Vainly Poems

The Journey of Man's Soul

     God signs off on His handiwork
        releases into the world a human soul
     First inside the womb and then outside
        that soul begins to unfold  

     For mankind yearns to be free, free of direction
         ignores all instruction as its sets sail
     Free of direction and of directions
         Freedom the goal, man’s Holy Grail   

     With good luck comes wonder
         at creation, at a cosmos so awesome
     Though the journey leads, inevitably, 
         to frustration, disappointment, unripened blossoms… 

     Then the cruelest blow when eventually
         the unfolding process reverses
      The ramrod-straight frame 
         folding in on itself as it rehearses

      its return to its Maker, Who delivered it here
         Who lets man search vainly for freedom 
          and come up empty year after year
             ~ for only His Truth makes everything clear

The Morning's Picturesque Beauty

I'm waking up and rubbing two blinded eyes,
The crispness of the sweet-scented air in whimpering July
Rapidly spreads by a benevolent wind that pleases,
It allows me to discover by intent a sublime reality,  
Which is the morning's picturesque beauty:
Does strong belief interfere with a sense of great friability?

Nature can be brutal or pleasant, and yet it can fascinate
Us, when it suddenly embraces each sense to compensate
For the discontent left by a dreamless and unrestful night;
What we hear amid those eerie shadows is the cry of a cricket!  

I distinctly revoke such repulsing and unenthralling nights
As I wash their macabre images off with cold, running water;
Is a better day coming, prompting actions that don't falter? 
Harm is done when pain is accepted and tomorrow frightens.  

In this morning's picturesque beauty, I could lose myself
And wish that dreaming vainly detaches me from grief,
not seeing any delusional mirage on the journey to happiness;
I've expelled the vile demons that made me spew lies!

It's raining

Her big beautiful eyes were piercing me up and close
Her playful smile playing all over, vainly trying to prepare me
But, as always, in a trance I lay, heart pounding, mind blanked out.
Completely unaware of everything, except her unabashedly gorgeous presence.
Moments passed, without a word, without an act
Didn't know it was that typical lull before the storm
And then it stormed down, here, there and everywhere 
Voluptuous kisses, first gently in isolation and then unending showers.
Me taken completely by surprise, pinned, breathless, overwhelmed.
But, at the same time, enjoying the wildness, the ecstasy, the euphoria.
To get drenched in the first flush of rain, I guess, is always memorable.
'It's raining!' my little one exclaims, and I nod, struggling to look out.

Listening To the Pelican's Affliction

What has brought him to this cheerful place?
Is it curiosity, hunger, or an escape from loneliness?
A mild wind from the East caresses the gleaming waves,
and he expresses jealousy with deliberate rage;
his small nest was destroyed by the wrathful storm of February,
vainly, he searched for it through the bushes of wild huckleberry. 

The mid-spring sunrise is bright-golden and luminous:
similar to a brilliant sun that illuminates all in its path;
and yet the green-blue pelican ignores it and chooses 
to mourn his loss, never hoping to find his little ones alive:
to survive in such a wilderness, any bird needs to strive
or die even when harmony invites to explore new skies.

It's Saturday morning, I'm strolling and singing
and perched on the Monterey Cypress stretching
its branches want to embrace him for solidarity,
would he accept or refuse the feeling of empathy?

Listening to the pelican's affliction is sensing total despair,
something I've felt and carried inside to deepen the wound
of a tragic event that provided no minimal healing whatsoever:
we were created differently from these fowls with thrilling sound.

I'll Be Your Light

“In trying times the touch of compassion uplifts 
the sunk spirit from the depth of depression”- By Poet


You walk the content life through the dulcet days
on the rose garden's dream-paved cinnamon pathway.
Along the winding wake of the butterflies you chase
the rustle of rapture, making sure the pursuit won't stray.

Soon enough you reach the edge of the opaque night
when the surging storm shatters the somber sky,
the pole star disappears out of your sullen sight, 
the trying time torments you, you don’t know why.

