Rhyme/Haiku

Sometimes, our patience wears thin

It happens to us all, but then again

Comes peace and good will toward men

 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, WP Writers!!!

Aside

Honor

English: Young Nelson Mandela. This photo date...

English: Young Nelson Mandela. This photo dates from 1937. South Africa protect the copyright of photographs for 50 years from their first publication. See . Since this image would have been PD in South Africa in 1996, when the URAA took effect, this image is PD in the U.S. Image source: http://www.anc.org.za/people/mandela/index.html (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I came across the following quote this morning, hours before an announcement that the great Nelson Mandela had passed away…

“What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived.

It is what difference we have made to the lives of others

That will determine the significance

Of the life we led.”

Nelson Mandela

Rest in peace…your living was not in vain!

Aside

Or Else

Thinker thinks about how to take sun burst shot

Thinker thinks about how to take sun burst shot (Photo credit: davidyuweb)

All eyes fixate

On what lies before them;

All minds create opinions

Of what has been seen..

All brains collect

Data

According to what is produced;

The average, the mean…

From darkest brown

To Amber,

From cerulean blue

To emerald-green…

All eyes see the same –

Every mind works alike,

But opinions often differ

In what has been seen…

Is it because

Of Freedom,

Or could it be

Functionality…

Could it be that both works

Work to produce

The mind’s own rationality…

When raindrops fall,

Do you see mere water,

Or are they

Transparent particles of life…

When you hear a love song,

Does ‘musical piece’ come to mind,

Or imaginings of a melodic overture

From a man dedicated to his wife…

Certainly, all eyes view

The beholden –

Beautiful, physical and natural wonders

Of any given site…

But it is solely

The beholder;

Mind, thoughts, freedom and functionality

Which defines actual sight…

All things creative –

Musical, poetic, colorful, rhythmic,

Seen, heard, and felt

Are remnants of a piece…

Of creativity –

Constructed, balanced and

Made;

The beholder’s

Freedom and functionality bringing you peace…

Our own functionality collects

What we see, hear and feel

In a creative world

Which naturally compels…

All eyes and minds – ears, and hearts

To receive creations freely,

Either the same way – sometimes

Else…

In all

That we give,

And in all

That we create;

Complex reception

Of sights from the site

And peace from the pieces

Define true talent that all alike appreciate!

Aside

The Hunter

Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday prompt is being held by one of my favorite followers of which I am also a ‘followee’ :), Mark Schutter! His blog has beautiful artistry and poems that come straight from his very heart. It is no surprise that he would be hosting FWF while Kellie is away and we are all in continued prayer for her beautiful baby nephew Khole.

The image prompt that Mark provided is of the magnificent ‘blood moon’. See his explanation here. At first sight, my mind immediately went to the historic Scottish Wars of Independence namely the Battle of Neville’s Cross during the time of the blood moon’s rising in October. This site is said to have been the place where David II led his troops to high ground to prepare for more battles after an unsuccessful battle with England‘s army. It is also said that the site’s erection of this stone cross was paid for by Lord Neville himself due to England’s victory of their battle with the Scottish ‘freedom hunters’.

The image of the blood moon symbolizes ‘hunting season‘, so my poem uses this symbolism (with some old Scottish phrases with meanings in the following lines) to portray the fight for the independence of 12th century Scottish people.

 

Old Scottish Sayings: These are brief definitions of some of the sayings in the poem that were not translated in the following lines after the sayings or words:

Dreich – drenched

‘We gie it laldy’ – Do it with gusto

‘Do ye dinger’ – Disapproval, loudly

‘Haud yer wheesht’ – Shhh!

‘Whit’s fer ye’ll no go by ye’ – What is meant will be

‘Fair Puckled’ – Short of breath

‘We’re a Jock Tamson’s bairns’ – We’re all God’s children

‘Lang may yer lum reek’ – Live long, stay well

‘Keep the heid’ – Be calm and wait

‘Mair’ – more

‘Ain’ – own

‘Gunnae’ – Going to

‘Frae’ – from

‘Greet’ – cry

‘Hame’ – home

‘Hoachin’ – busy

‘Failin’ means yer playin’ –  If you fail, at least you tried

 

Here goes!

