Tag Archives: dVerse ~ Poets Pub

The Serenade

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Joann Bishop - The Guitarist

In the courtyard with his guitar
On a warm and starry spring night
Standing near the glow of lamplight
And sings of love so near, so far

He sings of longing as a scar
A deep wound of internal bleed
A wound of perpetual need
Soft chords wrapped tight in notes blue
A testament his heart is true
Love eternal in every deed

She knows it’s her he’s singing to
She hears each note that bear his pains
Within the blood of her own veins
His longing sears her through and through

For it’s a love long overdue
She’s never known the like before
As it’s his heart that makes hers soar
His tender words gently hold sway
Her heart she’ll give to him always
Lets him and love into her door

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week 67

This Whispering Place

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So it has been for many of my years
My dreams do stage all my hopes and my fears

Dreams that come to me when it’s not quite day
Or in the moments before night holds sway

A gale force of winter, a zephyr of spring
Hard as I try, their memory won’t cling
The dreams are but a moment, a most fleeting thing

Leaving just an impression of their core
Hints warning or guidance no less no more

As a true rule of thumb it is not much
But I’ve learned lessons on not heeding such

Never truly day, never truly night
This whispering place between dark and light
So clearly seen to me, but not within my sight

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 66

Time Drawing Near

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‘Aladdin’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’ no longer hold a charm
‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ have lost their sway
The sound of glass breaking, holds not the same alarm
When I could conceive a multitude of frights just yesterday

Macaroni and glitter artwork, stuff that used to be bane
Along with a medal made of paper, in the scrapbook
A box with a bundle of model trains and cars and planes
Memories past, that bellow for a just another look

Emphasizing the second syllable of the word every
The volcano project that was quite a bit unstable
The melted chocolate cookie smile used to distract me
From the crumbly mess left on the kitchen table

The children who couldn’t fib, looking me in my eyes
The kids I couldn’t trust not to burn the toast
The brats who threw a party and told straight-faced lies
When confronted with evidence of their being such gallant hosts

The con-men who know ‘Please mother?’ from ‘Mommy PUH-LEEZE??’
The house slaves with laundry finished and dinner cooked, ready to serve
The hooligans who greet me at the door when I take too long fumbling with my keys
The young men who offer the aspirin, sensing I’ve had a day that tested my nerves

These days I find myself staring a little longer at their faces
And the tones of their voices, to my memory, I try hard to adhere
Some mother’s instinct I suppose, preparing for empty spaces
That once remote chance of their leaving, now drawing near
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 65

Alone Again

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Her auburn curls were once piled high
Now they hang limply around her cherub face
And no one hears her quiet sigh
She’s just the wallflower, sitting in her usual space

Eyes focused on one across the room, looking awkward
At he who brought her here saying she looked so very nice
She’s since learned that he has won the ‘pig date’ award
Now hanging with the pretty ones, he hasn’t looked twice

It’s a wonderful night for a moon dance
The pleasant thought when she first awoke
So cruelly hoist on their antagonizing lance
Yes, she’s once again the butt of the joke

The deep resignations in her sighs
Belie the tears that sting her eyes

She takes a moment to gather her soul
All the million tiny pieces that shattered
Once again beyond her control
Not that she thinks it ever mattered

Locked in the bathroom, it’s her only refuge
It’s the only peace that she can find
Where she doesn’t feel like somebody’s stooge
The only place she can ease her mind

At times she thinks she hears the means to her end
And knows she’s far too close to its soothing call
It is all she’s got, to not let herself descend
Beyond the point where she feels nothing at all

Some days she fights to keep trying
Some days she feels more like dying

So numbed by the hurt that seems her fate
Against the odds, she stopped defying
The undue stress of those who berate
Each day it is less she finds herself crying

The personification of a silent scream
A switch is flipped with that last tear
As though awakening verse from dream
She emerges soul empty of all once held dear

Back to sitting quietly on the folding chair
Every pleat of silk carefully folded around her knees
But no one really knows or cares that she’s there
Behind thick lens her eyes stopped screaming silent pleas

For it is all such a familiar refrain
In a crowded room she’s all alone again

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ OpenLinkNight | Week 64

In The End

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Nights in white satin, never reaching an end
Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send
Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before
Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore
Nights in White Satin – The Moody Blues

We were destiny, as only the stars portend
Two opposite worlds of the equestrian track
You a portrait of its wealth, me a pole post of its lack
An interest in film creates a chance meeting
Our eyes locked in pass of eternity’s fleeting
Despite it all, these two hearts of our transcend
To have had those stolen moments with you
Were worth the obstacles we were put through
Days wrapped in gold sun, a love ascends
Nights in white satin, never reaching an end

Each loving moment together a true Godsend
More so as time lessens the hold on or plight
And we could share our love in the full day light
We were a force leaving all others in the dust
I your earth you know had my complete trust
Your heart a Gibraltar on which I could always depend
It’s beat as familiar to me as the bent of my own
But the familiar sometimes become things left alone
I wrote letters of love, as classic poets have penned
Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send.

