Broken Stones

broken stones

I attempt to make them right from what went wrong
Often I pretend that they have turned into a song
I try to keep the verses from exposing all my bones
But that’s when all I get
………are broken stones

I’d place them in a bottle
But I know that they would drown
Or float out in the ocean… never to be found
Hide between forgotten lines for reasons never known
But that’s when all I get
………are broken stones

I’d love to write the rhyme that touched one’s heart
Or one that shared the love with simple literary art
Once I tried to change the world where rocks were never thrown
But that’s when all I got
……were broken stones

Poets often linger in the shadows neath the light
Perhaps where they feel freedom or perhaps where they find flight
Perhaps we shouldn’t scribe across the page our fractured bones
Though sometimes……. love is found
………………………midst broken stones

Michael33

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Crossing Lines

crossing lines

Crossing Lines 

It’s certainly not that the rhyme is gone
I still feel poetry in the hues of dawn
But pain has a way of crossing lines
Where mind and body intertwine

Singing the lyrics of forgotten songs
Searching for melodies… right or wrong
Never graced parchment with brilliance of light
No matter the poet… no matter the plight

 

I suppose this is another one of those poems that speaks truth about the poet.  I must admit… I have not been able to post much as of late due to circumstances far beyond my control.  I am very thankful for those of you who have continued to support my attempts at poetry… even when factors enter that change much of the subject matter.

I have preferred to keep my Hope33 site (a journal of my journey through hell)… and this site as separate entities of one another, but if for some strange reason you would like to know what is going on in my life at this particular moment… you are welcome to visit “The Report” and subsequent posts if you dare to do so.  If you’d rather not…  believe me… I completely understand.  Either way… I am honored and humbled by all of you who continue to support this site and the blathering I often leave here to linger.

I will continue to post as often as I am able… and of course… I am very ‘hope’- full that all will work out as I imagine and I will be back on a more regular basis to torment you with my… perhaps… somewhat peculiar poetry.  In fact… there may be moments when I become even more inspired because of those very ‘circumstances beyond my control’.

Wishing you a most beautiful day

Michael33

A Curious Birth

A Curious Birth

A Curious Birth

When Christmas Eve had fallen down
And snow fell neath the bridge
Whispered words of new born kings
In echoes yon the ridge

Faces turned the other way
To pilgrims void of proof
While doors were closed and candles dimmed
For vagabonds of truth

Perhaps this story’s told with hope
Perhaps it’s merely fable
But candles glowed and starlight gleamed
Around that tiny stable

Twas the night before a curious birth
With snow upon the fir
While kings made way to bring the child
Their incense, gold and myrrh

It matters not what faith you bear
Like songs of Mourning Doves
If light we find in stories told
Can breathe the breath of love

When Christmas Eve had fallen down
And dawn had warmed the fleece
Whispered words with love’s embrace
Brought hope for mortal peace

A most beautiful holiday season to you all…

Michael33

The Fable

The Fable smoke 1

The Fable

He left them there
On her favorite table
Along with a note
A story
A fable

She sat on the sofa
Just watching TV
Sipped on her coffee
Her whiskey
Her tea

The flowers were wilting
In the old Mason jar
And time was not healing
The bruises
The scars

She closed all the curtains
To hide neath her skin
Not finding forgiveness
Without or
Within

She pulled up the blanket
To hide from the chill
Reached for the bottle
Her treasures
Her pills

Many will see her
Neath bright morning stars
Searching for credence
On sidewalks
In bars

Her story still echoes
In time after time
On faded brick walls
On parchment
In rhyme

Others will follow
Tis always the season
Searching for freedom
For stillness
For reason

The flowers have wilted
Her life just surreal
Reaching for something
To savor
To heal

The bottles lie empty
Her truth on the table
The note crumpled softly
Her story –
A fable

I realize that this is not the type of poetry one expects or wants to read during the holiday season… but the holidays are often the very time when those who are lonely… those who are troubled by life, by love, by sadness… are searching for hope.  Sometimes it takes nothing more than a meaningful hug… a call from a friend… a smile from a stranger to light a candle inside the darkness of another.  Please… reach out your hand to them whenever and wherever you can… they are everywhere… searching.  They may be standing very near to you in this very moment.  Let your light shine brightly for one who has lost their way.  Share your candle with another… you’ll be amazed how brightly the flame will glow.

Wishing you a most beautiful holiday season…

Michael33

In the Clouds

In the Clouds

So what if I am a dreamer
I like my head in the clouds
It’s cool and moist with a soft breeze
With limited vision of the bullshit
Always lingering in wait
When you least expect it

Clear blue skies
Can be most deceptive
You can’t trust the sunshine
It can burn you without a thought
And the moonlight
Oh……………….
The moonlight
Can squeeze your heart so tightly
Fill your mind with thoughts
That linger
Far beyond forever

So perhaps
I should always be a dreamer
Leave my head in the clouds
Where the fog hides what is real
Where the cool moist air
Soothes my skin from the burn
Where bullshit will never find me
Where deception cannot hide
Within the shadows of the sun
Where my vision cannot see
Beyond the journey

I like my head in the clouds
With a soft cool breeze upon my face…
Until the moonlight calls my heart…
Oh……………….
The moonlight –
Fills my mind with thoughts
That linger…
…and so what if I am a dreamer

Michael33

Growing Old

Young and Old Me 2

Growing Old

I guess that I really don’t understand
What happened to the clowns and the marching bands
The rain on my face on a bicycle ride
Believing that dreams never lied

I guess that I’ve always wondered bout time
Where it was wasted and where it all rhymed
I never did listen to ticks or to tocks
While flying my big cardboard box

I guess that I really don’t understand age
Still hiding tween lines of rhymes on the page
I guess I don’t know when it got out of hand
Lost with the clowns
                   And the marching bands

Michael33

Shadows of the Moon

Shadows of the Moon

And the voices said
There was no light
That shined upon the lilies
For the shadows of the moon
Are misconstrued
Love beneath the moonlight
Warm and moist amongst the posies
Like a summer rain that falls
Upon the petals
But the moon can only shine
Upon seclusion of the sun
And raindrops only fall
To hush the thirst

And the voices said
There was no light
That shined upon the muse
For the stories told on high
Are misconstrued
Love beyond the veil
Has always touched the bonds of faith
Like footprints in the snow
Beneath the pines
But stories only tell of truth
If writers find their way
And bonds of faith may tatter
In the storm

And the voices said
The moonlight brings the passion
To the story
Soft and moist and warm
Like summer rain
But the moon can only shine
Upon seclusion of the sun
And raindrops only fall
To hush the thirst

Michael33