Not Due Poems

Stroke

Somewhere over the mountain, hidden away,
There’s a land that is calling; I must not delay.
Somewhere over the mountain, that’s where she’ll be,
In the alpenglow, Mary's waiting for me.

They said I'd never recover from my stroke
A nightmare from which I never woke
A big chunk of me gone, a lower plateau
But I left the home, and off I did go.

It's our lot to grow old, not due to our sins
Trails go cold and entropy wins
But I'll boat down the waterfall where snowmelt flows,
I’ll find Mary in the place that nobody knows.

The terrain is forbidding, the ridge like a knife
Can't undo time, can't crash the afterlife
No country for old men, no breaking the rule
But I have to attempt, to give up is so cruel

Somewhere over the mountain, I wish it were so,
Mary is singing where wildflowers grow.
The starling will guide me, the meteor will show
The path to the valley where lost rivers go.

I went over the mountain, then took a fall
a thousand foot down off a sheer valley wall.
They buried my story, because no one must know.
They say I died then, but I died long ago.

Contentment

I had overeaten.
So I reached inside myself
And pulled up whatever could be pulled up
From strength that I could muster up
I labored long and hard
And eventually brought forth
Snow capped mountains
And sky scrapers dignified by the rays of the sun
And the tallest pines with cones intact
And stars draped with clouds, silver lined
And song birds with half-sung melodies resting on their beaks
And butterflies with awe-inspiring wings, extended and poised for flight
And rainbows that captured the very essence of past promises.
Exhilarated and exhausted, I wept
Not due to any emptiness or lack
But due to the incredible, unspeakable beauty of the lone rose
That remained anchored to my innermost parts.
I was spent but at peace

To express the pain

There are some who live by lies
Others tell the truth
Some who will be followers
Others will lead in due time
I have endured pain but it made me stronger in life
I have leant to deal adequately with confrontation
I learned to not be confined
Some are intimidated by what they can not control
My father raised me with respect until the day he grew old
You can try to break me
I give you a fair shot
What you will not due is keep me down
My blessings 
You will not block
All you will do is burn out your own energy on a person
Who really does not care
When you take from one person 
Karma takes from you
Consider that fair 
I have learned to express the pain

Time

  "Tick Tock"
  Says the clock,
  Forever on the wall.
  Further comments are not due.
  "Tick Tock"
  Says the clock,
  To me and you.
  A new language to share.
  "Tick Tock"
  Says the clock,
  Waving two hands,
  Slowly in the air.
  " Tick Tock"
  Says the clock,
  To end a busy day.
  Put away toys,
  On a full play day!

Death of a Loved One

Death of a loved one

Fifty-five years! More or less! I did not know, then,
How, to your adieu, o mother, I said Amen;
Later, like the ache of an amputated limb,
Existence, like a gloom-glaring jail cell, grew grim...!

I know, from the frail earthen pitcher of physique,
Your soul, O my mother, that, for long, was homesick;
Had taken its flight far from this interim earth,
And amalgamated into the endless mirth...!

It's not due to doubts about your life eternal,
Nor the chance of being a creature infernal;
Your passing through the gateway of naked newness,
Is as clear as crystal to me, though seems clueless…!

Tingles of your touches tinged into tenderness,
Turned too into touch-me-not of tentativeness;
Your existence in me is a continuum,
It's not a cloudy chemical residuum...!

I know your death is not a dark dusk but a dawn,
Designs of resurrection are dazzlingly drawn;
Ignorance that ignites the minds with illusion,
Fails to form fundamentally free faith fusion...!!!


04 April 2023
Death of a loved one Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables

Graveyard

Graveyard

I arose, my eyes open, though it was not what I chose
Eyelids rotten, which did not close
Forced to behold, a fate unforetold, 
merely whispered by the foolish and the bold.

An unhallowed grave, a darken tomb.
Awakening within the deathbed of the reapers womb,
To that familiar scent, of a loathsome doom,
Which unto my senses, which although dim,
Declare a darkness which crawled without limb
In a land of the dead, ghastly and grim.

Vistas macabre and morbidly new
Instilling fears that continue to brew,
Feelings that within me doth grew,
If not due
Towards visions of thyne fellow dead, now risen anew.

I struggled and limp from that darthly crypt
Naked, cold, forlorn and stripped
Of coherent thought, nor simple articulation
Confused in the delirium of a harrowing anticipation.

I know not where I am.
Tremors signal the birth of the unseen,
I am lost. I know not where I've been.

I know not time, nor place nigh destination,
If not certain of that chronic sensation,
Drowning in the certainty of an ethereal damnation.

2023/02/23 
'Writing Challenge - G Words -'
Constance La France

Death

Noose of death tightens 
and heart’s load lightens,
not due to despair 
but since we’re aware.

Bliss beats rise, we burn
but now it’s death’s turn
to reclaim its own,
feeling love home grown.

Each moment reborn,
consciousness sings on,
frolicking about
free from fear and doubt.

