Night pays no attention
to love’s secret meetings~
a flowering bower
and ecstasy when two
hearts find one another.
Night pays no attention
to the ache of parting,
to tears overwhelming,
of hearts piecemeal breaking,
to loneliness swelling .
Night pays no attention
to day’s sudden dawning~
the night will rise again
to loneliness swelling
in life’s foolish fast lane.
I can't escape hearing the voices.
Even when, I myself, am utterly alone,
Even when the plea for peace,
is threadbare, shredded into tatters
of shrugged-off 'don't matters'.
The child I once was,
clamors for wonder, mischief, and make-believe.
The critic leans back, arms-crossed,
primed to tear down every armistice deal.
The dreamer scatters blueprints
made of butterfly wings,
stalling, stalling,
for happenstance to lead the way.
The doubter folds paper chain dolls,
strung together with paperclip chains.
The judge bangs the gavel on the table, commanding:
"Enough of the blithering!"
"This piecemeal deal must be done—Today!"
The mirror shows I myself, splintered into
a bookcase of shadows, on the shelves.
In the High Court of Inner Appeal -
They beg to differ, plead to acquiesce,
to become as one,
all-inclusive, but failing —
Then, another shadow enters the room.
A tiny puppy wagging its tail!
Mind is at peace.
Peace is here, if you please!
Ornery welcomed
Persnickety aboard
Stubborn manned the wheel
Mischief infiltrated
Nooks and crannies
Teamwork sank
~ the ship piecemeal
Winds bell-ring the tulips.
Racoons hang lazily from eaves
watching the watched.
Barns are bent into rafts of moss,
an age shedding green
gathered by crow-footed wanderers.
All is a montage of one single facet
of day-sprung now.
Meadowlarks slip through their own songs
I unlimber my gray sticks
and stride,
my piecemeal mind mended and alight
with a bright-eyed flowering.
Spring clambers over my bones
to chase the wagging tails of
barking dogs,
sunshine gallops along a paddock fence
casting a mirage of painted flickers.
Hard to be anything less
then my best idea this day.
I search for a notion, a reason, a why,
only to be scooped-up
by a flock of fleet sparrows,
their small brown wings going nowhere,
yet all of us flying inside a sky-lifting joy.
Paul wants to his debts pay by installments
Red-eyed Mark holds not back raw sentiments.
“The cash you plan to release me piecemeal
I could lavish in some delicious meal,
Kitchens crossing their doors to food feel
And pubs parting their curtains to thirst heal:
Now, Red-Hot Mark not sure of starting deals
Nor big transactions providing fast wheels.
Next, a Paul begging lender use of his brain
And brotherly saving of deserved pain…
“You know installments can’t drive a bargain
Which no strength saps while it assures gain!”
“Yes, but I know Little does help The Big
And one less lucky with hair tries The Wig”
When creditor and debtor converse
Check it: one wants to a few things reverse.
For the life of me, and others all
How did people, heed that call?
Who cry; that faith in Christ if blind?
Would hamper freedom/choice of mind.'
Yet sonorous blasts on death and gloom
Were watched piecemeal in every room
So many put such, faith in flesh '
To me a challenge; although I'm blest '
Lord thank you for the others here
Who still, stand strong g'ainst pure fear.'
We know of honeyed lies, untruth
The graphic claims no depth, too uncouth'
And from their filth they call out still
Would you become a minion?
Can they break your will?
Crow chief adorned with the whitest eagle feathers
Brought to him piecemeal by tribal elders and hunters
Constructed in a loving way by wise women of the tribe
Worn with pride at evening council fires and ceremonies
Eagle headdress striking fear in enemies of Crow
Giving him an extra boost when they were on the warpath
My youth is a puzzle, missing bits and pieces,
fragmented memories of family.
Piecemeal, faded
recollections.
I recall some brief moments spent in happiness,
and yet, a veil of fear shadows the rest.
I don't remember any suppressed stuff,
those blank gaps mark my memories as incomplete.
Can time complete a puzzle with
a jumble of missing pieces?
Dad lost pieces;
fighting a war.
Piecemeal, a Coronavirus poem
by Michael R. Burch
And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
(A pale Piggy-Wiggy
will discount your death as no biggie.)
