Tag: poem

The Departed Humanity

Where has the humanity gone?
Have looked everywhere but in vain!
Is it frosted by the winter’s snow
Or washed by the summer’s rain?

Coping Mechanisms

‘I buy four bottles of hard liquor and some wine
hoping that by the time I get home, I won’t be able to walk
in straight lines. I want to stumble and curse and struggle to
slide my key from my purse. I want to rage against the
door’s lock, so incoherent I feel like it’s a sleepwalk.
The liquor bottles on my arm are an ice storm,
and now gloved hands shoved in pockets
are the only things that keeps me warm.’

From the Kingdom of Ice

As the brute winds merciless
Like a vast river at the realm do rush
For to pick off the feeble and the despairing
As trees and fences fall at the opening salvo
With faces blanched and by much dread afflicted
As to the ground from whence they came
They now far too soon do return
Beneath the impassive regard of the opal moon

The Year That Wasn’t: An Homage to 2020

This year we worked from home, to our workplaces said ‘buh-bye!’
And then at home we joyed with our beloved ménage, kinsfolk.
When March bade to each of us that sad and alarming ‘Hi’,
we did confine ourselves to our homes, thus becoming broke.

You Are Not a Poet

You are not a poet if you know just to rhyme;
You are not a poet if you don’t know to chime.
You are not a poet if you just use dead words;
You are not a poet if you can’t deal with girds.

Christmas Was Near

The excitement of knowing that Christmas was near
A scent you could smell in the air
That innocence of childlike hoping
To reap all your dreams would dare
The anticipation of Christmas Eve
Of waking to the perfect gift
Of music with bells, and Christmas roast smells

Santa Is With You

So next time that you see a soul struggle through the day,
Think of how your Santa would bring love to fill their day,
And every gift that you receive, be grateful and feel blessed,
Knowing Santa’s with you and that his love never rests.

Silenced Sound

Could you behold the setting ball of fire a while?
Could you discourse with each hill that’s adorned by snow?
The path we’re treading on will take us one more mile
So we may touch the clouds that move in that destined row.
Oh, when the sky does gain its charm and glow at night;
We’ll wander each lane that reflects the Moon’s light.

I Shall Break My Heathen Ways

Perhaps you may even experience that which transcends our mortal pleasures for one fleeting moment by the one who keeps you warm at night. I have silently accepted I may never. Never have I tasted that of angels. The most I have ever experienced was to have held hands with one for one moment in time, suspended in memory, a memory that partially exists and partially does not. If I were to tell you how I think of you, what I think of you, you’d be frightened.

The Dutch Siren

Winds the Lord sends in His anger at your folly and man’s; winds the Lord sends in return for your heathen sacrifice of His love for a man’s. And when those same men deem you shipshape no longer, too old and no longer fair in their eyes, they’ll replace you with another idol and cast you coldly to the sea once more.

We Are One

I see Him in the seed, the bough, the tree
I see Him in your smile, your cry, your pout
I see Him in scenes that are, that can’t be
Oft marvel do I at His mighty clout
He knows it all well but without a scout
The worlds exist so He may joy and fun
He wills it so rivers flood, there is drought
None but Him can make us perceive we’re one

Sunrays

I oft wonder how the ball of light and fire not once reels;
Moving with a wondrous flair, the Sun hardly seems hoary.
Oh! Behold the skewing rays of our majestic Sun that wheels!

Compersion

I can’t feel bad if good you do;
I can’t rejoice when you so rue.
I can’t say lies and myself fool;
I can’t break that unspoken rule.
For in you I see the holy spark,
Which does guide me as well in the dark.

We Shall Meet Again

My asymmetric assumptions, they bury
twisted tales of absurd desires
How I learn to hide my wound and heal
worshipping the new face of the devil!
A filthy business to revamp my soul
coated with skimmed pinks
of the blood moon from your sky

The Soldier With the Port-Wine Stain

So, tell me, when you see the face of the governing body of this great land and all they uphold as true, this fairy tale they call democracy…do you see a faultless image, like a dream without any error at all or do you see it? Do you see the port-wine stain? Red and glaring? Signalling like the truth? May the spirit of my forefathers, the calloused over hands of the blue-collar workers, and the sackcloth covered corpses that line the front lines, as I…may you be the port-wine stain on this country now.

Paper Birds

Fill our paper birds with love
And we’ll never truly grow old
And we’ll never truly fade
Write our names in the heavenly sky
Forever immortal are our pages
Paper birds fly
Forever lasting in black and white

Daffodils

Continuous, the landscape coarse
and choked by urbanite decay,
I tried to sing but sounded hoarse;
a tuneless note of dank dismay,
ten thousand trampled daffodils
destroyed by deeds and dollar bills.