Beneath The Waves

Sitting quietly in a still night, Dreaming serenely of a lost poem. Never to be written or spoken, Just fleeting images of a person, of a love.

Just for a moment, remembering; Soft kisses, quiet words, tender loving eyes. Not wishing or caring only dreaming. Maybe not truly remembering at all. You cannot remember all.

Dreaming of a poem never needing to be written. Never wanting to be spoken. A poem that is only a soothing moment; Something to cling to, to be one with.

Sitting quietly in a still night, With my lost poem too elegant for words. Only a dream poem can capture the love and beauty of my lost poem. Sitting, dreaming quietly, sweetly in a still night

SILENCE

Not only to be loved,

but told that I am loved.

For the realm of silence is large,

too large beyond the grave.

Writer’s Curse

You start with a thought,      a word,           a sentence,                a verse.                     Then you curse.

You work on grammar,      syntax,           synonyms,                meter,                     then you have a rhyme.

You struggle with meaning,      homonyms,           depth,                time                     why not be retro.

You try to rhyme orange,      banal,           succor,                rose.                     Why rhyme rose? I think I’ll do prose.

You take the paper; cross out,      replace,           erase,                wad it up and throw it out.                     Then you shout it out.

You grab a new thought, piece of paper,      new words,           cup of coffee.                new verse,                     And that is the writer’s curse.

How I Long To…

How I long to

Whisper ‘I need you’, ‘I desire you’ in your delicate ear

Pronounce my love for you my dear

To trace your luscious lips with the tip of my finger

To kiss those delicate lips just one more time, and there linger

To press your supple body against mine

As we wallow in the passion of the time

And to caress your soft and tender curves

Seeking the tenderest nerves

I torture myself wishing it were different

That I might have you

That I could have you for my own

But it is not to be our lives have been sewn

Into a pattern than can not be unwoven

Even if at times our paths are interwoven

I Was Not There 

The years have passed, and I was not there;

was not scarred, did not die.

The years have passed as I sit and stare;

at the movies, pictures, and reports of a war gone by.

The years have passed, and like a cancer it ferments;

the torn bodies, broken minds, tattered lives of those who didn’t die.

The years have passed, a sickness broods within as my soul laments;

for those lives that were so brutalized.

The years have passed and for many the war does not cease;

no legs, no jobs, no pride, no blue skies.

The years have passed and have we gathered any more peace;

more than the thirty years, forty years already gone by?

The years have passed and the memories linger on, hold on;

gnawing, nauseating, bitter – these do not die.

The years have passed, and though I was not there fighting on;

there friends and family were, and that is where my grief lies.

Before The Night Comes 

Give me strength to do what I can

In this desolate land.

I look at all the lonely people falling

Like an hourglass’s grains of sand.

Using their instruments to make a cacophony

In life’s undirected marching band.

Help me to fight my human weaknesses

With my world stained palm in your guiding hand.

Before the night comes.

Give me the desire to reach out, and show the way

Through the dark wilderness.

Lead me to those who will listen to the promise

Of immortal freeing forgiveness.

See me through the twists and turns of man made canon

Of man’s cursed blindness.

Help me through the wood, light the darkness

With the Son’s eternal brightness

Before the night comes.

Give me the will for what I can do

In this desolate expanse.

Don’t leave me alone. I’m not made of stone,

And with your word steady my stance.

Don’t let the flame set in my heart of your liberation

Fade into the uncaring distance.

I will fight on with your armor, your truth today,

And your Word as my lance.

Before the night comes.

As The Blood Fell

As the drops fell they screamed out to me.

As the blood hit the ground it cried out to me.

As the lungs strained for air, they labored to reach me.

As the breaths drew short, they longed to touch me.

As your spirit poured out of you, you reached out to me.

As your life drained away you offered life to me.

As we watched the blood flow I sat in morbid wonder.

As we saw the crimson stain grow I heard the roaring thunder.

As we stared up at the suffering and anguish I stood in shame and guilt under.

As we gawked at the agony my world was shaken asunder.

As I cried at the life taken I bowed for the life torn asunder.

As I wept beneath the life given I knelt in darkness, my spirit now tender.

As he was taken away the cries still echo within me.

As I walked away the strained gasps tugged my heart within me.

