Life Challenges – noblethemes

Turning

I saw silver and gold and I was told I could have it all,
So I answered the call … I turned;
I saw fame and fortune and was told I could lay my claim,
So I did so with no self-blame … I turned;
I heard the blackbird promise power and my own great tower,
So I laid my bricks and did not cower … I turned;
I heard an old bard sing that peace was all mine to lease,
So I began to buy and did not cease … I turned;
I smelled all of the myriad roses in their beautiful poses,
So I started to buck and pluck … I turned;
I saw adulation and was told to clench it without hesitation,
So I made this my vocation … I turned…
Always turning, and always churning and burning with a hole
In my soul, and now I’m tired of being mired in such insane
And senseless pursuits that really suit no person, even me;
It’s like chasing the wind, running round every single bend,
Breaking my fragile heart, which not one of these could mend
Or even all of them taken together like one solitary feather;
But I hear the Voice that calls from the halls of my spirit,
And I realize that I’ve been unwise, creating my own demise;
Yet the Voice still beckons ‘n means to reckon with this man;
Ah! And so I turn one more time to hear this still, soft chime,
And will I need turn again or, perhaps, I’m done with turning
Even as I feel the smile and hear, ‘Come and welcome home.’

Note: Originally published in April 2016, now republished due to some renewed interest as well as for the consideration and enjoyment of new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all!

Tidal Wave of Creativity

It’s like a tidal wave ready to hit the shore,
More than this, like some score to be settled
In my soul with a hole in my heart to be filled;
I’m grilled by thoughts running wild, words filed
Away for me to summon forth, phrases drum on
In my psyche, twirling and swirling frantically
Searching for a way out to have their pen-say;
But do I know how to string them together in
Some sensible order, to bring them together in
Sweet flowing stream from overflowing dream?
So I write to lessen the bite of insane pain
Felt in the deepest part of my poetic heart.

Note: Previously published in February 2016, now being republished on its anniversary for the enjoyment of new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all!

Ode to Love (Recast)

Love can be so cruel, so unkind, and oh-so blind;
Enough to make the fool drool, but the wise one
Sees the forest beyond the trees and honey bees;
Love can be like only bare and stone-cold bones,
Or it can be as one small flower growing in power;
And love can be like fine wine or be high and dry;
Love is free and wild, and won’t be tame and mild;
Love is a child, ever growing into showing wisdom,
Free yet to be whatever the world around shall see;
Never contained, hardly ever restrained, and not
To be disdained, for love is love as it is, and love
Comes from Love from Above…
Yes, it can bring pleasure like an exquisite treasure
Or it can bring pain with no gain and seem insane;
Ah! is it worth the while? But what is life without
Love except bland with no real demand? This love
In all its complexity sells itself to the soul and
Then compels, propels to great heights with might!
Love is and shall be … for you, everyone, and me…
For love defines our life as it is and ever shall be …

Note: Previously published in April 2016

The Prodigal

Yeah, I remember that day, the day I turned and walked away;
And did I even say goodbye or just fly out into the unknown?
Yeah, it was great for awhile, but I had no mate; I was alone
And eventually chilled to the bone, just like dead cold stone;
Did I hear you calling me back from falling into my own pit?
Ah! but I refused to listen, confused by my own damn idea
Of some great panacea that only proved to be a real sick kick!
But you never took your eyes off of me; you could always see,
And you kept calling while I was curled in the corner balling;
So now will this prodigal return or continue to burn inside
Of himself, where he’s pressed to abide? But you do not chide;
Sweetly, softly, your voice neatly flows in the cool breeze…
It’s been so long since I’ve known what it means to belong,
To be held in your arms, protected from all harms and alarms;
But will I wait at your gate or enter your chamber so great?
Will I, the prodigal, come home to you?
Ah! you knew … you knew, didn’t you?

Note: Previously published in April 2016, now republished for the reading enjoyment of new followers. Blessings to one and all!

Note: Previously published in August 2016. Hope you enjoy! Blessings to one and all!

Who Will Peek Beneath Your Hood Of Words?

