The sightless amass daily at dawn; a pilgrimage
Arms outstretched clutching away; the sightless.
A winding trunk grazing away to appease the pangs of hunger; the calloused skin of a leg, a cauliflower shaped ear, a skinny tail swaying restlessly
We know not what this is they echo in chorus; mouths voicelessly ajar at the gigantism
Bellows emit endlessly; stomping, churning,
A woolly mammoth perhaps…..Ice age
Clouds of perplexity choking the cerebrum….. the sightless concur….it must be a powerful apparition, a deity
Could it be that mythical monster; Loch Ness it ain’t, NHS perhaps
A Druid dance up the hillside may help us nail the answer
Ah…..we see it now….the answer flying in the wind…
Not as you like it, but “ASDA”…a medieval bazaar!
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart" Helen Keller
In deepest darkness I wander the street.
Sounds looming, people rushing, don’t feel weak.
Bravely stepping. Child’s laughter makes me smile.
I come to the road with cars whizzing by.
Sun’s rays upon my face, I feel the heat.
Each stride to the unknown. Cool shadows streak.
Combination of scents and smells beguile.
Sharp senses, with confidence I rely.
My white stick taps out a sweet happy beat.
I’m enjoying my walk no longer meek.
Feeling I belong, I will stay a while.
I’m part of this bustling city, that’s why.
Special feelings come now that I am blind.
What my eyes don’t see, I see with my mind.
Lowing fog horns
shake scales from rooftops.
We see the seawall drowning,
the surging waves rising
unfolding spume and brume
into mountains.
From the pub on the harbor front,
we can hear the buffeted gulls feeding
on the sluice of passing squalls.
"Look out the window" you say
(the window is a hundred pieces
of sky caught in a fish-eye).
"No boats will fish today," I whisper,
but we both know
that there are small boats out there,
they call out like cows, as wind- ghost
lead them through gray havens.
At times a distant rumble rattles things
a voice within a hidden cavern pit
of darkness and loneliness it sings
reverberations punishment it brings
for I am he who left that voice to die
fearful of the truths it spoke to me
denied the tortured tears I now must cry
for neither of us now can e’er be free.
I sought the soothing voice, the healing balm
of whispered words that caused nobody harm
yet found that warmth could be forever cold
leave you with a blanket you can’t hold
yet shivering I curse that rattled hymn
sad lonely song of me I left behind
while wandering through caves so long and dim
I’ve come to know the sightless are not blind.
I beg, if you should hear this troubled drone
you sit and let it seep into the id
while there is hope that it may lead you home
to find you are the voice that never hid.
©11/18/2021
Soul Poetry Contest
Can't see COLD DARK BLACKEN EMPTY SOUL I call you out of suffer, first;
Can't see I placed your flesh upon this earth;
And for all, in awe your worth;
You're birth in unrighteousness you're cursed;
Can't talk So you redeem, you dream in oceans;
Can't walk Watered down passages desert sands;
Opened minded Open up hopes sorrows place, it lands;
Can't see On mountain sins spirit sightless man
12/17/19
Placed #2 in Contest
For STRAND SPECIAL 4
Any form, any Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Chocking fog horns
shake scales from rooftops.
We see the seawall drowning,
the seabed rising,
folding spume and brume
into mountains.
From the pub on the harbor front,
we can hear the buffeted gulls feeding
on the sluice of passing squalls.
"Look out the window" you say.
The window is a hundred pieces
of sky caught in a fish-eye.
"No boats will fish today," I whisper,
but we both know
that there are small boats out there.
They call out like cows,
as ghost leads them
through gray mountains.
Wooden figures
Held together by iron hinges.
A bit of glue here and there
But you wouldn’t notice it.
They’re all the same,
But that one with the crack?
You hate it.
It stares at you from the shelf
With an empty glare,
Always wanting to get closer.
But you leave it there,
And there it stays.
though sightless, she sees the world-
screens covering her optics reveal
a chimera universe.
she was just a wandering girl,
who craved to write an
inspiring verse.
blindfolded by deep obscurity,
wrapped in a heath of insecurity-
camouflaged by orbs of light,
held captive by her loss of sight.
now she sees the earth's creations,
feels each molecule with
her eyes-
she holds onto each revelation,
no more wearing an eyeless
disguise.
*true story about a poetess who was blind then regained her sight*
August 19th, 2017
How do a Christian baby walk?
Only by faith,
not by sight
And how do a Christian baby see?
Through a dark veil
in comes the Light
Now how do a Christian baby talk
Giving glory to God
for fighting the good fight
How do a Christian baby hear?
With ears open to obey
the voice of the Lord Jesus Christ
I reach for you in this darkness and find you gone,
Budless bloom of a forsaken thorn,
Nectarine of my life, song of my night,
Conjure thyself once more to bless my singed sight,
Search me now and see my grief,
In you lieth my only relief,
Water my withered roots and sire another tree,
Entangle thyself deep inside of me.
Tow my burdensome feather of essence,
And ignore the ghost of my regret,
Watch the trail of unseen and broken tears,
Stain the dust sapphire with vacillating reluctance.
Stretch me; rip me towards one poison or the other,
Sit, reflect—agonize,
Confront the demon who damaged me,
Or stay as unspoken as my intact existence,
Let the weight pour off of my chest in a typhoon of yellow rage, lament, and grief,
Or fester.
As swiftly as I came, I am departed,
The rock of indecisiveness devoured another victim,
And I am once more hushed.
Sightless eyes do cry.
But not because they are blind.
But for what they miss.
They will not see past "I want",
to see "This is all I need"
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