Along the roots of an unbidden rain
rises the estranged stamen,
casting its violet shadow
into the cup of tea.
I eat the steaming violet
along with my tea.
From the sanctum of the jasmine flower,
even the winds arise,
wandering winds
and a life strung with severed heads.
Every time the mind has an intention,
The body sends back a rejection.
Shouldn’t there be a connection?
Why dwell in a different dimension?
It’s not a split mind anymore —
Just a corpse trying to restore,
Clutching what’s left of its core,
After everything wore.
It’s not a disaster, after all.
I only need to stand tall,
And silence every recall —
The echoes of my fall.
I know I’m young,
Yet the sorrow still stung.
As breath in my lungs hung
Will I ever stop being high-strung,
And lower the nerve clung?
You wear sadness like pearls, carefully strung between sighs,
in a silent elegance that surrounds your neck,
as if pain were something to be worn with pride.
They marvel at your resilience, viewing it as a spectacle,
yet they never question why suffering
must be your personal signature.
They whisper about your grace, admiring your courage,
but isn't grace just another name for endurance?
My dear, you were not meant to be a showcase of survival,
a fragile glass figurine polished by the pain of time.
Take off the pearls, let them scatter across the cold floor,
for your beauty should not be built from suffering,
but from smiles and memories that embrace your soul.
she strung him up
shook him out like laundry
he writhed with frenzy
diamonds strung on shrubs
prisoned gems in woven nets ~
of sunlight's prisms
beads of morning dew
captured on strings of silk threads ~
spider webs at dawn
June 6, 2023
Show Don't Tell, Tell Don't Show
Sponsored by Dilly Dally
puppets on drugs
pulling the trigger
playing God
mutual destruction
touch of Evil,
no strings attached
My heart
Can’t say it’s over
Just following
Feelings
Can’t understand why my heart still beats
Heartache that’s strung out on love
Love that was so so
Red flags swaying in the wind
Can’t say it’s over
Heart only knows love and nothing more
Stirring memories in the wind
filling my head
Bringing heartache and pain
I have learned not to waste valuable time
On lines having neither rhythm nor rhyme,
Words strung together are hardly sublime.
Obviously, some poets are not in their prime
I wouldn’t give their body of work a dime,
I think they should be charged with a crime
Some should consider becoming a mime ~~
Their long poems present an uphill climb,
Pen me singable lyrics with pizzazz anytime.
written April 18, 2022
I’m just an Ain’t Broken watchman,
speaking truth until I’m Ungrateful Dead,
with a Rorschach sackcloth over my head
Dangerously living the Master plan
Beware!! Don’t eat the poisonous strange fruit hanging ...
the beaten pulp will intoxicate
Fill a heart with drunken hate
Dr. Manhattan remedy ain’t Strangelove cure changing
Joker card rope trumped the ace Spade,
see the Comedian laugh at the strung over pain
Got the birds of prey condor singing in the rain:
Heard that’s how a mob man got made
Time, it’s a ticking bomb to Apocalypse Now,
but the Silk Spectre don’t black widow veil care
Listen to the Nite Owl a-hooting in the nuke air,
as the swaying blood harvest is not cut down
"Seams Sewn in Souls Strung like Pearls Cast out into the World"
In each of us
a pearl
God
the unknown
embryonic
soul
In each of us
the common
thread
Seams Sewn in Souls Strung like Pearls
Cast out into the World
Different beds
Same Road
Home
(Lovejoy-Burton/September 2018)
1. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/05/15/style/sunni-colon-music.html
Sured my inclination
To goad trapper's ware
For I seek to be strung
By the trap that ensnares
If only to acquaint
With a pardoner's air
Thee whom unwittingly
Summoned my dare
While some may write about their life
Wishing the facts we're more like fiction
Some draw off the lessons taught
Others with pieces missing
And then you have the happy clan
All good natured sages
Where they wine and dine on better times
Positively filling the pages
Either way it's okay with what they say
Not one write is wrong
Rain or shine each day riding the poetic wave
All strung along by the poem
From the simplest of words to those seldom heard
Whether you do or you don't rhyme
Comes packaged as the disease and also the cure
Darkness as well as the light
Some only write when they're down and empty
Filling the void with thoughts and words
Some when love is a-plenty
Begging those words to be heard
Either way it's okay with what they say
Not one write is wrong
Rain or shine each day riding the poetic wave
All strung along by the poem
There once was a highly strung society maid.
Whose sole important passion was being afraid.
She spent twenty-three years inside,
From all kinds of people she'd hide.
Barricaded by choices few others have made.
diamonds strung in trees
prisms glistening on webs
dawn has raised her head
Sprung buds strung along branches burst into bloom
Unsung, a tad early, unheralded sly petals plume
A spurt and squirt of color to break winter's gloom and doom
Like the dabs of paint squeezed from tubes on brushes abloom
To paint a mantle cloak, donned each Spring, as a many-colored costume
To blot out Winter's chills, before coat is shed in Summer's cauldron spume
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