CONVEYING VITALITY-:-
universal
laments
shadow
individual
motifs
of FLEEING FORTUNES
endure
wearisome
struggles
engaging
existence
within OUR NATURES
occupying
burgeoning
themed
anachronistic
scenes
RHYTHM OF A RIVER
Poem written for “Rolling with the R’s” poetry contest, August 4, 2025, Nette Onclaud, sponsor
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
river
in shadows deep
time stands perfectly still.
water mourns, regret and anguish~
the weight of time a wearisome sighing.
in solitude it carries on
river weaving sorrow.
heartache flows deep.
river
What I see in stars above is extremely wearisome,
with useless inane details that I wish I never knew.
Light years, space-time, black holes, big bangs,
myriads of pricks 'n specks a billion miles away - who cares?
I've been over-dubbed, deluded, and robbed,
of the romance, songs, stories,
and delightful spiritual legends
that ancient master star gazers saw
in stars above.
Hunter and archers with sword, belt, arrows and shield,
A veritable zoo of animals - lion, ram, bull, bear, llama, emu,
goat, scorpion, fish and severed heads, under arms.
Pots and pans, the scrub-a-dub dish that
ran away with the spoon.
Regal Heracles, Achilles and Troy in battles raging skyward
Bickering Gods, Virgins, Kings and Queens with kids and twins.
Action-men Pharaohs, wannabee Gods,
leaping from pyramid tops,
onto the ladder of the Milky Way, which is -
The River of Heaven, Road of Souls
The Spilled Breast Milk of Hera the Mother God
The seed-strew pathway the mighty Emus trod,
pecking their way,
In stars above.
We all should get out and look up more!
Gazing with ancient eyes into the sky above,
reveling to see and enjoy what they saw,
in stars above.
the game of push and pull has become wearisome ~
for we dwell in the heart, one with the cosmic hum
winds wicked ways
wind-up women's wear
winsome whispers woo
wine, walks, waltzes, white weddings, whoosh
winters' wearisome wars with warmth
winnow weathered warriors, widows weep
His eyes tell the tale we can read from the lines on his face.
A long, wearisome journey with connections in many a’place.
Some must've been favored destinations, for their shadows are grooves, dug deep.
Or perhaps mistakes repeated; tear tracks carved in his sleep.
His smile whispers in parenthesis, a hushed, mischievous wink…the hash marks between noble brow not from anger but from how oft he'd think.
You'd assume the skin would settle smooth, being stretched so tightly over sharp bones.
Yet somehow it mimics the river flowing over and under stone.
Those pale eyes have shed waterfalls of sorrow and also delight…
He's seen his share of darkness, and still he stretches his chin to the light.
Carry me over the threshold of home
into the future of life together.
Oh, Let me no more in loneliness roam
through wearisome roads and stormy weather.
For the road remains weary, rain still falls.
These burdens we've carried did not lighten;
but side by side we can handle it all,
and the thunderous storms do not frighten.
Please do not think this is a one way street.
That you must always be the one that's strong.
Not all days, but in the middle we meet,
fifty- fifty averaged our life long.
Take me in your arms, through the door, please do,
Then let's go back, and I will carry you!
Onward as I mend my way
Looking towards the sheep go astray
Then in a flash appears that moment
Which I did many a time didst contemplate
Now lies it's reflection amidst shadows
For my heart did yearn but once.
Calling in the distance is the horn
to which these kids thus borne
Hading their way through glorious glen
Merry would have been my soul
Which now lurks amidst life and confusion
For my heart did yearn but once.
Gathering dust as the flock leads
Looking for more fern to feed
For the sky darkens with smoke
many a home didst light up
As the sun set making way for dark
For my heart did yearn but once
The path is long and tiresome
carrying my burden is wearisome
Looking ahead even in the night
With careful steps I glide
Under the stars that sparkle
As my heart did yearn but once.
Words fail to explain her
Without doubt, sinister
Wearisome, she’s dreaded
Washed in blackest shadows
Wearing death like a cape
Wrathful as hell’s fury
Wishing for Halloween
I sit quietly, yet happily.
Melancholy could enter my soul, but
I’m trying not to allow it in.
I have moved.
Hopefully into a cottage that I can call a
home.
It’s been four moves for me in less than
four years, and it’s wearisome.
Nervousness captures my heart.
New people, new sounds, new rules.
More space for all my beautiful teak
furniture, Persian rugs and nice
stuff though.
I am a senior citizen as of a few days ago.
Lord, will this be my final move?
And the most intimate truth is:
Will I find a gentleman to share my pretty place
with me?
May 5, 2023 Pick -A-Title, Vol 36, Edmund Ibeh
CONTRIBUTIONS
airless
yesteryears
egregarious
wearisome
awaits
credulity
enthroned
to
convey
a
populust
niche
as
floating
dross
enamelled
&
replicated
a
pedestrian
precursor
enamoured
uncanny
glazed
&circled
so strange
in
camaderie
thronged
in uniform
belief
I gasp between your eyes
your repotorie is shriekable
your multindous cast is wearisome
So don't expect me to surjoin you
Your daylight is a muffled affair
with the fumigation of tobacco
Spiders in your saucepan
and snails in your water bucket
Try and strife another day
although you are mottled
and your cup runs meekly
I maybe squanderable
watching you
I am unafraid
“I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.”
~John Burroughs
I stroll down the sun-dappled trail
under a tranquil canopy of trees
where the light uplifts my spirit
and the shadows soothe my soul,
The aroma of blossoming flowers
strives to set me free from
the restless nights and trying days
persuading my forlorn heart
to venture forth anew
on life’s long and wearisome ways;
Why then must I in anguish weep?
Why do I for heaven aspire?
~03/22/23
~Contest: Writing challenge 'N' words
~Sponsor: Constance La France
Whatever, whichever,
roads we walk,
choose or find ourselves upon
keep those roads strange and new.
No matter how familiar, known,
commonplace, well-trod
or wearisome
those routs become
let a certain awe and surprise be
our habit of looking.
Discover them as if it were the first time
or it may be the last time
you truly see them.
Heart, be still.
Your restlessness perturbs the tranquil seas.
Why beat that tumultuous rhythm?
Why reel under this conquering pain?
Why mourn the unbearable loss?
Why weep when pierced with arrowed words?
Why cringe at the stab of dagger looks?
Why pine for the sweet cup of comfort that does not last?
Heart, be still.
Your wearisome antics betray you.
But how change the chaotic strain?
How ease the pain?
How dry the tears?
How quench the thirst?
Where seek for rest to stop the raging of your fury?
Heart, be still.
Your ceaseless cries disturb the stillness of the deep.
Great are your surges, never satisfied..
Heart, be still.
The sun in his glory
Has shone to calm the tempest
‘tis he alone,
He alone stays the angry seas.
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