Sundering Poems | Examples

rivers

  river         f
                    a
                      l
                       l
                         s  
                                o
                                   f
                                      f 
                                          cliff ~
   sundering on 
                j a g g e d  rocks 
flows 
           separate ways

Colors of Love

The colors of love,
Are the gardens of Spring,
And the flowers they grow,
Are a wonderful thing.

But the sundering sky,
Of a storm passing by,
Is a thundering flash,
In the form of goodbye.

For the colors we love,
On the wings of a dove,
Are the greys of our days,
In the billows above.

And the covers we lack,
For the sky that is black,
Are the edge of a ledge,
That is calling us back.  

For the blue in your heart,
May be true in your mind,
But the roses you pick,
Are the petals you find.

And the love you abide,
Is the trouble you win,
And the source of your pride,
In a big double chin.

For the colors that last,
By the candor they bring,
Are the story of life,
In the glory of Spring.

So we savor the sun,
And the pure light above,
For the labors of life,
Are the colors of love.

Union

"What is this strange place we find ourselves in
Trapped in the open, we find ourselves within"



Who can hear the forest still
Its light and mist fall calmly hushed
Bereft of leaves gripped in winter's will
Its naked soul lies burnt from autumns rust

Sundering haze as breath in cold
Melts in air through sunlit stands
Of forest simple, soft though bold
While natures will and peace command
Its parable is yet untold

Eyes behold serene repose
As tides of glimmering beauty shoal
To surge with mighty grandeur's glow

Into the heart it comes to rest
Zen's remedy is yet to show
The puzzle of this life’s mystery
As oneness flows to disclose
Can we be as one with every tree?

March 20, 2022

Diatribe In An Empty Room

Also & nevermore recorded,
the mind sticks, picks at scabs,
wanders away forgetting.

Thunder, you full throated seas,
thunder in the full and swollen veins.
Tell us what words hate,
tell us, be not so mute as a rabbit
fox cowered in a shivering burrow.

The baby crib was born to whimper.
The baby lamb pushes at the nipple
whimpers just the same.
Wimple and weft, leave the weeping
to the sanctified, the sacrificial.

The mind was old before it came upon you.
It took your shoes
made you walk upside down
in an inverse eye.
Pray tell, is all well?
Now expostulate your lip tripe
and see if any much broken soul cares.

Boxes of emptiness rattle their lids,
all of them would fit into the blundering,
never before seen sundering
of man in woman and woman in man,
a devil in an unmarked van.

Keep your trapdoor mind,
your garmented flapping pockets
so full of the disavowed,
the cancelled out widow weeds
of fake sorrow.
Be not evermore, be not even now.

As always there is much to be taken back
from nothing.

Mein Kampf Self Imprisoned Gulag

Mein Kampf...Self Imprisoned Gulag

Onset of conception wrought significant
destructive quantum sized genetic quark
invisible, fissile, and congenital skull,
sans crossbones deathmark

scythe kill logical metastatic
psychic path head shrinking Reichsmark
financial reparation taxed this human bark
at peril of ark

covenant fomenting incruent
lacerating psychological ordeal
triggering mythological hound fierce bark
king Cerberus from Hades

bajillion times more
ferocious than a shark
oppressive teeth gnashing
jawbreaking, human prey stark

dead meat, bleak fin de siecle lifespan
razor sharp teeth trademark
death sentence worse
than totalitarian regime,

emasculating, defeating, crushing any spark
to muster livingsocial jackknifing
sole ambition waiting, Clark
Kent (alias superman) powerless,

thus letting me die non staining watermark
as permanent solution
freeing relentless gravestone mark
piercing, sundering, and vitiating

against nemesis, sans panic attacks
exacerbated by infiltrated FARC
militia firearms at the ready,
where soul will peacefully park
amidst cognoscenti immune to snark!

Eyes

Eyes,
You are the windows of the soul
of stories unrevealed, untold
of whispers unheard, unspoken
of feelings buried, long been hidden

Eyes,
where cunning madness reflects from within
where past is freed from deafening pain
where love rises resiliently and recklessly
where anger shows - sharp and deadly

Eyes
which hold bitter, binding lies
which bear sweet, sundering truth
which captivate madness in to sanity
which grasp a wise mind in to folly

Eyes,
abduct me from this loneliness
conceal me from this desolation
lock me up from this grief and misery
stow me away from this surreal reality...

Vengance

Butcher all that you can lose
I live to exploit your failures and weakness
I can see the fear in your eyes
Carving death around your life
Like a nail slammed into the joints of your bones
A dreadful storm blowing doom
The wreckage on an unfortunate soul
Don’t start what you can’t finish, forsake it
Cripple under pressure full of doubt you must perish
Fall apart, be in solitude, bleed of all you can lose
No more pieces to heal when you’re broken
The envenomation  of all that is hell
You’re nothing more but a shanty
Just riding the wind of misery
Drowning in sundering self-pity
The karma of breaking malice
Swinging hostility makes you repent
To late your struggle will not be vindicated

Awake, To Be Awakened

Cicadas squeak in unutterable frequency
out in the wilderness. There is one pallor
face overlapping with the foliage. Tousled
hair and sloppy shoulders--she frees her
girdle. It kisses the cigar in her hand.

