Category Archives: Poetry

My Love

Peace be with you my love,

As you slip away,

Sinking back into the earth,

No longer in dismay.

Hope be with you my love,

As your soul moves on,

Taking with it part of me,

Forever to be gone.

Joy be with you my love,

For now you are free,

Unbound from all unhappiness,

Surrounded now in glee.

Faith be with you my love,

For all is as it should be,

I will see you soon enough,

Save a place for me.

My House

What sits there in my little house,

The smell of burnt wood,

A frost in the air,

The comfort of being swallowed,

Empty and cold – an afterthought.

My house, my house in cold grey stone,

sitting atop a hill of green velvet –

draped in a canopy of leaves and clouds.

I sit curled in a heap on the floor,

skin against wood to feel it’s chill.

Smothered by safety and blue flowered walls.

Not to be moved, never to leave –

I wander still in barefoot delight.

On a winter’s night

With the scent of burnt wood.

Hazel

In flowered fields and meadows,

Where now she’ll run so free,

Greeted by the friends she knows,

To bring to her such glee.

In glittered gowns to swing and sway,

And dance under the moon-light,

To once again sing and play,

And keep us all in sight.

In starlit strolls along the beach,

Where waves will greet her soles,

All her dreams within her reach,

To seek her hidden goals.

In wondrous beauty and in light,

She will watch over those she loves,

To hear our prayers every night,

And send us joy to dream of.

In grace and poise and beauty,

And sweetness of her smile,

To sit in angelic harmony,

And bid us all farewell.

So now her body may rest in peace,

No longer plagued by pain,

Our minds must now be put to ease,

That we shall meet again.

The Vengeance of the Clouds

Silent observer through the mist,

droplets of clarity distort the reality.

By sunbeams, superficial colours kissed,

the fog within that lets us be.

Touched gently, barely felt at all,

caressing air and the entrapment of blindness.

A helpful cry, a haunting call,

the vengeance to finally rest.

The Dragon and the Butterfly

The dragon scales across the moss,

tossing his painted tail.

Harnessing his fiery breath inside,

waiting to exhale.

The butterfly dips and flies along,

thoughtless of the beast.

Silently as the colour flies,

keeping it’s quiet beat.

Each his own destiny,

intertwines they remain.

Waiting unknowingly to be touched,

somehow they are stained.

Colour blends with fire,

as silence is consumed by noise.

One extinct without the other,

each remains as poised.

The dragon and the butterfly,

two as one unite.

Forever connected, forever apart,

together in their plight.

Daddy

Daddy place your hand upon my head.

Brush away the torments and the shame.

Your hands sit weighted.

Calloused and bruised beside my porcelain flesh.

Please daddy remember your children.

Those you helped revive,

and take hold of any feelings

which don’t in hatred flame.

Not another glass escape,

which leads to tempers sparked.

And torturing in absent love,

a child who know no joy.

Edna Snead’s Pancreas

Through the islet of the eyes,

past the backward view

into the blood and memory

the images once flew.

To enter that which never sees,

tapping into the sap.

The chemicals which so dormant lie,

powerfully unwrapped.

So few will be allowed;

as Edna Snead now is –

To reach beyond the grips of time,

the wings of flight it pins.

Now passed by her in silence,

the feeling soon is gone –

uncontrolled, will it return?

To see what no one saw.

Lover of words

Words like scorned lovers taunt me;

whispering in dark places on dark days.

Gnawing slowly at what fragments remain of my mind.

Constantly repeating, growing more insistent –

nearly shouting!

Appeasing them only in the moment of silence when I can let them run their course.

Their satisfaction is fleeting – coupled with torment;

as they scurry about their duties, unraveling what

remains of me.

Passionate voices driven by the desire to be emptied upon this blank page –

Using me, adoring only as their purpose is fulfilled and then –

Quickly and quietly tip toeing out the door.

Cold and forgetful – satisfied in their retreat.

Calling upon me with vicious affection in these weak moments.

Desire giving me purpose and unable ignore their advances.

And yet we are symbiotic.

They are no more animate then this page allows – then my hand allows.

Vengeful only in my obsession to stifle them – to use them as they have used me.

I will let them have their way with me, with this tired pen

And then –

Once more sit idly hoping to feel the warmth,

the soft glow of passion fulfilled.

 

 

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Gently rocking in rhythmic orbits

dancing pantomime upon the wooden beam

lemon silk exploding sits

life hiding in slow decay seems –

once again so alert

awake in the noontime glow

as if at once to assert

that what now reaps, soon must sow.

Little Grey Squirrel

Busy little rodent.

Quickly passing by on some greater quest.

Are you searching for a lost friend,

a mate, a meal?

You seem so determined.

Unaltered by screeching tires, potential predators,

or obstruction.

I envy such purpose, such certainty.

A simple life of survival.

Perhaps you are not so different from us all?

Intelligence may not be such a blessing.

It allows us the ability to question our actions.

Doubt, mourn, long –

The simplest tasks made complicated;

partnered with guilt and remorse.