Silent Words and Words of Love

Sometimes writing gets you up at 1:00 am. Sometimes words keep you up until 2:00 am. Then there are the words which cut and divide and cruelly damage. Launched by l self-loathing people who cannot understand how to be kind and loving and gentle.

I get it. Their history of damage from childhood haunts their every living moment. They don’t even realize their cruelty. They hide that cruelty behind religion, title, and any other justification they may find.

In the end, they just remain cruel, sick people who create more cruel, sick people. They pass their damage on to others. For whatever reason, they must inflict pain. Those types of words kept me up tonight. The ones which damage most are not the spoken vitriol but the underlying messages of hate.

Silent Words

Words you speak which no one hears
Rends a heart in two, a young girl’s tears
Vicious nature rides emotions’ cause
Body language bites as talons’ claws

Heartless woman who knows no love
Claiming Christ from high above
A liar to all but those who suffer
Behind closed doors, there stands no buffer

Words you speak with tones and motion
Leave nothing behind the startling notion
You embrace only that which flies cruel
Pain and crying your delightful fuel

One day you’ll find the taste, so bitter
From each of your down-beaten litter
For when karma raises its mighty head
Then YOU’LL know what composes dread

For all the love you’ve consistently withheld
No caring. No loving. No gentleness. No meld.
Shall rise up in life to haunt your death
When you wish they’d be there for your final breath

Which will serve only to free their pain
That you’ll never throw them harm again
For now, winter still rules your heart
Nothing left. No one there. No place to start.

Words you speak which no one hears
Silent weapons built on tears
Become useless tools left on display
When its only you which the devices flay

Silent words backed by constant poking
Gutter mouth like a gun that’s smoking
When will you ever learn the language of peace?
Never

I cannot leave my dreams to this lot. I must find something to bring a smile to life in my heart. I suppose this will be a two-poem night/morning!

Words of Love

Jet black hair means little to me now.
Once it would
Simmering, smoky eyes of intrigue no longer lure me
Once they would

Today when I search a smile
I need only look to the seed
Planted in my heart by a loving soul
A woman so beautiful, I’ve never met her

No, no. She’s real
No, no. She’s all that and more
No, no. We’ve never spoken
Though I do imagine her voice,
Its tone
Her accent

All I possess of her are her words
Not just any words
Words of peace
Words of encouragement
Words of admiration
Words of brilliance

Words of love

Most people know love only as a physical meeting and consummation
I’m blessed
I know love as hope redeemed
I know love as a concept fulfilled
I know love as words written from truth
I know love as connection outside the modern norm
I know love as two writers who admire each others’ truths
I know love as two humans on this earth in the same era finding each other through insurmountable odds
Ultimately, I know love is this

Love is real
Thank you my midnight lady
You on your walks of solitude repairing from your day
Me in my midnight musings of truths I wish to speak

My Grecian Urn friend
May we each remain in this life with the other in our heart
My dearest friend
I know abiding love as…

You

Good! Now I may go to sleep! LOL!

When Love is Stolen Away

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When Love is Stolen Away

A kiss
A cuddle
A stroll through the night

All become broken dreams
All feel lost it seems
All arrive as shattered illusions
When love is stolen away

A smile
A feather touch
A romantic interlude

All feel distant as the stars
All impersonal as passing cars
All bring their solemn melancholy
When love is stolen away

A day
An hour
A moment’s passion
When a mere kiss could likely happen
Resisted like a plague’s nefarious promise
Desire whimpers under the duress brought on
When love is stolen away

A life
A breath
An inner smile

All phoenix-prepared from rising ashes
All part and parcel of love’s inner clashes
All collected for baby-step rebirth
When love is stolen away

A thought
A commitment
A devotion to self
All gather from their dusty shelf
All coalesce to form a new perspective
All construct a new directive
All protect from the very start
The stirrings in a broken heart
When love is stolen away

