Long Wandering(a) Poems
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In the quiet of solemn night's echoes,
I find myself wandering, a traveler without a sky,
Lost in the shadows of my own reflection,
A stranger looking back, unrecognized.
Your hand, a beacon in my stormy sea,
Keeps me away from an unknown world,
Where the air is heavy and the nights endless,
And my name whispers like a foreign song.
I am grateful, more than I can express,
For your love, strength, unwavering hand,
That keeps me on the edge of despair,
Taking wounds, taking stains for someone like me.
I know I am imperfect, my heart has stumbled,
Perhaps breaking yours along the way,
My words have cried where they should have smiled,
My strength, a flicker, where yours is a flame.
Yet, I beg you, remain as the lighthouse in my storm,
The hand that holds my trembling soul,
For without you, prayers turn to ash,
And my heart becomes a room without a window.
Please, stay, for you are the last light of my ocean,
The rhythm of my heartbeat, the echo of my voice,
Stay, for without you, the world would lose Abdo,
And my soul would be lost in the silence of the void.
So, I plead, stay, as the keeper of my hope,
For without you, my heart will never open again,
Please, stay, as the love that redeems my soul,
The light that guides me home.
when he spoke
words broke like glass between his teeth
14 minutes past 8PM 7 weeks after the red river
in his brain ran almost dry
he the acidic and sullen shadow of his youth
turned to me
(one side of his face a landslide of flesh
frozen into freefall
thus i won't mimic the inarticulate sound of it)
look after your mother
and my ten year old self nodding
wishing i were not there
then she who had married this man to protect her
plus one boychild from a condemning Catholic family
and a rabid priesthood
having thus become a widow at 37
being only 5 feet high in her pumps
also as slim as a whippet
turned to drink dying quickly of a gastric ulcer
never mind her failing liver
no wonder
i turned out more angular then an open razor
biting every hand that fed body and mind
thinking that same hand would one day turn against me
as it usually did
but i unable to stop my breakneck race to personal destruction
until poetry found me wandering a bitter earth
it entering my soul one turbulent night wailing like
a hungry infant which i fed and carried for years
not knowing i needed it much more than it needed me
and so
we ate broken glass together until
words bled into red flowers floating upon a river
that flowed through my brain
I Wear Your Handwriting
I don’t need to open the letter,
I need the quiet
Light touch
You standing behind me, but
This is a very faded memory.
I don’t need to open the letter,
Because I know that the words inside
Will be a strange poem
A poem about knowing and awareness
About behavior.
I waited a day to open the letter,
I read it once and folded it -
Put it back in the envelope, not ready to try to understand.
The chances of a man ever touching me again
With love, the kind where the man
Would write me a poem and say
Yes, I take you back
The divorce was a phase,
A a ten year wormhole to this place now: 2026,
Where I love you even more than all the decades before.
The poem in the letter says:
I love you. Let's share our houses!
No, it doesn’t!
This is what the letter really says:
It quotes G.I. Joe and says,
“Knowing is half the battle. Now you know.”
But you don’t say what you know
Or what I should know.
I wear your handwriting,
I have all the letters and cards you’ve given to me since 1982,
I wear your handwriting, because that is all there is now,
You’re gone, even though you are still alive.
I will always have your letters, and
No matter where I go in the future without you,
Always wandering, a lost fool,
There will never be a day in my life that I don’t wear your handwriting
As you are the only person who has ever loved me.
Well, in the beginning I actually did not have a name
I was very young, not a kitten but not very old
and missed my mom so much
was scared of the cars, was hungry and lost
I was wandering a street crying and looking for her
night came and I hid under a bush
in the morning I crawled out and was crying
a lady approached and picked me up
I twisted this way and that trying to get away
but she was strong
she took me to her house and gave me food
I was so afraid but so hungry
and I heard her say . . . we cannot keep it
the next thing I know she put me in a box
and we were moving (in a car)
she took me to a home, knock, knock
Inside the box was opened and I saw a girl
she had long hair and kind eyes
and she smoothed my fur and said I was pretty
do you want her ... YES, of course
so I had a home now ....
a wonderful home full of love and cat toys
just for me
and she gives me treats and good food
I have a new mom and I love her so much
she gave me the name Bella and I like it
when I am scared . . .
I run under her bed and she said that is okay
she gave me a soft, fuzzy bed that I knead
and drool on (that makes her laugh)
I wait for her at the door and meow loudly
cuddle up when we watch TV
and snuggle when we go to bed
life is good
Ahhh… what choice do I have?
Oblivion… so overrated, as so many poets
use this word for centuries…..
Oasis… nice feel to it, but life is not an oasis.
Odyssey then… for life is an odyssey.
Life is a long wandering, a long journey.
As for me, my life is a series of experiences
that gave me knowledge, understanding,
not only of human emotions, behaviors.
It opened me to perceive and discern why
people act the way they do because of their
cultures, family dynamics and characteristics.
My own odyssey gave me the strength to
know me, my strengths and imperfections.
It gave me courage to overcome adversities
and learn from them; accept my failures and
be accountable; use my strength to work on
weaknesses and imperfections; embrace me
and be comfortable in my own skin and most
of all be thankful, be content and be whole.
The End.
The average human being has a lifespan from 72 to 80 years,
In between those years it’s possible that you spent most of it entangled in own fears.
