Walking with caulking
Putting some bricks together
A new beginning
waded in waters waiting out the storm
weighted thoughts try to wait me out
weightless while wading in waiting waters.
waters waiting in wading while weightless.
paradoxal
the wait of the water becoming weightless while wading through it.
The weighted thoughts wade in the shallows
waiting for me to just float away
Clock ticks
each second weighed
by memories of him
gone long ago, in an instant
shattered
fragments
in faint echoes
fading before she grasps
his words spoken in fare-thee-well,
leaving
lonely,
endless reruns
like an infinity
of emptiness without answers,
why, why
crying,
moonless midnights
no guiding light nor stars
to prophesy, to write future
endings
final
seconds vanish,
expectations rewind
in eternity's arrival
at last.
There is no solace in dreams
nor any in sleep,
night has no medicine
for daylight afflictions.
I once found a wild field of light
in a dark forest,
I discovered a silver pool
on the edge of a mountain
and there rested.
A down spiraling feather
takes forever.
All else has been
something that happened
when I was looking
somewhere else.
Why is pleasure measured in moments,
while work is measured in weeks or years?
Pleasures are like insubstantial fictions, sweet treats gone
in the tasting or perhaps flowers, that once cut, wither.
So don't be enthralled by fickle snippets of passion.
Work and service have the weight of reward,
by labor's honest toil, we fashion, forge and provide.
I am rock
Kneeling at the mountain of life
Surrounded by the grains of shattered dreams
Awashed by a sea of tears
I look towards the precipice
Piercing the heavens above me
Overwhelmed with emotions
I reach out for a helping hand
But none know of this journey
The steps that got me here
Not until my pain cries out
It’s crimson tears of peace
The silence gives a warm embrace
My thoughts are finally clear
A Cheshire cat grin beams out
My shoulders are free of weight
OF WEIGHTED CROWN
whose thorns? you think you know.
c r o w n e d with heavy g o l d of s i n —
layer upon layer, an i m m o v a b l e feast.
the k e g of power, one thinks he has. king
of t e r r o r, troubled in burdensome brow.
the d a n c e of the threatening l y n x , with
eyes of o p a l fire, free a kingdom of his
earthly voice. Salome’s unabandoned rhythm
chops off Herod’s head. The king’s unholy wife
and child are his f e t t e r s for life...for death.
the Savior preaches and heals as the Baptist’s head
is plated, presented and celebrated for a brief season.
4/2/2018
It’s A Shorty Contest/Sponsor: Deborah Beachboard
The crows' caws weighted by the fog
float upon heavy air
and katydids sing elaborate
tunes, songs not so rare
Summer's vocals freely vibrate
Around headed to fall
The last chance to flirt and dance
Before Jack Frost's first call
The hum of a well tuned engine
Summer's delicate sounds
Shortly will be ushered into
winter's end, wait__ spring's crown
Dragging thoughts around
In my head...
Trying to remember all you said.
The sun is still shining!
Spring is on the way...
I know,
Day by day,
You will be a memory,
To be tossed aside
Like these winter days which
Have left me cold
And
Longing for
Spring's promises!
Cynthia
A gloomy sky choked back the Sun
No one spoke on this day of mourning
Silently, gravely, sadly, painfully
This group marches on
The procession stops short
At the sound of a piercing whistle
But quietly my mother's lips began to tremble
The day continued dark and gray
My heart once so light
Darkened that day
I stood as tall as a six-year old could
And placed a rose in my grandmother's hand
She was so still, no longer breathing
Without meaning to she stirred a feelilng
Softly the tears came
Trailing down my face
Then they fell like a torrent after a rain
My eyes became shadowed and my heart cracked
Holding my mother's hand
I never went back
To this day something has changed
I wear a mask of happiness
But inside myself I am slowly dying
I hide the pain and lock it deep
I lie awake at Night begging to sleep
All I want is to hear her laughter again
But God holds her tenderly
In His precious holy hand
lives were ended-- toothbrushes won't be used again,
families will cry over the shampoo left in bottles
that will never wash the sweet hair they once combed,
the leftover gas in the car tanks of the deceased
will burn out into the air like the spreading of ashes.
Tonight I'll clean my room for those who won't again,
for the families who will have to decide whether to wash
their loved ones laundry or spread it around the house,
one article per room for the wedding pictures that will never be.
Today lives were stolen
and Right now I'm trying to commemorate that
but Tonight I'll fall asleep thinking about the holes
that will be in this paper
when the weight of my loneliness
sinks in
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