First, love hears the bell
before the hand has touched it
dawn before daybreak—
Reactions are quick and sure,
latency's irrelevant.
Later, there's a pause
a brief delay in response,
as both already
know what to say, why, and when
and then, how each one will react
Next maturity
permits an intermission,
hearth-warm brief silences
in the shared conversations,
a time to trust the givens.
Misunderstanding
blooms slowly in known voices—
old maps for new roads
the old answers come too soon,
not from who stands at the door.
So love must relearn
the true art of latency—
to pause—then reply
with enough consistency
to stave off complacency.
Time and tide they do not wait,
We all have heard it said,
And there are those who seem to view,
The ebb and flow with dread.
They do their best to stave it off,
And live in deep denial,
Trying not to show their age,
Viewing it as a trial;
A tribulation of some sort,
A thing to be avoided;
Forgetting in their quest for youth,
That age can be exploited;
For with age comes experience,
The younger folks don't have,
Things that you have done before,
Is to them enclave;
A thing to them as yet untried,
Is foreign territory.
They'll listen to your wisdom,
And practiced oratory;
For things that to the younger set,
Appear a mystery,
For older folks is just old hat,
And it's just history;
So if we learn to use our age,
Accept it as a friend,
We'll age as does fine wine and so,
Not face a bitter end.
We have to learn to face some facts,
That some things must betide,
For you can run from age My Dear,
But you can never hide.
Is it possible to be living and dead
Is it sanity to always be living in your head
When shadows move and voices talk
Is it any wonder iv lost my spark?
Mania is a complex beast
My Neuro cells have increased
Chemicals floating in the brain
Not one of them helps me feel sane
Be alone or mix with others
What is the best way to recover?
Medication can only help so much
Meadows and faries I want to touch
Grounding myself as the voices take hold
My body shaking, I feel so cold
Music playing in my head
Am I half a sleep or am i half dead?
This mania couldn't be stopped
It's a new mindset I have to adopt
A benzo a day to stave it away
But the voices and shadows will be back to play
My body hurts, my mind so torn
Agitation has now taken hold
Now my speech is totally affected
Everything about me is disconnected
So on I go for another day of turmoil
Another day I wish I could just smile
Pills are taken let's just see
Will this mania defeat me?
Those BazBull bro’s kills what they said they'd save
Chill pill drills ho’s cheap thrills all traditions waive
Rave it's their fave the oldest format what they crave
Pretend that cricket lite ..might a bright future pave
Defend rascals debacles in Oz really was a close shave
Righto was sh*te say goodnight barmy tsunami wave
Did cave in hosts through thick & thin everything gave
So goodbye to the superfly lie cheerio the final wave
All a slave to T20 noble sort of this global sport a knave
Can't stave off woes depraved way they did play.. behave
Smarmy army hell bent heaven sent Tests to their grave
To stave off pecuniary penury
and avoid pangs of hunger
then on his last legs
the cooper when younger
constructed oak casks lock stock and kegs
which he filled full to the gills
with fish fit for shooting
or monkeys for fun
and sold all for cash as non-polluting
Sometimes plans have many parts;
Not all will you embrace.
Yet if you’re lucky, with some smarts,
They might fall into place.
A little leeway might just pave
The way to make things work
And compromise could help to stave
Resentments which might lurk.
Too often people won’t engage
In planning’s give and take,
The lack of which can set the stage
For someone’s heart to break.
Yet thinking every aspect through
Of all suggestions made
Can shine a light of hope in lieu
Of hurts that might pervade.
The New Morality
Trump has spoken, we get up from our chairs and salute, actually not.
The fact is, we are tired of this endless war
That is economically viable for many, an industry of death
we do not see on the factory floor where weapons are made.
A morbid industry, many states need to stave off poverty and
unemployment. Weapons used are someone’s property.
We are backward, us humans we have yet to understand that
most work is not needed, give people money so they can go
climb rocks and go fishing in the stream, swim in the ocean, and
enjoy life, which is an interval between deaths. We have finally
reached the zenith of existence, yet we, for an outdated reason, insist
everyone should work till they drop. Relax, let the Middle East
find its own nirvana.
If I should die quite suddenly
Don't grieve, my dear. Don't cry for me
I've waited, oh, so fervently
From bonds of life to be set free
This world is not how it should be
Today the Lord has heard my plea
Don't mourn for me
I've been set free
Don't stand too long around my grave
For death is friend and not a knave
He came my breaking heart to save
I rest with all whose hearts were brave
To mournful thoughts, don't be a slave
Let souvenirs your tears now stave
Death's not a knave
He' come to save
So live your life without a care
For what I've learned I gladly share
Take in the beauty, all that's fair
There's not a moment left to spare
Do all you've dreamt of on a dare
Let every love your heart lie bare
This truth I share:
Live, love, and dare
For one day death will come for you
Don't leave this world with things to do
There's no escape, this much is true
So use your time, try something new
Let passion burn you through and through
For when death knocks, you'll say adieu
This life pursue
Until adieu
Eileen Manassian
Written: June 27, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
Quote: "Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates. Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?" By Rumi.
**************
It swings, not with rust, but a ghostly dance,
a silence that trails each gossamer stance.
The gateway asks nothing, but still it provides,
“Are you willing to leave something besides?”
