Fool, who sole associates
Comfort with those, high-roofed
And streeted, storm-proofed.
Heart's and mind's, alike walled, lit
At whose depths, to shelter
Rest, peace securer.
Contest: Get A Room
Sponsor: Margaritas Lilico
Ryhmes: AABBA
I love you and someday, we"ll be together.
But tonight, separate rooms will be better.
We will spend the night, but separately.
Our precious love will wait patiently.
We'll dine and get two rooms later.
candles
wax standing tall
a bright light glows shining warmth
dark rooms are filled with a bright light
what a beautiful sight
Small rooms I enter.
I squat and read the scribbles.
Did fingers write these?
Horrible condition
Often lead to a visit
Somewhere we all have been
Perhaps when you jumped
Into a shallow pool from a hight
That was much to high or maybe
After a cold when you coughed your
Lungs up without stop
Regardless of the reason
Out of all that live we all have been sent
Off to the hospital where the staff present
Mastery of health to hopefully
Save your life
On wet walls where warm whispers dwell,
in palace rooms where day dreams swell,
A moonlight gleams on secrets old,
In gilded stairs, the past unfolds.
Who dwelt in the palace erewhile?
Why dwellers left, where they exiled?
The mansion waits, in tranquil grace,
Mystery lies in this lone place.
Electric frogs call:
hospital monitors beep
in syncopation.
In the rooms where good men lay dying
The air is foul and vile
The doors are locked from the inside
And no one can hear the crying.
In the rooms where good men lay dying
You can’t beat death with a smile
The walls are steeped in innocent blood
And love has given up trying.
In the rooms where good men lay dying
All is filled with the empty husks of life
No just battles are ever won here
And the air is overburdened with strife.
No light will ever come in by chance
While God’s angels patiently keep the score
The demons play outside and dance
In the space beyond the door.
In the rooms where good men lay dying
The cries and noise of this world can enter not
Only voices of angels, saints and martyrs are heard
Comforting them still living but not to be disturbed.
Closed off from this nasty world of pain and sin
Where war and crime and violence win
These rooms were made to save the saved
Returning to an eternity of God’s love forever deserved.
I look different in the time between rooms.
I smile, I'm brave, I push those feelings down
While I busy myself, cooking, chatting
"All is well!"
Then
The walk between one room to the next
The smile drops
The frown
The fretful sigh
The shake of the head
"I can't do this"
Then I arrive in the next room
Replace the mask
Don't let them see the pain
The grief of a life in limbo
Of decades lost
Why did I stay?
Joking, they'd never know
Then
Alone.
Long stares, unanswered prayers
The deep dark hole that is now.
Hoping with everything I have that one day, the smile will stay and it will be real.
Your shoes are still by the door.
I stepped around them this morning
like stepping around a memory
that doesn’t want to go.
The hallway light
flickers now.
It didn’t used to.
I thought maybe
your voice would echo
if I left the door open long enough,
but the house
only hums,
like it’s trying to forget
you ever lived here.
I found your notebook.
The pages were still warm,
some with half a sentence,
some with only one word.
They looked like
they were waiting
for you
to finish.
They say
grief is heavy.
But I think
it feels more like
nothing.
And nothing
is the heaviest thing
I’ve ever held.
searching empty rooms ~
what do my tender hopes seek
now that I am all moved out
~ ~ mattered - not oblique ~ ~
sadly - whole house seems aloof
even walls just feel the roof
Everyone sang of your beauty, in words and poems, through rooms full of murmurs,
but you only heard my silence, where words needed no sound.
Everyone longed to see you, like darkness chasing the moon across the sky,
but you gave me the first light, a vision like a forgotten dream reborn.
Since you began to smile gently, with your gaze turned toward me,
this city has burned with flames reflecting in the mirror of my soul.
Those who didn't know I existed now see me and whisper my name softly,
as if I hadn't always breathed on the same streets, among the same shadows.
In the flow of my thoughts, echoes of light and darkness intertwine,
like a river of stars flowing through the valleys of an endless night.
And thus, in this silence full of unspoken words, I find you constantly,
an unwritten story, a song that resonates in a city burning with desire and mystery.
In dark rooms where silence flows like a river of ink,
I sit alone, wrapped in the solitude of Monday mornings,
While presidents speak of honor, culture, and dedication,
And their words are echoes lost in the vastness of a gray sky.
Sadness weighs on my soul like a shadow stretching over an empty field,
My manliness suffocates me, stripping away any illusion of pride,
As time slips through my fingers like the fine sand of an hourglass,
And I feel understanding drifting away like a mirage in the hot desert.
My glass empties, leaving me to contemplate the silent abyss of decisions,
I must choose between the company of those who drink to soothe despair,
Or seek out storekeepers who will never publish my unspoken poem,
A poem unraveling like a forgotten dream on the edge of endless mornings.
In this melancholy, my thoughts are birds flying toward the lost horizon,
And with each beat of their wings, they leave behind unfulfilled desires and hopes,
While I, in my dark room, listen to the silence whispering stories to me,
Stories of days that will never come, of moments that remain suspended.
Sometimes I need light.
Sometimes we,
sometimes everyone needs light.
In the dark and the damp of rooms,
of feelings, of thoughts
and of our lives that flow,
we need light from the window,
from the open door, from the open spaces
under the open skies,
and then we need some lights to glow,
but from where, when or whether
it will come or not come, we never know.
And for the deepest dark
of our dilemmas and destinations,
of our regret, shame and sorrow,
sometimes the lights of touch and words
we need to borrow.
To light our paths of today
and tomorrow,
so that we can survive
at least within a meaningful light
all the way to the end of our show.
(07 December 2024)
Have you ever thought about the permanence of airports?
Flights dock and depart.
The people flow in and out,
ever-changing,
a whirl of color and language and time.
But not the concrete.
Not the tile.
The cornerstones always remain.
Decades of stories,
manifold fears and dreams,
held between each molecule.
Here we are timeless.
Existence escapes the construct
of seconds that parade forward.
In an airport, you simply are.
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