J-abs
U-nleashed
L-et
I-ntense
E-motion
A-bate,
N-eeding
N-o
S-elf
I-nflicted
S-cars
O-f
N-ook
©bfa060125
Monocrostic (Birthday of Julie Ann N. Sison)
Wall goes quickly up,
Shielding fragile inner self,
Safety sought within.
©bfa042925
How do you sleep and so easily settle your mind?
Isn't there a traffic of noise that's loudly whirring inside?
How do you remember all those important tasks?
I wonder how it feels to complete what's asked.
How do you calmly listen and not talk too fast?
How does it feel to have friendships that last?
How can you plan and think of tomorrow?
Will it not overwhelm that time now, or will soon be your past?
How does a person show such vast integrity
To be your true self without wearing a mask.
How do you clean but keep it that way?
If a person should visit on your messiest day?
Do you not worry about what they think or might say?
The workings of an exhausted ADD brain.
“Hope propels the internal mechanism in us. The big picture keeps it in continuous motion.”
- Quote by Poet
-
Something inside drives her,
Something inside propels her to see beyond the gloom,
It strengthens her feeble hope,
It guides her up the slope.
At dawn, she looks into the mirror and smiles
as if it had handed to her its files,
She isn’t clouded by shadows,
She sees blooming meadows.
Every fall means a better rise,
New eyes and wise
choices that will take her to glory land,
Something inside is the unseen hand.
November 30, 2023.
On the inside of the doohickey
is the cogwheel thingamajig.
And that thingamajig keeps the thingy working well.
It turns and cranks and circles around and round
like the second hand on an analog face clock.
On the inside of the workspace office
are the people that run the show,
and even if they have the most expensive of mechanisms
will be a chaotic environment if not
for the heart of the office glow.
On the inside of the human
is a mechanism most grand!
The heart that pumps a life giving, bloody, stream of life.
And the heart is the center of our emotions.
Our heart is the reason we laugh
and its the reason we cry the salty tears.
But no matter the location on the GPS
or no matter the engine in the truck,
and no matter the ink in the pen,
the heart of the person is the mechanism
that matters more than the most.
There are no cogs, springs, wheels, or gears inside of me.
I'm a flawed human whose mind and heart often disagree.
I don't have parts, interior mechanisms like those inside a clock.
but if my heart makes a decision, my mind puts up a roadblock.
There's no symbiosis between them, nor a willingness to agree.
Each day is a struggle for me, from which I cannot break free.
Mechanical parts of a washing machine sometimes need repair,
but when heart and mind are at odds, it's a hardship I must bear.
It's pugilistic sparring and I'm overwhelmed with doubt and fears
because I'm the one who always gets hurt, bringing me to tears.
I can't get through to my heart, and simply cannot make it clear
to a stubborn mind that tunes out what it doesn't want to hear.
I've pleaded and tried bartering but neither one will take heed.
I've accused them both of having an ego and an attitude of greed.
The interior machinations of my mind and heart often malfunction.
My heart seeks love, while my mind is smug with selfish unction.
I can't really remember when the last time was, they ever agreed.
They're an enigma, each one having its own beliefs and creed.
"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe," ... Carl Sagan
Subtle crafts soundly, using euphemisms,
yet cluelessness dealt a sheltered abyss.
When one confront internal mechanisms,
whatchamacallit ... orphaned hit-or-miss.
A conundrum conspires an endowed soul,
behooves postmortem liken achievement.
Where'er wits helix baptism, buried hole,
an urchin crawlspace, be I foundling sent.
Newborn bid birthright a pardoned envoy,
of mature absence deemed as uncharted.
Internals blueprint designed, bad employ,
indeed, tunnels end--will be lights outed.
Rare conscientiousness temper unknown,
infiltrate hallmark translates as dethrone.
Memory engulfs us,
absorbs, regurgitates...
but never returns
the true feeling
purport
of reality...
Which one can muster?
now?
lines
red, blue, black ... in colours
oblivions?
always same
metamorphosis
like a shepherd of one sheep
who has colours
to brush it to consternation
if out of one thousand
brushes
a light to be absorbed
may be only forty six and seven
or indigo
poets are scarce today
because nothing succour
is honey here
safe perhaps, locomotions
twisted how?.
Gorging upon self-indulgence
while your soul lies starving in the corner
Dissociatively liberated from consequence
as the host endures accountability
Psychotically clinging to a desirable fiction
(an accessible and depraved fantasy)
and basking in its soothing narratives
whenever the tangible becomes inconvenient
Dipping sporadically into a permeable
realm of artificial favorability
Detaching yourself from that which exists
to experience that which is merely theoretical
trapped in a snare
captivated by the glare
a primitive trap its clear
the startle from a borrowed gesture
provoked the out gunned deer
trespassing all fear
the perch on the measure of a wire
hovering the dawn of a fighter
conviction is the large leaps
belief the hesitant small steps
slumber holds every wonder
keeps your eyes on the prize
hope is still the promise
beating rain from the sky
bliss performs a final trick
now yellow bricks are only bricks
cannot choose a side
constitutes a place to abide
self preservation yields
an action ambivalent to strife
the cowardly deceit
a willing disguise
once upon a time
begins again, and despite
feeds the hand of despair
narrows the mind
bleeds what remains
slowly carves a heart in vain
free to balance a chain
the high price of pain
renders a perpetual device
incapable of compromise
push back or die
swallow the vile
be the end to denial
nothing is final
the fire inside struggle
rises beyond rubble
shines for a reluctant fighter
captivated by the glare
trapped in a snare
Terry Darcy-Ryan
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