Ripples of the Sea

Ripples of the Sea 3

Ripples of the Sea
 
I need to linger in the silence…
To wander in sand
Not pouring through
The hour glass of circumstance…
To feel the gentle ripples of the sea
Wash over my battered bare feet…
To watch the moon rise
From the ocean
In the calm
Before the storm…
To know that to perish –
Is not the worst that could happen…

I have listened to the noise…
To the unsettled sounds of the earth…
To human prattle
Spewing from mouths
That should not speak…
I have heard the slander of the innocent
From pretentious sycophantic morons
Never finding shame
In their own reflection…

I need to linger in the silence…
To drift above the fields of thyme
On a crisp cool April morn…
To walk along the banks
Of the Tigris
Through the mountains
In the rain…
To explore the inner realms
Of the mind that wander free…
And to laugh at circumstance
Left unexplained

I’ve been ambushed
In the darkness
With a knife held to my throat
For the sake of someone else’s
Sad delusion…
I’ve been without a home
In an unfamiliar town
Unknowing where to find
A piece of bread

I need to linger in the silence…
To drift above the willows
Just before the blush of dawn…
To warm within my hands
The hungry heart…
To take away the loneliness
Of those misunderstood
To reach out for another
Who’s been forgotten

I have dwelled within the chaos
Of the city…
Walked along the sidewalks
Through a world
That does not care…
Wandered alleyways
In the wee hours of the morn
Listening to pleas for hope
From cardboard boxes

I need to linger in the silence
Leaving foot prints in the sand
Not pouring through
The hour glass of sadness…
To feel the gentle ripples of the sea
Wash over my battered soul…
To dance upon the clouds
In the calm before the storm…
And to know that to perish –
Is not the worst that can happen

Michael33

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The Blind Man

The Blind Man 15E

The Blind Man

He’s always been there
Locked inside my head
The blind man
Bound and gagged
From words unsaid
The poet speaking truth in verse
From deep beneath the shadows
Often finds the rhyme
Best left for dead

He’s always been there
Trapped inside my mind
The deaf man
Singing songs
In village sign
The poet’s lyrics bound in truth
From deep inside the silence
Often find the secrets
Intertwined

He’s always been there
Lost inside my words
The muted man
With voice
That’s never heard
The poet writing rhymes of truth
From deep beneath the whispers
Often finds the voices
Barely stirred

He’s always been there
Deep in life’s embrace
The blind man
Bound and gagged
By mortal grace
The poet’s marrow clothed in truth
From yon the weaver’s loom
Often finds the Light
Beneath the lace

Michael33

The Melody Got in the Way

The melody Got in the Way

The Melody Got in the Way

He dared to believe in the lyrics
But the melody just got in the way
Lost in the rhythm of the heartbeat
Like the potter’s first touch of the clay

Poetry fell softly like snowfall
But the rhyme he too often misread
Lost in the words that were left on the wall
With the truth tween the lines never said

Wanting to believe in the rhapsody
Lost in the music she played
He dared to believe in the lyrics
But the melody just got in the way

Michael33

Little Black Book

Black book 16

The following post contains a couple of words that some may find offensive.  If you are offended by such words… please… stop here and read no further.  I hope you will take the time to wander this site and enjoy other posts that do not contain such words and I thank you for dropping by.  I feel that the words used in this writing are appropriate for the subject matter and to best express the contents, circumstances and emotions of this particular…

“Little Black Book”

It was just a little black book
………with names………..
Not real ones of course –
But names in code
For those who understood
The fucking rhyme –
Those who felt the pain
That she had bled
Between the lines
Those who held her hands
When they were shaking

It was just a little black book
………with names………..
Real ones of course –
For no code could hide
Their rude
Misunderstanding…
Never caring ‘bout the shit
They always piled
Upon her soul
Nor when they turned their backs
When ere she cried
Crumpled pictures of their faces
Pasted in between the lines
To remind her of the verses
They erased

It was just a little black book
……..with names…….
Fictitious of course –
Like the words they spewed
While pretending they cared
Stabbing her soul
From behind
Scribbled in crimson
Their own fucking poems
In self-righteous verses
Unrhymed

*****************

The little black book
…….Abandoned…….
Pages ripped
From its perfect bound spine
Crumpled
In dew covered grass
Its cover stained
With tears
And crimson
In a pile of
Green colored glass