The hand
The fingers
The gentle touch
May never be stolen all that much
As love and soul and inner essence
Still recognize their effervescence
Emotional health alive and well
Thief relegated to their personal hell
The experience necessary and just as well
When love was stolen away

To this day a smile returned
An inner landscape once so burned
A heart once cruelly, cruelly spurned
Emotions roiled, violently churned
Yes that smile is now truly earned
Because love will never be stolen away

When I Write

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When I Write

When I write, a million years go by
Phrases captured in the wink of an eye
Words which sometimes make me cry
All to find my love

For fame nor fortune ever calls
To drive me forward past these walls
Only searching for the balls
To write my simple truths

When writing gives me doubts and fits
When solace only comes in bits
Of passions broken, I always know that its
All about my love

My love for life and all its stings
My love for the emotion passion brings
My love for truth, concepts and higher things
To fill my struggling soul

When I write, a million years go by
Like our lives ending in the blink of an eye
One day may it be I never die
Without the love of words

For without them there would be no songs
No apologies to right our wrongs
I always know where I belong
Behind my keyboard’s screen

I pray my passion’s never stolen from me
There’s no one who I’d rather be
Than the man who creates alchemy
With words flowing from my heart

When I write, a million years go by
No lack of laughter or tears I cry
Passions ever soaring past our sky
It’s all about my love

…………………… of writing

 

Quick author’s note:

Yesterday on a lark I entered the 24 Hour Short Story Contest. As the title suggests, you get 24 hours to construct a short story based upon a prompt that gets sent out at noon Central Time. You must use all or part of the prompt to build your story. One hour before the contest began, I was fortunate to be able to enter. Often the contest sells out due to a limit of 500 entries.

My purpose for entering was to see if I still had it. The mojo. The short story, creative drive. The word count this quarter (the contest runs every 3 months) was merely 875 words. I headed to Panera Bread, connected to the wifi, ordered my food, and wrote.

There’s something amazing in the creation of a short story. It’s the instant gratification of writing. The quick payoff which helps spark the fire. I know I can write a gadzillion more off ANY prompt. That’s a feeling and a confidence for which I am grateful.

I write this for two reasons. One is that I need to maintain my belief in my writing abilities, my confidence in the same, and trust that no matter what anyone else thinks or says, I have composed a “truth” of sorts.

The second reason is this: I meet people every day who own a dream. They possess, deep inside, something they desire to accomplish. We may talk about fear and courage and work ethic and a truckload of other symptomatic reasons for squelching these dreams. Belief. Confidence. Trust. IN YOURSELF! In my experience, this is where you begin.

Believe in your dream, the one where your passion fires you up. Nurture your confidence not in you pleasing others with your dream and passion, but that you please yourself. Trust in your inner compass which drives you to create. To strive.

Our world, inside ourselves and without, is a smoldering ball of negativity and dismay. Apathy rules nearly every aspect of the “Communications Age.” When you examine the fear mongering our corporations, governments, medical/pharmaceutical industries, and even families hoist upon us, blatant and subtle, it’s no wonder so many people lose sight of their dreams.

Your answers always lie within, not without. Believe. Confidence. Trust. Yourself…

Whether my story “wins” the cash prize or not, I garnered the biggest “win” of all. I wrote a story that I like. It flowed from me with an ease which, even after all these years of writing, surprised me. The writing healed me. Emboldened me. Fired up my enthusiasm. My belief. My confidence. My trust.

May each of you who read this find the same joy when you pursue your dream.

