"I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship." — Louisa May Alcott.
The rain and sleet mingle together.
Wayward winds weigh me down,
Wetting my poor old clothes thoroughly.
I walk alone through deep pools,
How can I not be shivering in the storm?
The wraithlike winds increase the wetness of my face,
Water seeps down my tattered clothes.
I curse the closed shops and unsheltered houses.
How can I survive this miserable downpour?
Dark Cimmerian clouds cover the whole city.
The forces of weather mingle thoroughly.
I find no respite in such a mingle of a cyclone.
Let thunder wreak havoc in the hurricane,
I’ll find my strength by hook or by crook.
I’ve learned there is a shelter I’ll find,
A change of clothes, a purge of soul:
A mingle of hope, survival, and resilience
That somehow will cleanse my heart and teach it love.
Placed 1
Upon the hallowed ground past midnight sighs
'Neath trembling yews and tombstones cold and sere
Did I espy, as the tempest began to rise
A maiden clothed in spectral white appears
Her ghostly raiment danced upon the restless air
Her visage pale with sorrow finely drawn
Betwixt the graves she glided into our ghastly affair
Her presence enthralling as the coming dawn
Within her hand a missive she pressed
Gloved fingers clad in evening’s formal hue
She whispered with the wind, she, a soul distressed
“Seek thou the attic there thy fate is due”
Anon the gale did whisk her form away
(Formerly known as Mrs. Emily)
And left me alone to ponder till the day
Epilogue:
After this wraithlike wedding of our souls
I cannot abjure this vision
In my mind it rolls and rolls as it goes
Bright-coloured butterflies flutter in the morning sky,
Their filmy fragile wings throbbing in dawn's tranquility,
Like little heartbeats dancing in tandem with the tawny sun...
They flit from flower to flower, sipping sweet ambrosia,
Like waltzing wraithlike wisps of aurora's wonderland...
Exquisite winged creatures of delicate beauty,
They frolic freely, sashaying with gossamer gentleness...
Elegantly ornate, they are beautiful to watch,
With the orange orb completing the serene picture...
Such ethereal enchantresses remind us to praise their Creator.
8th March 2022
Common Ground
They would emerge
sandy grisly looking beings
mysteriously become a presence,
a part of a momentary event
Following the scent of happiness,
creeping past the invisible sentries,
blending into the fabric of time’s
need for companionship.
They carried the rudiments of fun,
a smile, a stick, two seashells,
a bucket, a bent shovel.
The borders shrank
then grew to include all,
the moat around the castle spread,
new towers were erected,
soft stones were placed as tribute
to “seaweed” demons.
As the sun faded the surf approached,
slowly, innocently, inevitably.
The grisly beings withdrew,
wraithlike in their disappearance,
returning to their roots,
withdrawing into time’s shadows.
I would remain with my son
to watch the surf erase the evidence
of the mystical castles
built by un-named, bright faced
children drawn to the scent of happiness,
building togethercastles in the sand.
11/15/2016
submitted to – Privacy is like piracy yet copy cats are unlike authenticity – Poetry Contest
Stand I here upon the Precipice of Time
between madness and derangement-
In a grief so profound
ambiance of rage,
with darkening clouds abound
marring my every breath
Declaration to your joy unsound.
Yet- from this stance
I envision you, my perfect
seraphim of light-
aching for you
Ceaselessly grasping for that which
I have no chance.
Grasping – bent in half
weeping-
My corrupt nature defies
All I hold sacred and true-
You need know
My soul rages in disparity-
Immortally, hourly, minutely, secondly…
ETERNALLY-
I cry.
The Dragon’s shadow awaits me.
Shapes, wraithlike and laughing-
clawing… dragging…shadows
eerily baffling.
Veiled obscurity- most refuse to see
This sickening reality
Tis only righteous- to set you free…
Paled I am by another’s word-
his creed, I allowed this blasphemy
Unable, enable, culpable-
Guilty, frailty, unreality, liable.
Covet, yearn, anticipation- keen ambition
overshadows any austere regulation-
We two do stand upon this Precipice of time
My love stands as most depraved of crimes-
Stolen and deceived- Options extinct
Surrender is an unnatural ailment for me.
- dedicated to my Seraphim
Numbness prevails over me,
Masking me… sending me pangs of suppression
Deadness tears its way inside of me,
Consuming me… devouring me with yanks of oppression
Darkness frowns upon me,
Dragging me down…sending me scraps of sadness
Gloominess molds me inside and out,
Chasing after me…surrendering to my wretchedness
Shadiness lurks above me and it wildly swarms,
Murdering me…scarring me with my unbroken misery
Murkiness blankets over us like troubled storms,
Shaking us up…bribing me with heaps of boundless fury
Edginess overrides me like a wraithlike form,
Misleading me…sneering at my failures and agony
Blurriness absorbs in this uncanny terrain…no sign of storm
Still, I’m withering into sand, grinding into shards of tragedy
wraithlike snow
rising breath of white ice
tears stream
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The wind chooses not to make its presence felt, yet.
The sun bursts gloriously into the flat, baby-blue, sky.
The red brown earth held its moisture greedily.
The effort shows in pulse and perspiration,
a flush blooms on cheeks unused to color.
The house appears abruptly, from a froth of greenery.
The wind keeps its distance, as if sensing
its presence is not desired.
The golden sun valiantly attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
Stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand.
The earthly hounds dart wraithlike through clusters
of cluttering tomes,and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displaying in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom. Her feather-duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room she walks, a spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from her disfigured form, blue orbs, full of mischief and the joy of flight, revel....
teacher, a wounded Aphrodite, smiles.
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The winds choose not to make its presence felt, yet.
The sun bursts gloriously into the flat, baby-blue, sky.
The red brown earth held its moisture greedily.
The effort shows in pulse and perspiration,
a flush blooms on cheeks unused to color.
The house appears abruptly, from a froth of greenery.
The wind keeps its distance, as if sensing
its presence was not desired.
The golden sun valiantly
attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
as stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand;
earthly hounds dart wraithlike
through clusters of cluttering tomes,
and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displayed in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom,a feather duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room walks the spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from crippled form, blue orbs full of mischief and the joy of flight,
reveling.... a wounded Aphrodite smiles.
wraiths, figures of mist, four dimensional misfits of
used to be dancing reruns of former frenzies, hung
in timeless movements of spaced out incoherency
like milk spotted eyeglasses still running wetly
such are the thoughts of a freaked out old poet
searching for answers in half empty mixes of potions
divining the swirling twirling juxtaposition of
several liquids creating a picture of wraithlike motions
To be swallowed as quickly as evening twilight allows
Magical mixtures erasing the moments relaxing the driving
Emotional tide causing and pausing the need to decide
Revealing a passenger on for the ride
An old man, worn and wearied by the toils of life,
stood alone in a darkened hallway,
each wall hung with brightly lit paintings.
He walked by the Mona Lisa, and as he passed
he knew the reason for her smile.
He paused before Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt,
and the air seemed to be sweetly scented with the heavy perfume of roses, which pulled at his soul with soft, wraithlike arms.
He stopped.
The world seemed to shrink away from him,
dissolving into nothingness.
Before him was Van Gogh's "Starry Night"
Its yellow paint looked wet, vivid.
The blue rippled as the colours swirled
together, hypnotizing; the old man transfixed
by their mesmerizing beauty
as he was swept up into their whirling splendor,
leaving the blue-shadowed hallway silent and empty,
as the pale stars wavered on in cold brilliance
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