Tag Archives: poetry

The Struggle

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How troubles find me in these fields
wrapped in petals, among smothering weeds
Deeply inhaling fresh damp earth, as I
dig deeper to sow these seeds

Like freckles lost in newborn skin,
each blemish quaintly smoothed
This face reflecting every end –
A profile still unmoved

Knowing all a heart can know,
yet seeking so much more
Praying for death as I chase new life
Self-abandoned for the One I adore

Holding steady to a centered peace
while I heel-toe on the ledge
Begging for a safe reprieve, as I’m
drawn closer to the edge

So much lies within these walls
where windows threaten to shatter
Taking cover amid hallowed halls
to escape the earthly chatter

Sirens call out with their charms,
flickering moth to flame
Darkness woos with candied tongue
Now, thoughts are dipped in shame

Herein lies the shifting lever
to this tug-of-war inside
Can compromise buy out my fervor
and gently cloak these eyes?

There is no price that can be paid
to resurrect the Light
But treasures bartered in the lay
intensify the fight

Steadfast is the soul’s one cry
while dust drifts towards the sea
The sun and moon in this spirit lie;
my struggle with humanity

Elements

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Rolling tide breaks free
of ocean’s gravity
rising high to regain pride and
defy placement amongst the calm

Fullest awe then folds and crashes
birthing fields of foamy laughter
knowing molds no longer guide
complacent paths

All is still, but only resting
til next moment comes arresting
springing up above horizon
new day’s shore

Spirit tide you are my core.

Billowed cloud no longer gray
drops of darkness cast away
kissed by earth in heaven’s way
to subdue the flustered puff

Nearly empty of its weights
angels blow to dissipate
chains lingering in the sails
so it may float

Drifting deeply into currents
taking risks without assurance
owning nothing but the riches
of its Maker

Heart cloud you are my center.

Cloaked in afterthoughts of day
granting moon the gift of sway
leaving wolves to howl their cries
in murky skies

Sun takes rise against its rival
summons Light for all survival
granting mercy’s liberation
to the flawed

Upon grace its rays are burning
tempered fury for the undeserving
flames command the storms of life
revere its source

Soul sun you are my force.

Aboideau

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It swings both ways…
the door between
my contagious charms
and the burn behind your gaze
Your phase is just a meltdown,
a falling into what can never sustain
These bones refuse to sink into
shifting sands that sift through
shallow, weakened walls…
Arms unloaded and locked, not meant
to understand the tides that
stir this spirit’s pause
I pray you feel this cause
Rejecting moods of reckless man,
praise rides wild on doting breaths
my soul cannot contain;
a force that gnaws at soulless limbs
which wish such love was tamed
Unashamed and hanging in defeat,
loosed tongues wield whetted blades;
prepping now a victor’s march as if
such things can cut these flames
This source knows no retreat,
a Will of power beyond my own,
seized in the Light that never dims,
a joy with an unceasing roar, but you’re
standing at my door, wearing
eternity in your glare,
darkness furies in your stare
And I, fully aware of the
Heart who holds my own,
wonder which you fear more…
the power of Glory within
or the sight of the open door

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Time waits

while I run

This ferocity of action

charged by expectations

only a madman can measure

This treasure – gifted curse

of accommodation

Pockets too deep to

not pay the costs

Cashing out this well of

blood, sweat and tears that

I remit with a smile

The meanwhile, as meager as it is,

gives way to tender moments and

fits of fury, competing

to be my resting place;

mere seconds of redemption in an

ongoing whirlwind of others’

and self-imposed demands

Wants get met under the

delusion of necessity, the

compromise of humanity, the

sacrifice of sanity

But I’m still thinking…

Annoyed and intrigued,

wagers pour their pockets into

the kitty riding on my survival

I hear their whispers

I know their bets

I feel their air,

but won’t breathe it in

Those clouds are too high

and too low for my sustenance

Not for sport –

Existence is an art; drawn and

choreographed by circumstance;

painted and performed by me

I always have a choice

Yoked

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Drenched in this haze,
thoughts fog over,
racing for first place
on this toiler’s agenda

When did a day’s quota
morph into the barely bearable,
dismissing into hiding
the center of my conscience?

Highbrow schemes milk my
dreams of creative serenity,
sourcing these gifts
for political twists and antics

Operating in degrees of
FRANTIC
because self-definitions hang
in the balance of public acceptance

My tasks…
frame it, mold it and package it
for consumption by the masses,
facilitating ineptness into logical discourse

This voice,
straddled by sacrifice to
deliver someone else’s vice
with beautiful embellishment

Distorted weight on what’s valuable
in eyes that can’t really see through
the smokescreen of my penmanship;
my art bastardized for a paycheck

Not a mid-life shortchanging, but a
tool for navigating shifting waters in a
draining well of opportunity where
shallow breaths and thick skin are commodities

But these native sighs are heavy
and this veiled film, so thin; tenderly
living within, defiantly existing without…
two realities yoked to one heart

I’ve never not thrived in duplicity;
advancing and retreating,
the spoils and the victor,
the lioness lamb whispering roars

All of them, witnesses to the quiet
power of these keystrokes;
deafened to the thunderous passions
of these thoughts

Muffled praises for this dripping
of residue they cannot compose
fall faint beside this screaming soul,
composing words they will never hear