Reawakened at last but the strings not finely tuned
For the long haul requires a healthy rebirth
Now I search for new sources of fulfillment
I cannot return to the past of sheer coping
The birth of sustained happiness requires unrest
Like an addict breaking old habits I grit to endure
He has given me another chance but a tougher course
If I make it and the instrument of my life can be sound
Then I will truly be worthy the gift I was given, mercy
I puff my chest and put on my imaginary helmet
Life is growing pains but like a seed I must start somewhere
The quiet between us settles into light,
a hush that weighs more than any word ever spoken
Your breath leans closer as if to speak my name.
Yet nothing breaks the air, no sound is heard.
A shaking pause:
time loosens its embrace,
the fading light leans in,
holding our hearts in place,
I feel a promise hover on my lips,
a secret tide that sways then slowly slips.
No language superior to this quiet vow,
no music sweeter than the moment now.
The silence bends then deepens into bliss.
The world reawakened within one tender kiss.
And in that silence even stars confess
love grows deepest, when it speaks no excess
in the corner
of a blanched bungalow
sits a self-portrait:
loose bantu knots
the color of volcanic ash
her living nightmare
it was so much-
stampeding rain
wild winds
the icon of tropical thunder
with summer lightning
but the spite of ash
threatened the fete
smashed the sun
morning had broken
an island smeared
like God had face-palmed us
judgment for another place
another people
resting on your gables
the deadweight of ash
crashing queenie's
garden party
The Lord is come.
handling her Scriptures
squeezing the Holy Spirit
out of print
was she wholly confessed,
to be due robes of white
satin?
the sun reawakened,
ash washed away, passes
through her window
where she sits
cornered
Drifting 'bout the buzzing town
Glowing signs and neon lights
up the tow'er and its crown
there it sat, up such great height
a two leaf bud yearns for rite
the great winds sway both wings
fight for life with immense cling
loosened roots from its earth
reawakened in my birth
as a seed
Title 1
"The forest is my loyal friend A Delphic shrine to me." ... by Ralph Waldo Emerson
The written word bears roots abound
Hail favored mist of hallowed ground
Announced breathtaking full-filled air
Spreads out enjoyment summons fair
Forgiving trailed Earth's crowning Star
Forest startup's reserves stretched far
Healthy hoards and wholesome intakes
Fresh novel minds elsewhere, retakes
Obsessed consumed florists stationed
Lives styled out stretched reawakened
Seedlings advanced Heavens promised
Groundbreaking achievements calmest
Cob-web silk thread eight-legged shooters
Tethered roots edged equaled footers
Floods 'neath grounds raise the gigantic
Psalmist summoned lessened frantic
Misplacements sequenced adjustments
Cause coursed through major monuments
Misfortune causeway lengthens aches
Stressed strung-out unmeasured outtakes
Commons traversed rights owned presence
Neighbors challenged core quintessence
Claimed righteousness labors bear fruits
Attributes are well-served ... grassroots.
Come to me in April
when the chill of March winds have died
and the flowers that struggle to bloom
now find sun rays that warm and loom;
come to me in April
when all the winter cold slips reluctantly away
and the garden breathes anew swept by spring brooms
with daffodils and tulips from the earth exhumed;
come to me in April
when all my memories float on by
escaping the tears never meant to cry
and what was can never be undone;
come to me in April
when the tide of Easter resurrection lives again
God's promise to the souls of men
that life goes on beyond the here and now;
come to me in April
when all our dreams are reawakened
and the bonds of love are never shaken
freely given, ready for the taking.
Dim light
sun rays reflecting
through the window glass
casting shadowy images dancing along the walls,
early morning residue of the night
where hopes and dreams survive
immovable from mind and heart
eluding the memories of the soul;
kindred spirits reawakened
cluttering up the memory
held snug, safe within each memento
those I gave you, the ones you gave to me;
angels chanting
of Christmases, birthdays out of time
cascading flowers fallen petals, dried
pressed within a card, a book, a bible;
secured in this sanctuary
of silenced hymns and unanswered prayers
grateful for what was, what is
between two friends, companions, lovers in the night;
Extrapolate what you may imagine
conjure up
your pseudo images
to all that was and could have been,
here
kept safe, protected,
sheltered forever
in the memory room.
