Translation please...

Perso nella Traduzione
                   Lost in Translation

          By Jenifer DeBellis

Qui si leva in piedi una ragazza
                   Here stands a girl
perso nella traduzione
                   lost in translation
prova di spostare la sua mente intorno
                   trying to wrap her mind around
momenti di innovazione
                   breakthrough moments

timore in modo schiacciante
                   Overwhelming awe
domina questa arena
                   dominates this arena
Mentre sensazioni esaltate
                   While elated sensations
intera esistenza dell'inondazione
                    flood entire existence

Kissy-face Santa

By Jenifer DeBellis

Dedicated to Ricky and Suzie Young,

wherever life ended up taking you both.

I shall never forget the night before Christmas...

It’s not every day Santa makes special house trips to visit little girls and boys during wakeful hours. So the Christmas Eve Mr. Claus paid me and my baby sister a special visit was one I shall never forget. Of course, it was Santa’s peculiar behavior that has stuck with me for all of these years.

Being an Air Force brat stationed in Germany is a lot for a four and a half year-old little girl to wrap her always thinking mind around. As the holiday season neared the big day, my anxious areas of concern were how was Santa supposed to find us, and more importantly, how would he get into our apartment if we didn’t have a fireplace?

This is most likely the reason he showed up in our doorway that Christmas Eve in ’77. In the spirit of keeping the magic alive, someone must have made arrangements for this private little gathering. Perhaps it was my mom’s best friend, Suzie, who was with us when the doorbell rang.

At the sound of the bell, she bolted for that door like her life depended on it. After a moment of silence, Santa’s chanted, “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,” could be heard from around the corner where we all sat in the living room. Well, nothing sends young and old alike scrambling to the scene of action like a familiar sound from distant lands. “Could that be who it sounds like?” was the common awed response.

As I rounded the corner leading to the front door, I caught the most profound sight: Santa had Suzie dipped back and was quite passionately kissing her. I tried to make sense of this, while I drowned out my mom’s scolding in the background as she insisted that her friend knock it off already.

Upon seeing my bewildered expression, and unexpected presence (I was sure), Santa returned Suzie to her upright position. From the embarrassment of this awkward moment, his face was the darkest shade of red. Suzie’s expression, on the other hand, appeared to be more victorious and completely void of any shame. I took this all in with my quizzical stare.

My mom began pulling me back into the other room, and encouraged Santa and Suzie to follow us. I stole one more peak over my shoulder as we walked the short distance. When what to my wondering eye should appear? But Suzie smack-groping ‘ole Santa’s rear!

What was I supposed to do with this horrible secret? Didn’t Santa know Mrs. Claus was watching over the North Pole while he was gone, and she could see who was being naughty or nice? Or how about poor Ricky, my favorite pal; what would he think of this behavior? I guess even Santa Claus acted like a bad little boy at times. This was the only reference of peace I could draw from this moment.

My daydreams were interrupted by the small pile of presents sitting next to me with my name on them. The first present was from my granny and papa all the way in Florida. I sighed inward, withholding my disappointment at the sight of footed pajamas. Didn’t they know those things suffocated you? I smiled for the picture my mom was snapping with her new camera, mostly because I knew if I acted how I felt at the moment, it would not be good for me!

Without waiting, I snatched up the next gift. I didn’t need help reading the tag because I recognized the name Jimmy on it (as this is also my father’s name that I had seen so many times, it was committed to my memory). I guessed correctly that it was from Aunt Jane and Uncle Jimmy in Minnesota. Wow, I thought, Santa really had to work hard chasing these down for us. Maybe the guy in red wasn’t such a bad man after all. I ripped the paper off of that gift with lightning speed; I knew if it was from Aunt Jane, it was going to be spectacular! And it was. I now held a giant Raggedy Ann doll. A brand new one, not a hand-me-down, or knock-off version; but the REAL DEAL!

