Short Mortared Poems

love that we build 
laying brick upon brick
mortared with heart and hope
a firm foundation
that is holding fast...

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Behind ivy thoughts and mortared speech,
my soul cannot be bought

As I worship freely deep within
—the truth forever caught

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)...

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Even the ghosts have faded now,
splashes of gray like shadows
in a child's diorama.
They slip in and out of mortared cracks 
in my mind,
seeking a validation
I cannot besrow.
But they must remain in
their graves,
Wrapped in their gangrenous
shrouds, pursuing
redemption without me....

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There’s nothing so suitable as a pen—for expressing pain—
No other instrument has a stint extended as deeply within the vein.
There’s nothing so fit as a laugh to release the pent up fears—
Nothing that can break the mortared cask enough to dry the tears.
There’s nothing so perfect as a song—for escaping misery:
With each rung on the staff, a soul climbs closer to free....

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I‘m embittered by isolation like Ado turned to salt
but outside, the flowers are dueling for attention.
I am mortared in this seclusion as Catullus rendered stone
yet outdoors, trees bask and frolic in the sun.
I'm locked in place, punished, like I'd smiled at Medusa
yet the squirrels go about their gatherings as birds forage.
I am gently constrained, but freedom nips at the air and invites memory....

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Blood,
fires from my pen
like a well shot round

14 karat penetration, 
mighty wound of 
self aggression

Letters,
reducing armies 
into a special force

Time dying,
as mortared ink strikes 
the page

The raw edge of battle, 
...new combatants die, 
leaving their mark

Cursive warriors of the
spoken word,
martyred sentinels of a bigger truth,
—walking the line 

(Richmond Virginia: December, 2002)...

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A flurry of stars,
exalted moon,
purple midnight from a spoon
soothing indigo delight,come
taste a dream come true tonight.

Potions printed on the leaves
of pregnant avocado trees,
pestled up and mortared down
in cooscoos and the tears I found
falling from a bright cascade

in WindyMoor,a place I made,
trembling lightly on a hill
where children come to drink 
their fill,
of soothing indigo delight,come 
taste a dream come true tonight....

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Bite The Bullet

Puerile caliber, risks crypt goes I, 
peashooter to Saturday-night-special, 
relatives riddled our home, armed, shot nigh, 
puerile caliber, risks crypt goes I, 
mortared appendages, aimless, I sigh, 
pinched and kissed, triggered red-bled cheeks, et al, 
puerile caliber, risks crypt goes I, 
peashooter to Saturday-night-special.

REVISED

2020 October 25
*Honorable Mention*
Pick-A-Title, Vol 24 - Triolet
~~Edward Ibeh...

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