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!


Wanting to be Wanted

You know that I want to be wanted,
Though I never flaunt this felt-need,
Still I’m haunted by the deep feeling,
Taunted by dæmons from the font
Of despair and how to repair myself
And I cannot help but deeply care . . .
I get caught in a snare I cannot bear,
And it tears at the fabric of my soul,
Which has become a bowl of tears;
And I know you are near and hear,
But what do I do to get thru all this?
Emotions accrue against my heart
As I fight to hold to the better part
And start again to live an alive life
Not rife with the pain of rejection
And poisonous infection of the soul
In denial of empathy and affection;
Oh, where do we now go from here?
You are my dear sightseer, my guide;
Could you just make me disappear?
Ah! Steer me into your starry light
So bright and such a beautiful sight
Where all is right, and I am wanted,
As you do know I want to be wanted,
Though I never flaunt this deep need;
Take me to a peaceful and joyous day!

The Lightning Chaser … Unrestrained

You say you want to know the flashing lightning and thunder roll,
But that might be a grave error, you see, inside such a panoply
Which you can hardly imagine, still less handle, so much greater
It is than your pathetic candle, but you run out of your bubble
Straight into the arms of trouble only to double your own misery
And in no subtle fashion for the excitation without explanation;
Ah! This is you, though, ever grasping for the unknown, gasping;
And what will you have gained in your vagabond independence,
In your freedom from dependence upon anyone or anything else?
You yourself are like an untamed wind that tends to bend
Elements and people to your will, and you still want more!
Oh! but you might one day cross that tight line of sense and sanity
In forthright vanity, turning your sunshine day into blackest night!
Oh, be careful what you search out in your devout chasing of life;
Some doubt is not bad and will not bring any drought to your soul,
But simply rein you in to begin living within the bounds of reason;
Ah! but that is completely out of season for you, is it not? Yes . . .
You say you want to know the flashing lightning and thunder roll!


Driven by so much rejection you’re an uneasy collection
Of mixed emotions pining for affection and protection
From loneliness, spinning and running without direction
In search of perfection in love, and so with projection
Finely tuned and acute, you imagine solidarity of hearts
Where there is only infection of your tarnished soul
With dark hole so large that only God could fill you up
But you sup on sordid images of longing and belonging
To someone, anyone, without rhyme or reason, completely
Out of season, even though it’s treason of the mind,
But you bind yourself to lurid images in horrid hunger;
You are…


Learn and Turn

Skating on thin ice, you’re heading for the danger zone,
Rushing into love that burns and turns to ashes quickly,
Singes the edges of your heart, stretches your soul thin,
Runs you into the ground, pound on pound, not a sound;
And you are foolish to fly in where angels dare to tread
For dread of being pulled down to hell, but you’re deaf
To the warning bell … but you’ve plugged up your ears
In the fear of being left alone, bereft of all love, my dove,
But you’re reaching your hand into the fire of your own
Blackened funeral pyre, no hesitation or intimidation,
And what’ll you have proven, then, when you’ve burned?

Learn and Turn

Ashes to Ashes

It might surprise some of my recent readers to discover that I DO actually have a darker side. LOL Today I kind of, sort of challenged my friend and poet, Nandita, (of Manan Chained and Manan Unleashed) to collaborate with me on something of a darker poem. She graciously accepted, and now I offer to you the product of our joint creativity. Please enjoy!

Languishing in cold seclusion of the darkened heart
Screaming for the light behind the shadows that part
Only an allusion to love at the conclusion of joy
My heart being ripped apart from my chest, a damaged toy
Profusion of pain screams for some soul transfusion
Last hope for salvation from a macabre damnation

And here in the wasteland I’ve joined the nomad band
In search of greener pastures, walking on burning sand
Yeah, the fruit was alluring in enduring brightness
As a woman akimbo to a man in limbo lost in sense
So I bit the fruit securing my own relational damnation
Blinded by hunger, clouded by grief; no rationalisation

Corroded arteries of the spirit, eroded veins of heart
Morbid desires devoured by ghoulish fires, a closed start
What is left now but to bow low to slow bleeding
As my heart flutters one last time, my soul leaving
Ah! In the floor I bore a hole with my acid tears of fear
I shan’t rise from the ashes, no magical Phoenix tears
Now comes the pitch black blight of endless night!
Hark! dragging footsteps as my soul drapes eternal plight