There’s Far More Before Than After…

There’s Far More Before Than After

He’d never known of poverty until he lived without love
He’d never known a day of work until he lost his appetite for life
He’d never known the loss of love until he found his freedom
He’d never seen a sunrise until there weren’t so many left
He’d never shed true tears of pain until she left so cruelly
He’d never found the warmth of love until he found himself lonely
He’d never met this world’s true beauty until he lost his will to seek it
He’d never learned what pain was for until he patched his broken heart
He never knew the joy of work until his back informed him
He never knew how love could work until he heard its death sigh
He never cared to be alone until he observed many people
There’s so much wisdom outside his brain than ever could it enter
A woman’s touch knew no disgrace until he found her lying
The purchase of his feet on earth meant less than his heart for others
The beauty of a woman’s smile falls silent in her ego
The sadness in his heart at night glares sullen from an empty pillow
He never filled his heart with abundant joy until his hands failed its bleeding
The search for meaning dies in diligent effort while regaled by simple feeling
Love knows no truth in life until its death tests boundaries
I know I know so much less each day the more I learn life’s complexities
I know I know more truth of life when I allow my mind to simplify
Her heart strolls a midnight air his breath may only beg for
While he strolls his own midnight scene in hope one day he’ll see her
A smile may only live sincere when blossomed in love’s own cemetery
He cherished so many aspects of life more so in their limited longevity
Those who hold this life’s material fast miss the point of their impending death
Hard labor never killed a spirit until one loses hope’s silent presence
Sleep deferred for creativity’s sake delivers the sated rest of peace within
His wisdom lie before him spread – an empty paper and a loaded pen
May you know the pain of love – examined and survived
May you see your hopeless life – rekindled and revived
For when you give up on all you’ve ever dreamed – you’re nearly almost there
May we discover its not our place to know it all – but more to find life’s where.

But Death…

But Death…

When…
You no longer trust words
Life feels out of bounds
Love locked in its dungeon of pain
Loneliness crumbles the stalwart back

When…
Futures die faster than nanosecond thoughts
Daily life conjures nothing
Moments become self-seeking spears in flight
Sunshine beats down like an atomic furnace

When…
Hope lies as a broiled and wasted castoff
Tears flow with no healing effect
Thoughts twinkle as broken chards
You face another day…

Then all which entwines your essence together
Must seek to discover a reason
A purpose
A smile
An action
Anything to place one foot in front of the other
For nothing greets one who lies down in resignation
But death of mind, spirit, and soul…

Most Die on the Vine

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Most Die on the Vine

I look at life so different these days
I see trees of green, skies of blue
I also see withering leaves feebly feeding a healthy mind

I look at life different these days
I’ve only just begun to live
I also see discarded nourishment all around

Life is different these days
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
I also now think the only sun in any eyes rise in my own

Life these days
For you, there’ll be no more crying
I also know as long as there remains breath, heartache skulks

These days
Would you know my name
I also know my name is less important than who I am

Days
Hello darkness my old friend
I also know that while darkness may be found in broad daylight, darkness is not as unfriendly as we think

Days look at my life
I hurt myself today
I also know when I purpose to achieve presence in the “now” pain melts like summer ice creams

Days look at my life differently
Who can say where the road goes
I also know, despite the world’s onslaught at homogenization, we build our own paths if we dare…

Tranquility’s Song

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Oh my! When the muse calls, sometimes we listen. When the muse stomps her silent feet, her thunder demands attention. Three o’clock in the morning presents itself as a sacred time for me – I love my sleep. Yet the shrine of this time rests more directly in the creative realm. Good things come from allowing myself the transgression of writing to mar my unconsciousness.

When she, the muse of course, awakes your soul and requires your attention, the experience is best addressed by passive power. You do not direct the words which pour through your consciousness, you allow them to flow and set their own patterns. Be sensitive for their desire for life and form of constitution, not your own will.

These concepts woke me this day…

Tranquility’s Song

To dance in your eyes
It’s not that they see
It’s more where they go…

To melt with your heart
It’s not that it feels
It’s more how it thrums the key of life

To connect our souls
It’s not that we’re the same
It’s more when they touch truth together

To fall into passion
It’s not as much physical
It’s more why we hold trust so dear

To share finite time together
It’s not that we fill time holes
It’s more who we aspire to become

To dance in your eyes, melt with your heart, connect our souls, surrender to passion, share ethereal time, reveals the beauty and serenity life offers if only we relax into that which we hold dear from our eternal depths which may only be accessed through mysterious knowledge.

