The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim
and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged
unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech.
What catches my wandering eye
is that one of those ruined effigies
is a fair facsimile of myself.
He (a god/king of some minor something),
looks mildly disgusted, as if
a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My world-weary face reflects perfectly
his sour mien.
At last, I am processed meekly
back onto the tour bus, where predictably,
my fellow passengers are already
peering forward into a new fancifully imagined past
from an equally fanciful present.
From the outside it might look like my life has improved,
But in spite of how I like to be viewed,
I’ve never had to bite my tongue as often as I have in these last few months.
Just gotta chew on my words like food.
On the Southside of the city view,
The lights on the water shifted reflecting off the choppy grooves,
The night stopped by and gave me an eye.
Like my mother,
Tonight disapproved.
Tomorrow too,
Or at least I’ll assume.
For all the loud fights with myself,
I still feel awfully removed,
Almost asleep behind the lights because living lively is living like a ruse.
Take me as a bite,
Chew on my words for a while,
Spit out the waste as your cheeks grow full.
Taste the bile,
Brew on the thoughts for a while,
Hints of a sorry guile pace meekly on your tongue.
The push,
And the pull.
For Constance's Contest
Write sixteen beautiful lines
05/13/2025
The moment I cast all indecision
to subsist in peace without suspicion
The moment I shed all premonition
And wake up in truth without persuasion
The moment I find in introspection
A silent blessing on strong foundation
The moment I face realization
And join in light and life’s celebration
The moment I rise in still elation
Above the anguish of life’s commotion
The moment I feel the inspiration
Of true love beyond imagination
The moment I bask in admiration
And meekly kneel in great devotion
The moment I exult in God’s creation
Then my soul awakens to salvation
(Sand Promises)
Sand promises drown in tides.
Washed away leaving tearing eyes,
broken dreams in evening sighs.
Sadness one attempts to hide.
Sand promises are like lies.
Born when human dreams despise
an innocence that meekly tries
to build on weak, foundation-ties.
Oh, to find a fortress,
strong sandcastles to caress,
grains of promises at their best.
Water and sand, a washed-out mess.
We pray that truth will be expressed.
Promises of sand, confessed,
before the cheated heart, depressed-
watches the gradual tide’s conquest.
cracks formed in stone
I'd thought long hardened
the heart spilling out
meekly first, before
the tender rush
into brilliant light
radiant, hot, dangerous
the brilliance of your love
shines upon my spilling heart
and sets my mind aglitter
with little joys and little worries
sets my mind spinning
when you are afar and
yet when you are near
mind and heart are lucid, clear
as a cloudless night
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim
and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged
unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech.
What catches my wandering eye is that this one ruined effigy
is a fair facsimile of myself. He (a god/king
of some minor something), looks mildly disgusted, as if
a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My world-weary face reflects perfectly that sour mien.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably, my fellow passengers are already
peering forward into a new fancifully imagined past
from an equally fanciful present.
He walked beneath the olives’ shade,
In silence, deep as night’s descent,
With all the world’s great sorrows laid
Upon His shoulders, meekly bent.
The wine He poured, the bread He broke,
He shared with love, though none would see
That He would bear the final yoke,
And lift the weight of misery.
Blood and water, mingled, flowed—
A gift, unbound, to light the road.
HINDSIGHT 20 20
It was Atlanta, and not many years ago
With the world crashing about my ears
Pledges made and encouragement given
Smiles and kisses seemed natural to me
It was only selfishness and a cold heart
That reason would finally tear us apart
Was it just fake and never meant to be
And such little chance of being shriven
The only genuine things left were tears
But it taught me lessons I should know
From then on, I’d be a lion not a lamb
Not letting any hope give way to fear
And resume my once purposeful path
Toward those rewards that can satisfy
Your expectations were way too much
I’d felt like a pet rabbit kept in a hutch
But I never did meekly curl up and die
I was more than a keeper of the hearth
But it’ll not be like that again, my dear
As the script said, I don’t give a damn
HOW CAN I PRETEND ?
PART 4
Innocence, zest, curiosity
remain intact protected
crimson hymns I earned
when Divinity composed
a skin of cheetah brown
amused at a white chin
where my masculine’s
fuzzy beard ought to be
HE raucously laughed
aloud at my horrored
‘Don’t You Dare !
O Great One !’
Then asked ‘What will you do?’
I meekly replied : ‘How can I
pretend ?’ which was instantly
rewarded with a claim of
‘That’s my Girl !’
