A young girl, aged no more than ten,
recently orphaned in an unjust war,
on tiptoe, reaching up to a crevice
to tuck in her crumbled prayer.
She had been taught that God by any name,
Allah or Elohim, would answer all prayers.
Hoping that God’s heavenly scales
would favour her unselfish plea
against those that may wish her kind ill,
she reached the crevice and tucked in her prayer.
No one noticed her hijab slip or heard the wall wail.
a poem about this
a poem about that
a poem with a bit of gunfire,
rat-a-tat-tat
they have their own minds
throw themselves down on a page
I don’t dare to stop them
I’ve reached a seasoned age
Who am I channeling?
It certainly cannot be Plath or Poe
My stuff is upbeat,
I do not do depression or woe
My muse is in charge
Trixie is her given name
She’s persistent and relentless
A do-something dame
My grandmother knew
the exact moment I was born.
She was sitting in the passenger seat
of my grandfather’s navy blue Jeep Wrangler.
Speeding down the New Jersey turnpike,
the windows trembled against rushing air.
She closed her eyes and said,
“I just heard my baby granddaughter cry.”
Every time she tells this story,
I imagine my first guttural wail
transcending miles of houses,
trees, and pavement.
I think what a crude force even then
was my unrelenting fear,
its velocity,
its volume,
its stamina.
The other day
I lay for an echo of my heart
The technician scanned my chest and sides
I could hear my heart pant aloud
Oh boy! Was that a chugging train,
a distant wail, water gurgling,
or a rhythmic rub inside an empty tub?
The guy sure was at frantic speed
wailing all the while
Thank the Lord
He has made sure
we never hear
the perturbations
of this friend of ours
labouring inside each of us
all twenty-four hours
Carrying the fever and heat
of love’s first flame,
I set out on a journey
expectant and anxious,
sealed and tight lipped,
all emotions bottled.
From port to port I journeyed,
travelling in a little love vessel.
What a heavy cargo of dreams I carried
with the scent of memories perfumed.
Did a black cat cross my path?
Behind all veils of cloud,
hope lingered
My spirit…. pulsating inside.
My senses….
waiting for the moment of beatitude!
Skyward I flew
floating through the air
to land, finally in your trembling hands,
dreaming of a nameless delight,
bursting out at the earliest moment.
With my heart beats rising hoarse,
you slit my mouth,
pulled my soul out.
But,
gnarling at my face,
mercilessly you tore me into bits.
and threw me into the bin!!
In the Westerly wind,
slivers of me flew about like ghosts,
unable to get back to their graves.
After whirling naked in the gust of wind,
pieces of me fell down one by one,
to lie inert on the ground,
gasping for the final breath.
Did the firmament tattooed by stars
mock at my pitiable plight?
THE WAIL OF A MOTHER
Their ears are closed to human
Suffering and fear
Saying this case will take years to decide
Because they cannot hear
A Scream
A Groan
A Cry
A sound like no other
While collapsing to the ground
The wail of a mother
They give a farce, a PR game
Though everybody knows
Children are dying every day
But their ears they choose to close
To
A Scream
A Groan
A Cry
A sound like no other
While collapsing to the ground
The wail of a mother
Those that live beside them know
There’s nothing to gain
To help and love thy neighbor
So are deaf to the pain
Of
A Scream
A Groan
A Cry
A sound like no other
While collapsing to the ground
The wail of a mother
The church calls one group chosen though
Christ says all life is dear
“No Ceasefire’ is shouted so loudly
That they can’t even hear
A Scream
A Groan
A Cry
A sound like no other
While collapsing to the ground
The wail of a mother
As she writhes around the ground
The wail of a mother.
The wound becomes inward like the pink moon
after a little rain. It glows and then becomes
red as the blood and the wool of the wail
dangling white like a sheep in the wind.
And this thorn that now curves in your breast;
you will not bring to the garden
nor to the throned light.
It lies at your breast as a bone of some lost horse.
It will not bring Light to the growing mooring-post.
Nor will it exalt in any way the twining winds that move
in the night.
:: 10.31.2022 ::
Nature,
thou art so great.
The sun still shines so bright.
All alone I walk with the wind.
Trees line up on my way in robes of green.
From branches, birds trill joyous songs.
Breeze giggles among leaves.
I love you dear,
Nature.
The light,
will soon fade out.
Upon reaching back home,
the day would have bade its goodbye.
Alone I have to brood in deep silence.
It's depressing to be alone.
Most houses are lighted.
Sadly look on,
the light
I crave-
Crave for a time,
when a caring hand would,
hold me snug in love, on homebound,
cuddling me tight to warm my lonely bed.
