Goodbye To Love
I traipsed through the night
and the morning dew
To open my heart
stars crossing in queue
And left on your doorstep
blooming anew
A floral surrender
— of loves adieu
**
The Delta’s Gulf
Rivers of chaos
flow into oceans
of harmony ...
Leaving the torrent
in the delta’s gulf
— for peace and depth
**
New Feelings
Poetry defies
explanation
Perhaps its greatest
strength
New feeling’s unfelt
emerging unspelt
Present
— in the words
**
Dark Dismay
Spurned and left dejected
his heart in disarray
Falling from love’s precipice
into dark dismay
Trapped beneath the anguish
without a last goodbye
Buried in rejected shame
— wishing he could die
**
Pray
Hoping for fame
a slave to its portal
Praying for truth
— its blessings immortal
**
my dancing feet were quite the treat
were so happy, they were almost sappy
they lifted up my soul, an easy fete
I have a musical heart like my pappy
I was singing as I traipsed down the street
spinning in a rhythm only I could hear
joyful in every corner, my brain so sweet
I am one to fear, yes, one to fear
You cannot take away my positivity
I surround myself with music and art
It is mine alone, mine to nurture, you see
this gives me a marvelously happy heart
I cannot advise anyone else how to live
For me, there is only one way though
But here is a tip….learn to sacrifice and give
It nurtures me down to my heartfelt soul
I am twirling and whirling with pure happiness today
The trick for me is to always be the best of myself
no one can take my enthusiasm or joyfulness away
If I get sad, I turn my feelings around and feel something else
Chorus
Spinning, winning, whirling, my heart swirling
Being me is the key, it makes me happy, you see
No one can take my joy away, it is truly twirling
I am the best me, I am the best me!
He, always alone in a crowd
she, always the centre of it;
they always arrived together
then part, he so quick disavowed
she traipsed to the men, in a flit;
he ever held on a tether.
And when they withdrew, he and she
there was no longer two, but three.
My mother said for maybe, could be the sixth
Time, or was that the coming up to a higher number like twelfth
Time, to behave as I should, not like a child spoilt
Of course, that was with absolutely no warmth
Only warmth there was from the fire that engulfed
Me, from the old rock fireplace when I occasionally traipsed
Around in front of the hearth with many of those excerpts
Running around in my brain, about her heart that was pierced
I never understood what momma said in my depth
Until I became a mom and said, amongst
So many things, just because I said so for the sixth
Time, mommas say so many words times eighth
"Blessed assurance glory divine ..."
Supine haze swiped tall grass wooing shadows,
as chimes of wren's feathers a float parade,
begs a trace with leaves sought resting barrows,
the fondness parting loft and low portrayed.
Nourishing willows stranding morning dews,
while lengthy lappings the murmured streaming,
courses the sourcing promises pact sinews,
of turned new leaves and blazed hues trails dreaming.
Quietude slights segmental furtherance,
edging up-ends the friendlies beckoning,
hail the awakened, embracing balance,
trice the brevity traipsed separating.
The listless stares a sheltered clemency,
keys to a kingdom freed their fervency.
Mother said to carry Dad's little green luggage,
Godzilla my foe, I can do a step not a hundred,
Mother said to put in you--that, it's all bronzed,
Ugh, zip-phew Godzilla you stink your breadth.
Godz I gotta look for Dad Mom I ain't no angel.
Godz I told Mother that I heard the car engine.
Mom prayed for the car using holy oil, via olive.
It needs that. It'll start with a tad of that liquid.
Mother said Dad knows. He'd already glimpsed
it'll drive that bobbing--pistons Mom--amongst
other something, than cars. Like? Stew borscht
Mom says. I say that's not Russian. Mad, whilst
it'll be Mother's last words said, Russia's worlds
are rightfully theirs, and we own ours. Traipsed
not, glory ste..get-MA, PA, joy go I-run anxious.
Mother said she drempt
and saw into a gloomy depth
where she glimpsed
souls engulfed
within the world's
wounds.
Mother said she saw
where demons traipsed
back and forth into the twelfth
of hell,
while anxious
angels
kept a watch amongst
the dreaming adze*
lest they awake the monster
waiting in the nothing.
* Adze: a vampiric being in Ewe folklore, told by the people of Togo and Ghana.
“You’ll live,” my mother prompts;
above my screams, which pierced
the air with strident oomph;
she, bandaging my wounds.
It happened as I traipsed
the woods; I fell amongst
a pile of jagged rocks whilst
reaching for a gem, just glimpsed.
It was my birthday, eighth;
or maybe it was ninth,
and I had always dreamt
to find a gem so scarce.
“Now look, your pants are spoilt,”
she said, without much warmth.
