In Solace
I live in an aura
of prolonged isolation
On the edge of the city
my hermitage thrives
Alone with my thoughts
the world but an orphan
In solace indentured
— I serve and I thrive
(The New Room: June, 2026)
When Least Expected
Out of left field
or deep in the night
The words come unbidden
as welcome delights
Not knowing the minute
or hour they’re born
They enter my consciousness
raw unadorned
When trying to call them
they often ignore
My summons and pleadings
that knock on their door
But when least expected
their gift a surprise
The breath I’ve been missing
— that keeps me alive
(The New Room: June, 2026)
To Dream
Teach them
to wonder
And teach them
to search
Teach them
to love
As you teach them
— to dream
(The New Room: June, 2026)
Never Let Time
Never let fear
determine
your future
Never let distance
turn you
away
Never let critics
dissuade
or discourage
Never let time
with its limits
— betray
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)
Be a Poet ...
stop trying
to become one
give yourself up
to the sound
Within your lyrics
are so many
pleadings
feelings disjoint
and impound
Open the gate
and let out the dogs
the last fox
almost over
the hill
Scream
if you must
those whispers betrayed
until all that’s been empty
— is filled
(The New Room: September, 2025)
My heart bled
and writing
was an open wound
As words
poured out
in hemorrhaged pleadings
No suture
or hemostat
clotting their flow
The nearer
the end
the harder it pumped
In gushing
pulsations of
finality
Bleeding out
what time
— could never give back
(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)
WHAT KATIE DID
Katie had jogged my elbow at the poker table
I tried to snatch back my chips but was unable
And I guess I was causing some sort of hiatus
A bet’s a bet, quite irrespective of one’s status
My pleadings were drowned out in that babel
Could I lose all that money sent over by cable
Other players showed no evidence of amity
Their gain will be my loss, and a real calamity
A bet once placed, is like making a contract
By now, any smile on my face had cracked
To regular rich punters a loss doesn’t matter
But for me, it’s my world that could shatter
I held my breath at the the fate I was dealt
All could clearly witness the pain that I felt
The highest bid that I had apparently made
My hand that must now have to be played
Perhaps the others thought I was a kidder
But it’s what a high bidder has to consider
Angel of the streets
demon in the fortress
Darkness hides the garden
Grace a fallen wish
Voices in the alley
pleadings last communion
Wings that fight to open
— fire on the wind
(The New Room: October, 2024)
A haunting melody plays on and on in my head,
Is it a message or a phrase I should know or had said.
Words of a song keep repeating over and over to me,
Is it just a song or are those words trying to reach out to me.
Is it the pleadings of a lost song crying out to be set free.
Is it all real or just a fantasy
Obsessed by my obsessions
to point of being swept away
If only I were capable
of living a different way
Despite all of my pleadings
seems no matter how hard I pray
This driving force of focus
still define’s my life today.
In my old age
I have become bitter,
and disinclined
to hear pleadings from my sage..
It's only winter's cold curse,
how I long for summer's rays
to warm my soul
and slay my heart's malaise.
Ye fearing Jehovah, draw near; I shall say
The deeds He hath done for my soul
Afflictions and flames had surrounded my way
Strong waters above me didst roll
He proved me, and I was as silver refined
Removed He my dross and my doubt
And though ‘midst the water and flame I was tried
In mercy my King brought me out
I clung unto hope and believed in His Word
His praises were found on my tongue
He answered my prayers; my pleadings He heard
Behold all the deeds He hath done!
“Stand still, and behold the salvation of God”
I heard, and no more was I scared
A path through the ocean whereon we should trod
Hath He for His people prepared
Thus now, in abundance, I joyfully sing
And I shall complete every vow
With joy I shall go to the House of my King
To humbly and gratefully bow
The nations shalt praise Thee, Thy foes shalt obey
The earth shalt sing praises to Thee
Oh, blessed be Jehovah, Who turned not away
My plea, nor His mercy from me!
Based on Psalm 66
Adorn her grace
By Michelle Morris
10/09/2022
Pull the curtains down
Close the stage
The play is done
The throne is changed
Another monarch
Leaves in peace
New heir today
A house of sadness
People come
And people leave
Life goes on
Despite our pleadings
Sadness and hope
Intermingled
Flags at half mast
Respect and ceremony
Funeral rites
And gun salutes
Break the silence
Of soulful musings
Black all around
Mourning attire
People crying
Nationwide
Remembrance of
A fulfilled life
Born to royalty
Born to fly
Now angel wings
Adorn her grace
And Heaven welcomes
Her home at last
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Remembering Dreams
David J Walker
Here the breathings
In deep wood
Here the hearings
If I could
Remember meanings
Bad or good
Visions often
Misunderstood
I dream of you
My dear
I dream I feel
You near
I dream I hear
Your breathings
I dream I know
The pleadings
Of your heart
The dreams sure were dreamt— by one alone,
Not by both and sure failed to reach peak.
Let’s now build together our dream house—
Bring own base, cement, mortar, each brick.
Let all need temples to placate God,
Not us; hope, He has not made us meek.
If He’s made us in His tall image,
Petitions, pleadings would make Him sick.
Let sorrows never dare to dare us,
Let’s frown at shallow joys, call them freak.
The point made if failed a point to pick,
Sure, such a poem would never click.
Our first words if were in Mother tongue,
To our child let them not sound like Greek.
_______________________________________
Set in anapaest meter, it has little in common with the original.
Ghazal |01.02.2022, revised April 2022|
And
David J Walker
And
Who willfully enters this
beautiful land
Of misunderstandings
Its pallor a depth increased
Beyond the azure sky
the dawn a deceptive gathering
of propagated meanings
A tapestry in patois proverbial greetings
The façade in umbrage of
The Hierophants sagacious pleadings
He will leave a different man
But not alive
Hiding between imprisoned lines,
a fugitive of verse
turning my back on pleadings made,
musings that amerce
The lengthy sentence of my mind,
fleeing my recall
to leave the spoken word confined
—released to scale the wall
(Dreamsleep: January, 2022)
Oh, don’t flatter me with presents from the Ghost of Christmas Past.
Tis the season for nostalgia, but those feelings never last.
It’s a gift-wrapped empty promise not worth tuppence on the street,
Or a ticket to the opera when you’ve nothing left to eat.
Oh, don’t weary me with visions from the Ghost of Christmas Gone.
It’s a fairy tale for paupers who’ll be just as poor come dawn.
I’ve no sympathy for indolence, nor ignorance and want.
If you’re looking for compassion, find another bank to haunt.
Oh, don’t bother me with worries from the Ghost of Christmas Done.
Send those children of the gutter to the workhouse, every one!
Put their noses to the grindstone in a more productive game;
Earning porridge making bootstraps for the barefoot and the lame.
Oh, don’t humbug me with pleadings from the Ghost of Christmas Lost.
Sir, the figures on my balance sheet won’t justify the cost.
So, our business is concluded and I’m free to wash my hands.
Tell the Sisters of St. Alban’s, the eviction notice stands!
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