The smell of whiskey
From mid-chapter one
An orchid pressed flat
Near the end
Found in the grass
Near a crystalline stone
Neath the White River bridge
Past the bend

A little black book
Of life
Of love
A misunderstanding
A plea…
Scribbled in runes
Her thoughts of escape
Left open……………….
To page 33…

Michael33

The Bullet

Bullet 2

The Bullet

They’re all blank –
The slate
The page
The stare
The mind
……………………………the bullet
And yet…
When filled with hues
That make them whole –
They all can
Destroy another

Perhaps…
They’re better off
Left in their emptiness –
In silent desperation
For the innocence
Of the child…

Hate on the slate
Rage on the page
Despair in the stare
Misaligned in the mind
All of the above
……………………………in the bullet

And yet…
Children
No longer
Linger in the silence –
No longer
Sit idly by
While those
Who cannot speak
To truth
Hide inside
The voter’s booth
Where money is the root
Of soul-less pleas

Perhaps…
It is the politicians
That are better off
Left in the emptiness
Of their own being…
In the silence –
In desperation
For the innocence
Of the child

Seldom are they ever
Left blank –
The slate
The page
The stare
The mind
……………………………the bullet

And yet…
It is left to those of us
Who dare
To change the hues
That make them whole –
Who dare to erase
The slate of hate –
To turn the page of rage
To peace –
Change despair of the stare
To hope
And realign the mind
With truth
For the most beautiful
Of all reasons…
For the innocence…
……………………………Of the child

Michael33

Without Holes

Without Holes 4

Without Holes

Crap…
I stepped in it again
In the only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…
Left for me to find
Outside my door
By some animal
Without conscience
Probably hiding
Across the street
Behind the bushes…
Laughing…

This isn’t the first time
I’ve stepped in it
Heavens no…
I once stepped in it
On my way to meet
The Queen
But it was then
That I was barefoot
And walked very near
To the stream
So I could easily
Cleanse my sole

Once I didn’t realize
I had stepped in it
And carried it with me
Amongst the others…
They kept their distance
Sneering and laughing
Behind my back
All the while
The only reasoning
I could presume
For their repudiation
Of my presence
Was that I must have
Forgotten to wear
The only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…

But that was in the day
When my olfactories
Were impaired
And surely…
Surely…
I would be forgiven
For the mere fact
That I did not know
What I had done
Walking outside
The edges of the garden
Stepping deeply
Into a pile
Of feculence
Left hidden in the grass
By some animal
Without conscience
Hiding behind the bushes…
Laughing…

Perhaps that is my purpose…
To step in it…
To be ridiculed
By the others
For walking where
They would never dream
To touch their
New shiny shoes
Against the soil…
Choosing instead
To stand upon
Their sacred elitist ground
In a crowd of others
Proud to display
A pretentious pompous ass

Though I may
Step in it…
Again and again…
I will always walk
Away from the crowd
That chooses
To ignore
Or belittle
The light
That shines
From one without shoes…
Or one that is willing
To step in the crap
In search of something different…
In the only pair of shoes I own…
Without holes

Michael33

 

Beyond the Ledge

Beyond the Ledge

Beyond the Ledge

I did not come in innocence
For I have felt the roaring fire
So close
Against my face
Each breath that I would breathe
Could smell the singe

Yet…
Never have I walked into the river
To cool the burning embers
Neath my skin
Nor wandered into reason
To repair my tattered soul
For no longer could I bide
Within the fringe

Always I must lean
Beyond the ledge
For that is where my journey
Finds the flame
Though the smell of burning flesh
No longer lingers in my breath
I alone must dwell
Within the blame

I did not come in innocence
For I have felt the blowing rain
So hard
Against my face
My eyes no longer visioned
Morrow’s light

Yet…
Never did I blink to wash the tears
The tears that blurred my vision
Through the night
Never did I let the rain
Calm embers neath my skin
Nor cool the flames
To change
The wrong to right

Always I must step
Beyond the edge
For that is where my essence
Finds the fire
Though the scent of burning flesh
No longer bides within my breath
I alone must always
Walk the wire

I did not come in innocence…….
For I have felt the heat
— Of the roaring fire

Michael33