I sat squeezing my beloved new doll to my chest for the remainder of the night. From the cozy little spot on the sofa where I was curled up, I watched Suzie and Santa through slitted eyes. Can you believe Suzie sat on that man’s lap the rest of the night, giggling like a little schoolgirl the whole time?

The Element of Pain

Pain
Its poison weaves into one’s very fibers
wrapping, pinching, pulling every which way
sending out roots; those life giving veins
filled with the insulin of established authority

An all-consuming fire
it burns through the bone and into the marrow

Which is worse:
        · The physical, immobilizing form that takes one’s breath away?
        -or-
        · The mentally tormenting configuration that makes it hard to breath?

Either one will drive a mind wild
The world’s tools cannot always tame
the beast’s tongues of repression
as they lick and spew their venomous flames

The waiting game, once consumption takes root
is its own form of torture -
       (Thoughts bridge between erasing the ache
        and holding together until deliverance is made)

What about when these two join forces?
When physical and mental combine?
       · Will a bridge be able to hold their weight?
       · Will madness ensue; can thoughts flow at all?
       · Will the only thought be to hope that the poison works fast
          so the victim’s redemption can lead to a quick death?

Living in hell, this unbearable hell
makes an irrational fool of ‘em all
When the only thought one can form in this storm
is this torment must stop, and by any means mortal
Then the battle is set for defeat and the soul has sold itself out
       (An ebbing tide, it’s a thief in the night; so slowly it does erode.
        Will the soul be hollow before time runs out?)

Pain: man’s form of torture and suffering; degrees of distress are beside
         the point. Survival's dependant upon one’s faculty function; just
         how much can one man endure?

Exanimate’s Door

                                                  

Season Out of Focus

‘Tis the season,
it comes like a thief in the night
Robbing the cradle
of joy, peace and focused sight
How it sends us rushing
every which way but right

Long forgotten is the reason,
the heart of it all
We’ll race past the red bucket,
annoyed by the bell
While shovin' past the cattle line
entering the mall

Our focus on finding
the perfect gift to give
While people go hungry
and have no place to live
All the while in our pride
we claim we’re proactive

We shift the focus
debating over belief
While at the root of it all
births doctrinal grief
A heart for the oppressed
should focus on relief

One closing thought:
How will you ignite the spirit?
Will you turn deaf ears
and pretend not to've heard it?
Or can you receive the message
and revere it?

A holiday thought for MCC Holiday Halfbook by J DeBellis 2009

Full Moon Madness

I feel
disillusions bitter bite breaking skin
As I’m
racking my brain, while waiting without win
I see
Full Moon, pregnant with her illegitimate wrath
As she
washes over the earth with her spellbound bath
I sit
in this lonely place in time; 'tis so cold
And think:
Why’s it so dark under this grey light’s hold?
I hate
this aching in my chest, it’s like a hole
As I
wonder without end why I’m faint in soul

A Grain of Sand Moment of Time

Full

Saccharine

Me overload

In most random forms

Tri-fold endorphin rush

Cuddling’s revolving door

Eye in watchful awe

Simpler things

Laughter

Smiles

Memories

Reflect forward

Glory of old and new

Slipping through the cracks

Time will not stand still

Ace Rockband drums

Beatles tee scored

Eaten words

All joy

Mine

They can't have it both ways, can they?

I prefer to vent in poetry form
It's not the best venue or even the norm

But it's my best way of calming the storm...

Allow me first to clarify my haste

Before another breathe does go to waste

I abhor most this sour after-taste

So here my venting must take wing to flight

Lest my spirit rage on against the fight

And one more word is uttered forth in spite...

* * *

I really did try telling everyone

Just how scary a place my mind could be

when left to discovery all alone

Do you think anyone listened to me?

Of course it got darker as I went deep

What did all of them expect me to see?

A calm ocean? An embankment un-steep?

Not the decaying dead pieces of me?