Keywords/Tags: coronavirus, plague, Trump, final, solution, America, betrayal, corruption, death, depression, evil, grave
Wearing love’s unbalanced bow
elegance lost in a long distance
A scrambled discord in each era
Lost chapters leer, at every goal
Last of heart’s patchy piecemeal
Going a shorter way is tempting
Only, soul knows it cannot be so…
(1/25/2020: 91 Sea Ray Express 400; DMS: ‘We All Go’ in 2017)
Live, Don’t Exist
Written: by Miracle Man
11-16-2019
Sometimes due to age,
I’ve found others to be officious.
In refusing their help,
my refusal is capricious.
Help causes me to feel,
I’ve been delegated to the shelf.
And as long as I’m able,
I like doing things myself.
I’d prefer not answering daily,
just how it is I feel.
My new norm is never good,
so I take my days piecemeal.
Sometimes I feel others,
My condition may amplify.
I appreciate concerned friends,
But want to live until I die.*
*Ecclesiastes 7:17
“Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time?”
Held to Her chest, silly noises and funny faces made you happy
Gripped in His hand, temper tantrums and meltdowns reared your independence
Your fatigue and fussiness paints with such an unconscionable art-ness
All the while We were growing yet teaching you affinity
Moon tide you yearned for Us, in your crib-beating, in the beautiful blackness
We adored you and said “don’t be afraid of this divine darkness”
As a youth you distanced from Us, lashed back always wrong-Us; and right-you
Til moving out into the world, aspired zeal and faithfulness surfaced your moral
Your Intellect and passion transfigured your heart into a bestowing windfall
We piecemeal together a perfect match yet only expected effort from you
Effectuating your beat, rhythm and fervor thru the sable noteworthy nightfall
Jones in your bones made you fonder of Black Love’s vulnerable call
A mangled mind struggles to decipher
A lonely world...in darkness of Alzheimer.
Like million stars in unknown cosmic space
neurons quiver million jumbled thoughts.
Tangled nerves in a white vellum
reflect faded echoes of false screams.
Hallucinating a nightmare in piecemeal,
a befuddled ship sails in foggy emotions.
Eyes that played like a cheerful squirrel
now blink nonchalant, staring faraway
Smiles that broke in boisterous laughter,
now mute a tomorrow in tone of yesterday.
Old albums of yellowed photographs
now a blackboard erased of dusty memories.
In labyrinth of 'Who am I' and 'Who are they'?
cachet of names dwindle forgotten stories.
A wonderment of familiar faces all around,
He keeps getting... Lost... and... Found.
He looks and looks...longer and longer
Knows not why...everyone looks a stranger.
Date written 20th June 2019
NA in the following two contest
1. Sponsor Richard Lamoureux
Contest Move me
2. Sponsor Brian Strand
Your choice (11) Imagist style any form or theme
You had to know Lucille
Every morning nothing but oatmeal
She never skipped a meal
Her favourite colour was teal
And loved to wear soft chenille
Her pet was a beautiful cockatiel
And every night drank chamomile
Out of crystal cut pinwheel
She believed life had handed her a misdeal
And stopped pretending to feel
Lucille liked things to be even keel
How things changed when she met charming Neil
Propelling his sporty automobile
Until all four tires would squeal
Somehow it was instant undeniable appeal
They were an item and a big deal
And soon became ‘Neil and Lucille’
They got to know each other piecemeal
Both actively fought to save the endangered seal
(But both love to eat fish, chicken and veal)
Both had been through their own ordeal
But that now seemed somewhat unreal
And much preferred to dawdle in the surreal
With their hearts doing somersaults and cartwheels
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
History sounds – billions of muffled voices, vying to be heard.
The loudest ones rise to the top, while others are doomed to silence.
But even among those heard and remembered,
We will never truly know them.
We may gather their notes and letters,
Dig up their dusty bones,
Resurrect their hopes and fears,
Rebuild their childhood homes,
Learn of their loves and failures;
But this past we piece together,
Like a giant jigsaw puzzle,
Will never be complete,
For the person will always elude us.
We will never see the world as they did,
Or feel the ebb and flow of their culture;
Never carry the weight of their conscience,
Or know the depths of their convictions.
Though science brings us ever closer,
It can never truly take us there,
For the world once known to them can never speak;
It must lie muted, still and dead,
Haunting us with piecemeal truths,
That can never again be made whole.
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