Sackcloth Poems

INVICTUS

 *Inspired By Nelson Mandela

 Out of the Pitts of Darkness, In the Absence Of Light
 where even the faintest smile Glistens, In Spite
 there I give thanks to the Higher Power Abode
 That I, have Inherited this INVICTUS Soul

 Despite the Heavy and Unjust hand that's dealt
 I, have not Give In amongst this Fiery Hell
 the flesh Bludgeoned far through the Gale
 Yet, my Soul Untouched, My Soul Prevails

 Undaunted by the Nights, Black as Sackcloth is
 I, have Endured and Conquered this ship
 even amidst the Horrors and Pains of Day
 I Live On, Undaunted, Unafraid

 Matters Not how Crooked or Narrow the Gate
 I Press forth with Courage, Hope and Faith
 For, I AM THE MASTER OF MY FATE
 For, I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY Soul

I Couldn't Talk About It, So I Wrote A Poem

How dark the night, when the end came
and love vanished in a voiceless turbulent moment
when eyes pulled away, leaving a vacuum
as pain and sorrow blackened the skin of my heart

Allowing tears to fall and reverberate
   in the recesses of my soul
with a thunderous throbbing depression
   that sullied my world
leaving ragged roots of despair
   that gorged themselves
on the passion of my soul's soil

Where footprints led to the open gate
where strings of unknown reasons
   played on my heart
like the sound of a sad violin
calling my soul, seeking a melody of understanding
   in a night of upheaval
that rushed toward me with melancholy tones
   of misery
stripping away the joy of love
leaving a black sackcloth of ashes
that was plowed into my dead garden 
   of love
revealing crushed furrows of turbulent ground
where the roots of love once grew
and is now an empty windblown field
drenched in darkness, where nothing lives
but my grief-stricken memories of love

Where The Gale Force Rips

 When the storms come raging, a Tug Of War of Winds
 Pressed into the Abyss with a Broken Ship,
 Against the Tide where The Gale Force Rips
 Mapless you sail Adrift,
 Tossed about by the Currents Of Life
 And Still, The Thunder Rumbles In Spite
 When Clouds turn Black as Sackcloth, So Far from Shore
 And Nothing is certain but that your on your own,
 Where Lightning Strikes in a Firestorm
 And Colossal Swells Rise Forth,
 Have Faith, You Reap What You Sow
 Navigate,    You are the Captain, Take Full Control

Paenitentia

We can mortify our flesh,
wear our sign of confession,
perform our penance,
bear portions of scratchy sackcloth
so rough, so abrasive, against our bare backs.

Our sideboard now bears such a treasure,
three posies, nosegays, tussie-mussies,
bound in such pieces that would
love to scratch at our naked flesh
if we pressed it against our chests, our bellies, our backs.

Do we think of our past - our past’s own past?
Do we ignore all history
as we glance at, or disregard,
those posies, nosegays, tussie-mussies,
that sit in scratchy sackcloth?

(11 Dec 2023)

Reason To Cry

On the Jewish calendar, Tisha b'Av is the saddest day
    We don't even smile, say 'Hi' or 'Good morning'
  For when those who spied out the Land spoke untruly
    The Lord gave the Jewish People fair warning 

  "You say that here in the desert you choose to die
    My promise to lead you into the Land, you defy"
  'By my word,' the Lord thundered
    'I'll give you reason on this day to cry!'

  And that we all know is why
    Flames shot up from our Temple so high
  Darkening Jerusalem's tear-streaked sky
    exposing sins, once hidden, to the naked eye


  ______________________________________________ 
  'Tisha b'Av, a day of fasting, sackcloth and ashes, begins 
  at 8:17 p.m. Chicago time Wed., July 26 and ends at 
  8:57 p.m, Thursday, July 27.

Repent

repent
with sackcloth and ashes
turn back
to prayer in schools
skeleton phalanges off our youth

Plighting Our Troth Or Trothing Our Plight

We plight our troth for little but froth 
To be whelmed in plight, ashes and sackcloth
The phrase is plain but blind we remain 
It is hard to enjoy a stone broth!

Lamentations

Sackcloth and ashes
blood and steel clashes 

carbon dust burnt at last 
digging the umber crust

sackcloth and ashes lie 
as time passes into the future 

it is written on the walls, 
something cracks n crawls

the morality of passing 
they have girded themselves 
in sackcloth n ashes, secondhand lashes

blood of fear in emerald eyes tear 
the aetherium is burning 

they have bowed their heads to the ground
As lives are lost to the reapers machine, turning 

deaths rattling sound, quite n opaque

the shadow finality looms into the doom light
sackcloth and ashes, steel crashes 

dust of ages drift down deep, losing sight

Ashes twirl in dark halls 
something calls:

“I clothe the heavens with blackness
And make sackcloth their covering with ashes…”

Man of Worth

What is it that makes a “man of worth”?
Can it even be measured?
Put into words?

Is it the breadth of his shoulders?
The strength of his arms?
His physical charms?

