Happily Never After

Image By GlenAFord at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

One of the hardest things to see
is when to accept that it may never be.
Both of our hearts bleed,
not able to give what each other may need.
Romance I think we have honestly tried-
and your effort cannot be denied...
But when you move to touch me anymore
my skin stings and my body feels bruised and sore.
I said I felt abandoned and neglected
And you say you always feel rejected.
How can we see eye to eye
when it feels like we are living in the safety of a lie?
Waiting for the good parts to come
meanwhile our hearts grow cold and numb.
The problem isn't whose to blame
No matter what we try it stays the same...
I am a thorn in your side,
making you feel obligated and tied
Safe and secure, tried and true
always a work in progress, relationships take two
Ten years is a long time to wait
only to find you've lost your soul mate.
When two people are in love
whatever appears difficult they're able to rise above
stronger together
unlike stormy weather
Circles of speech, a vortex of energy
even simple conversations have lost the synergy
Focused on whose right and whose wrong
I haven't been wanted, cherished, devoured in so long...
I keep waiting, searching for a sign
that you want to be just mine
"Its not important to me" was your excuse,
telling you how I feel is of no use.
Moving on, getting over it, forgive and forget, it's all okay
since nothing really matters that I say,
'I'm sorry's' galore, 'I didn't think of you'
is any of this your fault too?
Can this ever be fixed
without broken promises- left hanging or nixed?
Perhaps my heart is just to scarred
I don't think it should be this hard...
Even now when there's nothing to lose-
but after this long it's plain to see
that it's not me
you choose.

Suffering in Silence

By Antonio da Fabriano II (Italian, active 1451-1489) (Walters Art Museum:  Home page  Info about artwork) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Shhh! I'm straining to hear

(I must admit, to you

this is my greatest fear)

thundering, rolling silence

boulders unwedged

cracking from a dry spell

not able to find the words to tell

nor a drop in the hollow inkwell

a writers ramblings

that chokingly clutter

floods of thoughts, ideas,

those clever lines I mutter

all taken for granted!

Perhaps there's just nothing

more needing to be said,

(it never before

felt like such a chore)

It used to come

like a heartbeats drum

Absent, broken, chaotic ideas

now dam

and make me look dumb!

A river of words flows by,

a waterfall of passion spills out,

taken by the current inspiration

that usually carries me

Dry and jammed

lodged with self-immolated Styx,

a busy beavers idle work,

where idleness eddies may lurk

I am told not to worry

it will be back and come in torrent

Can you hear the watery voice?

Comprehend its murky messages?

Now, I should confess

I am responsible for this lazy mess

(it's not as though I haven't tried

"I wrote a little today," I lied.)

Instead sterile white paper mirroring thoughts

Letters, symbols, pixels,

words that don’t go anywhere

stuck in virtuous silence

waiting for the stream to come...

Composed 8/22/14.

Fruits of Labor

White noise whir of the circular saw,

sputtering gears of mower blades churning,

taunting the helpless pungent grass

still dotted in hopeful dew.

A mockingbird stretches his lungs,

flying through the scales.

Beaming golden rays,

warmth rapping on panes.

Asking to come out and play

on a steamy summer suburbia day.

Waves and smiles, neighborly beeps,

off to work with kisses on the cheeks.

Dishwasher soapy claws churn away,

and the dynamic laundry duo readily toil through the day.

Lemon zested home sparkles with a happy clean,

primped and buffed, for no one it is seen.

Busy body chores, errands and more,

barely ever done by four.

Futile with growth, grime and clutter,

the gas tank starts to sputter,

The daily grind,

brews another hot cup of day.

A sweet moment in the citrus glow of evening,

freedoms breezy greeting,

stops all-

butterflies, hummingbirds, dragonflies,

even the birds held their note-

to inhale the nectar's

still blooming sweat.

lingering in the orange summers eve.

Feature image by Jon Sullivan, via Wikimedia,Public Domain"Bees really like pollinating my Meyer Lemon tree"

The Woe I Know

Brain is dead

heart is bled

heavy chest

interrupted breaths

grave moments

crashing sobs

temples throb

bodily torture

wax-paper wipes

comfortless needs

paintbrush umbrella

wrestling pillows

writhing limbs

screams inside

loud as red

hands tick and tremor

long and never

pitiful depths

of mire.

Gasping breaths

morose prose

muffled in suffocation

lingers in lobes

furious white flashes

deep in green monster caverns

incinerating ideas chanting

noxious notes swim

in flooded leaden sorrow

                                                             evaporated into tomorrow.

Painting Oil on canvas by Belmiro de Almeida 1858-1935[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Grapes In My Path

Photo by Famished Writer @ Madd Potter, in California

The Grapes In My Path

There are grapes in my path

on this abundant trail 

now invisible as if we never were

here, to pick and press, salvage and reap

for pleasure in pain

passion fruits of desire

I picked you some flowers,

I baked you a pie,

sacrificial labors of love

done by your own hands

connected to home and earth.

Breaking backs, clinging sweat

under wool, denim, straw, in cotton

keeping more out than simply the sun

depleted soil

exhausted soul

bursting with strangled juice

bountiful, delectable

selected and hand chosen

always searching for more

scantily ripe for the picking

and You

likely in a hurry,

just drive by

clouds of dust in the lane

settling on skins of

clay and mud

day after day-

a boulder rolls

among the rows

hunched in fields

punched with toil

blistering leather gloves

servitude by season

migrants moving

with the benevolent harvest of

plump bursting strawberries

dipped by chocolate covered hands

the wrath of happenstance

gratefully destined from birth

to be eternally closer to earth.

Beautiful Things and Those In Between

Worms with wings and other beautiful things.

Melodious birdsong all morning long.

Lovely stargazing lily, stained by rusty stamen filthy.

Diamonds in the rough-though just a rock of carbon,

all facets aside.

Bars of precious gold people still hide.

Supplest of metal, soft shiny pride,

purposeless and paradoxical.

Emaciated elegance,

Easy on the Eye,

a standard of beauty is dictated.

Monumental stupidity in all the standards of frivolity.

Semiprecious or flawed, not making the cut,

inadequacies fill the black Hole-

that is the empty soul,

which pines and yearns but never learns…

The most beautiful thing should not be judged

by human packaging,

maybe what we are told to see

that is beautiful to you-

may not be to me.

Reaching for the status-quo

determines just how far you will grow.

Things of value we are sold,

advertising aggrandizement is how we are told.

What is a handsome treasure?

Who is asking and why?

Is it a worm or a butterfly?

Photo By Cheryl Schultz for the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Literally

Image courtesy of Unsplash by Florian Klauer"_A _Typewriter-Apart" 

Literally

Who knows What To Do Where or When;

exPLODing (inside)

disconnected t-h-o-u-g-h-t-s

u s  a d  d w s  a o n

 p    n      o n     b u d

Darkness

"Speaks"

then you start thinking of a

Question?

That has no _________.

Re:

forbidden words

*Fine print: Hidden truths

complex conjugation (-1)

If only you’d listen-but were interrupted

To: A Lyrical & Limber Linguist

w/ a puzzling e*c*y*pt*d message

I'm pleading!

Don't let me f

                     a

                       l                                                                  

                         l

//behind,

trying to comprehend this poem that never seems to end...

(figuratively)