The night is so dreadfully chill.
Birds are huddled in nests.
For company,
I crave.
July. 25. 2022
Submitted for Brian Strand Choice Poetry Contest
Up the hill upon a rickety stool
I watched afloat
With clouds of lonesomeness for company
The richest streams flow
From a source of dreams they come
The wails a song so rich, yet the reality of the source so poor
Oh! Oh! Destiny unfulfilled, regrets come to life
It is a clash of reality that was, reality that is and reality yet to be
Hope, the fight that is our nature faintly lingers
Can he go on? Where is his chance? Does it exist at all?
With a chest heave and a pinch of optimism, the stage is set for reality yet to be
With the strings of destiny for a guide
Tomorrow takes root in the present
It is not his chance, destiny repeats it’s self
Oh! Oh! Destiny is yet again unfulfilled
Regrets roots even deeper and the clash continues like it never was
An endless loop of dreams flowing as tears
For that is the controversial destiny of the majority living and hoping for a destiny of the minority
Onen Aaron
One day sirens will cross the roads wailing,
In an attempt to clear the blocked paths,
Immovable stones, lifeless souls,
To avoid mishaps
A faint heartbeat persists,
A hopeless sound
None too sweet
Unheard by the passer byes
Heard by the birds in skies
Sirens will continue wailing
Chasing across the endless roads
With a hope too high too fatal
Occupied by a person
Unconscious inside
With breaths too shallow
Too low to decipher.
The sirens will go on wailing
Followed by none
Mourned by none
One day
Amidst the siren wailing
The heart beats
Those now countable breaths
Will fade
One day
That heart beat will stop
Sighs will be blessed
Breathes will collapse
The soul will finally escape
Between the siren's wail.
Mythic pull to a full moon
induces change
to untie a knot of recognition
to disrupt codes of approval
in the midst of lost composure
Halloween wolf mask dipped in
slabs of hair
fanfare of pointed ears and fangs
pulled full tilt from brow to chin
Some tell me, "Suited to your unruly self."
Engages my animal behavior
displaced
when the day spins into shadows
Unsettling visage shatters
the calm belonging of late October
Understandable wish to scream at cramped conforming
to howl at what's perpetually
out of reach
Can't put this act down
for the lunar cry we bellow is the who we are
unfiltered selves
that cross borders
to engage the world
misconstrued
Poem revised September 1, 2022
moaning melody bruised
reeling rusty cruise
dark dribbles drooled
felon fate fumed
hankering hoisted licked
voluptuous flames flipped
punctured palm pricked
callous consciousness clipped
sassy stripes stripped
bounty flesh fostered
taunted tune triggered
eerie emotions filtered
bounty beats birthed
wanky wail flirted
'20:04:18:11:21
Note: Of drooling drums.
Six empathetic demons drained the slain dragon’s blood
In a van attempt to abstain from drinking Jayfer’s life stream.
They quickly became addicted to dragon’s taste, a serious error
For now they are forevermore cursed, languishing in misery
Destined to wail and scream their anguish at not being satisfied.
Sharing their sad woes with Jayfer’s clan who has taken them in.
The adopted relatives who recognize the demon’s pain
But cannot aid, for the slain dragon was the last of his kind.
Written 8-02-2019
Contest: 8 Word Challenge addicted, woes, demons, vain,
destined, drained, slain, abstain
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Amazing grace
Let the bagpipes play
While in blissful peace I lay
Beneath rolls of morning mist
Let bagpipes whine and wail
At the portal of my heart
Tugging at the gateway of my soul
Releasing timeless ageless tears
In supernal universal rhythm
As generations of kindred spirits
Swirl above the eerie misty morn
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on June 4, 2019 for contest YOUR CHOICE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - HONORABLE MENTION
You are gagged and bound, seated
In a hot seat among the hard of hearing
Harrowing tales from the trenches
At the deep end of a ravenous beast
A narrowing outlook, hope fading
Shape shifting fiends on the cliffs of sleep
Captured drifts shaping up to squeeze
Harassed by the wail of the haunt
You cry within reach of eardrums
Albeit all wearing earplugs
Wallowing, itching skin turning sallow
You are reminded of the sordid detail
The devil in it too hard to swallow
You reckon it's the lunch in your throat
That crouching shifting restless toad
You are not alone but on your own
Roasting in the heat of your moaning
Voice within a crowd of voices making noises
Choir of soloists, yet never about choices
You were placed where you were placed
In a furnace of dreams from dusk till dawn
Never warned that you were in for the duration
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