Short Laboured Poems

Noah's Ark
floundered at Mount Arapiles
laboured through Horsham,
Stawell and Ararat
run aground at Mount Ararat....

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Shine moon please shine on
Let them sleep in moonlight peace
All day they laboured in fields

Now your amber hand
Fondles them into sweet dreams
Linger delicious moon, please


For the Contest :Moonlight Delight
Written today: 8 September 2017...

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In a melancholic haze
slow moving
breath is laboured
through this time
heavy days
that are numbered
till by this thick air between us
I am unencumbered
till I can love you
my passion
present you my zenith
before you I will bloom
with the power of Venus...

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They searched for the word 
In the written and spoken text
As they laboured the hours
And days not finding anything

Then one day it was found
In the ancient record ions before
The wonder of it was for them
How "Love" could be so hard to find.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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Whispered, sweet nothings,
Skin caressed,
Sheen of sweat,
Barely dressed.
Laboured breaths,
Closed eyes,
Featherlight touches, 
Quiet sighs.
Guttural groans,
A devilish tease,
Animalistic passion,
Begging pleas.
Strong arms,
Heated kiss,
Pure lust,
Discovered bliss....

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Money licks its lips 
A fervour without bound it rips
Feeding on the rich with etiquette and poise
The middle classes swallowed with grumbled noise
And screaming poor not even savoured
From a beast thats never laboured
The earth lays daily a new tablecloth
For the feast where all humanity is lost...

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Dad, 

I want to break you out of here—
commandeer the ludicrous 
toddler-pink wheelchair 

and roll you over the salt-sprayed hills
where Camas choirs sing out indigo

hues, beneath your opus scribed
upon the dawning crimson blaze 
you crave . . . like air

each laboured breath  
a decrescendo 
from this eighth-floor window...

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I love it, each time I get here
I mean the peak
Of the pinnacle 
Topmost of the mountain
Highest in height
From where my ego
Like myself, stays on top
To savour the beauties of creation

I am a conqueror
Having gotten here
Having laboured hard
To keep pace and rhythm
Every step of the way
A feat many only but wish

Lifting along
Not one but two
To the crescendo 
Of life and love...

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Stood in the nothing
From it epicentre
waves of nothingness
stretch and devour
Seconds sift through time 
minutes mature and die
and hours grasp at life
Distracted by the lives of others
and immersed in the end
The ill wind blows from laboured breath
Never got the act together
as the partner always judges
Locked inside the star
diminished for none to see
burning so dark
Stood in the nothing...

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My Love, I need you to be
Safe in the knowledge of 
My love.

I will always need your laugh.
I will never want art, or music, or literature, unless I share it with you.
I will never be laboured to love you.
I will never find my way out of your eyes.

You will never find your way out of my heart.
You will always be my hope, my Love.
You will always be the ink I need to write. 
You will never run dry.

My Love;
This, is my love....

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I am no poet
Only a little God
That
Writes like one
words 
In
The 
Bell tower 
here A lovely wound 
Burns 
Where my chest laboured
And 
Emaciates 
The 
Fiction I
Carry
No longer divine,
I will 
Likely drown
In the wake 
Of 
This
Humanity
You would do better to 
Find someone else 
To read.
These words 
Rocks
Falling off of
The mountain
Hard and 
Asleep at the wheel
They will crush you 
As you speak...

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At the moment of death, when our body falls,
as our whole life replays through our laboured mind,
what are the dark spots our heart then there recalls,
that still exercises a relentless bind
on our consciousness far removed from bliss squalls,
having not pursued pathways loving and kind
and thus our head and heart not quite hand in glove,
do we learn at last that we owe debts of love?

03-January-2023...

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There is no fixed coordinate
that will take us to heaven’s gate,
for each pulse, is the flow of life,
imbibed in staid stillness sedate.

All of us seek to be bliss rife,
yet needlessly engage in strife,
with laboured breathing stifling soul,
bearing deep wounds of dark lust’s knife.

Oh hermit, if we would feel whole,
breath by breath, in our ordained role,
simply following scent of love,
we glow as light, scriptures extol....

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You did not lose 
your little girl,
my father dear; 
Here I am~
Come, 
come hold my hand 
and feel the longing
of a long lost daughter.

Oh, how I long~
to kiss those wrinkled hands
that laboured for ages; 
How I love to see~
those gray strands of hair
that spell the wisdom
of your time.
 
Those eyes that let me
see the beauty of the world;
But most of all, 
your heart~
your heart
that teaches me
the real essence 
and the joy of giving....

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Moments of Grace

Heart racing like a tapping of feet
Different footfalls an erratic beat
Breathing laboured lungs complain
Ominous signs anxiety threatens again
Prognosticate but you could be wrong
It was only a note not a classic song
A request for just a soothing melody
Becomes a soul searching symphony
Gone this feeling of impending doom
Locked away in some no exit tomb
Thankful for every therapeutic space
But Oh what joy those moments of grace...

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habituated to joy currents
we encourage bliss magnetism
to dance within our body as it likes
but it's pain that we choose to resist
and therefore feral residue yet remains
within feeble form, as delusion unresolved

just like the unshapely jagged rock
we prefer the river's gentle caress
that smoothens edges over time
minding not laboured breathing
in our decaying organic form
the slow path, definitely
why then complain

14-December-2022...

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