SuziCate's Musings

Posts tagged ‘One Stop Poetry’

What Could Have Been

Because I have no voice,

I can not tell you of my pain.

Because you took away all hope,

I can not tell you what could have been.

Though you have placed your God in a box,

I know my God has never lived there.

Because I have no voice,

I utter incoherencies that He understands.

Because you took away all hope,

I cease to exist in your mind.

You say we were better off this way;

I guess we’ll never know.

Because I have no voice,

I can not soothe your pain with a lullaby.

Because you took away all hope,

I can not shine upon your life.

And though you say I never existed,

why do I haunt the corridors of your heart?

One Shot Wednesday

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Looking Back


I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone
Pulled gems from earth and blew off ancient dust
And still I found nothing more I could have known

I dove into self, into blood and marrow of bone
I paddled the calm and surfed the waves of trust
I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone

Realizing it was my task to approach this alone
I covered every corner, touched all I felt I must
And still I found nothing more I could have known

Through time and reflection, grace has grown,
polishing and replacing pieces touched by rust
I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone

For every mistake and sin for which I have atoned
From the depths of soul another bit was thrust
And still I found nothing more I could have known

Layer by layer, my quilt of life has been sewn
Though not every stitch of each life seam is just
I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone
And still I found nothing more I could have known

***This is my first attempt at a Villanelle Poem
Villanelle:
It is nineteen lines total consisting of five triples and a final quatrain
Poem with six stanzas
The first five stanzas consist of three lines, the final of four
All a’s rhyme and all b’s rhyme with the repetition of lines A1 and A2

Formula:
A1
B
A2

a
b
A1

a
b
A2

a
b
A1

a
b
A2

a
b
A1
A2

Another

Thoughts

Blow in like rings of smoke

And drift off before they can be caught

Clinging to a prism of time

Tangled in all that never was

And all that will never be

Though she is just another patient

To yet another doctor

She is still your mother

And you will except no feeble excuses

In failed attempts to bring her back

On good days she remembers you as a child

Other times she thinks you are the maid

Or perhaps the sister of her childhood

And on the worst of days she screams

As if you are draining the blood from her veins

With no remorse

For the scrape upon her mind

She gets back up on her bike

And rides off into another day

Maybe years ago

When she was young and carefree

Or maybe a time to come

That only she can see

She looks past you when she smiles

As she chases butterflies in open fields

She picks daisies to pluck

The petals of love one by one

And when the ill winds rage

Against her guiltless soul

She pulls her tattered coat tightly

And softly fingers

The button-less holes

One Shot Wednesday

Afterlife

Sarah Lavender

Pretty, purple, fragrant

Your flower of choice

It was only fitting

To plant it in a ceramic pot

And place it upon your tomb

You tend to the growth of it’s life

And I kill it, cutting the stalks

And drying the sweet aroma

To breathe in a bit of you each day

We only exist now

As the living and the dead

Nothing standing between us

But the hard, cold ground

And these damn flowers

 

***This poem was inspired by the line “Who knew that sunflowers stay standing, even when dead?” in the piece titled “Absence of Land” at Filling a Hole. Please pay  a visit to this very talented writer. I think you will feel the power and emotion in her words and want to keep reading more.

In The Ease Of Night

Evening falls

Like a gown slipping

Quietly and effortlessly

Across a golden oak floor

Stars sparkle and dance

Like crystal shimmers

Of a ballroom chandelier

Night eases in and swaddles

Beneath celestial guard of Luna

Bodies tire and surrender

To the visit of Sandman

Until he is whisked away

By the diamond glint of morn

That bursts forth

Like a rushing spring

 

Resurgence

 

The balm of silence does not ensure forgiveness

Any more than living recklessly negates blame

And scratching and rolling in the dirt does not

Suffocate the flames burning upon our hearts

We know the song of the living is not a lament

But a passage to deeper understanding

But who has the right to define our paradise?

Smoldering ash forms ghosts on the ground

While charred flesh rises on wings

We ascend higher than the trees and clouds

Where temptations peel off and fall away

We may splinter and scatter

But always, we survive

And we learn to speak again

****This was first published in Mused (bellaonline.com)

 One Shot Wednesday

Contemplation Of The Smoker

The Smoker – Vincent Van Gogh

Did he smoke away his troubles

Or merely contemplate his life?

Were his day filled with joy and love

Or long hard labor and strife?

 

Maybe he was simply thankful

For those who had passed his way

Maybe he was resting and reflecting

The passing of another day

 

Maybe he toiled the sustaining  fields

And came home to the aroma of a meal

Maybe he roamed the countryside

And living by chance was his deal

 

Maybe he provided for family

Using strength of muscle and bone

Or perhaps he was a solitary man

Who spent his nights alone

 

Maybe he was a faceless man

Simply living life like you or me

Doing the best he could each day

And reaching for all that he could be

 

When he quietly posed for the painter

Did he think the world would want to know

The contemplations of his heart

Or for which way the winds of his soul did blow?

 This is an entry for One Shot Wednesday.

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