I never did like the dark very much

Anyone who knows me, knows this is true

Yet encouraged I went: “Look but don’t touch.”

Was this brilliant advice even thought through?

So here I stand, more confused than before

While criticisms begin to ensue

Wishing I had never opened this door

Only to hear, "What's the matter with you?"

Je regrette, mais...

Quite honestly, I’m telling you the truth

I gave it all I had; I did my best

You cannot say I took that without proof

So drop it now. Try giving it a rest

How can you think I cheated on that test?

I studied hard; I’m better than them all.

The reason why I’m late is I’m depressed

My dog just died from choking on his ball

Believe me when I say I tried to call

It’s not my fault you feel the way you feel

This thing that angers you is really small

One night with her was really no big deal

How silly we must look when we defy

Just call it what it is: A big fat lie

Mind Abound Steps Along Life Free

My mind is such a scary place to be

As time moves on, the space is closing tight

The light is dull; the way is hard to see

Good deeds and smarts by order of decree

Yet works abound deplete and lead to blight

My mind is such a scary place to be

I know the way, let courage be the key

With staggered steps, I travel through the night

The light is dull; the way is hard to see

My biggest fear: to be alone with me

The way is rough along this path to right

My mind is such a scary place to be

Lessons to learn, in life, come at a fee

Yet through it all, no thoughts of flee or flight

The light is dull; the way is hard to see

I must step out and live as though I’m free

I spread my wings, with fear from this great height

My mind is such a scary place to be

The light is dull; the way is hard to see

The small of it all...

Sharp

A double-edged sword

The sun on an autumn day

A classy lady

----------------------------------------------------------

Rose blush on a cheek

Heart that stutters just one beat

Innocense felt; sweet

----------------------------------------------------------

Race against the clock

Water rushing from the hose

Where is the fire?

----------------------------------------------------------

Loyal, stubborn love

The hard work of an athlete

Stands the test of time

Acrostic Analyzation

Someone please stop this crazy daily grind
Complex even for those who know the trade
How much can one soul cope within a mind?
Inverted thoughts, they work such great degrade
Zealot to point of reckless destruction
Over the top, the sky is sure to fall
Paranoia, laced with ripest poison
Happy to sad, to giants ten feet tall
Relax, a word better said than it’s done
End’s sight would be more than someone could ask
No break or stop once madness has begun
Insanity to those behind the mask
And in the end, who can we say has won?

In Defeat I Withdrawal

There is not enough room for Me

Inside of this hollowed out shell

I know my place; I’ve played it well

So long, I’ve made pro of my covering

With aching heart and trembling hands

This forced confession claws its way out

Pits of hell, with levels and degrees

In darkest hours, upon my bruised knees

Energy deplete. Done. I surrender in defeat.

My care too much, and love too deep

Must remain under lock and key

Shovel in hand, cruelest earth buries alive

I wish it were as simple as protecting me

Futile efforts prove largest disappointment

Who can deny the heart of my ripest fruit?

These accusations the most unbearable torment

It robs my only shred of identity’s employment

Withdrawal: I’ve made my bed and now must sleep.

My First Villanelle

Author of Demise?

Held in these arms that harm I’m lying here

Heart aches and yearns for glory days of past

I call back times our love was very clear

Your harsh words do tear down soul’s root of cheer

No logic to this prose leaves me aghast

Held in these arms that harm I’m lying here

Oh how sincere your anguish does appear

Yet its effects are short and fade so fast

I call back times our love was very clear

Every new day augments degrees of fear

And by your paranoia, I’m harassed

Held in these arms that harm I’m lying here

My nurturing ways can no longer steer

Which testifies this course can never last

I call back times our love was very clear

Will a dark day dawn when you’ll lose my ear?

