Alone with paws,
those brown bear mauls
though safe within these walls.
This form I inhabit, a one-eyed-creature
with unstrung pearls. The fur
savagely unfurls; the muscles
breathlessly bounding toward me.
I don’t feel helpless though
nothing’s helpful.
Up and down carry
of my spectacles. I am a spectacle.
Can’t see past the forest of trees.
I can hear the chuffing
of the predator. He knows
I can’t unrun him. Jocularly,
he’s on my chest, examining my eye,
heavy on my leg, giving me pause.
My life’s not in danger and yet
the enemy plays with my soul.
Still I know, he has no tricks,
nor treats, that God will not defeat.
The Day the Earth Shook
Today a place called Haiti,
weighs heavy on my mind.
A small island Country State,
where life has been unkind.
With little shanty houses,
no food to feed the young.
War and unrest through the years,
a trap to be unstrung.
A seven-point earthquake struck,
it rattled this small place.
Shook it to the very core,
it did not miss a trace.
Children died in the rumble,
the death toll yet unknown.
Please pray for the little ones,
and mercy to be shown.
Let's bring them food and water,
so swiftly to their aid.
And call out to survivors,
so they won’t be afraid.
Offer our hands in friendship,
to aid them in their plight.
Hope in the wake of sorrow,
and light to their dark night.
I think God says unto us,
we know what we must do.
When we open up our hearts,
it shows us what is true.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Eavesdropping
the liars
where poison is stirred
Their message
rings toxic
the future interred
Foreboding
forsaking
all hope is unstrung
While deaf
to the mantra
— where truth waits unsung
(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)
What would you pay
to erase a memory
What would you buy
to blot out the stain
What would you give
to not be forsaken
What would you take
to lessen the pain
What would you know
if the words came unstrung
What would you hear
if the silence prolonged
What would it be
if time was delinquent
What would it mean
— if the meaning was gone
(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)
Will we see fire death and pain,
fall from the fingertips of the insane?
Will we get tweets of our own destruction
from people on permanent malfunction?
If you’re searching for the truth you’d better not ask
those politicians who hide behind an outlaw's black mask.
What we do this day can never be undone
and the ropes we let bind us can never be unstrung.
Yet we will close our eyes and praise their name
because there’s always someone else to blame.
Bits of what we had
Became unstrung, life then spun
Out of my control.
Then saw goodness of your soul...
Sadly cannot find them all.
Inside an archaic framework
she fetches a pail from the fields,
the bucket on her hip is full of
broken eagles.
Wind turbines churn in the distance.
He takes the mangled birds
plucks them,
puts their heads on poles
loads them onto a flatbed.
His dour darling fixes fixings
with a rusting air-fryer;
plaits her hair with chicken wire.
Drones mourn like doves in the evening.
Rattling pods spread
their dry seeds over abandoned crops.
Bald feathers flap on
a black-booted scarecrow.
A morbid factotum arrives
deposits clods of earth
from out the back of
of a fly-specked hearse.
Horse heads turn
on a squeaking wind vane.
Inside a slow burning barn
Unstrung fiddles lay at rest
in their open coffins.
A slack line slaps a flagpole as the wind gusts through the park.
The band shell stands abandoned, but for dogs that sniff and bark.
I'd take my lucky penny, drop it gladly in the well
That all would be as music for my Lejna Tasha Belle.
The weedy footpath narrows, withered tangles intertwine
The partly broken trellis which the drunken rose once climbed.
I'd rake this moon-dark garden, work till Nature cast Her spell,
That all would be as flowers for my Lejna Tasha Belle.
I’ll not see end to end from in the middle
Until life’s brilliant necklace comes unstrung.
Where once I’d recollect, “When you were little…”
I now look back and sigh, “When I was young…”
I rustle through the clutter of November's dry debris
And contemplate the lonely leaf-choked fountain then I see
The fallen-in gazebo where the carved initials tell
That all was once as springtime for my Lejna Tasha Belle.
I am unstrung pearls,
rolling about in the dark
that dying ember
that once was a glowing spark
a flower petal, fallen
lying withered on the ground
the wind, now hushed
too diminished to blow around
a drop of cold wax
where once a warm candle burned
a heart, sadly imprisoned
caged by a love that was spurned
a whisper, never spoken
silenced by promises now broken
a grain of sand stuck in time
held captive inside an hourglass
a thousand tears wept
while I wait for heartache to pass
Unstrung lover broke her beads.
Pearls - black and blue, pure white, cream.
A river of wicked deeds
would release her unhinged scream.
Vertiginous whirlpool’s drunk
on All Hallow’s Eve. Unbent
string and fine ornaments sunk.
Unwound hate and pearls ferment.
10/19/2020
Contest: Impressions
Sponsor: Nette OnClaud
Visual #1
*to work up (as into a state of agitation)
It’s All About Mercy
By: Tom Wright
3/10/2006
God didn’t give us lives
Filled only with the scent of wildflowers.
But all too often, we face
Dandelions too, that we must eradicate.
We revel in those days
Of magnificent warmth and showers.
Becoming “purse-proud”,
Giving God ample reason to castigate.
Then suddenly our lives
Become unstrung most unexpectedly.
And the faintest heart
From their chosen path will stray.
But amazing grace
Has enabled us to stand protected.
God has manifested,
Once more, leniency, for another day.
We’re void of thoughts
Concerning others, whom we should serve.
And our forgiveness,
Toward those same, scarcely can be found.
While we’re beseeching,
Gods Compassion, not what we do deserve.
Forgetting, that grace,
And mercy, for each, does much abound.
Whirlwinds agree that
stricken sands in a summer endure promise
Hailstorms entrance
when a dried out autumn is tried
And when we take cover
in chances swept adrift
Tones accustomed to
discarded songs emerge
If we call them memories
they soon will fade
In disturbed sequence some untie,
and toss prescient fireside kisses
into loss
Some engage..
and return to us untouched
Unstrung, they may disperse
Others gauge the tenderness
we favour,
Untouched, they may enrage
Yet others stray
beyond their own emptiness...
And still,
in love we remain
Unstop the drain
kiss the pain
let nature run its course
Trip the wire
start the fire
new vision at its source
Time unstrung
past on the run
tomorrow lies to all
Hearts open wide
the moment flies
—past memory to recall
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
I'm writing a book, I've got the page numbers done
Could be a best seller, maybe even become number one
Writing the last page first
How it starts is my thirst
Okay I'm totally bonkers, think I've become unstrung
Spring hasn't sprung: No bees have stung;
No painter's fallen off a ladder's rung.
No miner's contracted black lung.
Spring hasn't sprung: No batter has swung
At a strike three pitch that no hurler has flung
In a ballpark where Opening Day Game banners
have yet to be hung.
Spring hasn't sprung: No dry parched tongue
Has yet been clinged or been clung
To lips burnt by the rays of the sun.
Spring hasn't sprung: No song has been sung
Off-tune and off-key in an obscure mother tongue
By a lone crooner bereft of a love unstrung.
Yes: It's ok that Spring hasn't sprung:
--If certain particular news is not brung.
March 30, 2018
Contest entry in "Spring Fling Zing Thing King (or Queen)"
Sponsor - Michael Vacek
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