A wreck, you crumble in the rueful ruins of sadness, 
stow the shards of crushed life in depth of depression,
where you vainly search for you in the dreary darkness,
despair wraps you with the shroud of dejection.

The emphatic glow of my passion’s candle you’ll then find
like the mesmeric moon in the onyx sky shining bright.  
You’ll rise from the debris of the melancholic mind,
for in the dark of dismal night I’ll be your longing light.

Prisoner of Poetry - Mar 22

My bars the words, the prison guard my verse,
Rattling the staves of this poetic cell,
I struggle vainly, locked up in this jail. 
Yea, thus is my predicament, my curse.

Oh, how jealously, you smirking blank verse,
I look upon what freedom guides your quill;
For formal phrasing does of me compel
Stubborn structures—the styles which I rehearse. 

But, boldy bumbling, art is now arising!
Walls becoming my score, and tallies tones, ?Confined to meter, bound by rigid rhyme, 
I yet find measures full of surprising 
Motifs. The modern poet at sonnets groans,
But I, I do believe they’re quite sublime.

Free speech U K'

This very year..And today' begins a leaching away ' 
Malign intent has began; a framing' quyeer karma
Will soon be naming.' A raft of dis-reason assembled
Most vainly' for we all saw him plainly.' He claimed to
Humanity.' Free speech was not a novelty.' We have
Had it for many years.' So now it apoears really *****'
That such un-truth was mouthed.' And right in mr Trumps
Right ear.' And right to his face in fact.' I find it most hard to hack!
That there exists an audacity.! To spew such an illitracy?
How much aversion to reality.? Can be tolerable? I fail to see!
That such a man? Should have world status.' Or be? Leader
Of Brittania the scepterd isles, we see..' origin deep; the very
Cauldron of world judicarys.' The seat of much stability.' Allowed to wrap 
Chains of false values and claims based in banal iniquity.' To drag
Such a nation down, and almost to its knees.!

Locked box Of Time

It never left, the stale odour of grief that tortures me
That wrapped its fingers around my throat, never letting free
It pressed until my last breath was spent, my life slipping by
Trying to release the pressure, not knowing the reason why

I delve deep in my pockets, searching vainly for the key.
Box of opportunities that presents itself to me
My mind is now free falling, from the secrets held within.
Of what my future holds for me and things that could have been

It's tempting me like a siren, luring me to my fate.
All the unanswered questions that my thoughts would generate
Teasing me with its contents, all the dreams I once held dear
Without the key, I am lost, my body is racked with fear,

Because knowledge is my suitor, my mind will never rest.
Until I know the secrets that I know must be addressed
I am now wondering about where I will go from here.
I'm in perpetual limbo, sleepwalking through each year

If I open up the box, what mysteries will I find?
So let me locate the key, so I will not left behind.

Embodying the Light

Line of inquiry: 

truth imbibed
awaits assimilation
we feel it in our bones
in time dissolved meditation


Man's Advocate, Christ, returned to heaven's gates
yet, earth's need for Light remained paramount.
God had planned remedy which illuminates
man's body and soul from within like a fount.

Thus dwells seeds of truth in all those who embrace
God's Spirit, causing man's spirit to be stirred.
Light makes Himself known and His raw truth we taste,
digested daily from the truth in God's Word.

With prayer, conscience matures and converys
nourishment for a new diet of service.
Reproof brings discipline when our spirit strays
feasting with him who vainly tries to swerve us.

Wisdom absorbed into its mind, soul and frame,
our being can bring glory to our Maker;
with thoughts, words, deeds that proclaim His holy name -
three-fold - Creator, Savior and Caretaker.

For its worth in forgiveness and redemption,
our faith is sustained to the endpoint of sight
when we join our Christ at the doors of heaven
hearing, "Well done, you've broadcasted My Light."

