I do not pray.
But every morning,
I speak to the god of routine.
He lives in the curve of the cup handle,
the silence before the first email,
the steam
that curls like a secret
from my mug.
My desk is a shrine—
the plant I won’t name,
the notes I won’t read,
the longing I won’t say.
If I believed in God,
I would beg him
to make you real,
or to make me less so.
the wind blows, caressing my skin,
my hair is tousled, i make no attempt to fix it.
breathe, once and then twice.
the waves crash against the shore,
my heart fills with a strange sense of peace.
breathe, once and then twice.
my feet sink into the warm sand,
the air is salty and profound.
its hard to breathe
but i try,
once, and then twice.
ghostly gray petals—
a shadow crossing the grass
I stepped on a name
______________
A minimalist reflection on mourning and the erosion of identity, set in the asphodel fields of Greek myth, where unremarkable souls wander without memory…
In my pointless existence, my only purpose, you, my beloved. I peek at your lips and listen intently as if I was your devoted disciple and you the high priestess (of my heart) (...). I seek words as they clash within the depths but alas I remain a mere spectator. I wish for another's prayer to help me surge feelings within you awaiting my purpose to bloom But, in the same prayer, beg that this longing remains a mere wish, untouched, neglected but still burning ardently like Troilus's love.
Written: January 29, 2024
______________________________________
Your eyes are the blades that slaughter my heart.
These ruby lips store words that pierce my heart.
Will my blood be enough to quench your thirst?
Will your charm be suited to grab my heart?
Your arms offer mere delight, they're steel traps.
Your wish, a rod and shell to pound my heart.
Your love is more lethal than snake venom.
Your pledge of bliss will only break my heart.
What dark dreams lurk in your tortuous mind?
You're still plotting to softly mince my heart.
Therefore, I don't have a name to defend.
There are no hues required to show my heart.
A dull mist hangs in the air
There lingers a sallow gloom
Though it had rained sometime ago
Dark clouds gather once more in the sky
As if another shower could be expected
Leaves shed drops of tears
Time moves at snail’s pace
There is a dull languor
Just like the soggy surroundings
In the dank confines of her soul,
An unknown pain seeks redemption.
A deep sadness returns again and again
Pervading and sturating her soul
Tearing her apart, shaking her from head to foot
She doesn’t know why she feels like a mariner
Drifting far away from the port
Or is she a sinking ship?
All she hears is the hiss of the cauldron
Burning and boiling within her
As thoughts bleed in silence!
From a dull cinder, there grew a fire
And now into a conflagration spread,
Consuming her inch by inch
She wants an instant relief
Or else her heart would burst
________________________________
May. 25.2022
Submitted for 2022 Marathon Mile .11.Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Sentimentality Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Julia Ward
Frames of Unnamed Memory
David J Walker
Flicker
Faster
Each frame of a memory
Named or
Unnamed
But still remembered
Verisimilitude
Considered
Plausible
Real
A semblance of pretense
The veneer
of an alternate allegory
I light a candle and pray
Every Sunday
For the mercy of
A deep
deep
sleep
I sense it is impossible to rhyme
in this journey and that even
with a poem searching for words
something is lost
Is it found in the breath
slowly with the slightest force
should we name it the Force
or is it a lightness that joins
with the smallest molecules
atoms is that what I am
and you and the us
anything else if false is dust
am I trying to form something that
cannot be formed or is the Form
something we cannot know
with its infinite reach
A form that is what the
Universe is and we are of
that form, briefly solid but unending
I feel at times a cold heaviness
in my chest and I am frightened
But if I inhale and see the stars
in the silence for that instance
forever seems real and unending
and a Force that we experience
as we search even pray for
as we try to define ourselves
and the Infinite that is forever
melodies that charm
chirps that lift the heart and mind
grateful for your songs
I do not know the art of flirting,
nor have I ever tempted an unripe flower, that is why
I am alone,
But no one can reach even the grain
of my mad love, which is greater than any human being,
free, like the grass grown on its own,
which oscillates in the wind and is as unknown
as the Bile for the inanimate person…
And, when I say that she not only settled in my heart,
but she is beating inside me,
means that I love her much more,
than a person, in particular
can love you!...
Let’s admit
that not every word has a synonym,
but any action may have several explanations.
Humans,
we make choices,
to the extent our brain is developed
and sometimes we knock our heads against the paradox.
But maybe
out of three different situations,
we are capable of drawing a general conclusion,
grasp one, even three, or much more different meanings,
Or maybe someone else will decide our fate for us.
But maybe none of these turns out to be true,
and is as pointless as
time wasted reading this verse.
The rhythm is known even to the next generation
The rhyme has changed to a prophecy and fulfilled a nightmare
Nights become heavier, dreams started being empty, place of peace become a playground of vengeance.
The danger is to whom it is towards, because...
The shooter plays a victim scared to face reality of pulling the trigger.
Felt heartbeat turning to a ticking bomb...It was something I've seen before, somewhere I have been before.
Because I have always been told; men are stupid, heartless, and lost.
Now lost between two lives, I ask myself, Should I have?
Should I have fallen in love? But a man who cannot accept his faith in dying, such man risks losing his soul in darkness.
I know I am not a better man but for what remains of a man,
I accept the identity of the man I am, the man who should have never loved
In an incandescent wood luminous poppies offer
guidance to travelers; tree limbs dance in
syncopation to universal rhythms.
Fireflies shed their phosphorescence
among the flora.
I walk here in radiant beams of enlightenment.
Gathering gemstones; dream time baubles
of esoterica for I am first, a spirit.
Hearts of lavender and rubies
sing out their wisdom in archetypes
of eternity’s cultivation.
I secret it all away in my backpack
and return with a smile to mortal reality.
I have heard the voice of the flowers,
smelled the sweet scent of the Universe
and danced to the refrains of cosmic elation.
Inspiration comes from unnamed realms
and rests upon the ethers...
grasp your share.
The horses are a galloping today
Their hooves clacking against the cobblestones.
They clomp right by in a most lovely way.
Woman in carriage giving tiny moans.
Cancer prevails in her smallish bones.
Eighteen sixty-two. Disease has no name.
Big C makes it impossible to hide.
This poor woman will never be the same.
Hives in my scalp
Itching like crazy
Travel to neck and face
Irritating but not inbearable
Neck has itchy bumps against bumps
Scratching until I bleed
People begin to question me
Urging me to go home
I get off work and go to Urgent Care
The next day I am in hospital
Screaming in agony as they try to decide
Is it a bad hive against hive or shingles?
This is my life today. As I cringe from pain.
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