Long Wings Poems
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This was not written for or entered in a contest, but I was inspired.
~~~ "We are all petals of imperfection sharing the same sun"
~ Silent One ~~~
Enrobed and enveloped is the tender bud, slowly unfurling,
near bursting into beauteous bloom, petals unfolding, uncurling.
Each one a frail and fragile flower, swaying on delicate stems.
They stand vigilant in gardens or meadows as jewel toned gems.
Vulnerable to tenuous dangers of brisk and abusive weather,
as susceptible as humans to being tossed about as if a feather.
Rain can rip their velvet coating like teardrops falling on a cheek.
Both stains of imperfection though both are innocently meek.
We worship the sun for giving us warmth and a growing nature.
But we can be burned by its heat just like words in nomenclature.
Manhandled by Mariah, as her winds blow with turbulent power,
and humans are as assailable as the delicate stems of any flower.
We are both penetrable, skin and petals prone to bites and stings.
Flawlessness is unattainable, even if we were adorned with wings.
We should not seek perfection, for it was never meant to be for us.
We cut flowers, let them die, petals withering, 'fore turning to dust.
They are pressed between pages as memories to look back upon,
drying like our skin with age, scars deepening with each new dawn.
Let the sun shine spectacularly on flowers and humans it holds dear.
Imperfections of both are renderings, gently written by a sonneteer.
In 1985, we had three daughters.
They were 5, 10, and 11.
So life was fun, of course.
Each daughter had a gerbil.
Flopsy, Crumbone and Taylor.
Don’t ask me which is which.
They are rodents.
I broke my leg on a Thursday.
In 5 places, trying to ride a bike to the day care
Center to pick up the 5-year- old because my
Husband had the car, and the police will come
Pick up the 5-year-olds who are left after 6.
This is California, where everything is weird.
My mom who had never flown on a plane,
Flew out wearing wings pinned to her bosom
on Saturday.
It’s a wonder I wasn’t already dead.
I was expecting that actually.
By evening she had fought the dogs
For their cooking pans full of water.
These dog-food pans were soon sterilized and
cooking spaghetti. And there was garlic
bread too, hot, piping, out of
an oven or something.
Home-made food!
My daughters were astounded.
They thought food came from
Styrofoam with restaurant
Names on it.
On Tuesday Mom was doing the 18,482
Pieces of laundry we had used the week
Before, and she said, “Caren, come over
Here.” I hobbled over on my crutches,
Which was not easy.
“I think a guinea pig is dead,” she whispered.
I poked it with a hoe. It did not move.
I poked it with a broom.
Nothing still.
We have to announce this
Delicately, my mother said in
Hushed tones of reverence.
We did not mention it during breakfast.
We did not mention it during lunch.
My mother kept looking at me expectantly.
By supper time after yelling for the three
Girls to come downstairs, and being ignored
I lost it and yelled, “A GUINEA PIG IS DEAD!”
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Wailing and keening began.
“That was subtle,” my mother told me.
Yes, it was.
Form:
Walking on my own
The future unknown
Where do I go now?
I wish it was shown...
Thinking figurine
My future unseen
Which door will open?
Stranded in between...
Unsettled ambler
The future a blur
When will dreams come true?
No one can augur...
Confused and crazy
The future hazy
What will happen next?
Life can be mazy...
Corridors all blear
The future unclear
Who will walk with me?
I wish you were here...
Pathways untrodden
The future hidden
How long must I wait?
I'm still uncertain...
11/20/17
Contest: Empty Your Soul With Words
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Burned my wings on a neon sun,
Too bright to love, too fierce to run.
Angels talk like kings of war,
Locked in gold behind white doors.
I wore the light but it felt like chains,
Sweet-smiled ghosts that sang of pain.
Wine of silence, food of lies,
I watched truth choke in holy skies.
So I climbed down that spiral stair,
To where the fire taints the air.
Hell’s halls whisper in red and black,
But I found no soul to watch my back.
Demons dance with preacher’s grace,
No shadows left for me to face.
Ice on skin, fire in my bones,
Screams felt carved in marble tones.
This isn’t sin—it’s symmetry,
A mirror cracked with dignity.
They promise heat, they promise cold,
But never the heart, just silver and gold.
So where’s the ground for a soul like mine?
A storm of flesh, a bloodline spine.
Not too bright, not fully damned,
I ride the rift with empty hands.
Spit out from grace, laughed out from sin,
I draw my blade and breathe within.
