Infinite world, my only escape.
Infinite world, the life I hate.
My hand is cramping as I write.
But I don’t care. I still fight.
The lead is scraping paper thin,
Slicing air with every spin.
Infinite world, my one place.
Infinite world, my only safe space.
My pencil was once unused,
Unmarked, clean, and unbruised.
My hand was once unsure,
Quiet, soft, and insecure.
Not that it truly speaks now—
What a silly thought, somehow.
But still, it knows things I feel.
Knows my mind is an Ikea deal.
A maze, chaotic and strange,
Loud, cluttered, full of change.
Some ideas are tied in lace,
Others scattered all over the place.
Imagination runs wild and free,
Ideas twist: “You love me, I see.”
Infinite world, my real disguise.
The place where truth always lies.
Infinite world, I feel its pull.
Infinite world, my heart feels full.
Infinite world, my only escape.
Infinite world, the life I hate.
My hand is cramping as I write.
But I don’t care. I still fight.
The lead is scraping paper thin,
Slicing air with every spin.
Infinite world, my one place.
Infinite world, my only safe space.
My pencil was once unused,
Unmarked, clean, and unbruised.
My hand was once unsure,
Quiet, soft, and insecure.
Not that it truly speaks now—
What a silly thought, somehow.
But still, it knows things I feel.
Knows my mind is an Ikea deal.
A maze, chaotic and strange,
Loud, cluttered, full of change.
Some ideas are tied in lace,
Others scattered all over the place.
Imagination runs wild and free,
Ideas twist: “You love me, I see.”
Infinite world, my real disguise.
The place where truth always lies.
Infinite world, I feel its pull.
Infinite world, my heart feels full.
What if I'd never been born, never scorned,
What if there were a blank stage, unadorned,
What if I were a rose without a thorn,
An unbruised, free soul, untouched, untorn,
No joys or pains to tangle in my head,
An utter silence where no voice was led.
What if no dawn or dusk I had known,
No roots, no ground, no seeds were sown,
Just endless calm, no fear or fight,
A deep sleep, a boundless night,
Where knowledge rests, freely, and unplanned
Neither blessed, nor cursed and damned.
It was two weeks after christmas
when my sister announced her divorce
she said she just fell
out of love
and so the two hundred thousand
dollar house
the one with the wet ink still on the deed
wouldn't hear my nephews laugh anymore
wouldn't feel “I love you” leap from the
kitchen to the front door so the drive to work would be warm
wouldn't see any first gray hairs get plucked out into the sink over and over again
defying age staying young and dumb and passionate forever
but God
I bet my parents house looks at it
this young unbruised buck
“you didn't have to feel it!” it cries
“you didn't have to hear those boys scream, crying for their parents to stop hitting each other!
you didn't have to feel ‘I love you’ jump to door and shatter against the red paint
you didn't have to watch those gray hairs frame a face that turned all that passion
all that beautiful ignorance all that defiance into hate and stupidity
you're so lucky
at least they admitted when they fell out of love”
Colors are the King's delight at first light.
A shepherd’s green pasture and quiet streams
in piquant blues. Eden’s unbruised fruit teems.
The shadows waning, bittersweet’s delight
of the sun’s yolk and clementine so bright.
Steps in Adam and Eve in ripened dreams.
Colors are the King’s delight.
Lashes blood red - God’s mercy pure snow white.
Wet from tears and the torrent, the cross screams,
crushing the serpent’s head - satanic schemes.
Christ-redemption of a black and blue knight.
Colors are the King’s delight.
10/12/2022
Contest: Rousing Rondine
SPONSOR: Jeff Kyser
Just to be free
I will take a chance,
Without a backward glance
To close the door and lose the key
That has been too oft used
To unlock memories better lost in the sea
Of forgetfulness.
Just to be unbruised
From a lifetime of hurt
And from all the recorded grooves
Played and replayed like a concert
That never improves and always subverts
Any chance of happiness,
Or at least a peaceful armistice.
WITH THANKFULNESS
With thankfulness, I bow my head,
As I rise up unbruised from bed.
The clock tic-tocs away my breath.
I chase away the threat of death.
The sun has dawned, the night has fled.
But time will come and snip last thread,
And at the end, my prayers* well-said,
Soft tears will fall and final breath,
With thankfulness.
Then I will see my Christ who bled
And rose again, as scriptures said.
There is no victory in death.
Christ holds me up, gives me new breath.
At heaven’s gate, reborn, I’m led
With thankfulness.
10/9/2017
Give Me A Rondeau Contest
sponsor: Janice Canerdy
1st place
*Prayer - 1 syllable
My Heart Is . . .
Still ticking like a bomb.
Beaten like a dusty rug.
Still ticking like a bomb . . .
Unbroken; unwavering.
Still ticking like a bomb . . .
Not unbruised but
Still ticking like a bomb . . .
Not yet fatally wounded.
Still ticking like a bomb . . .
My Heart Is:
Strong but not hard,
. . . still ticking like a bomb,
And safe in its own discontent.
My Heart Is still ticking like a bomb . . .
For you I put a rose away,
Hoping you'd come back another day.
I have always truely loved you,
I always will and I still do.
To pour out my heart into this poem,
Is more difficult than it seems.
For black on white, either typed or written,
Cannot express how my heart,by you, was taken.
You took it all and you didn't know,
But to love you dearly is all I want to show.
That rose may be dying,
But I am too.
For every second that passed,
Is my life without you.
Yes, we're all human.
Yes, we may falter.
But to hear those three words from you,
Would make my heart alter.
My heart would change from a landscape of a battlefield,
To the most perfect, undying rose: unbruised and yours for eternal.
That rose was stolen away by you,
My undying love was taken too.
Although you may not know this,
It was stolen and taken ever since our first kiss.
Three things you stole from me:
My heart, my rose, my undying love.
I'm suprised you didn't take my sanity.
I love you for always and forever.
Careless.........
. the frail hand of longing
let s free the rose too soon,
unbruised.......
the forest immortal
succumbs to
innocent
tears,
astonished
revelation......
blushing spring
flows forth
upon the slender
thorn
of
time
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