Is it the expanse of his mind?
Hidden treasure to find?
Intuitive and kind?

Is it the depth of his heart?
Wide open from the start?
His most beautiful part?

Is his measure wealth or fame?
How well he plays the game?
Such a flickering flame?

Is he defined by the classes?
Missed by the masses?
With heads up their asses?

What is it that makes a “man of worth”?
Can it even be measured?
Put into words?

The width of her smile.
Those long winded sighs.
The value of a man in his woman’s eyes.

Her trust and respect his guiding light.
Does she hold down or will she uplift?
The value of a man is a woman’s gift.

Clothed in sackcloth or wearing a crown.
The value of a man a woman’s choice.
The power of a woman is in her voice.

Dear Heart

Dear Heart:

My Dear, dear heart you have done well,
surviving all these years of hell,
the pain, the loss and misery
of lives and loves cherished by me.

During my seasons, you carried the bags,
spirit asunder in sackcloth and rags.
Just kept saying, “Get up from the floor.”
Just kept beating, “life has more, life has more….”

In every challenge, you have shown
no strength diminished but faith grown.
Where chambers deep,   life tried to scar,
a cleansing blood did all harm bar.

Your sinus rhythm to the Father beats
victoriously, as wisdom speaks,
with favor fashioned in all ways
to withstand these dangerous days.

Dear heart you are my valentine,
maturing with a spirit divine,
possessing precious peace within,
your valves not weak, floppy or thin.

And now, it’s not for me you grieve,
but for others who badly need
your strength that has remained so true.
Please lose my bags.  There’s work to do.

With Sincere Respect,
Owner

The Floods Are Coming

Dont you worry about
my cloudy sky,
for I was born
under it.

The reasons why,
is right here,
and It's here,
where I sit.

But that's the concern,
of the authorities,
as precious time, 
still ticks away.

There's reasons why, 
A heart stopped beating,
call me a fool,
call me a liar.

Anyone with a nose,
can smell it,
the poison,
the stench of cover ups.

She put them in the grave,
then dug them up,
because they weren't,
dead enough for her.

Sackcloth and ashes,
the height of her fashion, 
her strange and vile little world,
surrounding herself with grey.

Her light was dark,
the black and white, 
of right and wrong,
didn't matter to her.

Not with knowledge,
but with guesswork,
she hung the laundry out,
already dried.

It's the reason I sit,
under clouds waiting,
for the rains,
to justify.`

Entry Code: S M K

...s m k...
sewing mainly knowlegables
seals most.....knit....
sackcloth mental-knots.....

so mosquito-kiss
sensations mean....keep
smiling.....music knockouts
sounding....mythological keyboard

secret menu-keynote
servings.....meal-kudos....
specialties.....meaning......kindness
shadows manifest......kaliedescopically

stan sand

To Ramesses In Poseidon Depths Lie

Metal, blood, and mascara 

Half sunk a shattered visage lies,
A wrinkled lip, a sneer of cold command,
Of boundless and bare
Along the level, sands stretch far away.
the imagery of night, snow, virginity, 
lipstick on cigarettes, 
cars trapped in the snow, 
dingy white sheets, and the chosen few ….
I still drink cider and black
Metal and blood and mascara
Of sackcloth and ashes
Black eyelashes 
Blood and hot metal  
Half sunk a shattered visage lies,
The ruins of a half-god
Eyes stare wide all along the sands
In a White House on a foreign shore.
Metal, mascara, and methedrine
A half shattered visage die
A wrinkled lip, a sneer of teeth 
and leering eyes 
Of boundless bare thighs
a hollow sun flares 
Along the level,
as the sands stretch far away.

Ode to Ramesses in Poseidon depths lie…

Time Rolls On

As seasons change I mourn the sudden end 
of Summer and dress myself
in sackcloth and ashes.

In sackcloth and ashes 
I dress myself to mourn the
sudden end of Summer as Time rolls on.

Grandmothers Apron

When I was just a small tot 
I remember lying on my Grandmother’s lap

Face down in her apron of old sack cloth 
Scents of her cooking ingrained in its depth 

I was carried off to a peaceful slumber 
Those are times I fondly remember. 

She rocked babies from her children of seven
On an old straight back chair we thought was heaven

All the while still sweetly singing 
An old  lullaby song that’s still ringing 
In my memories yet

Sundays we gathered around our grandparent’s table
Watching her use that old apron 
To take hot pans from a cast iron stove 
To us, no better food could be served 
Than what Grandmothers’ hands made with love.

She gathered eggs, and vegetables from her garden
Feeding the chickens with the corn gathered
Up in the folds, and the bottom
Of that old sackcloth apron she wore .

Grandmothers over the years have done the same
Though memories fade over time it seems
This  memory for me is one clear and sweet
I look forward to that time we’ll meet
In Heaven’s kitchen with loved ones we know
Eager to see Grandmother in that old apron she wore.

©?Deborah M Kelly
Aug 2021

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