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Another Wave Waltz.
…As the anger coursing through my veins
As I look across this beach foreign to me
As my guns carve the limit of my restraint’s lack
As I seize the day for another’s sovereignty
As my brothers at arms fight at my sides and back
…As the hunger crawling over my sin
When I think of the shade of certain someone’s hair
When I think prose of its owner quite a distances flight
When I think once again how life’s a tutor of the unfair
When I try not to think of her smooth skin that night
…As the crier of my resolution’s wane
On this sand far from my home’s grassy hills
On this life bewildered by what’s come to past
On this soil dyed crimson with this war’s kills
On this day bullets destined to be my last
…As the last prayer given beneath my skin
For the medic who sighs at what he sees
For the home I go to, just not where I used to play
For the glass like calm that washes over me
For the final trip now only two closed eyes away
…White… as the anger coursing through my veins
…White… as the hunger crawling over my sin
…White… as the crier of my resolution’s wane
…White… as the last prayer given beneath my skin
<>==========<>==========<>
They’ve always said the answers will come for all I’ve pled
They’ve always said that all I’ve hungered for will be fed
That all I have to do is reach out and believe
But I laughed them off feeling greatly misled
They’ve always said I’d never be alone, faith would be my homestead
They’ve always said I would feel alive after years of feeling dead
So I opened my heart and touched a sleeve
Now I believe the things they’ve always said
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 98
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With one hand on the hexagram and one hand on the girl
I balance on a wishing well that all men call the world.
We are so small between the stars, so large against the sky,
and lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye.
‘Stories of the Street” – Leonard Cohen / Songs of Leonard Cohen
I stand here on this dirty stoop and watch the world go by
A sense of the familiar comes, but I can’t figure why
These walls of my horizon cannot touch the clear blue sky
Of the home of my childhood, with its vistas wide and green
The thought to even compare such, to me is just obscene
Yet the feeling weighs upon me, a slow careful unfurl
Like this star that’s drawn among all the writing on the wall
How it matches the pendant of this sweet thing I recall
The thoughts weave through my muddled mind, as timelines start to swirl
With one hand on the hexagram and one hand on the girl
In the middle of this day, I’m taken back to that night
Though it’s a sweet, sweet memory, I know it’s not quite right
The strong sense of euphoria, of happiness, of light
It wraps itself around me, a feeling I can’t shake yet
Like that lingering dampness after being cold and wet
I wait for it to come, a new wisdom to be pearled
With the magic of the city from a secret wand thrown
I blend into the dankness, one of the many unknown
Just another cast off penny, with a final wish hurled
I balance on a wishing well that all men call the world
You pass me as I stand here, suddenly it all makes sense
All the odd and wild sensations that held me in suspense.
Memories of homeland, pummel me with force intense
You don’t say a single word, but I feel it in my core
I somehow know you’re now my home, and yet you’re so much more
This sprawling festering city seems small with an ally
You’re a dream remembered; details forgotten start to gel
I watch you sink from view, as you descend to subway hell
Where a man’s dream of the world comes in such a small supply
We are so small between the stars, so large against the sky
But this dream was meant to be, once I gazed upon your face
A gentle whiff of homeland, in this god-forsaken place
The familiar in the unknown – what you bring to my space
But first I have to woo you, let you know, we’re meant to be
An oasis for just two, in the midst of this city
Still not knowing how I’ll do it, just knowing I must try
I quickly follow my instincts into this moving mass
Surrounded by so many, yet I only see you lass
I stand alone among the din, this massive human sigh
And lost among the subway crowds, I try to catch your eye.
<>==========<>==========<>
Yes, me and my old friend the Glosa join forces with Cohen again.
.
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You knew she was trouble when she walked in
Got quiet like a whisperer had spoke
With legs up to there, this doll was no joke
A quick glance from under my fedora
Face of an angel, but a body of sin
She was the box and I was Pandora
A tempest of whispers spread through the club
The slit of her dress was up to oh yeah
And not a thing underneath but pure air
That outfit was custom made to adorn
And where the babe walked were the whisper’s hub
Fitting her curves like nothing ever worn
Dress held together by a simple gold link
Even Frail Freddy rushed to take her hand
Just a marionette at her command
As he guided her to a stool on stage
Not a man in there had senses to think
As she crossed her leg with a perfect gauge
It felt like she looked each man in his eyes
Her liquid voice melting over their soul
Her descant was love gone out of control
Her notes downright gritty or raw and lonely
Yes, each man begged for her songs reprise
But she had her sites locked on one only
Deer to headlights I was trapped in her gaze
She pointed at me and crooked her finger
A beauty like that you don’t let linger
I stood giving my trench a little tuck
As she disappeared in the smoky haze
Half-hearted wishes grumbled lucky-schmuck
We rode each other ‘til we were cryin’
She never quite spoke, her words in sing- song
And she was saying things I knew were wrong
Like her husband she wanted me to kill
I realized she was a modern siren
But she knew she had control of my will
Her husband, I was to shoot in the head
When we met up later on in the park
After midnight when it’s quiet and dark
She had sung, I should have done as was told
She’s surprised when I shoot her down instead
I hardly heard her song, I had a head cold
I watch the glow of my cigarette tip
As her husband leans over and just smiles
I hadn’t seen him do that in a long while
He don’t smile much as leader of the mob
Yes, the start of a beautiful friendship
Paying me for the first of many jobs
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Have NO idea where my muse pulled this craziness from. I’m just rolling with it.