The Hunter

 

hunters-moon-vegastar-carpentier

  Photo Credit: VegaStar Carpentier Website

Blood moon rises,

time has come;

For Death to prevail,

and survival to be won.

 

“Haste ye back!”

Will  our women say;

The hunter goes out,

Fer a long yonder’s stay.

 

Our harvest has come;

At the time of equinox;

But we must conquer flesh,

And mend our wee flocks.

 

 

A man’s belly must be filled;

With a hearty warm stew;

From that which is hunted

From that which we slew.

 

On the hunt for freedom;

“We gie it laldy, but it’s a dreich day!

Do yer dinger!”,

To England we say.

 

Wet lands hinder;

Cold winds make us weak,

Night is black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat;

“Shhh, haud yer wheesht!”

 

Silently, we approach;

And attack with all our might;

But ‘whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye,

And null was our dinger strike…

 

The hunter is fair puckled;

Long bowmen make us short of breath;

We’re a Jock Tamson’s bairns;

All God’s children suffer death!

 

Safely, the hunter is led to prepare;

Under the shield of Neville’s Cross;

But our souls now linger,

In the heathered moor’s peat moss.

 

The blood moon drips;

With trickles of our life’s creek;

Our last wish for survivors is,

“Lang may yer lum reek!

 

Keep the heid – stay calm!

Accept this wee defeat;

There will be mair battles;

When our ain will nae retreat!

 

Bide ye the next gunnae;

For now, yes – for noo;

We shall hail our ain king,

At the next going to!”

 

Mair blood shall be shed;

“Frae the enemy!”, we greet,

Their hame shall be heathered moors,

Where hoachin’ ghosts linger in moss peat.

 

The blood moon rises;

In the auld lands that very be;

Failin’me ans yer playin’ – “Don’t stop!”

We shall keep the heid until we are free!

 

I hope that these old Scottish sayings did justice to this piece and I hope that you enjoyed! 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aside

Like Us

You know, folk like us – upon our arrival, some things may be wrong

But folk like us are resilient – our souls are so strong

We naturally fight whatever comes against our will

To live, bring happiness, and a peaceful still

No one can choose for us except our own identities

Despite the cries of life’s flaws and frightening pleas

We may look helpless, but in truth we hold power

Just think of where we came from; the universe of life’s shower

Innocence draped and wisdom endowed

All secrets reside inside us as a fully saturated cloud

Waiting to burst forth as we gradually grow

Into who we are ordained to be until we eventually show

That deep existence which reigns when innocence leaves

But we never lose what we were born with – what the blameless eye sees

We cannot be stopped no matter what seems to prevail

Folk like us are mere babes, you know – our being creates life’s trail!

This piece means so much to me because of the current situation in which it is dedicated as well as my childhood experience in being healed from a heart defect. These words go out to Baby Khole (and family) – a very special relative (nephew) of Kellie Elmore who was born with strength and power despite all. I pray that this little man be a living testimony of the reality of miracles. That being said – I believe he will!

 

Aside

Shades of Self

The past couple of weeks have been filled with more family business and a bit of exhaustion. However, I am in the process of researching some issues that are necessary for installment #9 (which may spill into other installments) of Continual Resort, so I am taking my time with the story, although I am excited about having the next part published. I have been thinking about possibly ending published posts at installment #10 or maybe #12, but I’m not sure. I would like to compile all of the installments into a book (probably an ebook for my first time), but I feel that I may be able to add more to it to compose an actual novel or maybe a ‘novelette’, so once I get to the 10th or 12th installment, I will be finishing the story privately until I am ready to either give it away or sell it. I am aware that this may be a rather slow process as I have a lot to learn about self-publishing etc., so any tips that you guys have for me will be greatly appreciated. This process may take quite a while, but I am so excited about making a new move – YAY!

I am also in the process of stocking up on books for this fall (in ebook form or otherwise) from some folks that I follow and who follow me that I am very anxious to take in the stories that they have published. I have already purchased ‘Pathways to Illumination’ by ChristyB at poeticparfait.com – can we say AWESOME??? I also intend to enjoy a novel called ‘The Eyedancers’ in which the first three chapters can be found on the blog which has the same name. Those first chapters truly held me captive and I cannot wait to get the book – this story is so intriguingly suspense filled and wonderful! Among others intended, I also contemplate the purchase of Kellie Elmore’s ‘Magic in the Backyard’ as well as every other book that she has written – naturally!

