Long Washed out Poems
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When nightfall dips in palest of gold
I feel a sense of indignity,
As owl's melody loses its eloquence
Through the absence of a safe abode;
Where quietude calls for avian coos
The kind which never seeks to intrude…
And its orbed eyes larger than neons, freeze
In need of natue's hued, aerial parade---
Startled, bird's forest trail is washed out
By mourning dew of poison
Denying the barren woods of nourishment
while allowing thieves to skin owl feathers,
mangled talons like so, wasted ---
Wise keeper of secrets, hushing the noise.
Life marvels at your nocturnal guardianship
yet, this world shares not your moonlit toots
lithography of hills no longer owns
your delicate interludes of silence...
Man ravages bird navel, flesh , and plumes
For trading quests, for self- interest ---
Can this earthly slaughter cease
sucking nectar soil of birds dry?
Somehow, I still hail the dwindling number
of hooting owls
Which believes that the next generations
will wander on an environ,
Soaring their wings... joyously free at last.
Red shingled roofs rise and sink,
slickly buoyant with new showers.
Cars drive behind cloud-skyscrapers.
The park is soggy with small dogs,
colorful umbrellas are set aside
beside paddling pigeons.
Dewdrops slide over hanging buds,
while lush leaves
breathe their own green aroma.
By evenings tide, an amber shine,
has walked us through a dripping sky,
we are both empty and full,
beneath the warm spill of moist thimbles.
Above us, the washed-out mural of a rainbow,
remains to fish in low ponds of mist.
Wispy showers spray a disappearing horizon.
A soft falling rain lingers between us and tomorrow,
weeping’s that by the early light are rinsed away
by fresh tree-dancing winds,
and the bright beams of children at play.
Portrait of an Unknown
Written: by Tom Wright
7-18-2016
It was just an outsized oval portrait,
Dusty and washed out by time;
Always featured in the same location
During my life at home years;
Mom couldn’t retrieve his name,
Only that he was kinfolk.
It always looked out of place
On the wallpapered wall it occupied.
Perchance it was the ornate oval frame
That captured my curiosity.
Memory’s snapshot that I recall
Is of a distinguished looking man
With rosy cheeks, fedora, suit coat, and tie;
Was he a Minister, Banker or Mortician?
This face that was unknown to us,
Nonetheless induces wonderment,
Concerning many things about his life,
Primarily how his portrait found a home
On our papered bedroom wall;
His darkness erased the enthusiasm
From my spirit, the vitality
From my colors – hues of lethargy
Began to bleed through the vibrant
Wishes, the dreams that colored me
In laughter, sunshine and rain – sprinkling
My light in a melancholic doubt,
Washed out feelings and listless, weary
Fear began to create a rhythm of
Shame and regret, discouraging even
My most potent feelings, dreams
That felt like the sun’s rays covering me
With inspiration and faith – became gray
Then black as death
He screamed at the hope in me,
Destroying every desire, watering down
The fire so I felt like the pieces of me
That had felt – were beyond feeling,
Illusions, a past joy that I deemed not quite real,
Almost like a dream that I’d woke from,
Knowing that I’d never have the ability
To go back there – where the joy
Had felt like the brisk morning air, fulfilling
Even the laughter with a brilliance
So wise and aware of the lively, energetic
Elation that comes to those who know
There is a light stronger than the sun
A love far brighter than the stars and moon
His darkness gripped my mind, my life
In a way that felt so convincing
I couldn’t see past the sound of his fury
I couldn’t even pronounce the word for it
Was there a word for it?
The bitterness stung my very soul
The resentment tore away each hope
The rage destroyed every confidence
I became a person I didn’t know
In the shadow of his night, I couldn’t find my way
Out of the dark – where I felt trapped
In a cage of rage, captive of the endless fighting…
When divorce was the only reply to the night
I finally could see past the dread, the darkness
Into the light, where I could ultimately see hope begin
To rise from the ashes – bringing me back to life again
Now, Father McGee and Parishioner Finn
Stood out in front, by the road
Each of them holding a sign on a stick
with a message with spoke of forebode
McGee's sign said " THE END IS NEAR"
Finn's--- " TURN 'ROUND, BEFORE IT'S TO LATE "
Soon came a car speeding on by
With a driver who looked real irate
"GET OUT OF THE ROAD, YOU DOOMSDAY NUTS"
Yelled the driver, while increasing his speed
Just seconds later the pair heard a screech
And a very loud splash there indeed !
