the vintage typewriter waits,
its keys resting beneath a page
that resists becoming ordinary lines
from that subdued expanse,
a mountain rises,
a cabin folded into stillness,
a blue stream slipping through
the distance the page imagines.
small white birds drift above the picture,
as though the typewriter has released
fragments of a dream instead of words.
they hover like thoughts rising
from inside the mind,
tiny wings carrying them
toward whatever waits beyond.
the light from the desk lamp
falls across the picture,
a gentle benediction~
remind me that creation begins
when machinery yields
to imagination.
the page becomes a world,
and the world becomes a doorway
through which the writer steps,
carrying only the brightness
that first rose from the keys.
Our heart sought a rhythm known to soul alone
but its blush was hushed under ego’s weight,
so what echoed was a dull baritone,
of dark desires that refused to abate.
Love’s rainbow adorned a part of the sky,
sublime work of art yet judged incomplete,
since voids in space continued to defy
pure intent emoted by heart’s bliss beat.
Duality, a canvas contorted,
offers us not taste of the noumena,
with all manifestations distorted,
in dance of shadows as phenomena.
Be this as it may, love seeks no echo,
as radiance of the sun, we all know.
I've always had my pen and paper rescue me from my thoughts
Now..now i feel i have to rescue them from your toxicity
'Cause lately you've been all that runs through my mind
You seem to interfere with my every thought
And i just comprehend to the scale of each interference
I feel so caged , i feel so naked...
I am so subdued to reason that;
I had taken your love and painted a fine piece of art
And hanged it upon the walls of my heart
A sacred place within this museum
That you chose to tear apart....
I'd expected you to show some thriftness to my heart
But you went rough on it
Now I'm left to deal with these broken pieces
Oh dear lord!
Let her cry a million tears of molten gold
Until the earth consumes , in her bosoms, her faltered soul.
Flames getting high as they could
But clustered within great despair
Was the heart that couldn't move
She felt the earth crush beneath her feet
As the crevices shattered
Broken beyond repair
The moment had come
For the reckoning
The numb creature loomed over it
Rushed to provide it some shelter
But it would not be subdued
The freedom was now it's only refuge
Neither the being
Nor the heart
Could conjure up some solace
One , cause it hadn't the heart
The other , as it wasn't supposed to.
How often have I asked
why did you enter my life?
I was happy, even if in isolation.
You felt that I should share.
Do not birds share their seeds?
Do not fish swim in shoals?
We were not meant to live
on an island all alone.
So you stole my heart,
I gave it willingly.
Purloining my volition,
like a besieged city, I ceded possession.
Now I find my heart is ripped apart.
There's no refuge for me but to succumb.
Why can't you for once speak the truth?
Confess, I do not mind.
Tell me you care for another,
as birds mate with whomsoever they like,
while fish seem indifferent to each other.
Yet I am neither bird nor fish.
Since I cannot win, I simply pray:
tell me the truth and let me be.
Let me live in isolation once again,
at least there was some subdued light then.
L-et
E-veryone
A-pply
H-ygiene
S-o
A-trocious
L-ink
I-s
N-egated
A-nd
S-ubdued
Topic: Birthday of Leah P. Salinas (June 10)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
L-et
E-veryone
A-pply
H-ygiene
S-o
A-trocious
L-ink
I-s
N-egated
A-nd
S-ubdued
Topic: Birthday of Leah P. Salinas (June 10)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Subdued
Arrogant winter
Impeccably dressed in white
Nature is subdued
Enveloped in waves of
overflowing thought
to drown within its current
light goes dim, cannot see
what is in front
what is behind I?
For in a trap,
cannot focus
cannot breath.
Gasping crying to
what cannot hear.
It has ensnared, in its icy
teeth.
Thought oppressed
ink splattered statements along
piles of morose.
Cold
as he froze
the final essence of me.
subdued
internal
motivation
is trying
to creep
around
the corner
trying to
sabotage
the forward
momentum
that has
been made
thus far
on this new
journey
MUSE has been with me since I was a child,
life has tried to squash, smash, shatter, stifle my spirit;
cut to pieces my words.
The ruin of my existence, the torment, pain- I take,
I give it all to MUSE to make words beautiful;
to deaden my deep sorrow.
Each day I look down into my soul for inspiration,
hoping to find the end of my forever, ever torture;
thus a poet was born.
______________________
February 25, 2017
Poetry/Verse/The MUSE Will Not Be Subdued
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 880-057-0
For the contest, What Doesn't Kill Us (in 75 Words)
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
Everybody breaks
He found comfort in that, but
I had other plans.
Am I insane? Dear friend
"Yes I'm crazy but you ain't"
?Seahawks Subdued Again
How horrible can something possible be?
Which seems like forever will bother me
With referees getting to a big squabble
Then from the field having to hobble.
When things are not going your way
What is there really ever left to say
Except Seahawks blew it in first half
Probably can blame it on their staff.
As usual, always over the long haul
When you will make a poor play call
Shivers up my poor spine it does send
Combing back to haunt you in the end.
Chances for bowl bid maybe did blow
And certainly for sure I told you so
Not call it fumble but incomplete pass
More referee errors that did amass
(Or could call it a kick in you know where.)
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Lived in Redmond, Wa for 30 years
Your very presence takes my breath away
Your light banter makes my smile sway,
Intricately woven, our paths cross oft
Unbeknown, are we soul mates adrift?
Slowly time will tell its tale
Spinning away removing all veils . . .
Bowed in subdued
thought as I wait
in prayers
for you my lord;
I seek to know and
truely experience,
your presence.
But indeed there
exists tough barries
to break
to reach your presence.
Like my outward man's
callous shell that covers,
my spiritman.
Blaze help from
your presence Lord
the word
the rhema, the hammer:
to crush to powder the
barrier and shell,
that hinders.
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