Long Whispered Poems
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Poetry. My Lover.
Much too young to understand on the day when we first met.
I was just a little boy I didn't understand it yet.
Lyrics written in a song living inside my radio.
So much left of life to see so many places still to go.
So busy living life so young, I didn't see it start.
Then one day sent out to play I stumbled on a broken heart.
Somehow somewhere deep inside I felt you drawing nearer.
Through my tears I sang along as I looked into the mirror.
Pretending every now and then that I had come of age.
And the words that touched me so I shared upon a stage.
While people heard the words I spoke and the message I was sending.
All that listened also heard and their hearts started mending.
Each time an answer I would seek for each mountain I would climb.
I found already deep within, then wrote it in a rhyme.
Through times of tragedies despair I'd feel you drawing nearer.
Echoes etched into my soul you had become my mirror.
Younger days a memory now and gray has found my hair.
I look back and cannot see, a time when you weren't there.
Now closer than all I've ever known and closer than a brother.
I finally now understand you are poetry, my lover.
Nights alone you held me tight when my life fell apart.
Somewhere in silent shadows you slipped into my heart.
Life recalled not long ago when I lost all control.
You loved me in spite of me, you slipped into my soul.
Times in anguish that I searched but peace I could not find.
You whispered words of comfort as you slipped into my mind.
Long before I even knew it's so hard to love another.
Knowing I belong to you.
Poetry. My Lover.
Edwin C Hofert
Despair of spectres whispered, John heard it muttered
Fears spoken, centuries of shame sunk into stone
Hanging tree hoisted him, feet above ground fluttered
Rope bound neck bulged, blood starved eyes shuttered
Aghast, entertainment starved spectators absorbed gore
Under his breath they heard it uttered,
" I am among the lowliest, and the last"
Sentiment collected by authorities, soon to outlaw
Heinous hangings of criminals and martyrs
Testiment to the cruelty, trademark of cessation
Clouds of purest doves spun above the atrociousity
Tyburn' s turbulent history viewed at Marble Arch
Has John's pledge to thank for returning compassion
14th September 2020
For: Line Gauthier 's Contest
Tyburn Collaboration max. 14
REMEMBER ME
In the light of our youth.
We met, electricity abound.
With passion, we dove into life.
Never giving to Strife.
You were my mat as our love grew,
Adding children to our crew.
Nothing seemed impossible
For this family of four to pursue.
As the children grew
And flew the nest,
We found new joy
Our love did not rest
In the twilight of life,
We never were apart
Until that day illness struck
Our life became cold and dark.
You cared and loved me even more
As I sat at deaths door
In end the Reaper would win
smiling, saying God forgives your sins.
With my last breath,
and the light fading,
“I whispered, remember me
I will be waiting.”
The voice inside me does not sleep
and words whispered I do try to keep
it murmurs- you cannot stay
but in my head that just falls away
With the voice . . . I am led
like a hunger unfed
oh, leave nothing unsaid
The voice whispering in my head
oh, the voice chattering in my head
endless voice in my head
I wake with a scream and breathe
thought that my soul did leave
and was sure I heard a ghostly call
in an abyss . . . swirling I fall
With the voice I am led
like a hunger unfed
oh, leave nothing unsaid
The voice whispering in my head
oh, the voice chattering in my head
endless voice in my head
I am seeing the sky above
a hawk . . . and a dove
the clouds seem to say my name
they are calling my name
The voice whispering in my head
oh, the voice chattering in my head
endless voice in my head
The voice whispering in my head
oh, the voice chattering in my head
endless voice in my head
But, sigh . . . it was only a dream
a ghostly, scary dream . . .
Penned, August 05, 2026/ Human Written
For the International Contest, Voice In My Head
Sponsor, Robert James Linguori
During war of gunfire and fear,
When the sky made the rain drops into tears.
Our Tamil mothers and sisters stirred the pot with quiet and trembling hands,
Kanji simmered - soft, thin and proud.
No feast of spice, no spice of pure joy,
Just rice and water, salt and a pure pain.
Yet in that round bowl, a pulse of one nation,
Beat gently through hunger and rain.
A scent of rice, the sound of rain,
A powerful prayer whispered through black night.
That one more dawn might be kind,
The one more meal might hold them tight.
Mothers waited by broken walls,
Fathers searched through dust, ash and flames.
Children sipped from rusted tins,
Too young to understand the pain and suffering.
When the war turned into dust,
Silence took the soldier’s roar.
Kanji remained - a taste of memory ,
Of the hearts that starved, yet asked no more.
