Incessant memories pervade
as I wade through this life
searching for an identity
I can claim as my own. Sown
and nurtured are my poetic seeds,
and yet I get no satisfaction from
their lack of flourishing;
not nourishing my heart like
I was used to having.
But all these thoughts must be written
I have been bitten by the bug,
a hearty shrug and a hope
that a smitten poet can regain his passion.
The heart is willing; the wile is weak.
Category: reconnect
IN THE GARDEN OF THOUGHT
Attracted by lingering memories,
or drawn by a heart felt compassion,
we come together to fashion our thoughts
into some semblance of conformity.
The enormity of that which we wish to convey
touches the hearts and souls of other such
thinkers planting their seeds to flourish;
in poetic bloom we are nourished.
One to another we join; all invited and welcomed.
A home for such ideas in the garden of thought.
A place of such communion does exist. The venue is called POETIC BLOOMINGS and it is a garden of poetic expression shared by many. All are welcomed and encouraged to write.
Open to all poets of every skill level and age. All that is required in the garden is to have fun and stop to smell the poetic roses!
This poem was written to the prompt: Community over at WE WRITE POEMS. Thanks to Marian Veverka for the inspiration.
OCTOBER SAVES
Fighting a battle often lost in the darkness
of a weary mind. There is no rest there.
Cursing the single candle lit to offer
its illumination; to infiltrate this
mental stagnation. Accursed slumber
why do you wage against my will?
Will you release me like the leaves
of October’s colorful flurry, left
to scatter in the cool winds from place
to place; a migration to discover the peace
that I crave. You have found me, October.
You have extended your lifeline in fine fashion,
a saving assist for one clamoring for control
over heart and soul,
over heart and mind.
I clutch your hand as I am flung over
the edge of reason. Your season is here.
You want me near, October, where I belong.
Anything else would be just wrong.
…AND THE FLAG WAS STILL THERE
A principle was attacked amidst
tears and destruction; a surreal snapshot
of a day worth forgetting. But no one did.
How do you forget the sight; the sound?
How do you forget the faces; the screams?
How do you diminish the sacrifice?
The word ‘impossible’ was tailor made
for this moment in time. Despair and
disbelief would be usurped by anger
and determination to not allow those who
put it all on the line, go quietly into that good night.
It became a fight to rise each day to face
the insurmountable task one brick at a time.
As many bricks as there were tears shed.
As many shards of glass as there were screams
of torment and terror. But the greatest error
made by a faceless ideology was assuming
we were broken and defeated. But the foresight
of three brothers of the fraternity most depleted
showed we were not defeated. Through the rubble
it stood in defiance. A naked flagpole planted
among the girders and debris. A symbol; our banner
raised high. A declaration loud and clear.
We are still here. We will not go gently.
Together we stand, a shield for liberty.
You took your shot and failed. An American Tale…
and the flag was still there! America had been blessed.
MARCEAU
You stand alone,
palms forward, feeling
for the faint traces of these
walls of your own devising.
It isn’t surprising that your cries
for assistance fall on the deafness
of the maddening crowd. For crying out loud,
won’t anyone help this man?
It is apparent that this transparent box
has him perplexed. Every exit is sealed
in his mind. If he can only find the door.
He stands, silent tears streaming
for this seemingly simple mute.
Maybe it’s time to speak his mind;
A bitchin’ time saves mime!