I intend to thoroughly enjoy the fall months with these works among others, and hopefully one day you will all be able to do the same with mine in due time.

I didn’t add links to the bloggers that I mentioned because I have not yet asked for permission despite the fact that I truly love going to their spaces and indulging in what they have to say and offer. Also, due to my slow technical abilities, I will need to take some allotted time out to get this all done in one post  – hopefully on installment #9 of Continual Resort.

Until then, please go and check these extremely talented writers out – you will be well pleased.

For now, I have written a poem that features colors. I guess this piece is derived from the slew of weirdness that I have experienced over the previous months although things are really peaceful now and have been for a while – hence – the weirdness.

Hope you enjoy! ❤

Shades of Self

On days when my sun beams shadows , I find a Dogwood tree

To find shelter and protection from fearful black rays

Then, night falls and my moon emits a dingy cream spotlight held solely on me

I cannot veer from it, for it menacingly stays

Milky blades of navy grass lay helpless under my feet

Refusing to be the hue that they should be

Nothing is as it was; deliberate, light, and sweet

It seems long forgotten when true colors I could see

Discernment has become impossibility…

Temporarily; until I flee…

From confusing woes and heavy lows

But I shall not remain there

Giving in is not an option behind tangerine dripping blows

That strike as charcoal lines of lightening, sending me on a tear

Pain or pressure, I cannot evenly tell

Which of them laugh at me the most

But I fought back until my brown eyes welled

With tears of wrath, til pink dust flew up as a ghost

Knowing the difference escaped me for a while…

Until intolerance for what beset became vomit-green vile…

The smoke soon cleared, but my skin turned grey

The golden needle of my inner compass failed

Refusing to show me the way

“You – you are a damned liar!” I mutt-brown wailed.

Even though I shouted from a hidden place

Knees shaking, voice in a quiver

Yellow uncertainty covered my face

Still…white, smoldering determination lulled me thither

To that glowing gateway that always stands

Guiding me back to myself

Into the midst of bright familiar lands

To own transparent peace is to have true wealth

Apparently I had been heard

From a murky place somewhere outside

Of myself, for this place reversed my words

The royal violet gateway opened; I no longer needed to hide

Discernment is now a possibility…

I can see clearer this stoic tree…

My shelter now stands alone

Temporarily empty inside and underneath

I have left it and am gone

Away and up out of the depths of the neon indigo heath

Confusion filled woes are replaced

With exactness of what is – as I am

Accepting the imperfections of my space

Releasing my glass-like ethereal dam

My sun beams now, brightly

My moon discreetly does the same

I take not the palette of life lightly

Discernment left briefly, but the aura of strength timely came

The colors don’t really matter much

Unless you take heed

To the revelations and such

That make our hearts bleed

There is a shelter for anyone to run inside

We choose our own locations

We either sink or ride

The waves of our own reservations

In what shade does your sun shine most

Does your night tell all?

Is the color of your strength a protection post…

Lest you fall?

Thanks for reading! 🙂

Aside

Private

There is a place where noone else can go except me

Unless I let one in, no other can be

This space is reserved for those who identify

With me when I laugh, when I shout, when I cry

Not many are invited, this place is private you see

I guess you could think of it as a symbolic VIP

Invitation only

Eliminates being lonely

Sign in and hang your coat

Main rule – don’t come to gloat

About what I have or what I don’t

Your visit will not go well, no it won’t

My bouncer is my soul and will throw you out

Our meeting is not about class, certainly not clout

I am willing to share with all walks of life

But non-mutual competition begets envy and strife

You are who you are just as I am – let it be

Should it be so easy to ruin your acquaintance with me?

I think not, just have some coffee, beer, even tea

Where it goes from here, who knows – we’ll see

Otherwise I can simply sit here by myself

Not contemplating on status or wealth

This is not what life should be geared towards

Rather happiness, satisfaction, and peace – moving forward

If you’d like to join me, you’re welcome to

When you arrive, let right be what you will do

Make the best of your day as well as mine

After all, what is better than spending quality time?

It has to be living as you are and not fretting the rest

Where is your private place? When you find it, don’t settle for less

 

Aside

Bad Blend

I scribbled this down one night while seething in anger. I am looking at it now and it is difficult to read my own handwriting when in that state, but I finally made out the words…here goes.