If heaven’s flames burn fake and clean,
And hell’s ice hides a guillotine—
Then I will walk where no foot goes,
Between the thorns and shadowed prose.
A crown of ash, a throne of rust,
I’ll build my truth from bone and dust.
Heaven is too hot for me—and hell’s too cold to trust.
Dream Free
I wish to be free like the birds at sea
and see the waves as far as I can see
how I want to fly high and ever long
and hear the winds endless song.
The air whistles the cry of means
Do you hear it? It howls a screech
my dream has no time to anew
I pray to be free even for a few.
Come and see me draw a new line
It is the beginning of a hopeful vine
sadly I weep life’s changing story
Tomorrows title will not be in glory.
Hold my hand and never let go
It is true life is spoken to.
I want to be without any charge
No show off crying at large.
The sun rises for another daytime
don’t let the tale end in erotic rhyme
Mother's forces beckon real power
My fate will not travel long hours.
One was born to live your legend
Why defy existence for a second
Freedom hopes failure is lost a float
the secured one never miss a note.
Now my vision has come true
I spread my wings that never flew
Free at last like the gulls that fly
the wind blows me onward and high.
On a bright sunny day I became your wife,
I consider myself lucky for you came into my life.
Together many hurdles and bridges we crossed,
Faced whatever hardships life at us tossed.
Through thick and thin we stuck together,
In all difficulties helped one another.
You have been the pillar of my strength,
I treasure you more than any wealth.
You have encouraged me to learn new things,
You have supported me like a pair of wings.
With your supportive loving nature,
Many new places we could venture.
Due to your love for travelling and adventure,
I could visit many different places and new pastures.
Hush, the nightingale is asleep on the broken tree branch:
What can a nightingale dream on the wildness?
Maybe he dreams with a golden cage and a princess
or with a rapid rivulet moving by a little ranch -
All that is dreamed will be explained by his melody.
So, let’s make silence stay and be the house’s guest:
Bring him to sit at dinner’s table and serve the food
while the sky is dark and the wind walks in the wood.
We keep waiting for the end of the nightingale rest:
he may open his wings to leave or maybe sing an ode.
Tomorrow we will know, after the sunrise if our wait
was just a new day or if nature rewarded our faith.
Form:
Wen I was jest a litl boy
An a pensil was mi toy
I likd to rit poms
An did mi best … homs
As a teenager
I began to revolt
I got an attitude
To the man I was rude
My writing was crude
I experimented
Adults were demented
I took a position
Refused to listen
This poetic young buck
Didn’t give a flying …
As a young adult, spreading my poetic wings,
I wanted to be free;
Free of inhibitions -
Free of rules and regulations –
Impress with my prodigious vocabulary
Attack sex, love, morals and politics on scented sheets
I had an urge to explore the fascinating new and majestic universe
And my poems were free to be as free as me
As I matured and mellowed out
No longer harboring the need to shout
My poems once again found their rhyme
And I returned back to a younger time
Full circle, I find my journey spent
Every step of the way being heaven sent
All I do is be set in some form of pandemonium.
I'm sick of the same ripe, dull daily mind-numbing
How will I be urged if I lose my equilibrium?
Is life's symbiosis likely to be tedious scaling?
Everything appears to me to be rendered nugatory.
Similar to a grave where a covered body is decaying.
With a driven heart, I have for you high expectancy.
Since I induced the fantasies around your trembling.
What's extra, I hear you moaning in the wings, enunciation,
"I'm a long way from your stream; continue to scratch."
My heart is for the domain of passion, its constitution.
For what reason did you peruse it with a skewed outmarch.
Eros won't permit his sprouts to be stifled cautiously.
I opine he'll be revolted by your outrageous peculiarity.
Written: September 3rd 2021
On wings of self-destruction she relishes the panic
In the control room of the living
It was meant to be a family journey from heaven
Everyone on board to enjoy the passage
Then she launches herself as a guided vile missile
Mission nearly accomplished
Seat belts fastened and cool drinks already served
A knowing smile from the stewardess
The airport tower signals a clear runway for runaways
Paradise calling on a flight path to hell
Final announcement we have unchecked baggage
Please alight from the vessel
Puzzled but not unwilling he adjusts to the order
Takes his case from the carrier
He had not packed his belongings entirely on his own
Before placing them on the conveyor belt
Assisted and extended suicide had been in the making
Strapped to transgressions of boundaries
In time he got off the the airbus to help other travellers
Maybe he should take a train on his own
When the jet craft exploded he watched the fire ball
Sad but relieved that this voyage was over
31st January 2020