The stream (all workshops)
I'm too old for this, family gatherings
hosted during the holidays
where family thinks hashing out stinking crap
is the highlight for the evening
Highlighting each other's shameful dirt
airing out dirty laundry, and
throwing dead bones from the closets, upon
everybody's heads, not my idea of family bonding
the bled grey edge
these sepia words
resting heavy
the heart waits
and forest dark
recieves the hush
of thought
history dreams
and ghost gestures
now
the walk alone
while I wait
for the greenery
to be exhalted by
winters reception
these days of
hungry being
my own
ON LETHE'S SHORE
[alzheimer's]
Before they cross the river Styx
they drink of Lethe’s waters clear
to forget what remembering is.
it was from a distant shore
I saw you linger there
and when you took of the magic
you turned and looked
but didn't see me anymore
That thou sayest deep
Makes me swim
In waters deeper
And
From the soil, they call earth,
Emerge as a vine's creeper
And
Amongst roses, breed myself
And
Bow to you for your courtesy
And
Help...
Let me now vow, to never shirk
To compose poems,
That upon human psyche shall work...
November
ominous is the sky
roiling clouds in shades of gray
reminders that all things die
no mention of rebirth now
portents of the dying
from the horizon
no time now for crying
so wipe the trears away
winter crisp in the air
harbinger of death's decay
while stiff wind strips branches bare
through them falling flakes do dare
I am taught
to practice apathy
before empathy
carefully think through
every decision
never leap
so I will never fall.
I never do this
I always keep compassion
I always care
I always think
I jump
and try not to be afraid
for if you never fall
you will carry
a greater hurt with you
forever
and in that way
you have never stopped falling.
After all these years
the long road ahead
is shorter than the
vision I leave behind
I'm driving slower these days
walking to places
I have yet to go
with unwritten poems
the sky above me shaking
the ground below me
like dust
I gather myself
once more
to see the sunrise I can never
write into a poem
to feel the warmth of your love
I can never put into words.
c
I wanted acceptance
instead I fell into the deep hole
of revelation
I desired love and
found poetry walking with my
cross heavy on my shoulders
I wrote poems and rolled away the stone
Jesus was weeping inside
bleeding at the thought of nails
angry with just cause I joined a group of saints
on a pilgrimage across the desert
of our humanity
we stopped at a well and here I saw myself
for the first time
thirsty and covered with ten thousand years
tears filled my absence
She owns each heart that dares
possess a dream and initiates,
he settles for the knowledge that spares
each thought and evaluates;
she chooses to quietly greet the dawn
and secretly contemplates,
he hears her anguish while her voice is gone
while she deliberates.
She understands her indecisive nature
and learns to instigate,
he alone can sense the future
for those who only tolerate;
she wanders lost in his eyes
and feels him devastate,
he merely feigns surprise
as he reaches out and violates.
Inspired by Tunisian uprising
Arab spring rose to a crescendo
Violence and death trailed along
Like soup pot sitting on fire
The content moved up and down
Topsy turvy, they rocked with heat
Martyrs bunt black and thrown away
Eroded middle class clad in uncertainty
The poor dwells in shallow graves
Wireless calls, a march to city centers
Wall Street took a peaceful lead
See multiplicity of suffering people
Intrigues and politics on human lives
World economy skewed in shambles
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.