In retrospect I would have sent each letter and more
Had I but an inkling of the plans of the fates
By the time we saw your sickness, it was too late
Your health declined with such rapid velocity
The rushes to try any means of medical restore
Introduced a side-effect unplanned
The pain became more than you could stand
A slow fade of the sparkle I had come to adore
Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before

Somewhere in there came the chorus of rumors
That your fidelity wasn’t quite as strong as mine
One of the reasons for your health’s cruel decline
The last thing I needed was that kind of stress
I saw it as a true meter of others’ nastiness
Like your arrival, your death shook me to the core
I find myself at war with the god’s aggression
That rips from me, my soul’s one possession
In the end I oscillate between faith and rancor
Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore

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Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 74 (October 4 -October 10)

 

Precious

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Mama holds me in her arms
She doesn’t mind the newborn mess
She takes my measure in her mind,
With a prayer to God to Bless

People mill all around her
The major and minor doings of birth
She tells them all to mark her words
I will make my mark upon this earth

She imagines me dressed for church
Sending pictures of me in the mail
She notes the quiet baby I am
Saying smart babies don’t need to wail

She says I will map new ways
Or maybe I will find new cures
Service is my family’s mantle
Of that she assures

The nurse wants to take me
But Mama holds me tight
They convince her to let go
That it’s going to be alright

My dad bursts through the door
Comes face to face with his fears
His face belies the truth
And Mama bursts into tears

She says my name is Precious
That’s what I am to them you see
That my very life was precious
Because I never came to be
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dVerse Poets Pub – Unexpected Poetics

Inner City Dawn

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Early dawn on Prince Street NYC

Kufel – early dawn on Prince Street NYC (Flickr)

The street is deserted, no one’s around
An occasional car, but no other sound
All you see are the shadows of the night
Broken only by the eerie glow of street light
If you’re still long enough, you can hear a mouse
Bold enough to scurry through the house
And then a glow arrives reaching over it all
Watching it slowly chase the shadows on the walls
Taking away the chill of the dark night
Filling my world with its warm light
Neighborhood junkies going for a fix
Winos, bag ladies, a crazy mix
Parked cars leave from their spaces
People start to pass, I know some of the faces
Each morning I watch this changing show
Until its time for me to go

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dVerse Poets Pub – MeetingTheBar: Beautiful Solitude

I’ll Bide ‘Till Time

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A time long since your love I held
A memory that wants to fade
Where an abundance was once held
Reduced to dreams, images frayed

So young our love, this war so stalls
A fortnight wed, in twice passed Falls
In King’s honor I know you serve
But nights lonely, my heart does swerve

My fingers replace not your touch
Though deepest soul can recall such
In shallow dreams that hold your kiss
The gentle roughness of that bliss

Ne’er thought to feel this desperate
I bide ‘till time, returns my mate

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | FormForAll – Basic Sonnet Forms

Of Dreams

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Eyes closed I drift into the sweetness of your arms
A something felt just beyond the soul’s breach
Not quite right, but yet I feel no qualms
All I want, just within heart’s reach
Contentment that causes sighs
Then life beckons to me
I open my eyes
Reality
Rips the seams
Of dreams

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And today’s form? A nonce form called  Emotive Ten

The form describes some form of emotion and has ten lines, the only restrictions are it’s syllable based.  It starts with twelve and throughout the poem works down to two; it should also describe usually an emotion in paradox, i.e. life to death, loneliness to love, light to dark etc.


If rhyme is used it must go with the syllable count in numbers and rhyme in letters:

12A, 10B, 9A, 8B, 7C, 6D, 5C, 4D, 3E, 2E

An alternate rhyming suggestion is a/a/b/b/c/c etc. The form can also be done in reverse, still ten lines, but starting out with two syllables and ending with twelve.

dVerse Poets Pub ~ OpenLinkNight : Week 61 

Long Fallen

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Painting of street worker

It’s Autumn, where the verdant leaves turns gold,
And goldenrod leaves quickly become old
And those old leaves soon become just like me
Something broken and crushed, something empty
Long fallen from the grace it used to be

Hard to believe, less than eight years ago,
I think eight, I’m not sure, the years blend so
My employer came to me one down time
And said I wasn’t pulling in the dimes
I’m a utensil that was past my prime

That as such made me particular waste
And was let go from employ with due haste
Youth started its slide from my once young face
I knew the rules, there was no pleading case
No chance of rescue in this youth built place

I started at fifteen, oh such a knave
But had a knack for knowing clients’ craves
I worked there before I had license to
Attained status, before my year was through
This job was all I ever knew to do

The cache of being ‘personal escort’
I never knew a life without support
That cache provided me some global treks
Spinning clients through my erotic hex
And I won’t lie; I damn sure loved the sex

I joked this job was custom made for me
Their faces at the point of ecstasy
And as conversant in Sun Tzu as Mr. Magoo
My clients soon found out I had smarts too
And for the price, little I would not do

Out lasted many who’ve come through the door
Damn lucky to be there at fifty-four
But like my concaved waist, it couldn’t last
My job choices were very far from vast
Don’t have much future because of my past

I’m offered some dinky job on the side
But I still had a little too much pride
To be a has-been hanging on the scene
I remember how I treated has-beens mean
When I once ruled the roost as its main queen

I’m treated like someone they’ve never known
When I tried to hold some clients on my own
With individual contact of each
A beat down was the last lesson left to teach
That everything I had was out of reach

I’ve gone from elite, to stripper, to street
Where I fidget on very tired feet
Jumping from each nameless and faceless mate
Wondering just which day will seal my fate
The seasons are my only notes of date

And it’s Autumn again the leaves turn gold,
Slowly turning other colors they grow old
Long fallen from the place they used to be
What time has washed away past their glory
And then die, a cruel metaphor of me

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ Poetics: Autumn Chill is in the Air