for they know
Love is born with your sweet kiss.
-------------------------------------
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
REJOICED AND GLAD
Awakened naturally—no need to go
to the bathroom—I peeked through
the blinds of the bedroom window,
and there it was: had I been dreaming, or
was this all just a glorious morning awakening?
The tall, thin tree branches with greening leaves,
rhythmically swayed and dangled in the air—the
electric wires hanging and swinging lowly before
them—as if waves flowing toward some distant shore;
and eastward were likewise leafless trees:-
Looking down and out onto the green
terrestrial shores, can be seen bushy flora
dancing to a Ska-Raggae-like beat, coming
from the rhythmic flowing wind spreading
an amazing scenic view of the time in space
between dying winter and the resurrection
of the spring’s coming joy, and her coming
hopes—springing towards ascension:-
Gradually, an interlude of calmness
rolled in, and a few rhythmic sky tears began
to splash onto the outside bedroom window seal,
fogging the pane. I closed the blinds, rolled over
and closed my eyes; when I awoke again, I got up
and went out onto the wet patio where it all
became apparent that it was not a dream but
rather, a blessed, beautiful, beaming God sent day.
Suddenly, like falling shooting stars across the sky,
beautiful rain-like mist began rhythmically
flowing down upon the terrestrial green canvas;
quickly disappearing, leaving dew-like reflections
sparkling the green grass; but after only a few minutes,
these ceased to fall; gone were the wind and the
dark veiling clouds; liberating the brightness of
God’s raised sun.
Once again, how amazingly mind-blowing
is the seasonal timing between dying winter,
newborn spring, wet grass and another beautiful
sunshine day perpendicular to the earth with God.
Lonely Streets
Lonely streets
litter my mind.
Dim yellow street lights
casting eerie shadows
shuffle of unseen feet
demands attention
“steady….wait for it”
louder….closer…
passing…..fading….
thunder pounds
within the chest
heartbeats response
“fight or flight”.
City streets
acrid with the stench
of too many
too close,
cluttered
by the drifting,
windblown debris
of life’s indifference
to living.
Alleyways
hiding the growl
of predators,
seeking a meal
or more.
Windows
hiding secrets
curtains
veiling sins
music
drowning out
hard tears.
Lonely streets
litter my mind.
©John G. Lawless
5/2/2017