to wend through golden grasses of my past
with chill winds at my back from o'er the hill
oh how I wish the glow of spring would last
thus far behind me stands that boy, miscast
while just a jester, much too bright and shrill
to wend through golden grasses of my past
the latter lad, thus pressed to love too fast
so saved his heart to burnish, soft and still
oh how I wish the glow of spring would last
he stumbled into manhood, loves amassed
with wisdom gained from tragedy and thrill
to wend through golden grasses of my past
encumbrances and burdens grew too vast
while finding warmth in darkness and a pill
oh how I wish the glow of spring would last
so now I cross the fields of time, steadfast
renewed with all the love one heart can will
to wend through golden grasses of my past
oh how I wish the glow of spring would last.
Copyright © 2019 Gregory Richard Barden
Long ago, there were the halcyon days
we once knew when we were young -
gone like dollar matinees
when from tree branches we swung.
I remembered the dire words of song,
that said changes in the weather
are often known to come on strong,
as I watched the dark clouds gather.
You tell me that this storm has passed,
but should this howling wind prevail,
a martyr, I won't be miscast -
watch a battered heart set sail.
Come see the Christ, "We have found the Messiah!”
An anxious Andrew hasted with the broadcast -
sharing the good news, long-awaited by Jews.
Would that we Christians today should supply a
message of hope with haste and expectation.
The urgency of the moment (whereby a
first-hand dispatch cannot wait until morning)
inspires us to act, as when King Josiah
discovered the Torah which had been miscast.
Long-awaited by Jews, sharing the good news -
“Return to God, ” the voice of Zechariah.
A handful of sorrowful years have passed
and now I bare my shame.
A deserving fate for one miscast;
deserving of the blame.
For I was flailing as a dreamer,
focussed on the past.
Running from the future,
losing all at last.
I thought I knew the pathway,
ordained for me by you,
So rightly threw my all away,
and left her with no due.
A selfish mournful man of fear,
in years of wallowing had found,
a truth that I did overhear
of future wants unbound.
I must accept that I am, in-fact,
a selfish loathe-full man,
deserving of no love from you.
since it was I that ran.
But in the bleakest of exchange;
truths realised at last:
I wish I could go back to change
my decisions of the past.
No children nor lovers nor painful life,
do I now wish to have.
Just an everlasting soulmate,
to power through and laugh.
So I will wait for future crossed,
when I can tell you plain:
that for all the things that I have lost,
you define my pain.
I will work as long as time allows,
if that is what it takes,
to speak to you of love and vows,
to make up for my mistakes.
Mark’s bold forecasts were greeted with doubt
One of his hearers braving “Get out!”
Not just saying it: An exploded shout!
He’d seen, Mark with a bottle of stout,
A celebrant’s gulp and a drunk’s pout…
“Drunkard, no plant does well in harsh drought,
Just as no laborer with a gout.”
But - God! - What force had made him come out!
Hunger for the fame gods talk about
As things all men could do without,
Warning that taking it far rules flout
And whoever does “Consummate lout…
Ben Mark who would other’s views tout,
Letting his lips take on a pig’s snout.
He had the forecast heard from a scout
And now must beat others in a bout…
Some folk is ready for own forecast,
The farmers present for its broadcast
About Ben Mark he could still clout
For wanting to farms hurt and yield rout:
“This week, Mark shall be an outcast
On Earth as forecaster miscast.”
Ted doesn’t like his past.
He has yet to think fast:
Clear not shadowy past,
Lies warranting a blast…
Plain Butcher for Doctor
Poor Loser as Victor
Roles that rolled on to jail,
Court’s Ruling to not fail…
Flags we’d fly at half mast
For Heroes who did last;
Ted was The Damned Miscast:
World of Drama’s Outcast!
Ted to break with his past,
Witnesses now aghast:
They’d say he was A Quack,
Qualifications did lack
Worse mention The Buried:
Three Happily Married…
“I come Afghanistan!
First, meet Face Surgeon, Stan."
Coffin
Your striking aura leaves most folks aghast,
a somber beauty that bequeaths its mark.
Adorned in satin, some would think miscast,
may leave the tenant raging in the dark.
Declaims fond memoirs of the recent past,
before the raven called, there was a lark.
How fitting that you came to be from death
and now inured to lack of deed and breath.
Nature be my religion;
Prayer be my dominion.
Words felt but unwritten;
In fields of green and crimson.
I am a dreamer and a drifter;
A non–conformist, resister.
The wind is my whisper;
And the moonlight my sister.
I wear flowers in my hair;
Quote Shakespeare and Voltaire.
Have no qualms to swear;
Can make peace or warfare.
I prefer the solitude;
Depending on my mood.
But if a smile be the prelude;
Another may intrude.