How sad the threats of such a loss are vast

Held in these arms that harm I’m lying here

I call back times our love was very clear

His Demons, Her Daily Nightmare

So full of life; at the seams, she’s bursting
Yet the daily grind of mental torment
Kills felicitous tone, leaves her thirsting

No escape from sulfuric lake of ruin
Yet she treads while choking acrid poison
Willing a new dawn under the paled moon

Low. So low, no grasping breaks the traction
Yet alone, wounded, abandoned, she waits
Until her salvation’s moved toward action

Glow turns ember; near exanimate’s door
Yet keeps on breathing, while longing to stop
Still, without calm; can no longer ignore

She never dreamed of a life within his nightmares

Ode to the Merchant of Venice

And the winner isn’t…

Sympathize with Antonio? Methinks I shan’t.
He’s the picture of virtue, selfless and noble,
but “such a wont-wit sadness makes of” him a fool,
and his ulterior motives make him seem cruel.
Then there’s Bassanio, financially a wreck,
whose opening line is, “a lady richly left.”
Shall empathy be his? Will I soften my heart?
How can I see past the black chain upon his neck?
Sympathize with Salarino? Methinks I won’t.
The pep-talking friend, who speaks in poetic form,
may portray words of wisdom, the biblical norm, but
lacks the backbone to steer a friend straight in the storm.
When looking at the dreamer, schemer, and beamer:
Solanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano,
can I will my heart’s breaking for Mr. Nostalgia,
the puffed up baboon, or the charismatic foe?
Sympathize with the father? Methinks I will not.
This immortalized villain of great proportions,
putting restriction on his daughter’s destiny,
while reducing her hand in this vile lottery.
Sweet Nerissa, an encourager of sorts; how far
will she go with her “acquaintance” with these lords?
That she could know them so well, and profess it so,
makes me wonder to what levels she would resort.
Sympathize with parade of fine men? Methinks not.
The Neapolitan Prince, in love with his colt;
the County Palatine, who frowns through his doubt;
or Le Bon, the “every man in no man” revolt.
Not to leave out the English baron, a proper
man’s picture, or the Scottish coward’s idle threats,
nor the Saxon sober wretch and drunken beast.
How could I empathize an ounce without regrets?
Sympathize with Shylock? Methinks I never could.
His heart is as hollow as dry-rotted driftwood.
Or rebellious Jessica, who robs her father blind,
and becomes the torchbearer, leading mankind.
Now enters the Moroccan prince, a gamblin’ man,
he’ll roll the dice but will not earn his victory,
nor will Arragon, who’s not as clever as can be.
Neither have left good impressions upon me.
Sympathize with the circus act? Methinks I can’t.
The clown, with his speaking in circles of riddles,
or Gobbo, who lost it o’er the last pass of hurdles;
the two don’t impress me, not even a little.
Here at the impasse, sits Portia in her distress;
she’s obedient and patient with her life’s mess.
Her wit did have me charmed upon the first act’s pass,
but in a second turned as dry as desert grass.
So here it is, my sympathy’s as cold as ice –
and I’m now “stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
***


[Direct and indirect quotes taken from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice]

by Jenifer DeBellis, October 2009

Would I Regret...

Current mood: contemplative

Category: Life

My thoughts have been consumed by an expression I read from a blog posted on Postsecret.com entitled, “Confessions on Life, Death and God.” These are the words I cannot shake from my mind…

     “If I died today, would there be anything you wish you had said to me?”

This topic is a double-edged sword; what have we needed to hear,
and not heard, and what have we failed to say to those around us?
I cannot speak for another person, nor can I beg for the words
and gestures I desperately long to receive from those I am surrounded by.
The only dynamic I have control over is what I do and say.

This last revelation has me questioning so many aspects of my daily walk.
The oppressive heaviness these thoughts embody press upon my heart this day.
If I died today, what would I regret not taking the time to do or say?

