A house is haunted not only by specters
But also by the things left unsaid and undone
Words spoken in the silence to despair
Soliloquies of love that echo in the dark
The gloom entraps memories
Ghosts of love stalk the shadows
With phantoms of unrequited deeds
Is the house truly haunted?
Or is it our vulnerabilities and repudiations?
Nary a word was said
as they tumbled onto the bed
Passions in overdrive churned
what were the lessons they learned...
Nary a word is said
as they fall into bed half-dead
In separate bedlams a-snoring
escape from a lifetime of warring
dark eagles glide by
nary a written flight plan
I marvel at them
In the waning darkness of predawn,
they trundle off to work
Hearing the sound of the cock crow,
time stamps another day in the life of a slave
Going off to work in the cotton fields,
or to gather the sugar cane ...
and other fruitful things
On this day, they get relief from the heat
by a cool morning rain
With downcast eyes, and saying nary a word,
the pain in their souls were clearly heard
As the rain comes down harder,
and silent tears rise up to the heavens,
prayers not empty are received
The promise of salvation is delivered swiftly
Thunder speaks with a mighty sound,
lightning answers with a gavel pound
And all the slaves fall on their knees to the ground
as the tremors abound
Then the earth opens up,
and the plantation house falls in
Swallowing up the masters of oppression
Servants of the house were warned to flee
in a frightening dream last night
To flee quickly once the rain descends in the morning
Voices of praise are mingled with the tumultuous,
atmospheric rage ...
For on this day,
freedom comes with the unlocking of the slaver's cage
My morning excursion to the pee pee place
Is fraught with danger, often fall on my face
Walls, doors, even the dresser
Obstacles cause me lot of displeasure
Destroying my good looks with nary a trace
Her grace, she moves in poetry,
Tread cobbled path of wandering heart;
She speaks in moonlight spirit,
Thine treasure chest come undune,
'Till I lose mine feathers,
Frozen by her sole divinity;
She, found to mine lost,
Twixt these street exile redefined by her golden glory,
pounding on my chamber door;
I must forego the counsel of my twisted devils,
Rise from lay 'pon this brow beaten soul;
Swell into her wonder... lift love anew!
Heaven restore mine black gloom;
Her grace, she moves in poetry,
Spilleth' over, soothing matrimony.
~JSLambert
© PoeTTreeZ Publishing
any all to much truth for a liar is confusion what a web deceit
On the lake with expensive gear I troll
On the bank is a kid with willow pole
Much to my chagrin
He's hauling them in
I can't get a nibble to save my soul
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in John Freeman's "Limericks About Fishing" Contest - May 2011
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