shadows reek of turpentine
scarlet-lettered trespass sign
fences dangle off the hinge
matted cobwebs festive fringe
spiders dance on abused toys
murderous crows' ghastly noise
unseen faces give you pause
rebel souls without a cause
unfriendly lot, wise be warned
you now living, the unmourned
leave us ghosts to haunt in peace
that your mind retains its lease
Inspired by "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a leaf that falls,
unmourned, to the distant ground
I paused when I heard a far bird's calls
Magic I'd missed looking down--
royal Autumn leaves danced in gold and red.
This must be where my lonely heart has led.
Opened my eyes to this spellbound place,
and breathed air perfumed by pine.
Then sat near blossom with smiling face,
feeling thoughts and heart align.
I watched grass spinning beneath a tall oak;
heard whispered promises breeze softly spoke.
Head full of dreams, I wandered along
paths worn by many steps before.
Mountain larks welcomed me with a song,
I spied lilacs, bluebells, and more.
Around each corner, surprises await.
I feel my loneliness start to abate.
I happen upon a wayward creek,
sit and watch her bouncing spray,
Bubbling with laughter, just what I seek--
hidden by an oak overlay.
Untethered nature met unquiet heart.
Now I burst with song; can't tell us apart!
September 18,2022
for "I Wandered Lonely As A..." contest
by Natasha L. Scragg
Third Place
Poem of the Week
Certain men have risen to claim dominance over society,
Their actions attest to barren depths of indifference,
Caring not that those who are unable to fight back
Are trodden beneath the heavy boots of oppression;
Artistry, vision unrecognized by these ruthless men
Allowing the best of creation to fall unrealized;
Blindness reflected in the aperture of willfulness,
They fail to realize the key to their survival
Depends upon those they seek to trample.
Denying the nuance of eternal life,
Disbelieving warnings that their war-filled saga
Lacks the grace of God’s perfect blessing,
Their hubris knows no bounds,
Their proclivity for power overriding any doubt.
With no one possessing the temerity to question their authority
They flourish in shallow praise, unable to comprehend
They bring about their own self-inflicted death
As disease eats away the marrow of their existence.
Unmourned, unheeded they shall pass away
Forgotten, unremarkable as they die an ignoble death.
11/19/18
It flew past my window early this morn
A winged creature with a singular horn
Of so many things did this creature warn
Of once-towering figures, their reputations now shorn
Of lovers who'd parted, their hearts newly torn
Of babes stillborn, whose deaths go unmourned
Of a sudden the creature knelt down, midst a field forlorn
Lowered his head to the ground, shook loose his horn
Lifted it high with his forelimbs, and with haunting melody adorned
The message of woe he'd brought the world that same morn
With beeps and honks and plaintive blasts of his horn
He'd rendered his judgment, of briar and thistle and thorn
Some say the creature was the mythical unicorn
I say, it flew past my window, and of danger it warned
I live under dark lonely clouds
Pregnant with acid rain
Burn into my skin, every drop a blister
I call out your name in whispers
Become I a wraith that haunts its own house
Floating through a labyrinth of memories made
I wonder to seek your face in every crowd
Retrace every step to cover the distance to here
How am I that far gone?
This world now an arid land
All the roses I planted to adorn your feet
Shriveled and dead like the hopes I carried
Petals dry and scattered lie wasted
Litter the paths once so familiar and hallowed
With every breath I take
Every desperate move of mine
It becomes so clear to me
This will last beyond the end of time
Unmarked, unmourned
I set myself on a forever pyre
Burning in desires for you
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Blown away in warm winds
Bidden adieu with a flying kiss
From your lips
You were not present.
Far from the pallid sky-
in the graveyard,
the marbled tears
had become the eyes.
The meanness of the grill.
It will not fix the sun.
I stand by a river,
which was very thirsty-
very deep.
The silent flight of a
white falcon takes a dive-
for the darkned moon.
The wingless poem soars high
to catch the words.
The jacarandas were trumpeting
in blue flowers, of the return
of demigods.
Satish Verma
But fiction you are, our Juliet, unborn,
mere humans find love so hard to portray,
thus leading many to their death, astray,
fear not a Romeo is born each day.
Childless children be not to death forsworn.
Why leave the bloom of youth in this dark way?
To these false examples swear not, allay ...
these foolish gestures and stay unmourned.
What care true love for false sacrifice's knife
or petal poisons made by perverse form,
live and brave the days with courage cajoled.
Oh, waylay the cowards path, leave your grief,
for grief will come to all within life's storm;
live a full life linger for life is gold.
SEPTEMBER SUNSET OVER ST. PETERSBURG
Final fling of color and movement from the sun
Celebration of life before it’s done.
Bits and pieces of beauty criss-crossed
And all is higgledy, but still filled and tossed -
Like a rainbow salad mixed up in the sky’s bowl
With colored stripes of beauty - and spread over the oval
Nodding orange behind the Cathedral of St. Isaac,
Against the blue bowl looming black.
The leading edges of each higgle glow golder
As the trailing edges dim, darker, older :
And the orange juice spreads behind the museum
Then pours between the storefronts, turning them
To Gideon’s shields, momentarily flaring bright
To hide the departure of the citrus orb to the night.
The higgledy darkens, slowly bruising
Into purple streaks, westward flooding and oozing.
As the day dies unmourned,
The western sky is unadorned.
.............................................................
Written by Sydney Peck
2 August 2013
ICE FUNERAL
My River Smolenka has been free of ice now for weeks, but today
I saw the flat smoothly-flowing river steaming grey -
Bearing remnant ice-floes from some upper tributary stream,
Small, weak, lifeless, their former life a dream:
An ice funeral cortege - silent slow black calm steady
All floes going to die - each melts, reunited with its parent substance like souls unready.
Each drops its load of dirt and cigarette butts and beer bottles - purified.
Only by the stuff it has dropped is its shabby existence testified.
Smolenka is their Styx - their frozen wastes will never return;
Unmourned by watchers on the bridge, who turn
Aside like all the rest
In disinterest.
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