I knew she wasn’t angry,
just a little anxious.
New pants, with money scarce
was for her a problem;
sewing machine - zigzag
soon, the hole was nothing!
Ploddingly it took the form
Of some dispassionate melody
Our wailing voices at crescendo
For our undying we mourn
With care they traipsed the deck
A mass of notions in mind
Did ten artlessly disappear
or were held by the Atlantic's inside?
Still we stood and tried to inform
Searchers of our malady
That we living men hitherto
can presently not be seen
Still we stand on Mary's deck
To us the world is blind
As they neither see nor hear
our gestures nor our cries
Not all can be explained
Not all can we fathom
Some presences can't be felt
like the eight in seventy two
How many times must I tell you, monster?
Goddammit, I think it must be the twelfth.
Again! With mud on your feet, in you traipsed.
You are making me extremely angry.
Goddammit, I think it must be the twelfth.
No Mom, I think it might just be the eighth.
You are making me extremely angry.
Hey, Mom, can I have a jelly sandwich?
No Mom, I think it might just be the eighth.
For dinner, you will have room for nothing.
Hey, Mom, can I have a jelly sandwich?
Why do you give me such a big problem?
For dinner, you will have room for nothing.
Again! With mud on your feet, in you traipsed.
Why do you give me such a big problem?
How many times must I tell you, monster?
Title: Ode to Harry, the Poet
Harry, a poet pure as gold
Dedicated to Poetry Soup, we uphold
He traipsed the walks of excellence
And freely provided encouragement with such diligence
A true poetic ace
His words woven with grace
In his love for the art of poetry
He always stood as an ally
A mentor to whom many were bent
His presence, a beautiful scent
Now he rests in calm and peace
His life a poetic legacy we will forever esteem and release
Harry, we honor your life
Your gifts are an inspiration, a pilgrimage of thriving beautiful vibes
Rest in peace, dear Harry, our precious poet
Your encouragement and goodness, we’ll always hold fast to and never forget.
Legend!
Legend!!
Legend!!!
Ploddingly it took the form
Of some dispassionate melody
Our wailing voices at crescendo
For our undying we mourn
With care they traipsed the deck
A mass of notions in mind
Did ten artlessly disappear
or were held by the Atlantic's inside?
Still we stood and tried to inform
Searchers of our malady
That we living men hitherto
can presently not be seen
Still we stand on Mary's deck
To us the world is blind
As they neither see nor hear
our gestures nor our cries
Not all can be explained
Not all can we fathom
Some presences can't be felt
like the eight in seventy two
Marguerite is dead, Hey!
Slipped and fell on her head, Hey!
Though near eighty-four,
She traipsed 'cross the floor.
Now she's all done and said, Hey!
Marguerite knew the song, Ho!
She danced until dawn, Ho!
But on the way back,
Ice on the track
And she's suddenly gone, Ho!
Marguerite, bye-de-bye, Hi!
Are you lookin' down from the sky, Hi?
Can't you see that it's me
Down here on my knee
Askin' why-hi...
Are you lookin' down from the sky?
I just wanna know why...Marguerite?
Marguerite, bye-de-bye.
Hours of stressful birthing was an arduous task.
From Mother's waters I was pushed and drawn.
Since then, I've wondered, is it too much to ask
for a gentler method for a child to be spawn
then to be tossed into the stream of life to bask.
I paddled on a stormy sea yelling, "Bring it on!!"
I soon learned to accept the wisdom of Donne's,
'No Man Is an Island.' My choices took a toll on me.
I traipsed on stepping stones; watched setting suns.
Shorelines held no appeal, for I belonged to the sea
Life was a series of rom-coms and dramatic reruns.
I felt like I was homeless, floating in life's debris.
I swam with the ebbing tide, seeking a placid shore
where my hopes and dreams would not drift away.
I yearned for this, and something worth much more,
a heart bound with mine until our hair turned gray.
Are these few trenchant things too much to ask for?
If not, I'd be complacent any where and every day.
October 9, 2021
Islands in the Stream Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
“Green-eyed lady passion lady
Dressed in love she lives for life to be” Sugarloaf
Not wise when very young, I traipsed inside
romantic notions where I played the role
of some young, handsome man’s sweetheart or bride.
Real life I did not know; I had the goal
but not the plan for my achieving it!
How aimlessly I wandered in my dreams -
where roses blossomed! Lacking any grit,
I stumbled into marriage, and it seems
my hopes then vanished, for no more was I
the “green-eyed lady” of the seventies
who listened to her 45’s piled high
yet never took the proper steps to seize
what always she had been daydreaming of -
sweet vagabond imaginings of love.
Sept. 2, 2021
For 'A STRAND (1050)' Poetry Contest
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