ALONE

All alone deep inside
Feeling like I wanna cry
No one ever understands
Cuz they're always making plans
My worlds quickly falling apart
Vastly destroying my fragile heart
Vainly trying to hold it together
Teetering on the edge forever
Losing everything so close
Feeling like an unwelcomed ghost
No matter what I try
Everything either leaves or dies
Wishing I can get rid of my stress
Thinking this is all a test
Feeling I'm at the end of my rope
Extremely close to losing all hope
Wishing someone saves me someday
These words to god I pray

Thoughts

There are thoughts that tantalize. Sometimes as simple as “I was about to tell you something but it’s gone.” To thoughts that harbour deep in our subconscious, that part of the mind of which we are not fully aware but which influences our actions and feelings.

Thoughts

There's a thought that shone …  though dimly
at the edges of my mind
like a dream just half remembered
in the early dawning time

like the memory of a moment
when my head was dulled by wine
like a childhood … half forgotten
I’m not even sure was mine

like a song I’ve never heard before
and yet … somehow I know
reminiscent of a kiss
I never tasted long ago

from a girl my arms had never held
a photo on a wall
a Cinderella beautiful
whose face I can’t recall

it’s like a friendship long forgotten
yet …  somehow still alive 
in the remnants of my sleeping
reaching vainly to survive

then … of a sudden … teasingly
through the waking haze
for just a fleeting moment
it’s as clear as summer days

until it’s not …  just gone
forevermore to roam
and join the myriad virgin thoughts
that call infinity home

Wazza

At The Cemetery

Writing is a gamble

we put in our words,
pull the slot
and read back our
cherries and lemons -- 

the object is to publish
our addiction

to connect with a reader

our casinos, the clan-forums
of acceptance and rejection

The poet
(excluding the jingle writer) --
least paid-out of all 
literary devotionals -- 
priest and parishioner of countrysides
and hearts, secretly, vainly wonders 
if his life’s refrain
but another of man’s many dear epitaphs

summaries in stone

unweeded

and forgotten --

Pride Enough To Beg

Now your crown lays broken
And your scepter duly snapped
Your feet so fleet now leaden
Your might of arm too, sapped.
Yet cling you to times due passed
And vainly hope for morrow bright
Your paltry breath would scarcely last
Sustained you still your burning pride
So quick to kneel and grind your head
To dust, so rightly blithe
Your noble soul demands be fed
Its wretched lust for life.

Silence Please!

Do you hear it? Do you hear the nothingness
Not a single word, not one solitary word at all
So that a teardrop sobs in the void of emptiness
Dogwood leaves scream as they plummet and fall

Did you say something? I would hope you did not
Why would you break the noiselessness of serenity
Disturbing the pressing brain cells from a thought
Like muting the sound of a full orchestra's symphony

The whisper of smoke billowing from a rolled cigarette
A beating heart so loud as to wake up the sleeping
Wiping away the silent fear and the smell of sweat
The drooping sound of willows and magnolias weeping

The tongue-tied echo does not return when you call
Flames as they vainly struggle to survive in wet weather
The dragging a snake makes when it slithers and crawls
Job's friends were respectful as they sat calmly together

Allow me to nestle in my quietness and learn to embrace it
Acknowledging silence is golden and is not open to debate
As a grateful patient seeks repose in an intensive care unit
Escaping the chaos and the confusion is well worth the wait

All Things Fall Apart - Aka Everything Is Nothing

("Eye of Newt", 2020, original encaustic)

All Things Fall Apart (aka Everything is Nothing)

All things fall apart
because all things 
naturally self-destruct
as entropy exerts its shadowy force.

Order, or whatever we posit as non-chaos
is thus fleeting
held up by causes and conditions
that are themselves fleeting.

Thus the shadow of non-existence
permeates all form, all thought,
all notion of existence,
as its true nature.

All things fall apart
through self-destruction
because they never existed
in the first place.

What is this shadowy entropy?
A lack at the heart of existence
who’s existence can only be seen
in its fleeting forms.

And yet, forms arise continuously,
as merely labeled things
in ordered appearance 
for our fleeting enjoyment and use.

The question then is,
“What is the creative force?”
Ah, the mystery of mind
vainly searching for itself.

 (10/29/23)

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