Would I regret…
Not chasing butterflies, while they
continued dancing just outside of my reach?
Not uttering the “sorries” of today and
yesterday, which were so long overdue?
Neglecting to pick up the phone or keep
in touch with someone I once held so dear?
Not kissing a loved one, giving them my whole
ear, or just holding them close to me once more?
Not discovering where I should have been going,
as I stumbled along the path I was on?
Neglecting to develop the right relationships,
because all of my energy went into the wrong ones?
Not keeping a good attitude during a recent
conversation that ran over into my slumber hours?
Not saying, “I love you or care about you,”
throughout the day, to those that deserve to hear it?
Neglecting to keep my heart soft in order to revere
my beloved’s remorse or acts of endearment?
Not helping my child with homework, or teaching
my youngest how to master riding her bike?
Not caring about certain people’s crumbling world,
because my biased views tarnish their pain?
Neglecting to speak life into someone downtrodden,
due to his offensive behavior toward me?
Not seeing my efforts were wasted in unwanted areas,
while they were desired elsewhere?
Not supporting another person’s view, simply
to avoid exposing my own mind for scrutiny?
Neglecting to make communication the key,
instead of pondering the motives of another?

So here is my quick list, the ramblings of my mind. There’s no rhyme or reason, no formed pattern or elegance; just my troubled and heartfelt thoughts upon a page sprawled…

Sweet Reckless Abandonment

One choice is made;
A break in contrived resolve.
Our soul, now wide open,
                guard unlocked and exposed

Our fears and trepidations
refined by our fiery unconscious
are slowly handled with care at first;
in our eyes burn pure like the finest gold.

With reckless abandonment,
our arms now open in welcome,
we jump from the great height
Knowing the floor will crush in the end.

Why do we take to flight
when the high stakes lead to loss?
Our reason's so simple in theory.
The freefall: worth more than the world.

To taste of it is to see
if but just once at the banquet table.
Indulgence outweighs theology,
altering our character; legacy to transcend

Wings of flight
         ……..we fall:

                    Air so sweet,
                              no thought of ground.



Jen DeBellis for Sarah Jones, August 2009

Ancillary Damages?

Sticks and stones may break my bones

Someday those are sure to heal…

While sharp, spiteful, cutting words

Shall gouge a wound past repair.

Life Lessons 101

Be still and silent

Wait upon their words

Shun self-destruction

From what’s not been heard

Slow down and focus

It’s in the fine points

Tarnished is the rush

Regret is the prize

Surround self with life

The giving source type

Know what you’re cloaked in

And wrap yourself tight

And when all else fails…

Keep on keeping on

Deceptive Steps

I can’t do this anymore,
this stumbling in the dark.
I can’t see where I’m going,
or how to retreat back

My leaden steps are heavy;
clumsy, stuttered; a wreck
Who would accept this journey
without an end in sight?

With clouded, false eyes I see;
half blind, I navigate
in hazy chase; going where?
On this coarse, unset path.

Mind reaches point of flight;
Must find way back to safety.

Love is…

Love is…doing what is right
once provoked to do wrong,
knowing the reasoning reward

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is… just being together
without words thrown into play
‘n in silence, knowing all’s okay

And that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…the calm after the storm
when the stakes are their highest
and peace rules over vindication

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…found in the simplicity
of a routine trip to the store shared
or the phone call about nothing at all

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…a product of deep roots.
Only time, conjoined with visits to the
bank of emotional deposits, can birth it

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…more than words spoken.
It’s their full depth of meaning
joined with the merit in expressing

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…growing older together
‘n watching youth’s splendor fade;
remembering, yet embracing change

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…the coming together
after the longest day spent apart;
content within each other’s arms

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love is…sharing a tragic loss,
and understanding the anguish
on the same level of ownership

and that feeling flooding you
when you’ve done the doing.

Love goes…beyond the rapture;
when sure it could never get better,
the morrow soars it to greater heights

and that feeling engolfing you
when all the doing has been done.

J. DeBellis 10/2/09

So Small As I Am Now

So small as I am now
from great heights of heaven
what a sight I must be.

