The garden is red and white, rows and rows.
Stars are golden amidst a midnight sky.
Ebon roses and gray, somnolent crows.
Shadows of statues pray; angels are nigh.
Disquiet thunder; silhouettes darken.
Lightning momentarily turns scene bright.
Storms might linger; lavish scent of garden.
Chiseled, cherub chins stone-faced, see the light.
Their faces askance with each brightening.
If angels could hide their faces and kneel -
Instead wings hover - under clouds’ twinkling.
The buds - no worse the wear for their ordeal.
Sentient prima donna by blithesome day;
Roses and halos become shadow play.
The dogs are unfettered in this pen
It’s big enough for an army of a hundred and ten
No one has to wear a leash or be tied
The yard is long, the pen is wide
Still, I feel guilty leaving them here
Why this is, is in no way clear
They are safe here, they cannot chase cars
Yet leaving them here gives me anguish and scars
I have no idea why I feel this way
But I sit in the pen with them every day
This silly guilt I probably should not have
Yet I sit here, stone-faced, feeling bad.
Stone clad hotels and banks,
stone-faced facades.
Stone monuments carved by old money.
The stone-poor have no stone history,
they will leave no archeology
to be excavated and raised.
Their throw-away artifacts
go to the landfills,
If they have stone. it must be dug up
to clear the way for more hard-scabble.
Here is a celluloid picture,
I am in my prime,
a pretty woman by my side,
we walk a downtown boulevard
where solid stone is raised high.
The image engenders another image,
that same photograph
bursting into flame,
now curling to ash in a grand chimney
and hearthside,
a fireplace that speaks
of an opulent and gilt-edged wealth -
one built of an ageless and abiding
stone.
Time
Stone-faced clock with big black hands
Circling the face time and time again
The second-hand rolls by a recurring space
Never touching the clock with the concrete face
Twenty-four hours slowly slide by
Not to be changed regardless of tries
A second from now, it will be yesterday
The time clock moves forward twenty-four hours a day
It would be a challenge to push the big hands back
Rotation of Earth's twenty-four-hour track
The big black hands are always on the move
Passed memories are all you can choose
By the time you read this poetic line
The second has circled the face of time
How many times a day do you glance at a clock
Or hear the sound tick tock tick tock
Time sets schedules for things to do
Just like a clock, you're on the move
When your face to face with a timepiece, keep this in mind
You can change your clock, but you can't change the time.
Wilapics Art.
06-19-2023
In ancient cities and times,
kings, rulers and their often-faceless consorts,
were exalted in marble statuary,
yet
so much of those effigies
now remain headless.
Those bygone exalted figures
have lost their heads,
(or occasionally the odd arm).
I ask myself,
where did all their heads go?
Were they deemed to be sculptured flowers,
doomed to be dead headed like roses,
by stone-faced gardeners?
The beheaded, the headless,
litter history,
it makes me want to check my own neck,
to confirm my often weak-headed state.
Heads are easy targets,
you strike a light in the dark
then some petty tyrant takes offence
and poof,
there goes your head.
Genghis Khan played polo
with human heads.
If we were born
with a dotted line around our necks
we might put two and two together,
we might be better prepared,
for being booted around
like footballs.
If I had been clearly told
to always keep my head up my ass,
I might not have had this death wish,
to write weird poetry.
Strength was engrained
At an early age
Shedding tears; WEAKNESS
Displaying emotions; INSTABILITY
Seeking comfort; DEPENDENCY
She is a mess!
This she is ME
Stone faced
Dead eyes
Hollow inside
Fake laughter
Crying; UNFAMILIAR
Suffering silently; FACT
Showing vulnerability; FOREIGN
How does she change
What’s been engrained?
Redefining what was once established as
STRENGTH
Go to sleep now.
.
.
.
And when you awake you will find
A new world, with new desires
New feelings, new beliefs and new joys
You will experience a sense of total satisfaction
Acceptance, and sureness of yourself
No more pain and need and disappointment
Only gentle bliss.
But that makes me less
That steals away my humanity, my comparisons
My decisions; even my mistakes.
You don’t have the right to deny me my suffering
Who makes these decisions anyway?
Let me up -- I must go
Damn these straps and your stone-faced grin!
Let me up -- My tears spew with hatred
Rage seething as my blood and snot and weeping mix
.
.
.
Go to sleep now. . . .
