Love is a stranger,
I often knock on her door.
I leave bits of roses that linger
And wilt with the ones before.
Today I’ve placed a new rose
It looked back at me weeping
I pull away and feel the dread again start creeping.
A feeling you can’t put into prose.
I want to be enough for her
My fist pounds against glass,
My mind caves under all the pressure
I just need this to pass.
I sit, I pace, I beg her to let me in
Love draws the blinds
And leaves me with the sin.
Because the sin binds
And tethers me to another,
Thoughts of pulling away leads me to shutter.
Yet I pull the string of fate taut,
It starts to fray
Obsession plagues my thought
And forgets to obey
When I hear her laughter,
Deep from within
I know that what comes after
Leaves my heart singed.
Before dawn,
the world breathless~
heartbeats
become tethers
to the whims of fate
and old dreams
flying
out of reach.
Fickle
fate holding
our fortunes
hostage to power~
meager money eked out
from
minions of despots.
"In fall, nature must rest for when they return in spring, to be at their best. " -quote by poet
The trees hear whispers in the wind begin
It's now time to surrender and let fall win
Slumber is upon them as they start to let go
To be strong and barren for blankets of snow
Branches relax as their leaves start to turn
Letting them fall knowing in spring they’ll return
Hummingbirds hover as they frantically feed
Fresh nectar for their migration trips a need
The wind whispers warnings as the days get shorter
When ready, he'll find his mate and will escort her
Goldfinches appear in their olive drab feathers
Working to secure their nests with twig tethers
Squirrels and chipmunks are scurrying about
Busy finding acorns as they sputter and spout
They listen to the wind as it whistles and whirls
And lifts fallen ground leaves in colorful swirls
Flowers hold on to their last blooming breaths
Before they all succumb to their fall deaths
Nature always listens to the wind's fall requests
she was a giver; not just to me, but to many more.
I was angry and mean, the words I used I now abhor.
Did I know better? Possibly, and yet, I flung terror into the air.
Hitting her in the heart with arrows of nasty, not giving a care.
I was not a good partner, I killed her spirit and more.
I was angry and mean, the words I used I now abhor.
Too late to fix it, she is gone now, she has flown away.
She has a family and love, her life now happy and gay.
And here I sit, in my nest for one, all gloomy and dark.
My tethers of nastiness no longer a joke or a lark.
I want to do better, but I fear I’ll make the same mistakes again.
My negative spirit I inherited from my family, my kin.
The leather tethers kept loosening.
I had to pull at them until
they dug into your body
binding you to a rocking cross.
It was all for nothing
you died snapping at unseen knives,
arching up, bending time into
frozen waves.
You once said you were Irish/Scots,
Appalachian.
You called yourself: Applachan.
Sinewy girl --- wiry poppy stems
in you, and engine oil
to soften tenacious roots.
The fever racked you up.
It shook your bones loose.
It blossomed,
pouring you out
in thimbles of awareness.
In those intervals,
blue hills filled your eyes
with summer rain.
I would talk to you of Ireland.
We went there on that last night.
We made a hasty camp
in the dream felled woods,
the deep raw stumps
were already greening.
Then I watched,
and kept watching
as feeble death broke its teeth
on your blood.
The soul dreams . . .
of a day when it can be free;
a day when it is no longer held captive
in a murky world of dark thoughts and dark deeds.
The soul yearns . . .
for a time when it can forever soar;
a time when it can break free of earthly bonds,
chains of fear, tethers of stark indecision.
The soul knows . . .
that within this span of mortal existence,
the morsels on which it chooses to feed,
ultimately, decide its immortality.
The soul waits . . .
locked in its cell of consciousness,
nourished by offered morsels of good and evil,
clothed only in the thin fabric of conscience.
Scissors
Cut cords in half,
Tethers binding gone, poof…
I do float through life reaching out
As new.
She's a two edge sword--
who wheels profound believes.
Thus, sashays
with Viking's valor
and intuitive ease.
She's been known
to bend, near break--
shading discarded leaves;
From harsh, scolding droughts
or debar's frost-bite freeze.
She's no puppet-master and
certainly ain't--angst's puppet, hung.
Who submissive questions,
cowardly answers, bows, then scurrys,
when her strings are tugged.
She's that avid eagle,
with freedom's rein to soar.
Her nest--it never tethers,
with knowledge's thirst,
explores.
The world, it's but
her pearly oyster,
with every venture,
craves to seek
and conquer more.
It takes off-rhyme
to heighten rhyme --
like background in a
painting, should not
obliterate the fore...
leaving little to view,
less to excite and visually
explore -- (my wife, a fashion
plate...and I, the mutt of a date~
somehow, it works....)