Bad Blend

My world is my mind,

My life lives in three hearts

My cubbyhole is a box

In which I shall not depart

Although I peek outside

Every now and then

My senses become numb

And can’t say ‘stop’ or ‘when’

Don’t do that again!

After the fire, there are no ashes,

The ‘calm’ disintegrates

I don’t see what I see…

Sad truths are instantly erased

But appeasement

Follows and soothing words sweep up like a broom

The reality of what went wrong

Keeps me from darkest darkness;  impending doom

Though not entranced by shiny objects – rings and things, they all glisten

From sticks to bricks – they all hurt

Except for when I don’t listen

Staying the course can be a many splendor thing

But if not careful, splinters pierce veins

This pain deeply stings

I forgive, but cannot forget

Forgetting is graciously God’s elected job

I am relieved to know that this truth is set

While I without fear violently rob

The thief that comes in

To steal, kill, and destroy

The circle of my love, washed in anxiety

Somehow I maintain naturally induced joy

The spigot of eternity awaits me through dogged faith

I shall remain bold

For fear of becoming lukewarm

As opposed to keeping myself hot and from turning cold

There is a river that flows continually from within

Please let it do what it does –

Undisturbed

To avoid creating new sin

 

This was a little weird for me…I’m still not sure what I was actually trying to express, but I do know that it came from deep inside a burning heart and a mind that was filled with anger and hope all in one mixed up package.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aside

Continual Resort – Part 3 – ‘Cohabitation’

The next morning came as usual with Linda not realizing that she had fallen asleep on top of the covers. With a groggy head, she headed for the shower to wash away the dizzying high that had apparently lasted during her deep slumber. It was Saturday which was always her day to go and get her daughter from her mother who lived only about half an hour away. It was a neighborhood that was slightly better than the one she grew up in. Sheralyn now lived in a house which was improvement number one. Where Linda had grown up was a horse of a different color in that their front  yard consisted of the dirty confined space in front of their trailer. Sheralyn had an actual lawn now. The environment was not plagued with chemically dependent individuals who had time bombs for tempers, and the area was clean. Everyone pretty much minded their own business with the exception of that one nosy neighbor that most neighborhoods have the pleasure of knowing, even if not by choice.

While brushing her hair back and binding it with a scrunchy into the usual ponytail that she wore daily unless she was going out for a night of fun, Linda thought back to the small dorm sized refrigerator that housed eggs, milk, ice cream, and not much else.  Although they also kept an ample supply of potato chips,  boxed cakes, and canned meats in their little cabinet, the idea of home cooked meals was a mere fantasy because back then, they never knew when they would have to pack their garbage bags and boxes, head out, and leave for another trailer.

Linda truly felt that her mom wanted to do better in those days because she eventually did, but at that time, it was easier said than done.  Her father – Stanley Wright, had been working for a local mechanic shop that helped him to provide somewhat, but he did not feel that what they had in their small abode was enough, and when he decided to hook up with some fellows in the park to run a lab in one of the vacant trailers, things were good need-wise, but this ride was short-lived. Linda was sure that her sister just as she would never forget the day that the NARCS  burst through their door and made everyone inside lay face down – guns in position while other officers tore their home apart creating much more clutter than what already existed, and later handcuffing her dad (who had nowhere to hide) and taking him away. With no money for his wife to bail him out, it was the last day that Linda remembered seeing her father. With a charge of five years, there was no way that Sheralyn could help him, and over that five year span, Sheralyn and her children assumed that Stan had gone on with his life somewhere else, with someone else…with a new life…somehow.

Despite Stan’s angry outbursts of frustration that often became violent – however, brief incidents involving Sheralyn, Linda had vowed to herself the day that she turned fourteen that no man would ever treat her that way. “One hell of a birthday gift.” Linda thought aloud. Her torn feelings about her parents’ actions and her love for her otherwise happy-go-lucky but seriously  paranoid father crept up through the back stairwell of her memories like a medieval king shouting death penalizing orders from his throne to armored knights who would drag a fort encamped kingdom invader to the guillotine to suffer his inevitable demise.  “His severed head on a platter is my wish.”, the king would say as Linda imagined her dad’s loud yells at herself, sister, and mother to just sit down and shut the fuck up for a friggin’ minute so that he could friggin’ hear himself think. If there had only been shouts and yells, Linda felt that they all could have dealt with these outbursts a little easier had it not been for the whiskey bottles, ammonia containers, shoes, and anything else that he could get his hands on to throw before ultimately knocking her mother off of her feet just before profusely apologizing to the two young girls who were forced to watch in horror.

