In truth I have always found that
if and when man torments man
There is a deep seated soul pain
that only that person can heal.
My own ancestors beg of me
to not intervene in broken lives,
To let the lost ones cry and wail
and to move forward silently.
Some types of pain I do ignore
not because I do not care at all
But rather due to caring too much
and because I cannot save everyone.
Whatever can even be saved anymore
are the joys and memories and loves
Along with the spirits left behind
at the gravesites of our fallen.
Winter chilling tribulations cannot be denied;
Nor can determination and hope that abide.
Pandemic trials and tribulations have their time,
So do the loving spiritual supports that are mine.
Though many are filled with grief in their fate,
I maintain loving trust in my ever-promised faith.
And though pandemonium and faith challenge me
Together,
There is nothing in true faith that my faithful spirit
Can’t weather:-
It’s not that I have never been through a winter of
Dreadful deep discontent;
My faith never denied me, the divine power to deal
With whatever winter sent.
For I have never lost faith in God’s promise to my soul and me
That we would weather winter’s terrible turbulent Paul-like sea;
Thus, with the present day power-mongering oppression trusted upon us,
Let us epitomize the essence of our God in whom we must place our trust.
There’s yet a winter of challenging freezing discontent, we’ve been in,
That we’ve never been unable to warrant ways to deal with what this life sends.
On a sapphire night, the moon glows
Gone are the stars as the wind blows
Shrugs of fog silence darkest fears
Bugs with gentle light share their tears
Free as the songs who ebb and flow
We listen to rhymes we now know
Grace stirs the spirit to sing praise
Chase peace and love that always stays
A
too blue
sky
frames a
knavishly
willful
cloud
reaching
deep within
my labyrinth
of musings
pulling
forth
frothy
images
as it
wafts
gently
by
Waltz Wave Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Form: Waltz Wave
Syllables: 1,2,1,2,3,2,1,2,3,4,3,2,1,2,3,2,1,2,1
26 Mar 2023
The skin on thighs is cracked.
And what's below, don't look, from the heat, running and dust.
From wandering .
Once royal fabrics
Evaporated ,
Are eaten away by time in search .
Whisper softly your gentle words
In a way that lovers never find absurd
Gather in the laughter on the wind
Wanting more but not the end
Go to her when she calls
And into your arms let her fall
Wanting her your only thought
The warmth of her body is now sought
Without her its just wandering
Alone and lost in your imagining
For Love can be a fragile thing
When tragedy is all it brings.
© Paul Warren Poetry
You built a stone castle upon your house of cards. Then you invited us along to the party while it collapses. Me, I want a parachute so I can watch it all fall in glorious bloody red before I die.
Are we born blank note pads, empty, or is our emotional state already programmed in? If so, was my programmed faulty and then hacked into? As my operating system is wonky and needs fixing.
Are you the pecking snail? I can hear you growling in the night. You've been at my eggs again and not left me any. Why are you so selfish? I wanted to cook us an omelette. Now we'll starve.
Cars fly by me, woosh.
crossing the street, hurry...run!
Is this the right street?
oops, wrong way, turn around... here?
Left, tall city, loud, need map.
Pippidy pop the hops on top,
Never just the one, a few,
Pippidy pop once again he stops,
To find himself askew,
Crickiddy crack the floor boards do slack,
As he walks to a lady, red skirt,
Crickiddy crack as the pub fire goes black,
But a spark burns still, they flirt,
Tippidy tap onto Google Maps,
To find a place to stay,
Tippidy tap up and down her lap,
And now my friends, he’s laid,
Bippidy beep yet silence by a man turned sheep,
A fault onto her own she’s sure,
Bippidy beep the Response stick runs deep,
Tainted time but love unknown still pure,
A crackly cry up towards the sky,
The bastard has now been born,
A crackly cry after he says goodbye,
Dim shadow, she’s left to morn,
Tickiddy tock the hands of time do rock,
Oneself into situations of chance,
Tickiddy tock charms fade after the clock,
So leave it my dear, to just one dance.
Wanderings of soul
Couldn't see the colour of the sky,
Nor the birds, their flight so high,
The greens were lost in twilight,
Didn't you see tears in my eyes ?
My stray soul that still wanders,
Passion swamps mind that ponders,
Parallel walk yet no greet,
Will the two banks ever meet ?
Vibrant dreams await fulfil,
Desires in heart deep instil,
Quell pain of eternity,
Do I live infinity ?
Till wrinkles on skin appear,
Emotions to mind will steer,
Till rainbow in sky will fade,
Can I beat my weary jade ?
Wanderings of soul will end,
Love if you could just pretend,
Your lie would be worth a price,
Can't you see tears in my eyes ?
Written December 7th, 2014
Iambic heptameter
For contest 'Iambic verse' by Giorgio A.V.
Now for PD's contest "Best poem of 2014 contest"
Awarded 10th place
Now entered for "Your best old poem contest" by Judy Konos
Awarded 1st place win
Entered for "Best love poem #4" poetry contest by SKAT A
Awarded 9th place win
Now entered for "Favourite" poetry contest by Casarah
A gray and dreary sky was drawn this morn
though love was in my heart of hearts aglow,
as I called out to you, a rift was torn,
and through the rift, so silent, fell the snow.
Ah, you have passed my heart, my love; I know,
a barefoot specter follows through the white.
Once warmed by passion’s kiss and love’s delight
now, only memories fill my beating heart,
and I can but shiver in the dead of night
awaiting the cock’s crow, I will depart.
Lea, lush cordial waits
dawn, a promise of dew,
yet couldn’t stop the moment
stealing the moorside view.
The turn of Alf’s cart wheel
broke the silence of the night,
the beat of a lone heartache
stole the dark from the light.
“Picturesque Turner Lane”
The wind aloof did hone,
the old grey stone “Bar House”
Stood there, cold bare alone.
Out of the earth the village
rose, where the lake settles deep,
“Parson’s Lane” An expressway
to stone mason, layman, sheep.
New age enfolds the bridle
path, in the meanness of June,
wading amongst celandine
to a “Fats Domino” Tune.
Bare face against the window
precious eyes, craving stance,
a candle waits for someone
to touch in warm romance.
For youth is a learning curve
an implant, of worldly ways,
maturity dismantles
the lust of innocent days!
© Harry J Horsman 2010
robust wanderings
bring you near
walking stick and old canteen
britches, boots, all unseen
walks forever in the woods
chocolate bars
smoky fire
pull me out
a tent at night
and in the afternoon
sweet hay smell wispers
to the moon.
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