Three fold variety,
hundred and fifty in all,
evergreen Hedge of Protection;
backdrop for kaleidoscope colors.

Glorious sun shines,
casting its matron warmth,
shaming the likes of Apollo
with radiant, pregnant afterglow.

Nature’s own living pond
brimming with bustled activity,
young and old together
prepare cornucopia of plenty.

Thirteen turtles, that eye can see.
Muskrat builds as a busy bee.
Woodchucks, with four pups,
fasten the hatch of winter lodge.

Doe and her two fawns
bed behind the trees,
naive to my watching eye
graze and wade in shallow pools.

Crane in flight swoops down,
gazing upon saccharine prize;
Will frog or minnow make treat?
Indecision's in her eyes.

Crows in distance call to friends,
Blue Jays fight at feeders,
frisky feline, once in lap
in stealth sets up her trap.

Here I sit in solitude
dwarfed by it all.
Feelings of insignificance
within limits; feeling small.

What a sight I must be
from great heights of heaven
so small as I am now.


J DeBellis 09/19/09

Novelle Reaction

Topped off glass of red wine,
combined with empty stomach:
One tripped out reaction poem.
Why such large glasses for wine?

Sabotage...

Perhaps one more glass, and
it will all start to make sense
hmmm, one more glass...
Will I see through author's eyes?

Will I any longer care?
Hmmm, one more glass...
I really don't want to care
Too red mouth, weeping

Soul shutters; wails into cold of dark

Must take action!
Empty…as is the end of the world,
extinct, grown meaningless.
And void, void, void.
Go further, and you are lost.

Action will be taken!
Darkness has a horrible voice.
No escape; it overwhelms.
Assails you with memory,

Of the murder committed yesterday
Foreknowledge of murder to commit

Action ought to have been taken.
Memories press up an internal cry:
Unheard fish-cry of solitary animal,
overwhelmed by it’s own sea.  Muffled.

A face tearing cry; well past danger,
makes hollow face full of fear,
terrifies others. Dreadful silent darkness.

Such action should have been taken.
Mounts like a flood and rushes on,
dark-winged, threatening, like breakers
hisses wickedly, like foam. Release?

We’ve had some action...
Standing at the end of the world,
merciless light, filled with naked grief.
Blackest black of darkness. Cold.

What action? Impossible…
Faces are bleeding, bleeding from mouths.
Hands hold hand-grenades; hand grasps me
Groan; steel helmet falls, an eye breaks

Action has been taken.
Soul exposed; cold hand clutches nakedness.
Stalk away with hollow, echoing steps
Silence behind beyond petrified loneliness

How empty and lifeless the gateway -
Soul shudders, wails into cold of night.


J DeBellis 09/09
Action lines from Heinrich Boll’s Action Will Be Taken – An Action-Packed Story
Remaining lines remixed from Wolfgang Borchert’s Do Stay, Giraffe

Published Competition Winning Poem

This poem is the winning submission for
Review Fuse's August Themed Poetry Contest -

Bullfighter vs. Beast

A fight until death?
Mere man against beast.

Spectators in arena overflow –
Greedily prepare for the feast.

How barbaric in its undertone –
To overcome the impossible feat.

In Matador dress on center stage –
Resolve set against retreat,

cape now on fence,
the competitors at last meet.

As chanted Corrida echoes fly,
from eager gluttons in their seat

Torero and Toro tango at last –
Their dance enigmatic; no peace.

Veronica flip of red ignites –
Bull’s full wrath and fury unleash.

No Surrender; the tempo quickens –
Intensifying the mounting heat

All eyes focus on ritual end –
Shall bull or beast be beat?

Caged With Clipped Wings

The wilting of wings

behind iron grip;

clipped off and flaccid

is each rigid rip

Hand crafted splendour

created most grand

labyrinth beauty

hidden in smote hand

Cagèd in spirit,

soul being smothered –

Cries and pleas stifled

within viced cover

Wounded eyes peer out.

