In mystic forest, where human wisdom fades,
A world of secrets, beyond our mortal shades.
The forest whispers truths, we've yet to grasp,
As ancient trees stand guard, with mysteries to clasp.
A mahogany tree, tall and proud,
Became the stage for a supernatural cloud.
A sawman's blade, with intent to claim,
Was halted by a voice, an old woman's refrain.
The slap that followed, like a rock's descent,
Left the operator reeling, his strength spent.
Blood gushed from the tree, a mystic's tale,
A metaphysical son, with wounds that would prevail.
The tree, once wounded, healed with mystic speed,
Leaving us in awe, our footsteps to proceed.
We fled the scene, with hearts that still quake,
A lesson learned, some secrets we'd rather not partake.
Cloaked figure approached - voice of death it spoke;
“Your moments come,” manifests scythe from smoke.
Each step bereft your pulsates, dirge of a malodorous,
bittersweet symphonies requiem of the hollow - mahogany tree;
stutter/sputter/cough sanguinary pearls hell plead,
crescent sickle moonshines through the clouds this nightmare,
ray of moonlight beam ebbs your breast beat, snuff a candlelight - *goodnight*
Breathe Again
Did I truly accumulate years of experience, or were they merely years of monotonous repetition? The echoes of my past reverberate, etching pain into the fabric of my love life and work. As time advances, I find myself embracing a newfound indifference—a defiance against the judgments of others. That perennial question about my funeral guest list—whose presence matters, whose absence stings—loses its grip on my thoughts. Let them bury me beneath the ancient mahogany tree my father planted long ago. There, sheltered from life’s harsh winds, I’ll find my final repose.
Love and loss intertwine, their dance a testament to human resilience. Can love truly conquer the most relentless hardships? Or does fate hold us captive, binding us to our own narratives? My ex, who departed last February, lingers in the shadows. Does he know he left us behind? Could he return, inhabiting another vessel, weaving a fresh tapestry of mishaps and lost chances?
The best storytellers are keen observers, attuned to life’s ebb and flow. Like a river, I carry within me a multitude of stories—of sadness and fleeting happiness. These currents shape my existence, etching their marks upon my soul.
In your latter days you had a good life
You sat under the mahogany tree near your hut
Watching the village as they moved about with their duties.
At night you were a storyteller
Telling the people the stories of your youth
"My youth was a wonder", you always started with
And "That was life" you always ended with.
Your lips were always wet from the gin in your calabash
Your radio always played the songs of long ago
Then you suddenly passed away
In your last sleep your smiled for the last time
With two tears running down your cheek
We knew you were going to have a very good sleep
In your Father's arms
Rest well wonderer
For the village never forgets you.
It looked lost and lonely,
Probably searching for its kind,
Will hope aid it to find?
Its home seems to have been invaded.
The tree is bare and naked,
It displays feeble boughs,
It seeks solace from its ambience,
An ailing credence.
They stand beside each other,
The former, the pride of an agile town,
The latter, the bloom of an evolving town,
They stand in the shadows.
The sun sinks before them,
The moon takes the stage,
The former goes in search of a room,
The latter casts its gloom.
September 24, 2023.
Did I really have years of experience?
or years of daily repeats. Repeats definitely
then I must indeed say
my confidence has suffered.
My experiences come with pain,
In my love life or my work experience.
As I get older, I think I am developing a more of
I don’t give a , what people think of me
And once again, that stupid question
About who will attend my funeral,
Who I have a big turnout etc.
Who cares, just buried me under
That old mahogany tree, my father planted
Years ago...It would be sheltered me from
From the harsh world, my final resting place,
Love, lost, and hardship, they say love can
Triumph over hardship of any intensity.
Lost it so finale, can really anybody accept they fate
Did you think my x , accept his death,
Do he aware that he left us, last
February, would he have returned in someone else body
To dupe me again, into a retake of his mishaps/his lost.
The ones who tell the best story
Is the most observant one, to the craft?
A river is a body of water
With lot of stories to tell
Sadness and happiness, that was cast upon me.
haiku
majestic
mahogany tree -
my old bed
04-29-2018
Contest: haiku - Trees - 3-5-3
Sponsor: Mick Talbot
Placement: 1st
I divided my tears into section
With each drop, with each snuffle
With each tissue: I thread
I remembering the good times we shared
Yesterday, was your birthday
today: it’s my revelation: I have taken
another course in my life: unlike the blackbird
I once encounter
Who were entangled with kite strings
high in the branch of a tree
his scary beaded eyes, his Okalee frightening sounds
His destiny had lies in the hands that set him free
I remember standing there for a moment
and wondered, what would this bird ever do for me
if I set him free
however, as we all know God blessed heroes
that day I was his hero
Today he is my revelation.
I never thought of that bird until this morning
I suppose he is long gone,
Since, the lifespan of a bird is short
But, I would always remember that little black bird
entangled in the mahogany tree: who taught me
the true meaning of empathy
?? ???
In the land of eternity
At Elflame,
Where the nymphs lived
Grew a giant mahogany tree
Memories rely on its every leaf
Reddish-brown trunks,
Darkens over time
Silent witness of the elapsed days
Laughter and joy
Pain and sorrow
A complete life extravaganzas
That sealed by fate
In every rotation of seasons
Remain upright stand
Full of hopes and dreams
An old mahogany tree
The angels fight in heaven
As their swords slash at each other
They light the sky silver
Like a camera flash
Then there is a huge crack
Like a mahogany tree
Breaking at its stem
I think they have broken
A wooden door in heaven
The sky becomes a sad grey
And the ground wet
As God’s tears fall
God cries…
Or maybe not.
There is another huge crack
As if the mahogany fell
On the roof of my house!
My heart is shaken
I think God
Has hit his mighty fist
On the judges’ bench
And the swords clang no more.
The Master has spoken
And what remains of the fight
Is the soft hiss
Of tears from heaven
I sigh now
As the rain falls softly
Against the grass outside.