In the dusting of the springtime,
There’s a new dawn and a rebirth,
Bloom permeates turbulent clime,
The days ahead are swathed with mirth.
Sweet-scented thoughts of yesterday,
Hope arises from the debris,
Rejuvenation strides spring’s way,
Nature sees through a clear iris.
Shrivelled daises sprout & flourish,
The meadows are reawakened,
Colours and patterns to cherish,
Hands of gloomy tides are slackened.
We arise to nature's embrace,
As we run the world’s fleeting race.
June 14, 2023.
The mouse awoke to organ music.
“strange” he thought “it’s not Sunday.”
He stirred listlessly
Reawakened by the sound
Of scurrying…whispering
A baby crying…???
On opening his eyes
He gasped….
Two large, brown eyes
Stared over an open mouth.
He froze….not fear
But wonder…
A huge commotion followed.
Nothing to do with him.
Just the preacher
Whispering in his deep voice
And….singing….
He loved the singing
Mostly the hallelujah’s
And the one with the loooong Gloria’s.
He listened for the shuffling
The drone of the people leaving
Peaking out….
He saw those eyes again
The mouth whispered:
“Merry Christmas”.
A small hand left a broken cookie.
The mouse leaned back
Into the arms of the baby
The lights dimmed in the church
The small hand waved goodbye
The boy and the mouse smiled.
©11/25/2022
Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem
Sponsor - Constance LaFrance
cool
breezes
soft ruffle
of Goose feathers
an idle instinct
reawakened
bids adieu
to water's
chill
8/13/2022
Say It In Nine Poetry Contest
In the aftermath of giving birth I personally had a out of body experience.
Welcoming life into this world, Something went iffy. I could scarcely hear the sounds on the hospital’s speakers
code blue. Nurses and doctors routinely and expeditiously maneuvered to bring me back to existence.
I personally visualized a impression of a manlike image
embracing me, kissed me on my right cheek saying go back my child i’m not finished with you after three days slumbering I was reawakened.
Sleeping beauty has reawakened, and it is springtime again,
So like the younger days, when you skipped with Madeleine.
Purple hyacinths and daffodils, are fragrant in the meadows,
And the bush near the house, is colored with burgundy rose!
Wild hyacinths and dewy daffodils, usher in the sassy season,
Giving secret joy to many hearts, within the blooming region.
Birds sing in chartreuse fields, from morning until glitzy night,
When a day's flamenco dancers, are the rapture of moonlight!
Written on 4/24/2022
For: Spring Rhyme - 8-12 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
You chose to retreat
And retract your feelings
Stuffing every last one in the depths of your heart
Reluctant and torn
I fought the urge to reach out
Trying to avoid the consequences of being apart
No way they all disappeared
Those reawakened feelings so real
Had you fooled them to stay, or willed them gone for good?
Though outwardly hidden
My guess is, they'll linger
And if meant to be, time will reveal as it should
@katladyt_t
February 11, 2022
A Bit of Ares
We begin to number
the defining moments
as we start the slide
into a seeming oblivion
Clawing away our innocence
Sharpening our senses
baring our internal fang
uncannily unleashing the beast
We crouch keenly
surging with passion
roaring our desires
We start to prance
with a reawakened hope
we are prowling with zest
daring our dire yearnings
How shall I weep with those who mourn
When I have sensed the sweeter breeze
Wafting o'er the stones and through the trees
Across the sealed bronzed lid of death-borne
Sadness, yet eternal healing surely means
The bereft of pain are free;
The bereft of loss are free.
And so am I who stands before the glaring pit
Gazing into vast eternity, thinking only of me.
I shall not linger long to greet the wounded
Souls, whose cries of anguish at the bier
Reawakened in me long-dormant fear of dying
O, pity me, that I should self-accusing be
Grief-stricken without a solitary tear.
Published in PS: IT'S POETRY
Anthology of Poetry Soup
Arczis Web Technologies, Inc., 2020
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's Contest 2021
SELECTED FEATURED POEM
Poetry Soup, September 28, 2021
POETRY.COM COLLECTION
Poetry.com
April 16, 2022
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