McGee turned to Finn, said "It's Happened again
This message I'm beginning to doubt"
Finn then suggested perhaps a new sign
Stating simply " The Bridge is washed out"
Lying alone on a freshly mown lawn
Green as emeralds and warm from
The autumn sun flickering daintily
Through the flecks of mystery dust
Welcoming my form into the folds
Of its tender tendrils of loving blades
Whispering sentiments of prayers
Across my praising form which lays
Awaiting the moment when one
Gently floating cloud will turn from
A silver ball of bleached cotton
To something I can choose as my own
A soldier surrendering to Lee
Or some majestic Eagle reaching down
To cast a shadow across the earth
Possibly a stallion, bleeding pride
And vengeance for the loss of its freedom
There are so many shapes arising
From the azure skies, in silhouettes
Of softest veils, capturing hearts
Wooing spirits with the reveries
Encouraged and inspired by the drifting
Shadows of melancholy wisdom
God’s paintbrush misting the firmament
With pretty pictures that resemble
Truth, tantalizing dreams and freedom
Sweet sensations in hues of washed-out
Threads, strands that breathe kindness
And pursue compassion the way my mind
Chases after some dream I’ve lost in waking
A soothing pursuit for feelings of grace
God has blessed me with many cloudless days
But when he chooses to, he commends the heavens
With images of delicate celebration, worship
From the sanctity of heartfelt scenes in nature
Marshmallow puffs of phenomenal glory
Dancing hope through the one who sees
The images inspired by these blessed vapors
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (19) ,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
August 9, 2020
Wind howls at my windowpane, reflecting
All the whistling, wailing, weeping ways
The snowstorm has brought its freezing thanks
To the forest, the mountains, the ponds
The glittering souls and prayers who calm
Secreted beneath the layers of frosty thoughts
There hangs the embers of a fireside hope,
Silent like the whisper of grace in the heart
Who knows that this ashen dawn is the feeling
Bold and trembling, erasing autumn’s mystery
Shadowed by the visions of washed-out whimsy
Flavors of laughter and imaginations alive, crackling
Like the ice colored dreams who haunt the mind,
Exposing the charms of a moon falling down over
Glimmering stardust thoughts, gleaming echoes of joy
Embracing faith, the winter wonder prompts the
Light to expose whatever darkness might have fallen,
Gentling the spirit with a yearning for intimacy
With the One who created the heart, the soul, the night
All the beauty that presents the world with insight
It is the music, the art, the dance…
Winter’s quiet magic, revealing a world
More beautiful than the calming found
Beyond the song, the image, the waltz…
The feeling – a poem - that blends with snow covered
Thoughts, blessing the heart and soul and mind
Blessing winter’s invitation to appreciate the vista
The soundless display of winter’s radiance
When tears dry up and laughter is not funny any longer
As duvet feathers grind the weary soul to sunken skin
The parchments dehydrated canvas folds the poet’s path
A cliche strewn among the notion ‘it will make you stronger’
Depicts an empty victory pretends to gather strength and win
The prelude of the past in future remains a lonely aftermath
Gone are the days of jolly frolic of showers gelled and Turkish bath
Of journeys tickling monumental Derwish’s allegoric spin
Despairing anger cannot shed an inner war’s destructive monger
With memories and wreaths of praise and laurel turned into wrath
Then conjoined before and after numbness seems your next of kin
A magic oriental carpet’s washed out fabric evaporates inside her
An ancient pleasure cruise shrouded in silence’s muted fanfare
Sails of plain cloth mystery weather worn in droplet’s silent fall
Its time and place and time-place for scented oriental candles
To rekindle a mosaic of epic proportions a glancing care from scare
From feeling so minutely small and festered no recipe for standing tall
Yet seeds of cinnamon and hope might just reset this hold of strangle
Meditation reclusive pastures enlightenment from darkness’ bangle
Retrieved from imposed prison shackles to praise to heal and call
‘I want to be the muezzin once more sing forcefully in ink and dare’
Climb my minaret resolve cacophony write messages to Self and strangle
All those demons massage my dreams and foresight grab the haul
Then conquer quietly as time proceeds ‘I know I can in solemn prayer’
Anxiety (The Worst Noose In Town)
-- like flooding waters, creeping in
I count 30, seconds, holding my breath again
Drowning in agitation, overwhelmed by fear
I try to hide the pressure in hopes I don't pass out
My pores are soaked, from all the perspiration
I feel the pins and needles pushing in
My skin is ruined from all the peeling
At this point, I can't seem to win
Washed out by dead hope and desire
My soul is lost searching for a shore
leashing, grasping and ripping the chest wide
I count 40, seconds, once nausea can't be blocked
Everything about this moment is driving me mad,
I need to escape, however, my knees are too weak
I tremble while losing control to the emotional distress
My knuckles are pale, detached from reality,
wounds forced with further embarrassment.
Guaranteed failure surrounds my day
Numbness strikes my very essence - I can't move!
Lost in a room,
Therapy - even so I feel singled out
HAPPY VALENTINES (it can get the best of us)
---------------------------- love Linda
Winter wrapped Autumn in a shroud of white
after Jack Frost stripped the trees of their green.
And a contrite sun diminished its light;
as a dulcet moon loaned Winter its sheen.
Spring silently arrives with poise and grace,
as Her warm breath slowly thaws Winter's freeze.
And when ice and snow melt without a trace,
She grafts green stubble onto naked trees.
By overruling Winter's objection,
Spring prepares frozen soil for life's rebirth.
And rain-soaked seeds await Her direction,
as April showers quench a thirsty Earth.
Restoring colors, Winter's white washed out;
tulips, trilliums, and daffodils sprout.