Always, in every way, every day
You give until you bleed to feed
Your hungry need to be understood
Even beneath your hood of words;
It’s the only means to speak,
To give the world a peek
Into your overflowing soul,
Slowing the rhythm of your heart
To show in part the art of who
You are and what you’ve been
From the start; does anyone listen?
Do they read to fulfill your need?
Yet you open another vein believing
But ne’er receiving what’s beyond
Your conceiving: You’re deceiving
Yourself again, but when you begin
To realize the prize you want
Is beyond you to seize; it’s just
Another disease of the human soul,
Bowl of emptiness…
But you keep trying, lying to your
Heart that you’ll find the better
Part of humanity even among insanity,
And this for your own vanity:
You’re but a grain of beach sand,
Member of the wandering band
Of flesh-and-blood, fresh from
Its own pen marks on otherwise
Blank pages supplied by heavenly
Sages down through the ages, so…
Who will peek beneath your hood
Of words, where birds of self-
Revelation fly before you
Say goodbye after you try
Just one more time, just once more?

Note: Previously published in December 2015, republished due to some renewed interest and also for the enjoyment of new reader-followers. Peace and blessings to all!

Throws and Blows of Dementia

O strength that takes a twisted turn
Burn the mind and bind all sensibility
Vaulted vanity is replaced by insanity
As the adult becomes the wild child
~ No longer meek and mild ~
She seeks the past as present
As if it’ll last ‘n the future is far gone
Fond memories fade as if bade to go
So low have they sunk into oblivion
Dying while trying to live in a fog
And all life has become a thick bog
. . .
And this is one person being caught
In the throws and blows of dementia

Note: Dedicate to all who suffer with this horrid affliction as well as to their dear families and loved ones. May the the Great Physician lead us to a cure soon!

No More to Outpour

Oh! the wretched artist who has no more to pour out,
With the spout of his heart clogged and his mind bogged
And conscience dogged by guilt with silt building up
In his forlorn soul with gaping hole that can’t be filled!
What is he to do with the shrew complaining in his brain
That he should draw in awe, painfully paint till he faints,
Play piano till the break of day, and all without dismay?
Oh! but he’s spent and bent under a load of uncreativity,
And there’s no more to give to live his living part in art,
So he sits with bits and pieces flying around in his head,
Bouncing off the walls and bed, but with nothing said . . .
Nothing to be said in his sad condition void of ambition;
So in contrition he lowers his eyes in floorward position
In silent admission of being a musician without a song,
An indolent poet now when once he’d been quite potent,
Nothing to be sculpted or carved, so starved is his spirit;
Oh! the wretched artist who has no more to pour out!
Ah! but perhaps there is something to pour in to begin
To live once again! After all, even artists need to feed!

Afraid

Afraid to love,
And love to hate;
We reach above,
And fall to fate.

Afraid to embrace,
We embrace the fear;
No hope to trace
For those so near.

Afraid to dream,
And dream so dark;
Not but the scream
Of truth so stark.

Afraid to walk,
We cower so still,
And never talk
In our hell so shrill.

Afraid to learn,
And learn to fear;
So do we burn
Our soul so dear.

And never we see
This should not be.

Note: Originally published August 26. 2014

Peace in Perpetuity: Welcome Eden

Α

Good folks shooting good folks,
Recruiting more folks to shoot
As they pour out venom in store
From many years of repression
With no cessation, but does it
Make any sense? Is it pretense?
It’s not an easy walk, for sure,
But talk of peace is not enough;
It means taking a risk, a chance
In advance at the dangerous end
Of the gun, son; yeah, putting
Your life on the line as a sign
Of your conviction without any
Restriction that light drives
Out the darkness, that the fight
Is really for life, rather than
Mere existence rife with pain
And agony with naught to gain.
It’s all so insane, is it not?
Good folks shooting good folks,
Recruiting more folks to shoot…
Time to stop all of the insanity
Of gross vanity of war mongers,
Who sit sunny with their money
Counted with bloody hands and
Smiles on their crooked faces!
Time for light to shine bright
In the night of a new humanity
Under the radiance of dear Luna
In anticipation and expectation
Of the coming Dawn of Eden Land.
Say hello to serenity in plenty
In rebirth of old but new earth!
Welcome …!

Ω

Note: Having written one poem for Poets for Peace, I guess it just piqued my interest in finding out how many other pieces I’d already written specifically on the subject of peace. This poem was originally published in March of this year (2016).

Tag: Life Challenges