03-December 2022

The Plan

I’ve cheated death three times in four decades so far
after each episode pondering for what purpose
my life was spared by rare good fortune
as I’ve accomplished very little since
though certainly not due to lack of trying
I’m sure there were more promising people 
who passed away on those days
deserving of a second chance
If a divine plan for me exists it appears to have been
scrawled on the back of a napkin 
by someone who’d had a few too many pints at the pub 
and was quite pissed when they came up with it

Global Warming

Global  Warming***

           ————————
In the future, surviving
Generations will pray…
From the cosmic heavens
The blue beauty,
Third from the sun, Earth
Will still orbit.
But, the survivors kneel
For hours
With their whole souls
Longing for forgiveness
Of ancestral greed
With its resulting causes of
Unimaginable mourning.
And,they will explain 
The Earth’s beauty blue
As not due 
To the oceans and seas,
But,in truth
(As well they knew),
To all the fallen tears —
For the all-created — 
Which still continue
In the rainfall
Of God’s weeping.

——————————————————————
11/2021 sally young Eslinger
Glory to God

When Angry People Head My Way

When people used to come toward me all shaky and mean
I used to not realize it was due to something totally unseen
I took it personally, and even held a grudge once upon a time.
I am wiser now and realize their behavior is not due to mine.

Now that I am a better listener, I give them ten buckets of salt.
I tell them that I am here for them, it makes most of them halt.
Many have become good friends, glad to find a person who will see
They have more on their agenda. Frankly I am glad it is me.

I recognize now that anger usually describes heartache of some kind.
They come at me shaking mad and I try to bring out my listening mind.
I ask them who has hurt them and tell them they can share with me.
I always keep their confidence, which is something they soon see.

So now when people come toward me with anger on their face.
I give them my best self and much appreciated grace.
I have made so many friends being the listener they need.
Extending my trust and understanding often starts a friendship seed.

My Beloved

It have been years passed
It starts from mine like a excitement
I searched day by day
I waited for the moment daily
I didn't came in front
I am crazy at that time
Till now too
I don't even spoke
Even I didn't realise that what it is ?
But I expressed it on that day
I was wondered, on fear , on doubt 
Downed on that reply 
But I already expected it
Days went quit fast
The next part gets begin 
I was on shock, not due to fear or other
But due to happy
Such a beautiful chapters of my life
Which I didn't expect
But I expected a lot on that 
I gave a hope
But myself broke it
I was not cent percent practical
I was not cent percent emotional
Yes I was not 
I hurt her
I hurt myself 
But both know the factual
We know that we are good in our bond
We both cares
I am happy for you
But I am not cent percent practical or emotional
Still I am happy for you
Chapters will come to an end
But memories stay
My beloved...

Delightful Elevator Scene

Amidst joyful* spirit, we took our ascent
Toward an appointment my son should not miss
While basking in his cologne with fruity scent
Wafting soothing goodness of sweet freshness bliss…

Then my special child giggled in mirth’s delight* 
When I let one loose in the elevator…
Oh, yes; you’ve guessed it right; not due to smell’s blight
But he saw from wheel chair flight --- his fave doctor.

*Isaiah 61:10 I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God…

August 4, 2021
1st place, "A BRIAN STRAND Rime" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 8/19/2021.

Our World Is Crying

Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.
A severe risk as a result of the global warming challenge 
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.

It is not due to hairspray or baby oil; it's our fate.
Rapidly melting Arctic glaciers are causing damage.
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.

Carbon from fossil fuels is the major emission element.
A ferocious shockwave of metabolic blaze stage.
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.

Concerns around the ozone hole depletion sprout.
Sea level is rising due to melting ice and warmer plage.
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.

War and turmoil look trivial compared to climate.
Despite that our kids are at risk, newly threats emerge.
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.

 
To allow plant life to thrive, we need to alter our zest.
Retain the air safe and car-free with zero carbon discharge.
Our planet is weeping, and faith is at low and vacillate.
Concerns have arisen as an outcome of a wavering climate.


Written April 20, 2021

A MAJOR WORLD PROBLEM Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS

My Camera

I'm sitting and thinking of the past and I'm sad
Not due to the situations but because the quality is bad
 
I've always had problems with this faulty camera in my mind
The images get fuzzier the more I try and find
 
I've taken it apart, I've tried cleaning the lens
But the pictures sit around and become blurry again
 
The longer they've been sitting there the blurrier they are
Some of my dearest memories are the blurriest by far
 
I know we all may have this problem, that's why we all should care
Because clear and lasting memories are oh so very rare

Night Sounds At Campsite

Night Sounds At Campsite
Written: by Miracle Man
February 10, 2021

Night sounds heard around our campfire,
Sounds from darkness beyond our campsite.
I’d often hear the swish of a nocturnal flier,
a sound that always gave a young boy fright.

Not due to loneliness did the coyote howl,
but it sent out a message to me-beware.
Nor did I understand the answering Owl,
who gave a hoot but didn’t really care.

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