Along a path strewn with thorn and primrose,
The hum of unseen bees in solemn rows.
And trees with arms wide enough to clasp,
any grief your godforsaken heart may grasp.
You don’t cognize what lies in the grave,
Only a wall shines—as a duplicate stave.
You weren’t prepared to inquire—
grief-stricken and spent, past all desire.
Then softly, behind the gate, will lean,
with the subtle grace of a silver screen.
This soliloquy was told, times before,
but grants each soul one sail to score.
Intrigued, hesitant, and eager, clear field,
still, my vision was pulled to a bald shield.
Groaning past the gate proved to be fate.
Should I enter through a stranger's gate?
In the early morning fuzz, a smoky inhale of life
the lamppost is lit and the trees are just waking up
Five Forty Two Am: the eyes of the sky are grayly
I hold my stave high as I begin my very first poem
Bushes and creeks containing tiny quakes of light
piercing through a silent heaven, I feel alright
Sleeping in the room next door he is unaware
of the awakened altered state that claims me
Down the path of memories I go alone and safe
standing behind a closed window, vouchsafe !
Smoke blankets the city on this Friday morning
I can't touch the fire, I am only its town crier
as I write about the residue of the wildfires,
I can see the peeling back of its slight
and know instinctively,
It is daylight....
amid muck and mire of a storm swamp
~ shadows dance below chartreuse skies
mirrors labyrinth stifles our souls quest;
holding reflections of lovelorn dreams,
maxims and myths that fall may wreck hearts
...and hope blooms as a fuchsia rose under rain;
where valiant words weave in the wind
~ skirmishing to stave off light catharsis,
a guiding star illuminates raw pathways;
In the mirror, viewing my dilemma and Hades,
from a mysterious bane to sangria songs
~ In the wilderness of mirrors, wander lost;
tales were spoken through wisteria vines
~ my soul is Persephoned and torn by dusk
breathless amid an etching saffron storm;
a melancholy flavor of kyanite and embers,
whispering waves shrouded in nostalgia
...as time breaks down at my lachrymal leaf;
creating jagged, exquisite tracks
~these veins carry love's delicious poison
memory cascades over empyrean inferno;
mirrorless miracles always have a synonym —
~scented with forgiveness by Nirvana Sailors . . .
I love the cold as I lay beneath my
feather doodah, or chill-out
in my warm down-filled wind cheater.
I love to run through fields of ice and snow
with steam expelling from my mouth
with every each puff and breath.
I love to sip the steamy warm soup
with the cup warming my frigid lips.
For everyday I stave off
the cold embrace of death,
threatening to engulf me.
If I stop trying
and my energy fails,
my warmth will succumb
To the call of the cold,
forever wanting me to relent
and give up.
For to stay alive,
I must burn the food I eat and digest,
bask in the sunshine, sit by the fire,
to keep warm against the chill,
forever sucking heat from me.
The shrill chill encompasses me
with the cold embrace of death.
More gift cards
What is it with people and the money they dream of I’m not a money person, cash in hand is ok
Perhaps a small account is enough for everyday use to repair a puncture.
A family friend got me to invest in a gift card thing, but I soon realized it was a bad thing, I cut my losses, as they say, a bird in hand is better than birds in the bushes
The gift card company is persistent in a little investment more and I will be very rich, which is the last thing I want to be
I feel sorry for the wealthy who need a yacht to
feel good about themselves big insecure egos begging for us to love them
they tell me I risk losing 400 thousand dollars and
what, on earth am I doing with that, when my thinking is a possible income of 5000 thousand to help with my daily expenses
Take Elon Musk, he is a genius and impossibly rich, always on the move to stave off his inner demons when sits down for a moment he looks inward, he is deeply depressed, and can’t find pleasure for long in what he does
Bless him he has so much to give to the world at
The cost of his well-being
All I want is to read, have coffee, and toast in the morning, and to hell with untold riches
I laud precious memories when cold nights prevail.
Those that fan love's flames against Winter winds
for in those images my lonely heart beats again,
if only an interlude where grief holds no reign.
But mourns my heart when they are bittersweet.
Each one a dagger plunged too deep.
They cannot be banished or cast aside,
for with each attack my wounds bleed again.
I cannot escape the sorrowful tears
that trickle when those memories come unbidden.
There's no antidote to stave off the infection
of the melancholy sadness my mind recalls.
But there are melodious moments,
joyfully sweet dulcet thoughts
when gentler memories flow.
They brush across my heart like paint on canvas,
as treasured works of art being recalled.
When a smile, sans apparent reason, reaches my eyes
making them shine as if emerging from an eclipse,
a cherished memory is being recollected.
These are the priceless souvenirs I relive.
Given armor to stave off the burning, I would pull the sun down from the skies
Falling away from heavens light is showing me you are numb to this blistering pain; without feeling it, you and I will never synchronize.
A point now frozen in time is what I have conceptualized
You show without remorse, there will always be, armageddon in your eyes
Floating throughout the infinite; I seek asylum with you, how shall I surrender my disguise?
Inevitable as these heavens fall, am I allowed within your light?
Or in the ensuing hell, will I find you as my minds paradise?
Holding the mask of my sequester, you illuminate the graveyard behind my eyes
Even if death shattered a thousand suns; love can not be burned or buried if it was just a hole where emptiness lies.
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