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.