I guess, if not for man's fall,
there would be no theme of God
to venerate -- in a dark sense~
evil is the light of good reflection
a night that makes bright the stars
a canvas of the greater heavens yet
to lasso and draw-in or pull one's self
up for loftier expansion --
earth experience, perhaps a mere dust-mite
on the surface of creation --
With poetry, Free Verse is far from free:
a rush pounding as the poet's heart~ bursting a
dam of pent-up, drumming passion -- overflowing
banks insane to absorb, to further-in deepen pools of
whatever for drink. Everything is attached...a-thirst, with seen
and unseen flowing tethers --
A black cloud envelops my sky
Threatening to rain down a torrent of pain
Oceans of commotion swirl in my brain
And I try to bandage the wounds in vain
I see only the receding vistas of light
And night prowling like a stealthy thief
The past chills the mind like hanging icicles
And I feel so heavy with frozen grief
I inch my way up like an ugly snail
My life is riddled with contradictions
Oh, I am waylaid, lost and beaten
From every corner, I meet only oppositions
Yet dreams break forth in my heart
Amidst darkness shines a light
A call to spirit to seek the gift of recovery
Transforming pain into strength and delight
I must break loose of all the tethers
Let my soul embrace all that is dear
From this cage, I must fly out
The sky beyond me lies blue and clear!
Even at moments when we feel,
God has forsaken us, time assures;
However bad things are, recovery is possible,
When God is there quelling all our fears.
Now I am on a journey of redemption
I tell myself- “Come out from this hell
Just start anew, nothing is beyond recovery
The dawn is near and all shall be well”
Together we are joyful Souls
By Michelle Morris
20/09/2024
In your eyes, I see my purest face
In your eyes, our Love and Grace
All the way down, into your Soul
All the way through, we are Whole
I never wanted much for human things
Being an Angel without my Wings
Sometimes I wonder why I try
Sometimes I ponder this Choice of Life
But there is a Path for each of us
And in God's Infinite Wisdom I must trust
While we are here, we are together
Forever connected through our tethers
These Silver Threads so unique
These entwined identities that we weave
In your heart, I know I'm Home
Together we are joyful Souls
© Michelle Morris, 2024
"Referencing an old poetic imagism sort of poem I wrote some four years ago--almost to the day---wherein lies a paradox," ... by The Poet.
MIRROR, MIRROR
I was in a room,
there, I saw a mirror,
and then I saw him,
I told him to get out,
and he did,
and he took the mirror,
and I was no more.
--The End--
There's a speck of time
that I can't define
yet only wonder
if fair of measure
howbeit true worth
yond meaningful girth
tethers our notion
... imagination
from that point, stretching
through awakening,
"A personal shout-out to our sponsors and their vapid articulations who made this message possible," ... by The Poet.
Poets and poetesses ascribe to a greater call,
in their endeavors to make their chosen path a cure-all
from those who trivialize and minimize their virtuous
field of poetry's righteous domain and their arduous
measures to maintain a certain quality in their works
of art, to the world of writers past and present, networks
that tethers a fragile grasp on absolutes discipline,
and severance from the mundane, effortless, and simpleton,
out from the left field, melodramatic, sugarcoating,
southpaws are unreasonable and consequently, nothing
our opponents that come out from the left field properly
have no concept of true value to offer poetry.
Goldilocks had three, not one berry,
Humpty Dumpty in jubilation
Mary, who is quite ordinary
Rainbow gold tip tethers creation
Jack, Jill, and my son are happy.
A stretched gloaming tethers creation in a
daystar's wake ... askew parts The Old Guitarist
ebbing lambent stars strung to a yarn of spring ...
'Tis the volley of calendrical crasis
poised to a youthful Einstein that subtracts from
the sum and substance whence summer makes a splash ...
The advent of an enchanting star dulls a
chant that the Khanate only stains upon its
Golden Horde smolders beneath befriending clouds ...
A whiff that slights Aurelius' bearings yet
still trifles a chalk absence to the presence
of cheese that embellishes the languid tracing ...
The shallow space of bards decreed a crowning
flock of teary favoring san tissues of
lissome verdancy choral ode vibrant charms ...
Worshipped effervescent microscopic dew
bringing into being just one bell prayers
bearing fruits of promise in globule water ...
Petrichor emanates to a hoverance
wisp claim as wandering brevity stands still
amidst a sonder of souls ventured threshold ...
Gold beams glimpsed a bevy coup of a vast crest
as the dripping stalled in evaporating
stares chase a clinked rainbow flaunts with ... creation.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.