As he was entombed his life, his acts, his death spoke to me.

As I hid in the shadows his words still resounded within me.

As I walked down the road I saw his life his words his love in me.

As I understood, accepted, and believed, as he then walked beside me.

Ode to K

K sat there bent over, Curled up, Head down Echoing the jeers. Silently sitting on the edge of tears Being told Shape up, Stop being a distraction, Be like the others here Get your act in gear. But the tears would not come.

On the bus he sat Pressed against the side Staring blindly, Ignoring the sneers Silently sitting hiding his fears Being laughed at You’re ugly as puke, You can’t do anything right You make us sick Are you crying you little s#*t?! But the tears would not come.

In the house His mother at work And dad in jail His sisters younger were there With their harsh blare Ordering him, Mocking him, Ha ha stupid K got in trouble, Your going to get it When Mom comes home But the tears would not come.

In his world There was no room For one like him Bi-polar, ADHD, autistic maybe In a world only he could see He got As in science and math But that did not stop the wrath Could they not see Accepted he wanted, like the others, to be If only someone would see That love he needed just to be And the tears bled forth freed to run

Ode to K

K sat there bent over, Curled up, Head down Echoing the jeers. Silently sitting on the edge of tears Being told Shape up, Stop being a distraction, Be like the others here Get your act in gear. But the tears would not come.

On the bus he sat Pressed against the side Staring blindly, Ignoring the sneers Silently sitting hiding his fears Being laughed at You’re ugly as puke, You can’t do anything right You make us sick Are you crying you little s#*t?! But the tears would not come.

In the house His mother at work And dad in jail His sisters younger were there With their harsh blare Ordering him, Mocking him, Ha ha stupid K got in trouble, Your going to get it When Mom comes home But the tears would not come.

In his world There was no room For one like him Bi-polar, ADHD, autistic maybe In a world only he could see He got As in science and math But that did not stop the wrath Could they not see Accepted he wanted, like the others, to be If only someone would see That love he needed just to be And the tears bled forth freed to run

THE VOICE

When the night seems the darkest A voice comes from nowhere. I know it isn’t real – but I hear it just the same. Before long I realize where the voice is coming from. As the darkness disappears, and a figure takes shape I sit hypnotized as a longing creeps over me. My eyes grow sore, a warm redness forms in the corners as a tiny drop forms in each of them. I sit alone hoping for an interruption to the illusion, but nothing disturbs the quietude. The figure, on its own, finally leaves, leaving me there – still alone. Alone and feeling more alone than I have ever felt. The mood is finally broken. I feel relief and anticipation, but I no longer care.

ANYNOWHERE OR BUST 

Life is a sin -

A sin of frustration.

A frustration of life.

A queer philosophy at best.

Slept today, missed the turn.

Yesterday a wrong turn.

Aren’t they all?… no… maybe.

I’m not that way…What way?

Here, there, anynowhere.

Go, stay, go back – die.

It’s not there. It wasn’t over there.

It won’t be here either… possibly here, there.

Somewhere,,, maybe, anynowhere.

Right, wrong, who knows? Who decides?

Live, die, who cares? I care - they care.

Maybe no one cares.

Hi, bye, coming, going…simple yes…sometimes no.

Thoughts live, thoughts build - life destroys.

Sometimes, most of the time… maybe, perhaps, possibly.

Living in anynowhere frustration.

Bringing in new, adding to old.

All with the same maybe answer.

Anynowhere or bust.

Shadows

Shadows closing the doors behind

following me through new ways and cares

Living a freedom without freedom

looking back through the haunting shadows.

Possessing me with unwanted memories;

holding and avoiding a journey longed for.

Discovering new memories, new shadows to entrap and cage

till total assimilation, or freedom arrives.

Passed by walls of wills to protect my freedom -

to protect me from my freedom.

Possessed by expectations not quite my own,

leaving me empty – with haunted freedom.

Free, bouncing off walls, forcing cracks, throwing light on shadows -

forcing them back, not destroying.

Climbing through the cracks to find new shadows -

the old seeping through along with me.

New walls form quickly to block the light,

but not the reality, not the ideal, not the search.

New doors in new walls with the same walls on the other side

only a maze to appease.

A maze of false freedom, freedom an illusion on the other side -

an illusion, blinding - not pure.