Willows weeping, washing her image
away. Her silhouette slips through anything
that forgets to seal their lips. Nothing can
desist her limpid temptation, they all
succumb under her voodoo.

An umbra of a scythe hung from the 
ceiling, sundering the arms and legs of
the spiral staircase. Her raw toes print
melodies and paint elixir--calming those
reverberation of the broken timber. 

She smells a burr from the nadir, leaps 
onto the chandelier and into mid-air. 
Both balustrades arise to cradle her till
she is swooned and slow, too slow to 
savor the subterranean casket.

Eventuate

Paradigm unto eternity..' Yet knowing-less before the sundering decision, motive; persuasions... 

Reaches of thought..' every entity included, persons worthy all..' I beseech while able, much  to 

Become true; is in existence, 'tense present'  A relief of sorts is, and yet is passing; as inherent  awareness  hovers..'

under-standing.? I never knew in one lesson, then there was' now what has been, has..'

Coming is evermore, Subjugate  errant thoughts, negative emotion still all can happen..'

 Human reason in not always able, let what wills to do, do..'  and remain in readiness.. 

Alive to murmurs of the Spirit Holy..' 

© Joe Maverick 8-8-2015

O Betrayal

Oh betrayal!
You carry the stink of death.
Death to all the love
Sundering God's will above.
The seed of distrust
Worms its way
Into the heart.
While the one we love
The one we trust
Replaces us
In his heart.

Oh betrayal!
You carry the stink of rot.
Rot to all we value
All vows old and new.
The seed of temptation
Hard to resist
Becomes the hardest cut.
While the one that's left
Sorely bereft
Replaces him
With a broken heart.

Eddystone

I've been so lonely since he went
In my life it's left a rent
We'd been together many years
I've seen his laughter and his tears

I don't suppose I'll ever know
why one day he had to go
I'm still here both day and night
doing what I know is right

They only come but twice a year
to see me standing proudly here
They stop with me an hour or two
and then they leave and I feel blue

What did I do that was so wrong
I thought our bond was very strong
I can't be anything I said
that to this sundering has led

I feel so lonely now he's gone
For me he was the only one
Once I shone for only him
but now my light is growing dim 

So now the only thing for me
is to carry on automatically
looking out into the night
for the keeper of my light

Headed Home

There is a mist 
on the waters 
    As the ocean laps 
against the shore we 
     realize it is time 
for our journey to begin
   The ship in the harbor 
stands tall
   It will take us 
beyond this vale of tears 
   to a land where 
stories have no endings 
  It will take us 
      over the sundering sea
to a place seemingly foreign to us 
    yet one we actually know well 
    in the deep recesses of our heart
  As we board the ship 
we experience a bittersweet 
   moment
We will miss the joys of Middle Earth
    but we hear the call of Elvenhome
and we know it is time to forsake mortal lands 
Time to head to the place which is our real home 
     Time to head to Elvenhome

Seeking New Mobility

As setting sun trails off behind a peak,
I lie in utter lone tranquility
here tethered to my earthly home.  I seek
a sundering. . .  A new mobility.

I focus on the hidden, inner me,
forgetting awkward limbs and hands and toes.
My body must entirely flaccid be,
so placidly I keep a still repose
that soul might elsewhere go past mountain tops.

Then suddenly, I feel my spirit pitch.
It spins; I’m on the brink. . . and then it stops!
I think this failure’s more than just a glitch.
I open up my eyes and see afar,
now twinkling with amusement, night’s first star.

(true story about my one attempt long ago for an OBE.)

The Mythic

This is the hard sense of it
The mythic falls apart
No Bojangle character in the story
The postmodern drama
Unfolds a new tragedy
I can hardly believe this was so deliberate
Yet no one saw the plunge into realism
Would do this
Would do this
And do it again deeper and deeper 
Excoriating us
But in the sense of a morbid murderer
Bludgeoning to death our faith
Behind the concrete dimensions of space-time
Did they not understand
Did they not even think about it
For something else in us must have snapped
Before we took the stage and flopped
O it does not matter to you I see
You just like your poetry clean like a child's diaper
I just want the bond to hold between the child and I
This society will not know peace alone by that though
Man must believe in what he cannot see
To conform to the rigors of authority
Or else what else 
Can coerce the sundering of individual will
If the mythic is dead
Should I tell them
That without the mythic we are dead
There is so much and so little 
Realism can do for us
I think the modern focus is the debit's
Excessive show of losing habit
It is how we cipher even the spiritual
When nothing is left after
The mythic is dead.

Primeval Observation

Not solitude 
But loneliness make sweet the harvest
Of God's attention
The sundering of rib and breast
The grand ovation
And then the sudden shift
To hide behind a leaf
The constant surging of eternal grief.

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