The songs I sing are old;
The stories all foretold.
In tradition I enfold;
My blessings, manifold.
Two worlds, present and past;
Dwelling within the contrast.
Enigma or social miscast;
Artistry of life enthusiast.
Born to late;
To change the world's fate.
Too early to liberate;
Just in time to celebrate.
As storm clouds appear;
Between two world's frontier.
I look to those I most revere;
The prophet and the seer.
As we enter the eye of the storm;
The birds of prey become worn.
But in the early hours of the morn;
Sparrow's and crow's flight is born.
Center in the midst;
Find your balance to persist.
Take a hand, release a fist;
We're right on time to co–exist.
Spawn of the arcane, glutted, she sprawls upon the sands
of mythos. As victims, star-crossed lovers, outcasts,
we have all seen the traces of these nether lands.
Sphinx-like, besotted, she lays among the bodies dashed.
A pixie smith has cast her silver chains, retained her
inside this mystic plane, stained her hide vintage rose.
Among the cards on the table, it is plain; she purrs.
Do you know what she knows; guess, a riddle she poses.
Protection sought from life's trials is at her command.
But, few coupled or single have journey past her grasp.
Unknown, to the unschooled, their senses unused, banned,
Christendom, the sacred fecund grail has miscast.
From Hatshepsut's visage, bound to Sekhmet she's sworn
beware, beware The Chariot's card once it is drawn.
Dampened, gray, weighty day waiting
Students emerge from school
Baby faces but nearly grown
Men and women life fuel
Just a few years back in grade school
Time has past slowly but fast
The days, hours, minutes, seconds gone
In hurrying miscast
Dying to graduate high school
Dying to marry him
Dying to have children like him
Dying to fulfill a whim
Dying to get children settled
Dying to enjoy grandchildren
Dying to see great grandchildren
Dying to live again
But just dying when living life
Came to a halt, so slow
Time to enjoy each day buried
Buried six feet under so___
two septets with rhyme
At long last, my friend, she bears no shame.
She spent a year seeking a soul-mate.
His eyes obliged her life to claim,
yet he could not, he would not propose.
Their calm ship was headed aground
for months she kept it together -
an ocean of hope, her playground.
Fisherman's widow! At long last
she reeled in and quit her searching.
She found her love had been miscast.
Two smiling faces fade from sight,
they travel on two different waves.
Feeling free, both alone tonight,
the settled sweetness of farewell.
inspired by a quote from Andrea del Sarto byRobert Browning,
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,"
Heart is gathering dust from the past
Out of the blue comes the mast of sea
Blanching foam covetous ream
Words burst like ghosts on me a miscast
And they write in a good seam
Under the gleam of stage fools around
Under the gleam of stage my hands are browned
In the crib of life under lock and key.
Heart is gathering dust from the past
I must see they're not gathering rust
In the gatherings of wild talks hushed
Between you and me.
sonnetina rispetto
Why are you anxious, O my soul?
Hope thou in God; He's in control.
In mocking tones, my tears have asked,
Where is this God for whom you thirst?
Are you with trouble now immersed?
Has God your destiny miscast?
Why are you anxious, O my soul?
Hope thou in God; He's in control.
As with the breaking of my bones,
my enemies oppress with stones.
In mocking tones, my tears have asked,
Has God your destiny miscast?
Why are you anxious, O my soul?
Hope thou in God; He’s in control.
If you struggle to understand me
You are not alone with this thought
Need a moment to confirm and agree
A questioned mind steals what can't be bought
Friend is the name for those you always trust
I'm not saying that you do or you don't
Sailing on winds of relationship of rust
Right behind an old sinking ship of won't
Behind such reasons, the answers you seek
Like two rivers once branched to the sea
A current we travel both believe weak
Bridge the gaps between doubt or breaks free
Over the years we have decided our fate
Troubled not by the decisions we've made
Water flows freely when feelings stagnate
I came to the conclusion emotions fade
Will we ever know if truth was found
Ease pain from a continued troubled past
Your life and mine soon buried in the ground
Mind that our lives were always miscast
Bridge over Troubled Water Word Acrostic contest
sponsored by Roy Jerden
He seized the role and ripped it to shreds
He chewed up the scenery like an insane Billy Goat
He snickered, he smirked, he roared, he raged
He bared his teeth, sneered and grinned like a demon
He terrorized and improvised (Heeere’s Johnny!!)
He primped and he pranced
He rocked and he rolled
He had a damn ball…
Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining’
Jack was also the first choice to play the role of Father Damien Karras in ‘The Exorcist’, but the role was turned over to Jason Miller….It would have been a miscast. Sure, he would have jumped out the window but not to his death, not Jack!...He would have bounced back up and ran off to terrorize the entire neighborhood...
For Frank's contest
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