It was nearly without sound,
Save a pine-brushed mountain breeze
When I rose beneath fog's blanket
And stepped lightly through the trees.
In reverence of the aura there
Subdued in temperance;
Without a word, just in tears
I offered holy reverence.
Before me in this quiet place
A lake, in still perfection,
Lay without the slightest wave;
Heaven's mirror gave reflection.
As I gazed into the glassy lake
My soul and spirit swooned
With God's creation holding me
He healed my hidden wounds.
No greater ambiance nor scene
Has since renewed my core.
I found the Prince of Peace that morn
On a pristine mountain shore.
Next, the sun began to rise
And the Quakies clapped their hands
Creation birthed a brand-new day
And I began to understand:
God is a God of perfect peace
Who in countless ways can bless
Whether heaven sent or by a stream
He gives the seeker rest.
If your world has left you wounded,
"Come unto Me, sons and daughters"
God offers early morning grace
To bless beside still waters.
Psalms 23: 2 (KJV) “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside still waters.”
Snow came down hard
Harassing the roadside bar
Taking one more shot
Reminding himself, 'he was hot'
John proceeded to the lavatory
Without any worry
Mirror, he did reflect
No fear of the word 'reject'
Ventured into the night
Seeking a romantic sight
Reality stated hurtful fight
"Goodbye, my dear knight
Our relationship is dead,"
Wearing the pearls he bought, she said
Returning to the watering hole
Shivering and cold
Shocking we were told
Seductress commanded the stage
Half anyone's age
Protected inside a cage
Belting out a tune
Loving warmth came back soon
After being swooned
Patrons did say
Heating bill, owner electronically paid
When the tempting tease was done
She approached the admirer, looking for fun
As for the haunting past outside
Confirming someone had lied
And died
"Those pearls fit you right"
Stranger mentioned, eyes bright
"They are a little tight,"
Informed the songbird, preparing for a deathly fight
Confirming fan, a nut
She kicked them in the butt
Finding a cell
Lonely, I must tell
The woman at the shelter with 7 kids
I felt blessed in my mess
My infant won’t remember this
Her kids were cute from 10 to 2
Pitter patter a stepping ladder
How she loved on them swooned
The shelter gave her a few carts
They made do with those few
Sleeping was a Tetris game of art
I remember how cold it was
We huddle and cuddle
Warming our children with love
Watching like a hawk at lights off
Such a place often not safe
From two legged predators that walk
I told myself never will I share the story
Forget you’re here dry your tears
But trial to triumph God gives glory
I wonder about that woman still
Did her kids remember it
The cots the situation the chill
Instead of keeping it a silver secret
Told my son what was done
Hoping he won’t ever repeat it need it
Thank you for the heavenly volunteers
Working there donating care
I remember after all these years happy tears
There was a polite society, in so many lands..It was regulated by capable hands
Sober people, would meet and discuss; at
Walks in the park.? Horse shows and such
Healthy larks..And there was that aspiration to rise even higher, maybe to a
Royal castle.? Where you might partake.!!!
Of an almost (holy fire?) Through rose tinted glasses some perhaps almost swooned at the thought.' Where all would be..? Almost perfection.! Only the best did
There resort.' Although there indeed were
Dungeons deep in their bowls they were mere relic's of past depravity..The betters had escaped all that now.' Here there would be awards given.' Amidst sighs of
Chiffon ans silks.' You could support wars
That spread democracy.? My how the imagination could be caught.' Up up up.!!!
Yet out all around , honest working people were being taxed into the ground.' While The climate god was fete'd..And damaged veterans took to tents, un-holy acts were being done its beyond sane Christian invent...'
Mister Alfred
Mister Alfred
Alfred, the pianist who is also my father
although he denies the paternity vehemently,
was in Hawaii and played the ukulele with
Had little success and returned to Europe.
Alfred, the pianist and also my father, could
get the sweetest tones when he played and
women swooned in other men’s arms,
was when not playing of a rather sullen nature
He spent the day walking around town with
In an alpaca jacket and a French bonnet, he looked ever
artistic, and I followed him around, once when I fell
A bollard got in the way; he did help me up and
I`m not your father!
Alfred, the pianist and also my father, got to be
ninety-two, and in the last years of his life was glad
to have a son, even if it was a fake one, as Alfred
was fond of pointing out
They just want your money.
Just want your wealth.
Meagre or major they’ll take it all else.
Post sale and the manner changes in tone.
Commission awarded - it’s time to go home.
They’ll try to convince you that you need it to live!
They’ll try to persuade you that you’re doing the right thing.
But they just want your money. They’d take it and take it all. Smiles and so jolly until the deal ends it’s call.
They just want your money. They don’t care how hard it came by. They just want your money and hope you’ll be swooned by their guile.
Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren
Given to saturnine quintessence
And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection
Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances
She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm
Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell
I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man
But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said
The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow
On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error
And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell
To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead
Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle
Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined
BIRD FROM A CARTOON
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ollie the ostrich one day did say
As he looked in the mirror, “Oh bother! "Nay!
Is that really my beak?
And my feathers once so sleek?
I seem to have lost my handsome ways!"
He fluffed up his feathers with flair,
And practiced a dashing new stare.
"Mirror, you jest!
I’m truly the best!
Just look at this fabulous hair!"
“Just look at my feathers!” he swooned,
With a frown he said, “I must be a loon!”
“Eegads! I’m a horrible sight to behold,
And the truth must be told,
“I look like a bird from a cartoon.”
Mommy
by Sylvia Plath (in her voice and style)
Mommy, your face was a frostbitten moon,
A pale eclipse of warmth I never held.
Your hands were glass, and never swooned
To touch the fever in which I dwelled.
You stitched me shut with lilac thread—
Soft on the skin, but poison-fed.
A nursery built from iron and ash,
Rocking the cradle with a funeral lash.
I drank your dreams from china cups,
Each sip a silence that filled me up.
You danced in pearls I could not wear,
Your laughter stitched to the midnight air.
I dug you up in every verse,
Your voice a hymn, a snarling curse.
Mommy, did you mean to drown me too?
Even now, I wear your hurt like blue.
I bloom in bruises shaped like you.
Scary truth we said on the roof
You dared to see me through
With your eagle-eye view
swooned me in, out of blue
And I know this couldn't be true
Cause I came strong onto you
But you cared-
To listen to my scary truths
...
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
whilst my heart remains
waiting to receive the
other stolen half
playing the melancholia tunes
on a piano in the ocean
with broken bemoaning keys
dreaming my dread will
float with the
curling reflecting waves
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
mixed with my eagerness
to be enough
and to become
a cumbersome pillow-covered boulder
willingly chained in place
for you to fall on
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
after the rain
hot n soul-comforting
sweet to the first sip
with instant anomie bitterness
swooned with the
sugar cubes in the
coffee creamed heart-stricken
shaped swirls
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
with a heart suffering
bearing heavy weights alone
desolate, only
tumbleweeds flowing
abrupt earthquakes
on the verge of
collapsing completely
awaiting the day
someone makes me mine
...
Angry Choices
You swooned at me, and I fell in feet first.
You made me feel as if I was brilliant.
But it was all a hoax.
My thoughts meant something once.
Now it's nothing but silence from me.
You taped my mouth and made me obey.
We could have been so much together.
You closed the door on, my opinion.
Wished me to tow the line and never fall.
Perfection is what you reach for, but I thought I was perfect before you touched me.
I long for discussion and human contact, but here I sit with no one in site.
I cry alone at night right next to your side, but you never hear my lonely cries.
My ears hurt from the screaming, but you seem to think I am deaf.
I follow behind you with my head down and I think what else could I be.
I have chosen this life, and I live it every day but when will I be allowed to speak.
My heart has broken into a million pieces, and I hold it in my hands looking for the solution.
I wanted love and happiness but here I sit with anger and bitterness.
You had me at hello, but will I ever say goodbye.
I have conversed with the common man
in warm and well-worn pubs.
I have been a ribald, and a leery lout,
a seducer of barmaids.
I have been common,
the way a city pidgin is common,
its scabbed claws a common sight,
slipping in and out of poorly lit doors.
Poets are born poor, poorly treated,
and poorly thought of.
The wealthy used to be poets,
but their intelligence
was pawned and loaned to them
by the winking, wicked streets.
They made daffodils out of dog,
many swooned,
but the common people,
we spat out their perfumed souls
for they were distasteful,
much more so
than the knowing fools I talk to
in the most common of pubs.
The folded corners and wrinkled pages
of catalogs that were tattered and ripped
From the first of October until late in December
we drooled,
we fawned,
we lusted,
we swooned and giggled
mutilating each page
until the pictures faded.
Sears and Roebuck,
Monkey Wards
JC Penny’s,
Macy’s, Mattingly’s, K-mart.
Our wish list grew long
more than one sheet could hold
tears welled up with each toy crossed out.
Until the list was whittle down
Though the likelihood of getting any was nill.
But still
That’s why we called it the book of wishes.
If wants and wishes were hugs and kisses
There would be no need
to thumb through the pictures
and dream.
Perhaps imagination was the best Christmas gift
~No Man Is Without Fear~
He was handsome beyond imagination, more intelligent than any human alive, a leader of men, a captain of industry, successful in all pursuits, and loved by all who knew him. Women swooned at the sight of him, men bowed low in his presence and children studied his greatness in school. Rulers of nations envied him. He lowered his head to no one on earth. Except for his mother and father. Because they knew he was afraid of the dark.
All humans know fear,
some people hide it better,
I fear giant ants.
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