There.
third row, second seat
hair over eyes, red-rimmed
tired maybe?
shirt buttoned wrong
laces untied
broken hearted
last row, right at the back
a young couple
giggling
not watching
love
how long will it last
the movie starts
theatre darkens
eyes front
focused on the screen
engrossed, distracted
popcorn, drinks, spilt
front row
now on the floor
children
necks tilted up
vibrating in excitement
can't look away
middle aisle
near the exit
new parents
on the edge of their seat
waiting for the call
desperate for a night off
movie ends
lights rise
people stand, stretch
slowly trickle out
leaving behind spilt drinks, popcorn
the floor a mosaic of people
netflix
stan
prime
hulu
peacock
disney
empty now
darkness lingers
screen unused
velvet seats grow dusty
stale popcorn permeates
I am empty now
No one there.
Alejandro kicked the door open.
His step-daughter was huddled on her bed,
weeping and trembling with fear.
There was no pity in him,
his heart cold as an iceberg,
his whole being reeking of alcohol.
Gabrielle dreaded her ordeal
but could not utter one sound.
"One shout from you and I'll kill you."
She knew he meant it as she stared
into his red rimmed hard eyes.
Downstairs his wife sat placidly
in front of the television,
watching the latest episode
of Desperate Housewives.
For years and four days,
I await a knock, a stark reply,
The unknown a wretched price to pay,
And it burns me alive.
They say fire is but cleansing, if so my soul is burnished bright,
Yet it does not warm the morning, nor brighten black night.
But mourning the past, what has been and could be, brings a heart only sorrow, and threatens ill deed.
So I'll turn red rimmed eyes, from smoke and weary tears, to the God who is wise, to whom prayers never fall on deaf ears.
For the years I have waited, a lifetime of trial,
He never wavered, my heart never reviled.
For His goodness and mercy, are neither bound nor abated,
Through the waiting and fire,
I see it is in Him, I've truly waited.
A red-rimmed sun of summer,
of the sweat of the workers,
the salt of their brows.
Shoulders to the grindstone,
the strength of sinew and muscle,
hours of their labors.
The Lord of their lives
and their eternity-
gives them a dreamer's sojourn
in the welcomed moonrise. ~
Treacherous Tears
These tear tracks through make up
Give me away
Red rimmed eyes and rosy nose
Say, " I'm not okay"...
But if you see me like this
Try not to look too close
I'm concealing secrets
I'd rather you not know
And if you give me
a sympathetic smile
My thin "I'm ok"mask
will crack and then I'll
Lose this bloody fight
with these treacherous tears
Wet sorrow will dissolve me
And I will disappear.
sun's wrath red rimmed blaze
bathers bronzed
dolphins arcs graceful
On a damp Sunday, where the grass and earth
Call my name, out from the tangle of covers
On the humid wind, the forest beckons
With her arms of fallen leaves, twigs
Ferns uncurl
My heart is pounding in my black sweatshirt,
I unzip it and touch my collar bone, and then
The rough arm of a sycamore
Just when I thought I was King
She sways in the wind and wrestles me down
Just when I thought I was good at letting
Soft earth mend my brow, just like the worry doll
The white lilies and morels fade away
I know the moment when my heart pounds
And refuses to drive to work, to go back
And I scream silently, but I’m reflected in the lake
Lines and red rimmed eyes, but, something else
I spread my arms and look up, in time to see a Red Tail
Following along, parallel in the grey sky
Let’s let that be enough, crown of feathers
Enough, gentle lake wind
To dream another day to a close
The lines in my eyes are red-rimmed in sweat
Burning is the sensation of this melting intellect
Focus has abandoned to an easier place to think
Unmanned in disaster melted skin turning pink
The ringing in my ears compromises my own thought
Unable to pay attention to who, when, where, or what
Overwhelming my existence, won't follow my own path
Nothing seems to add up I just can't do the math
Lines crack beside the crow's feet of my eyes
Belief is beginning to feel like the Devil in denial
The sands never fall up just down to time one's death
The water is rising under the bubbles of my last breath
bmdavey@01/16/2023
No, she mustn't cry out loud,
Every pain she must but hold;
No tear must make its way from the sides,
Of her pained, grieving, red rimmed eyes.