But it felt like I was disappearing,
So I ran to the mirror to check it out.
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am, here I am”
But why do I feel like the invisible man?
Invisible Man – Joshua Kadison / Painted Desert Serenade
It’s the morning after and I feel shorn
I’m tired as can be and the sunlight slays
I want to anchor my thoughts, but I’m just too worn
Can’t seem to see myself in my weary daze
A shade off invisible in my haze
Rubbing at eyes seriously blearing
I try to own it to the night in wane
As day breaks through the window pane
Murky eyes see a body with vision clearing
But it felt like I was disappearing
I decide that it just can’t be the case
It’s my mind taking a very strange flight
This disembodiment of my face
But I couldn’t shake it, try as I might
That I was disappearing from sight
I hold my hands out front with a doubt
But my heart lurches at what it doesn’t see
The empty pristine space that should be me
And I wondered what that was about
So I ran to the mirror to check it out
For what will I be when I finish changing?
My very thoughts echoed the patterns swirled
What’s the impact on my life’s current arranging?
Just whose vision of me was being unfurled?
Will I be fluent in hate or bring joy to the world?
It all just felt like it an incredible scam
‘For self is a sea boundless and measureless’
Woe be to he who believes himself treasure less
So I just couldn’t get with this new program
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am, here I am”
I can’t be enticed to be another subject
Another copy of a copy I can’t tolerate
In the spirit of uniqueness, this I reject
And just that quick came a feeling sedate
Beyond my core I felt the quiet panic abate
Solidified back to me in a moment’s span
I’m glad to know I am in fact all here
Still, I just couldn’t shake that feeling so queer
Nothing changed from when this all began
But why do I feel like the invisible man?
<>==========<>==========<>
Yes, back to my beloved Glosa form.
.
.
Come my Maestro
It is time
For an interlude
Play me
Tinkle the lines of my throat
The soft, ripe, plush
Of my mouth
Like the keys of a piano
Strike a chord within me
And make me feel
Wanton
Your strong fingers caress
Along the curve of my hips
as I arch,
And give myself in
to your manipulations
You
Play
me
Like a fine instrument
Knowing just when to pluck
My strings
You create within me
A perfect concerto
Reaching crescendo
With your ravenous lips
Upon mine
We rise and fall
In rhythm
To the movements
Of your baton
Until the final note
Dies away
Deep within
And after this most brief
intermission
I dare say
It is worth the time
For an encore
Ce n’est pas?
<>==========<>==========<>
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Sun
Dappled
Shimmering
Full of promise
With daylight dawning
Tears
Are done
I know this
Down to my core
As I stretch yawning
So
I rise
Contented
Feel my soul smile
In this new morning
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Welcome to the Arun.
A nonce poem created by friend and fellow blogger, GirlGriot. An Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements. Though all of hers, so far, were left aligned and not rhymed, I took a little poetic license here.
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Traded as payment for overdue wage
She knows, though it’s gilded, it’s still a cage
She’s yet to see sun
Shipped from place to place, displayed on a stage
To those whose tastes prefer ones underage
For sick sense of fun
She’s told back home no one’s missed her absence
She does not believe in their evidence
But bows to their might
Forced to do things against her conscience
Knowing what they do to those called nuisance
Flees into the night
Thunder rolls, storm clouds brew:
It was the sound of His measure of her trouble
It was the sound of His dread for her plight
Bloodied to a near pulp from being beat
In deepest fear of the oncoming feet
It was much too near
Oblivious to the filthy concrete
She lays prostrate in the dark on the street
It’s all she can hear
Brought to this new land for a tidy sum
From a land she never asked to leave from
She was their plaything
Smelling of cocaine, and cheap stale rum
She lays there waiting for death to come
She hears them calling
Lightning strikes, raindrops pelt:
It was the sound as His anger mounts
It was the sound of His tears falling
Glass grinds into her already raw shin
The pain raises a moan from deep within
They hear her outcry
A tear is slowly sliding down her chin
As they plunder through her most tender skin
Knives do not ask why
As each breath she takes become more shallow
Smiling, she knows she won’t see tomorrow
Her end has begun
She’s raised from the filth in which she wallows
A shining light eases her deep sorrow
At last she sees sun
Dew drops, Sun rises:
It was the sound as His arms open
It was the sound of His words of welcome
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We sit and ponder the starkest
in night’s darkest,
catering to the fears we sow.
We all still know
the sum of all our fears denies,
the sun will rise,
revealing truths behind the lies.
And so we trust and carry on,
within the rays of each new dawn.
In night’s darkest, we all still know, the sun will rise.
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Another Oviellejo.
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