It is the quite longing in the heart of a man, to dwell in peace with the woman who bore him
To know her not only as a mother but as a sanctuary
There is a sacredness to her voice when it finds you in the middle of a weary week
Calling not for news but to remind you that you are remembered in her prayers, that heaven hears your name because she has whispered it there, and if fortune has smiled upon you, still you are counted among those who receive gifts
From the soil, bananas ripe with sun, avocadoes softened by rain arrowroot pulled from the earth with care, you know that these are not mere offsprings of food, they are sacraments the breath of the village travels with them
In every bite, the wings once passed through childhood trees returned to your lungs, you chew slowly knowing your mother is a fortress of 'GRACE' quietly standing watching over the life she once carried.
In the crepuscular embrace, where day and night entwine,
Dances a spectral ballet, in a twilight so divine.
Shadows caress the amber light, where contrasts boldly play,
An ephemeral bridge suspended, between the night and day.
A gentle breeze whispers tales, through the boughs with ease,
Leaves rustle with soft retorts, a symphony amongst the trees.
Birds etch their silhouette, against a sky of blended hue,
As stars begin their twinkle, amidst the darkening blue.
Veil of night descends slow, as the sun dips out of sight,
Yet, in this fleeting moment, nature orchestrates the light.
Crickets begin their serenade, as nocturnal eyes aglow,
In the twilight’s spectral dance, life's quieter rhythms flow.
The moon, a silvery sentinel, watches with gentle grace,
Illuminating the darkened world, with a soft and subtle face.
In the stillness of the transition, every creature takes a part,
An ensemble of existence, beating with Earth’s endless heart.
Oh, the stories that are whispered, in the gentle twilight air,
Of creatures, love, and nature’s pulse, spoken everywhere.
Let us linger in this dance, where light and dark entwine,
And treasure these transient moments, in the tapestry of time.
The meaning of life is beyond our grasp:
what occurs once you die remains unknown.
And although faith offers some hope to clasp:
you're not quite convinced, you're not on your own.
Keeping busy, you seldom think of death:
a taboo subject that no one speaks of.
And is barely whispered, under one's breath,
making it just as personal as love.
Other than curiosity, why care
about Divine plans that you can't control?
And if at death you blink out to nowhere,
you'll never know, you never had a soul.
You're alive now, at this moment in time,
so live like you only have this lifetime.
He whispered, "You're here."
My fragrance consorted before me,
sweet scent of summer lilacs.
He placed a rose on sheets of platinum silk.
Wildfires of desire in his emerald eyes,
reflected in soft glimmers
of a voluminous pearl moon.
Seductive smile on my vermillion lips
in chamber lit by amber candles.
No need of their scintillation to see,
I only needed to feel.
Diamonds danced across a dusky sapphire sky
as he breathed erotic sensations on my nape,
slid a strap off the shoulder of my ginger gown.
The pulse of his heart beat against my hand.
My other caressed the charcoal ruff at his temple.
Fuchsia blooms fluttered on the trellis window.
Their aroma faded as I inhaled his balm,
tasted love, savored passion until I was replete.
Soft breezes swirled across warm silk sheets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
March 13, 2016
My poems are like creeping vines that I have planted well,
I tend them in my garden of evergreen poetry to be strong;
They are waiting quietly to release their swirling spiral tendrils,
Tendrils that will adhere and entwine and entangle you in my words.
You have whispered to me a challenge and I quiver with joy,
My need to capture you is overwhelming, I am driven to win;
I will do anything you request of me to impress and to please you,
But to lose, it is unfathomable and I can become hostile and clinging.
Can you not see my words so lovely, like wandering thread,
I am tranquility and you can rest in my coolness and my shade;
Hugging, caressing whispering to your muse my beautiful wordiness,
Come wrap yourself in my words, be entwined, there will be no escape.
I was born to write innocent words, to give my writing power,
My need is great, to be acknowledge and known is my one goal;
Nothing else will be acceptable, I crave your muse to hear my cry,
Take my wild poetic words and poems high and let me shine in the sun.
Let's make a deal, if you release me on my upward journey,
I will not encircle you in my wandering seeking green tendrils;
Withdrawal of my choking, hanging greenness will be your reward,
You will be quite safe after I withdraw my clinging hold on your muse.
______________________________
September 23, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Like Creeping Tendrils
Copyright Protected, ID 15-711-661-0
all Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, You Want It Bad, Then Bribe Me,
sponsor, Casarah Nance
Fourth Place