Into the casket she can't help but stare,
At the boyish, chubby face so fair;
And wonder why she can't seem to hear,
The sweet voice she once held so dear.
It is but a matter of time, she says,
To every person who tries to close the case;
Lazy boy he's always been but he'll,
Get up from his sleep when he's had his fill.
What will it take to convince,
A loving, doting, caring mother since;
How could she who could still hear her child cry,
Help but think her very senses lie.
Oh, this cruel, cruel war,
Is like unlit fireworks in a jar;
To protect it from every spark that flies,
The soldier is who pays the price.
When is this atrocity to stop?
When will the terrorists but realize;
Greater good is though what they hoped to gain,
Their humanity is what they've mercilessly slain.
Maybe one day the ball of gold will shine,
Onto an earth once more pristine;
Where no mother will ever grieve for her lost child,
And at no border will heaps of bodies be piled.
We conveyed a constant view of the world.
That was not the correct way to bear it.
Yet, just in the manner in which we desired.
Through glasses that are red.
Our fellowship grew and thrived.
Our bodies and brains are intrinsically tied.
Those who are acutely attuned to one another.
Notwithstanding any hardship, we prevailed.
All of this has vanished instantly.
That is, in fact, your case.
Thrice I attempted to express my feelings,
Thrice I failed miserably.
A fog covered every part of my soul.
A storm darkened my brain,
But no lightning lit my thoughts.
All that was sweet, is dead.
And I am dying too,
Slowly but surely dying,
Slowly, till with the finality
Of an auctioneer’s blow
Death’s axe shall fall
Like a yellow karate blow
Then shall I be cut in twain:
But not yet, alas not yet,
My death but lingers,
Now I only wane.
Oh, curse the world.
Has the time come
When I must close my red-rimmed eyes
And give up my ebony soul
To the chaos and darkness below?
14 September 2021
Placed 1
Word Chosen No 2
''L'' Contest New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Memories of us flicker like a candle wick's flame
Yesterdays, I recall, but today nothing is the same
Sleep's become illusive. Each night I am unsettled
Openly, I cry as if my red rimmed eyes are nettled
Uttering a sigh, I gaze at the glowing gilded moon,
Lingering in loneliness while attempting not to cry
Thoughts of you flow through me like a waterfall
Often, I stare at shadows dancing upon the wall
Keepsakes of our life, I cherish with all my heart
Every time I look at them, I try not to fall apart
Eternally, I will be grateful for all that we shared
Please, God, mend my soul, for it has been bared.
April 12, 2021
Any Acrostic of 10 To 12 Lines
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
The grandfather clock solemnly struck two.
In the pitchy night, shadows seem to flit about.
I close my red rimmed eyes tight
Yet I can see all around me for sleep eludes me.
I lie on my bed like a dead crab on the hot sand,
not daring to move lest sleep evades me.
I imagine phosphorescent planes flying over fallow fields:
This is not a night dream that conducts to slumber.
For dreams can be soothing, this is anything but.
Almost dark despair as my tired eyes are wide awake.
I shut my eyes and imagine red full blown sails
weaving their way in a rubicund sunset
towards their berthing quays.
How quick they arrive and I am sleepless.
I think of you, dazzling and lovely,
covered in golden sand....like the crab.
No, no this does not work much for me.
The grandfather clock struck six.
Did I miss a beat? Did I sleep?
I don't know, I feel like the dead crab.
first light doodle doo
clarion call red rimmed sun
rooster squawk fade stars
27th April 2020
Sponsor Raul Moreno
Contest Name Morning Praise
Rigs are quiet now,
slumbering spires of steel
so cold - yet bread for many men.
Children may cry for the world's want of energy.
Towers of glass are empty now,
monuments to a better time,
of exploration, excitement, and excess,
when the world grew.
The eyes of good people are red-rimmed now,
as disbelief screams in a silent vacuum.
The only life left is the endless cycle of pumpjacks
and the hum of compressors
teasing their worthless treasures
from the dark bosom of the earth.
Everything is broken now, burned and blackened,
confused and cancerous.
Industry sleeps, but our age is not over.
Shifting now in death-throes and embers,
the black phoenix shall rise once more.
31 March 2020
Written for Coronavirus COVID-19 Cash Prize Poetry Contest sponsored by Team PoetrySoup
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