To leave forever this
evolving Globe of
potentiality instructing
from another constellation
how Hearts are to commune
with robots or skullcaps
or election sweaters putting
forward theories of Peacock
Republics, my foot ! a cosmic
activist gone haywire
I turn or wait or patiently
watch your angled angst
royal regret, pea pleads
weak emojis, boastful
escapes to water caverns
You have to do what I
did to earn your colours
true without Pretence
‘s’ replacing mishap
fourth letter here as
four is my number true
Presence slithers like
a Plumed Serpent
she steps forward
dualing with Pretence
coffined cold
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2024
You will see me alone, dining.
Always near a window
Watching people hurrying outside,
Or well-dressed patrons
Frequenting the five-star diner,
My favourite eating place.
Alas always alone.
Still one lady, impeccably dressed
Always visited the place every Saturday.
And always with a different escort.
I wondered who she was,
But I could hardly ask her, could I?
Her escorts seemed rich and elegant.
Not that I was shabbily dressed.
But I was not the handsome type.
Then one day she came in alone.
She had no escort as she ordered her food.
What could I do? I approached her meekly
And asked for her company.
"Finally, you came," she smiled.
We never dined alone from then on.
FICTION
Friendly sage from the starless height
Now dying without fright
In his human and earthly sight
The cosmos dimmed its light
Dying from old diphtheria
Still his will looked higher
He lost his voice to teach and greet
That poured wisdom so sweet
All he could do was meekly bleat
Uclers formed on his feet
Uclers broke through his gentle hands
And sweat poured from his glands
“I’ve been waiting to see
You at last before I am free
The Divine within me
I will give back with childlike glee
To the Good and Divine
To the highest, beautiful Vine”
“I have hope for you too
I will fly the path of the few
The path that Plato knew
I am glad you will see me through”
He said as he leaked puss
To his dear friend Eustochius
His friend was by his side
Glad in the fertile countryside
A snake slithered to hide
With logos as his inner guide
He took his final breath
Greeting his diligent friend, death
He left at sixty-six
No longer bound to fleshly tricks
Flew above stars and Styx
Flew high above the craftsman’s bricks
He ascended to the One
Thus, his own friendly will was done
It seems that Biden's term soon goes,
And is replaced by whom? Nobody knows.
So may I meekly propose
He who now controls,
That Devil from hell, George Soros.
This peace and tranquil
I'm now feeling within
Soothing and serene
Hope forever will
Remain through fully
This journey called life
With all its bitter strife
Alone, but not lonely.
'Cause its Him and I
Always and forever
As a child and father
Till the day I die.
As i sit meekly amidst
His awesome creation
I know He'll never shun
My not-so-little wish list
That I've scribbled through
Many seasons and ages
On tearful nights of pages
Collecting dust and dew.
An outstretched hand
A quivering prayer
Is all I need to offer
For Him to make it grand.
Though the way forward
Seems long and grueling
But as a little Godling
Doesnt feel as hard.
Every petal blooming slowly
Each caressing breeze
And beams from the canopies
Speak of His undying mercy.
We make the perfect duo
Sharing laughter and tears
So I shush down all my fears
With the loudest 'In exelcis Deo'.
Circling and scraping.
Bristly and comforting.
When I brush my teeth.
It’s never that bad.
But getting out of bed is the hard part.
I find myself wishing someone would bring me my toothbrush.
I could brush my teeth in my sleep.
Instead, I’m lonely.
I’m late so I spring out of bed, suddenly.
Circling the room, anxiously.
The carpet scraping my feet.
Fearful that my toothbrush will somehow hurt me.
I have to leave soon.
I don’t have time to brush, so I cry instead.
I daydream all day,
About going home to brush my teeth over and over…
Alone, brushing my teeth.
Until everything is clean and fresh.
But when I get home, it’s never like that.
I’m tired so I brush my teeth meekly and hopelessly.
Circling and scraping.
Bristly and comforting.
I don’t really brush my teeth enough these days.
Whispered Words
Whispered words waft through the shadows,
spoken low by luscious lips;
tempting teases to the senses
spurred by Steele’s most steamy scripts.
Whispered words ‘neath weeping willows,
meekly veiled by midnight’s mist;
mentions of those magic moments,
luscious lips so lightly kissed.
Whispered words weave hearts with wonder
melding moments lush with love;
binding bodies soft in shadows
‘neath the mystic moon above.
May 16, 2024
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