"He won’t paint", cried out the Father
suspecting a flame of genius
in the toddler’s eyes.
The painterly parent bought paper, acrylics,
oils, brushes, chalks, and crayons,
not even a finger painting emerged.
The child steadfastly refused to paint.
The father pleaded:
“For the glory of God why not paint!”
His offspring only turned away
to suck a thumb.
Months past…years.
The child grew to be a sullen teenager.
He began to write poetry – and such woeful,
doleful poetry!
Exclamation marks rose up in heaven
as thick as bamboo forests.
His father read them, his face grew ashen
with a sickly alarm.
The poems spoke of phantasmagorical visions,
hordes of screaming demons, dismembered
herds of hapless humans.
Abysmal were the visions the boy unleashed
from his newly erupted consciousness.
Presentiments flew up from the pages
as horrid as the blood-red dragons of Hades.
Upon reading his son’s latest works
the father exclaimed:
“For God’s sake, NEVER paint!”
He took the young man for long walks in the country,
forced him to join a local soccer team,
suggested a military career,
alas
the boy began to paint.
Categories:
presentiments, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The Infant won’t paint, cried out the Father;
he sensing an otherworldly genius
in the toddler’s eyes.
The painterly parent bought paper, acrylics,
oils, brushes, chalks, and crayons…
not even a finger painting emerged.
The child steadfastly refused to paint.
The father exclaimed:
“For the glory of God why not paint!”
His offspring turned away to suck his thumb.
Days past…years.
The child grew to be a sullen teenager.
He began to write poetry – and such woeful,
doleful poetry!
Exclamation marks rose up in heaven
as thick as bamboo forests.
His father read them, and his face grew ashen
with a sickly alarm.
The poems spoke of phantasmagorical visions,
hordes of screaming demons dismembered
herds of hapless humans.
Abysmal were the visions unleashed
from the boy’s erupting consciousness.
Presentiments flew up from the pages
as horrid as the blood-red dragons of Hades.
After reading his son’s latest works
the father exclaimed:
“For God’s sake, NEVER paint!”
He took the young man for long walks in the country,
forced him to join a local soccer team,
suggested a military career,
alas
the boy began to paint.
Categories:
presentiments, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Shallow strands; slumber's token
Veiled words subconsciously spoken
Dark window to inner being broken
Pent-up desires from entomed depths awoken
New pathways from psyche's cluttered road pared
Surrealistic vistas sculpted, with well-worn peaks paired
Imaginative streams by conscious's reservoir snared
Nightmares flood overloaded circuits, subliminal fears bared
Fantasies flow through refurbished conduits, delightful impulses shared
Time's burdensome mantra refused
Spatial limitations are excused
Yesterday's sorrows, actions with today's sense of urgency infused
Today's sentiments, yesterday's deeds are synchronically fused
Tomorrow's presentiments are tethered to present cares then defused
Categories:
presentiments, education,
Form: Rhyme
No man knows the exact day or hour
But charlatans continually preach of an Armageddon stour
Over fallow fields they their abrasive treatises scour
Softening the hard, unyielding ground as a tidy, careful plower
With visions of doomsday they fertile hearts do shower
Their seeds annually spring up as the perennial flower
With self-aggrandizing statements, continually their banal egos empower
Prophesying the cataclysmic end from their ivory tower
Predicting a scourging blight on every shielded bower
With their fleecing mantra distill a warning so dour
Ignorant patrons dispossess themselves of temporal treasures and cower
With presentiments of fearsome events that will this evil world devour
If only they would throw off the yoke of parochial tenets, emboldening discerning spirits with valour
Their hungry hearts would the chaff disperse and process the truthful remnant into a satiating flour
Categories:
presentiments, angst, dedication, devotion, faith,
Form: Rhyme
Dreams once hidden, now appeared,
dreams of an abandoned city,
distortions that mangled me
are my insolvable presentiments,
perhaps, they are just greetings
from hyenas in the night.
Oh, why I get them unbidden?
It's streets glided into each other
like lifeless labyrinths,
exhausting continuation or
logic of a lost place?
It's houses only waited
as numb, deaf witnesses,
while the sky was abundant of yellowish grey.
In the reality of anguish and trepidation,
yellow ashes were densely concentrated,
ghostly flux or enigma?
In the distance,
I heard tramps of a horse,
or is it another deception?
He is quiet,I am quiet,
sound of lie or life!
I am now his only comrade,
for we wandered through yellow ashes alone,
for we understood our prehistoric calls,
in this microcosm we are only brothers!
Odd set of eyes stared at me,
the most soulful eyes,I ever saw.
What are you trying to tell me,
when everything is already said?
Yellow fog frightened me,
bringing smell of Thanatos,
awaken conscience of executors in this Golgotha?
Executors and victims dance in yellow ashes
while conscience of the humankind
is withheld on the Balkan soil.
Categories:
presentiments, loss, philosophy, sorry, waryellow,
Form: Free verse