During these incidents, Sheralyn would usually get herself up as quickly as possible to show her girls that she wasn’t actually hurt, but the truth rang loudly when on this particular occasion, she did not rise immediately and Linda’s older sister ran to a neighbor to get help. All in all, Sheralyn never made a trip to the hospital in hopes that she would prevent her children from being taken away.  Linda remembered her mother sitting while holding an ice pack on her face as she and her sister sang “Happy Birthday”. Stan had stormed out in frustration and did not return until the next morning.

Her mother was determined that a better life, environment, and day would come to them if she could only make it ‘this time.’ Sheralyn would explain to the girls on those nights that though things looked bad, she still loved them and that their lives would get better.

Though they were young, Linda and Sheryl knew full well that their mother had gotten herself into a situation that was practically impossible to get out of, but with their mother’s constant and seemingly empty explanations, they still had hope that what she was telling them would one day come to pass.

With a splash of cold water from the bathroom tap and a shake of her head, Linda washed away the negatives that always greeted her in the mirror each morning. Showered, dressed, and without a second thought, Linda made her way to the kitchen for a glass of juice before taking off for her mom’s house. “Shit…should’a known better…I’ll just stop and get some on the way back.” Grabbing her purse and heading for the front door, Linda knew that Donny had left the empty jug of orange juice lying dormant in the refrigerator. It didn’t matter…she’d had her good time too, but by it being the weekend, she would need another jug for them both. The apartment complex was enough for their lifestyle accompanied by occasional parties, gatherings, and important company, but she still hoped for something better just like her mom, and she would have it someday…by any means necessary.

She did not deserve to wait endlessly whether Donny worked his ass off or not, she needed more – she and her baby would get it – as soon as she could manage, and in the meantime, she would make sure that while Brianne  was in her custody she would eat as well there as she did while at her mom’s house. “M’kay, gotta stop at the store too, no biggie.” All plans in order, Linda had made her way down the stairs and to her car with her thoughts clear and ready for the day ahead.

Donny’s Night…

His confusion and unease had finally simmered once he’d had enough drinks. The orange juice was gone and there was just enough vodka for one more drink, but at that time, he did not feel like travelling the five-minute walk to the store for more. He knew that Linda had to go get Brianne from her grandmother’s house and upon noticing, would also stop for more juice. By the same token, he realized that Linda knew that he would be bringing in a fresh bottle of vodka along with other treats. Although he had enjoyed the buzz from the night before, he did not end up falling asleep, but rather up with pen and pad which sat on his end table to hurriedly jot his thoughts until he could get to his father’s house to file his entries and save them. He could not wait for the day to come when he had his own laptop where he could continue building his collection of rhymes, and hopeful lyrics that he dreamed would someday become a reality once published and accepted by any famous producer or at least anyone – famous or not – who was willing to hire him as a songwriter.

His father did not support him or his dreams except for allowing him to save his weekly entries  as long as he promised not to post anything publicly. “I know I raised you better than this boy! Why can’t you just face facts and get into the business like I’ve worn my head grey trying to convince you for the past seven years? It’s just no damn sense talking to you, so go on and write your little words, so you can get the hell outta here! How can I call you my son when I have to watch you screw up your life day after day? Well…know this…you  will either shit or get your ass off of  the damn pot, cause I’ll be damned if I’ll give you another stinkin’ penny when you’re hell-bent on layin’ up with that tramp thinkin’ I’m gonna keep helping you. Write your shit and be gone!”

He listened to the same lecture each weekend, but Donny dealt with it along with swiping up the rubber bands from newspaper subscriptions that his father so graciously elected to save for him which would be lying on his kitchen table. As weird as it seemed to him, Donny accepted his father’s rejection, anger, and collection of rubber bands knowing that he had committed an unforgivable sin in not following his footsteps in the family business, but his words as Donald Sr. called them had led him to instead follow his heart and mind. It was a fact of life that could not be helped.

Aside

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