Stoned in the Park
I sat beside a statue in the park
We listened to a dog’s incessant bark
And then I swear I saw him turn his head
To ask which one of us was really dead
I shared with him a sandwich cut in half
He said “I can’t remember my last laugh”
I asked “who did the paint job on your nails”
“a couple who are now in separate jails”
He was a famous man now turned to stone
A witness to the world with no cell phone
As I arose he sighed a bit too loud
A stone faced angel lost without a cloud
I walked away in silence, shed a tear
Now being turned to stone is what I fear
John G. Lawless
5/11/2021
We members of the jury are stone faced
The judge in his chair was strait-laced
How would his decision go
Read on and you will know
So he's accused of a most terrible crime
If guilty he will be sent down for a long time
It's only he that knows the facts of that day
We the jury listen to what the barristers say
Barristers are smart they earn their money
If the matter is serious they'd make it funny
The summary by them has now been done
Facing a lifetime in jail or a lifetime of fun ?
We the jury took over three hours to decide
When the verdict was read he obviously cried
Being on a jury is hard that's certainly true
Whether he was guilty I will leave that to you
Dorothea,
Oh how you
Sit in servitude
Stone faced
As saints and sinners wept
The cross, a burden to His back
A weight for which
We’re all in debt,
Carried closely around your neck
Your features lost as age took toll
But never lost is beauty in soul
The gift of God remains all that you own
Humbled, you remain
By His presence alone
Alone
His quiet embrace softens these walls
This holy place, you once called home
Few faces can you now recall
Though long since now, many were known
Once you knelt
But
Now no more
Too weak, this prayer too soft to speak
With gift of God held in your heart
Dorothea
Rest in peace.
(Free Verse)
Nun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
May 18th 2020
At the government’s insistence
We must keep our social distance.
Walk outdoors and cross the street
If someone’s closer than six feet.
Stores control who goes inside
So they’re not over-occupied.
Bars and restaurants have closed
Because of contact risks they posed.
Not all people heed the rules
For nothing can convince the fools.
Case in point – observe the clump
Of stone-faced folks in back of Trump.*
*This happens at all of his press conferences,
unlike those of New York’s Governor Cuomo,
who observes social distancing, even on stage.
I saw a woman brought to her knees by the death of a child so sweet; her pleas have no bearing in this cruel world.
Just 3 years old and hair of orange gold she was ripped from this place that her mother will now know as hell. Hearts swell and falter at the thought, a mother stands a a stone faced shell of the woman she once was.
While the world continues to spin we sit here thinking who will win in the bid for a woman’s sanity. Will it be god that prospers or will the devil in his playground hold the warmth she craves?
Neither appears to be at her side. Losing faith is like losing hope, like losing love, like losing a child; it sits there until she is numb to the silence and the pats on the back.
The lack of feeling is driving a wedge between her and reality.
I saw a woman brought to her knees by the death of a child. A body chilled never to feel the warmth of this cruel world.
Death is less grave reaper
Than stone-faced gate keeper;
A dark doorman who waits
At eternity’s gates
Opening one to Light;
One to dark, fiery night.
He will surely show you
The exit to pass through!
As Death’s last oversight
He shuts the gate to Light;
Then Death will cringe in fright
Doomed to dark, fiery night.
Feeling much despair..
Your heart contains a tare..
Your mind is filled with noise..
You remain stone faced with such poise
Thoughts distorted by unwanted disturbances..
As the mind plays tricks..
It seems to get it kicks..
In creating trickery...
Annoyance picks the brain..
You feel you are going literally insane..
Your distortions had become quite lame..
Do not be afraid..
Seek comfort..
In the moment..
Abolish the despair..
For you can no longer bare..
A torn heart..
It had torn your world apart..
Do not be afraid..
Bygones are indeed bygones..
Embrace not fear..
As you acknowledge your fears..
You may bid it a farewell..
As you watch it disappear..
No longer shall it rear it's ugly head..
Instead focus in the now
Embrace the now..
Because you see..
Only now exists..
Heart of Gold
Heart of Stone
Stone faced
Stone House
House of Hope
House of Love
Love Family
Love your life
Life is amazing
Life is great
Great friends
Great people
People become friends
People fall in love
Love is wonderful
Love is beautiful
Beautiful flowers
Beautiful World
World full of scenery
World full of lies
Lies for friendship
Lies for relationships
Relationships stay
Relationships break
Break hearts
Break sanity
Sanity is gone
Sanity comes back
Back together
Back in love
Love is forever
Love stays
Stays good
Stays wonderful
Wonderful Wishes
Wonderful Days
Days full of love
Days full of Sorrow
Sorrow in our Hearts
Sorrow in our Minds
Minds that Know
Minds that Think
Think about You
Think about Us
Us Together
Us Forever
Forever with Me
Forever Together
Together we love
Together Forever
Together….
Always….
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