When asked how lived, most people will project their lifespan between those years based on wealth, relationships, achievements and many more ,
While some may not even make an effort and say their life was a bore,
A few would say “there wasn’t much to look forward to as they were mostly poor”,
The rich would say “money is the way, as it can open any door”
As humans we’re always evolving, and each experience or encounter forms our inner man,
On discovering who we are, we are now ready to create a formidable plan,
That is the plan that will guide us till we reach our death bed,
This plan includes our personal values, beliefs and type of people we choose to call a friend.
And my favorite thing about humans isn’t just our diversity,
But also the beauty in our similarity.
They always say “Life is too short”.
But has anyone ever thought that maybe life isn’t too short ?,
We often characterize that quote by the fact that something bad may happen,
So much can happen in such little time be it good or bad.
In 30 seconds someone can get married,
In that same 30 seconds someone can also prepare to get buried.
The truth is, we’re all just entities wandering a vast space,
Constantly wondering where we came from with no trace,
What you do with your life between 0 to 80 is in your hands and yours alone,
When the time comes, no one is gonna remember the highlight of your skin tone,
So with this I write to you to live your life as you please,
And try and maintain your upmost steeze.
He welds and melts, pours and molds
In his "Conversations with My Soul"
He smooths the rough steel of syllables
Into a "Portrait" graced by his "Play on Words"
Unrolling "Scenes from a Countryside" to "That Starry Night"
Whether "October Skies" or "In November" "Moonlight"
So, "If Ever I Don't Know"
which way my adjectives should go
when wandering "A Starry Galaxy"
I follow the "Sinuous Melody"
To cross the river and climb the boulder
While tapping "Gently on the Shoulder"
He finds summer in "A Piece of Winter"
As a friend, brother and mentor
He is welcoming, and when reading your poem
His comments are "To You Alone"
And if you come to say
"I Needed Wings Today"
He will weave lines in a "Distinct Ballet"
As if "It Came Upon a Prophecy"
And not from some stifled "Academy"
Dear John, please continue to "Compose"
Even when "Getting Old is Getting Old"
Without your gift
We are "Too Soon Bereft"
The "Verbal Miracles" you perform
Show how "All of Life is a Poem"
You have been my friend
my artistry sibling,
"And I Am Grateful".
12/20/23
"When they tell my story I want them to say one
thing: she overcame everything and kept going."
Quote by - The Ravenwolf (FB)
I have lived a thousand life's in my soul,
shape shifting through earth time and planets;
and sometimes things come to me that I hate.
Is it a regression into a past life?
Did it happen in this earthly life?
I want to tear out the page,
of that regression or memory in my journey;
rip it up and burn it until it is ashes . . .
throw the charred remains into crashing ocean waves,
watch them float away and pray they sink;
never to return.
But, in the end they return to me for some reason,
oh, the map of my existence has tangled deep layers;
as I shape shift through time and space.
Sometimes I am in a valley of loss,
journeying through death, grief, tears;
at times, I am stuck in sticky swamps of ooze,
or perhaps I am walking in a barren desert exhausted.
I have found myself in a frozen land on another plant,
lost in the ghost lands of previous life's,
or wandering a field of poppies somewhere;
beside a raging river.
My soul keeps tumbling and shape shifting over and over,
I love places with a resting tree and tranquil lake;
but more often I am taken to broken dreams,
storms, loss and regret always finds me.
At times my journey is of romance and love,
I recall a life where I am standing on a ship with a man;
we are kissing, caressing as the ship sinks,
we go under and I am carried away by waves.
I find myself on a rocky shore but he is gone,
I have never stopped searching.
I cannot stand poetic forms
I like them less than winter storms
they force me into ancient norms
of rhyming words in angry swarms
for I was frightened by Haiku
in darkened rooms -- I cried --- boo hoo.
Then came the metronomic tick
sez I: “what is this evil trick?”
now I must measure every rhyme
with tapping stick of metered time
I cannot…. will not, …..won’t ….I say
be forced inside the lines…..to stay.
For I shall dance….the poet’s dance
of shaggy hair….. of tattered pants
dance with those….. in tie and tails
rap with those….. released from jails
free demon words from fear’s cold cell
sing hymns resounding angels bell.
My crayons stray outside the lines
my words creation redefines
I am free to choose my words
soothing balm or cutting swords
to calm the hearts of troubled souls
as shovels digging dying’s holes.
And yet the verse is never Free
for it remains a part of me
wandering a poets hell
secrets it has yet to tell.
5/12/2016
submitted to – Get Your Dr. Seuss On – Poetry Contest
sponsor – The Seeker
I once heard a warning from a sailor:
"Don't look at the ocean at night—the darkness offers an escape."
I wonder if it is the same for a soldier staring down a gun barrel.
As they run through dark trenches, fleeing death,does that cold metal cylinder promise a release?
An end to fear.The death of anger.
Or a quiet peace brought to a desolate land.
Many wonder, staring straight into that deep ocean of unforgiving quiet.
But peace demands a price in an empty country.
It means
a mother you will never see,
a wife you will never love,
a child you will never guide—
only eyes wandering a horizon that never ends.
But the sailor never taught me what remains unseen:
the sea always stares back.
It cannot feel your agonizing rage.
It does not share your lonely sadness.
It has no thought of family or friends.
Instead, it only waits for you to jump, and find your peace.