These wings want to fly;

to orb horizon

and imprint wide sky…

Fly away, be free.

Heed: the time is now.

Battered and broken

these wings forget how

Young Man

The boy looks
at me and smiles.
“One night,” he asks,
“may I beguile?”

“You know not
what you ask,” I fret.
“Today’s passion is
tomorrow’s regret.”

His grin pleas,
“No strings you’d leave,
no strife; your tongue for
my pleasure, not grief.”

“Your conscience
shall one day fold -
Heed instruction from
that which you are told…”

Young man
guard your heart
What’s allowed to dwell
could tear you apart.

Young man
guard your mind
What you tolerate
will make you blind.

Young man
guard your thoughts
What’s your meditation
shall mold your wrought.

Young man
guard your desire
What poison you drink
today won’t but expire.

Young man
guard your lips
What a mouth uttereth
brews the venom thee sips.

Young man
guard your soul
What the enemy seeks
he strives to devour.

I look
at him and smile,
"Preserve thyself whole
Shun thy destruction."


J. DeBellis, Sept. ‘09

Oh, To Ever Understand Thou Poetry Terms

O Poetry, poetry, wherefore art thou complex?
Tis but thy terms that are my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not prosody.
What's prosody? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other term!
What's in a poem? That which we call prosody
By any other name would smell as sweet;

Ugh...thee enjambment of brain cells
Thy meter of rhythm, no sense of closure
So poetry would, were it not poetry call'd,
Retain that dear insight which it oweth.

A twist [From Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, 1594]
J. DeBellis 8/31/09

Soul Food

Such are the tasty morsels

for the wonderland of the mind;

the most beautiful of words,

on the canvas of a page sprawled.

Alone, the letters detached

are mere dust in desert wind,

but when blended together

become a contrivance sweetened

Forever immortalized,

in glory and grandeur cloaked

Nourishment for the soul

in all seasons of its searching

Seared into fibers of being,

leaving their heartstring mark –

To draw upon the journey of time

and sustain our craving wont.

Mountain of Optimism

Making mountains out of bits of sand
From optimism much larger than life
Blinded by our warped perception
The bite of our darkest deflection

To our own shame - we digress.

No numbness can be drawn to cover
Nor healthy injection can help recover
that which these hands will overbear
When only sand castles they uncover.

Self Reflection

enolA Alone
tsactuO Outcast
deziniturcS Scrutinized
dootsrednusiM Misunderstood
ria eht ta gnipsaG Gasping at the air
ytitnedi gnilbmurC Crumbling identity
dednuow yllanoitomE Emotionally wounded
yteixna desserpeR Repressed anxiety
edolpmi ot ydaeR Ready to implode
worros fo lluF Full of sorrow
traeh derracS Scarred heart
nekorB Broken

A New Day On The Lake

Silver ripples gentle in the breeze
Warblers call from nearby trees
Rustling leaves like falling rain
Sweet Dawn stretches her arms again

Her Wild Eyes

Hollows of her eyes held more life
than one soul could possibly contain.
An ocean, brimming with a wildness
only God almighty could ever explain.

Clinging, grasping, tries to latch on
arms and legs, she wrapped around;
petting, rubbing, pressing firm,
any closer, she’d be bound.

Persistent in her pleas and tactics
Resilient to a fault with efforts
Smile in place with every whimsy
Security longed for despaired comforts.

Longing most to just be loved
Loving most to just be cradled
Cradled most; hopes and dreams…
Dreams deferred, some even squandered.

Entrusted to my care with limit,
boundaries pushed cause armour to crack.
I release her with one last goodbye,
she skips forward, never even looks back…

Where’s the clinging and the grasping?
Why isn’t she still latching on?
I watched her walk away for good –
A new target her eyes now fix upon.

Her object of security?
The one thing she believes won’t breach
It’s tried and true; her mind feels sure
…The closest thing within her reach.