Short Wearied Poems

Still comes to me
Sitting by the fire
Lamenting my regrets...

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wearied seamen rest
beneath their own blue blue sea
ocean - solitude...

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to fix the broken
for you, I will use my strength
wearied as she falls...

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Bedazzled am I,
dancing to ancient rhythms 
on western windblown shores 
where drifts of machair colours 
this wearied soul restores....

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Once when of this dark world wearied
And I had all its passions queried
Upon the sound of the Reeper's cry
I wished there'd been a "you and I..."...

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Red wisps of smoke
Life a joke?

Has some direction
Toward's God's perfection

Sometimes I'm buried
Feel so wearied

At least in here and now
Lord does exist somehow!...

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The hours fade away
Like old men at evening
Wearied of the day
As their lives drift by,
Like the slow /swift sailing 
Of clouds in a margarine sky
And fall in flakes as the pendulums sway
To those man-imagined measures of decay....

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My dreams escape the winter sleep 
that troubles wearied souls,
to places far the heart desires.
Where passions wait from old.
For there, all worldly cares are stilled,
by sight of seas and skies.

4/28/2024

Bite Size Poem no84'
Line Gauthier, Sponsor...

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Drip like drip
Like dripping wet weather.
Drip by drip
By dint of dripping wet wearied cheeks.
Drip from drip
Away from my tears welled up dripping wet eyes.
Drip like a drip.
Like a rain droplets
Dropdown my fury.
Dropdown my worry.
Dropdown my envy.
Dropdown my enmity....

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there are times of tests when the mind becomes ambidextrous
there are moments in time when the body becomes multidirectional
when the horizons are being bullied and all organisms begin to pollute
won't you please set my wearied mind at ease and let me see you in your birthday suit
AMEN........

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I often dreamed of the lofty place
Where my wandering soul would rest in grace
Where peace like a long lost friend
Would lie upon my wasted breast
And the   smile of an innocent child 
Carved deep into my wearied face
Thus earth be gone and heavens bliss await
All the pilgrims at the gate...

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Each time I hear a baby's laughter
I feel a tickle in my heart.

I have to stop and listen better
Catching each note of musical art.

Such innocent laugh in joy released,
A soothing balm for a wearied soul.

All earthly worries seem to ease,
A baby's laughter makes me whole.




--
(Composed July 18,2007)...

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Teardrops of mercy falling down Your face,
 filling up my once wearied soul with Your grace devine.

Teardrops of eternal gratefullness falling down my face,
puddling into Your hands of assurance and love.

Teardrops so precious flowing into One,
Christs river so clear, so full and so free, Your current I can't deny....

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If muses
have sacred meanings
deeper
and before secular evolving purposes,

As ordained vocations
are to painful employment,

Then what music
would
could
should we prefer outside
to health care inside
digest?

Together peaceful
in resonance

Deeper
and before traumatic
warring
wearied
worn out dissonance....

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this sea
has cast its
wildest fury
for many months
relentless

aweigh
and through
the straights
into the far
and open

with wearied
sails upon
an infernal vessel
flailing madly
in the gust

but the stern
cuts the billow
aft for dreams
of home in a
quiet harbor

where anchors
will lay down
in the sand
as they have
often longed...

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I HAVE A DREAM A REAL DREAM OF FANTASY A DREAM OF TRAGEDY   A DREAM THAT I HOPE FOR TO
HELP OUR WEARIED NATION A NATION THAT SINKS DEEP BELOW THE REACH OF NATIONHOOD THE PEOPLE
ARE CRYING AND BEGGING FOR  A CHANGE WHEN WILL THAT CHANGE COME I SEEK TO KNOW IT NEEDS TO
COME FOR MANY HAVE TRIED AND LO HAVE FAILED ACHIEVING A DREAM  THAT HAS NEVER BEEN MADE...

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no
    one
           listens
dreams
      remain
           dreams:
wearied
            eyes
            full
            of
            certainties
now
      befuddled:
and
     no
        one
              listens,
or
   hears
            the
                  cries
from
     the shadows       
                of
                     life...

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Haunted are winds...
sometimes towards north or south
or east or west
even the air at times is dusty
through eyes and noses
and all senses
they converge and if 
they query through questions
repeat frequencies
and let their problems
a variable
even answers are still
the poised presented
to observers
now nothing is left
but a mimic flower
found haunted....

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Flying birds never sing the blues
Blue skies never tell secrets
Heard while flying birds
Passing by like the winds
Whisper that humans are odd creatures
Cast upon mischief’s missions
Wearied they sit and entertain the blues
As if life has but grey hues
Yet myriad colours fly without flaws
On masterful jolly-jollies 
Sleepwalking through seasons 
Enfolded in fickle glories...

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Those young women do not leave me lost.
Most comfortable still
are their coming and leaving.
I dip my whiskers into their still sensual froth
dab my lips with their parting kisses.
Such is an old man’s tipple
the sweet nipple of much younger days
when taste buds had not waned
of such furious passions,
Wearied am I not, yet mellowed now
within a warmer heart....

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Dusk is but the lingering of day,
The day so wearied from its heavy burden.
Burdens which are eased by welcome night,
The night when all of Nature stops to rest.
Resting time for every man or woman,
Man or woman caught in trap of duty. 
Duties now laid down in sweet exchange
Exchanged for dreams of which the poet pens.
Penning praise for love and lady fair,
Fair ladies waiting for the twilight hour....

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when you come home from a hard days work
i'll be there to ease your mind
take your stuff and put it up
massage you back and feet

when you are wearied and downtrodden
i'll be there to lift you up
and make your spirit rise again
i'll comfort you with love and warmth

when you are happy and filled with joy
i'll be the one who bought you there
i'll be by your side long as you are true
i'll be there always for you...

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Lovely, yet wearied, worried,
she looks away in quiet terror
from the sight of faint wrinkles
around her eyes in the mirror.

He finds it an undue anxiety,
her worry about crow's feet,
a view that she dreads to see,
truth she's uneager to meet.

He tells her they're but laugh lines,
traces of shared joys, happy times,
skin-deep hints of deep-seated bliss.
Amused, touched she is by this view of his!...

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It doesn’t matter if things are going the way you want them;
get used to appraise the greatness of small things.
Stop pause, and raise your glass to honor this very moment.
for:

All that for which you bruised your hands and wearied your limbs,
For which you beat back the beast inside you,
For which you defied a mocking world.
For all that can be cherished from this world,
and all that makes life worth living....

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Lay in me the foundations of your peace
Let me share sabbath, silent as the deep
Oh lift me to taste the fruits I can't reach

Still in me the ceaseless prides when they speak
Grant me timeless time with your heart to seek;
In your arms, my Lord, my heart's truth to keep

Oh grow in me; the same scarred love you are
Wizen wearied eyes to your morning star,
Love, that I might love, and keep not your kingdom far...

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