The Lord of Lyricism Answers the Fool

The lord of lyricism did lurch from his literary perch,
And bid the king of fools to leave; “but why?” came the
Reply; “do you not believe what I conceive to be true?”
But the lord turned and burned with indignation; “if you
Knew what is true you would not be the king of fools, so
Stop using your folly tools to misconceive and deceive!”
“Sing your song, my lord, and pray tell me how I am wrong;”
So the lord answered, “I am bored by your talk and would
Walk away, but I will say, the duke of metaphor and duchess
Of stanza already live together as finely entwined feathers
In the ethereal realm of aesthetics, where there love does
Overwhelm space and time; indeed they rhyme and chime now
As one and their romance has only just begun! Now be gone;
Be gone, O king of fools, with your spools of ignorance
And folly!” But the daft king only laughed, then poked the
Lord and spoke, “Love cannot last forever above the world;
There must be the pace to meet face to face!” To which the
Lord did turn in his burn, but queried, “Oh fool of fools,
You hideously drool idiocy! What, pray tell, do you know
Of life and love, especially what comes from above, you
Who have never known what is grown in the courts of heaven?
Behold! There is no doubt about love first cultivated and
Made stout in the mystical realms, for claim is first made
Upon the soul, and it is not lame nor is it some pretty game,
But aflame and then ready to proclaim to the world! What,
Then, is your insistence on distance?” With this the king
Of fools had to cool his temper, for he had no reply and
So no way to further ply his trade made of real stupidity;
So he balked and walked away, taking shame with his name.

What the Lord of Lyricism Sees (Part II)

“Oh how love is so cruel!” laughed the king of fools
To the lord of lyricism, still perched as he searched.
“It seems true: One was born to be torn but not by
Any scorn of the other; ha! I wonder, does he realize
What prize is his as he mixes metaphor to score yet
Another tune? Does the duke see or is this a fluke?”
And the king of fools drooled his answer: “My lord,
Love is as tender as the dove, who flies high above
But falls quickly to hard earthen call to crawl among
Beasts of burden; love is delicate.” But the lord said,
“Surely love is also elegant and not desolate; so much
Is evident, which is why love is thus eminent… No,
He simply can’t see the free gift given by the duchess
Of stanza, who sadly stammered ‘fare thee well’ before
She fell from the sky, and ne’er did he utter ‘goodbye,’
But did he ever fly closely by? Truly I do not know
But I note that he still floats in the ethereal mists
Of senryu and such, which is not much in the manner
Of courtship.” But the king of fools quipped, “Ah! my
Lord, perhaps this was not meant to be, for there is no
Rhyme to bind them across space and time, lips to lips,
Hips to hips!” To this the lord of lyricism merely nodded,
Not in cynicism, saying, “We shall yet see what will be.
We shall yet see what will be.”

What Does the Lord of Lyricism See?

Bored, the lord of lyricism looked from his literary perch
In search of something entertaining, merrily sustaining,
Not constraining or draining, perhaps inspiring without
Being tiring; and, lo, did his eyes finally light upon quite
An intriguing sight that would frighten some but rather
Enamoured him: One stout duke of metaphor, a duchess
Of stanza together creating quite the regal extravaganza!
Together they wove their words in their fine poetic cove;
Weaving and weaving more, heaving sighs of satisfaction
Known only to lovers under covers in a blanket of night;
But as the lord of lyricism looked on he could not help
But wonder, was this an heavenly blunder or the thunder
Of fate, for the duke and duchess shared the same heart
But were very far apart in space and time; and the clock
Chimed eleven and heaven rumbled ill-content o’er what
Was meant to be after Cupid bent his bow to sow love
In two hearts, not in parts, but in whole, soul to soul;
He contemplated this, searching his mind, as he perched
And continued to watch this unique scene of what’s rarely
Been; and his smile was not one of hard trial or guile
But delightfully real; ah! what would fate here seal?

Missing You

We used to kiss in the grove of old hickory trees and honey bees;
You would tease and I would please.

We used to hold hands along the beach, our passion just within reach;
And each of us promised to teach.

We used to lie side by side, naked under the moon, hide under stars;
Not too soon to move, and sing a lovely tune.

We used to be and see each other — sister, brother; mother, lover;
Was it all a fabricated lie in some sweet by and by?

Now there is not even glances or the casual visit, but do we miss it?
You go your way, and I go mine, and that’s just fine…

But it tears my heart, part by part.

I miss you.