Take my hand and explore forever from our temporal perspective on a tranquil ridge on the cusp of the eternal universe…

The End of the World

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The End of the World

I witnessed the end of the world
Awakened in panic
White cylindrical cloud ushering ever skyward
Miles and miles away
Yet robust
And thick
And far too close

I witnessed the end of the world
Snapped to high alert in my dream
A sprint to her room
Where my young daughter lay face down
Crying
Aware she would not see adulthood
No words to say
No words to say
No words to say

I witnessed the end of the world
Vivid in my psyche
Panic in my heart
Defeat in my soul
Even as I lived this day out with no repercussion
The message rings clear
We exist as fools
Our modern bullshit technologies cloak reality
Our intellect finally ran its course
What remains of humanity’s hope blubbers like an infant
While death stalks our entire race

I witnessed the end of the world
Where rise the leaders of peace?
Where?
Look.
Open your eyes.
They do not exist in our governments
They do not exist in our religions
They do not exist in our corporations
All three feed on war despite their crocodile tears
All three feed on strife
Mayhem
Death

I witnessed the end of the world
While the terrific white mushroom cloud may eat us all
We truly lost the world long ago
1984 rises more real each day
Absurdities rule the race,
All suffer on some level
All cry
Digital distraction only hollows us more

I witnessed the end of the world
Who could condemn my sweet daughter to horrific death?
What monsters roam our power mongers
Make no mistake, none live without taint
When will we see?
When will we pay attention?
Will we?
Ever?

There’s only one outcome from the bickering and fighting…

Those Were the Days…

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I remember as a wee lad I would build forts and houses in the great outdoors of our back yard. I constructed them of big boxes at first. “Big tended to be relative to my size, of course.

I quickly found the durability of such abodes to be somewhat suspect. I graduated to wood by using an old wooden gate over the corner of our chain link fence and wedged into the base of our largest Lombardi Poplar. This arrangement worked well as I had an upstairs deck on top of the gate and a downstairs below.

I even came across some old carpeting for the downstairs and built walls attached to the fence out of boxes. I carpeted the top of the gate as well so as to keep in heat in the colder months as this all happened in late autumn in West Virginia.

I’ll never forget running up to the railroad tracks and collecting coal that had fallen off passing trains. We lived four houses down from the tracks. The intention was to burn the coal for heat. After all, I’d watched my father cook hamburgers using charcoal. Coal is coal, right?

The lack of a heat source did not serve as my only disappointment. No matter how many matches I used, I simply could not get that coal to heat up. Rain became the larger nemesis.

One gloomy day, I spent quite a while shoring up all the leaks and drips in my little mansion. The effort felt gallant, yet nothing I did corrected the construction issues. The sound of the raindrops, incessant and unforgiving, stuck with me my entire life. Even now, over fifty years later, I can listen to the rain and feel the hopelessness.

This night, as rain cascades from the sky, off the roof, and splashes into puddles, I feel the forlorn truth of temporal life. Strange that I felt this so young. I felt the impermanence of everything. I felt the truth that none of us would get out alive.

Of course, I did not know much of death and the end of things. For much of my life I believed many things would always be there. Like pay phones. Bottle caps on soft drinks. Forget 8-tracks, I thought cassettes would be around forever as well as albums and even CD’s. And whatever happened to canned blueberries in the grocery stores?

But I digress. So many things I cherished and loved turned out to be temporary. My little mansions, my collectables, my relationships. The very lives of people I loved. Not simply stolen by death, but some whose memories got ravaged by age.

I thought Bradbury and Asimov and Heinlein would always chuck out an endless supply of heart-thrilling scifi. I thought Monty Python would be there forever to make me laugh and smile as well as Benny Hill. I thought Sophia Loren would remain a picturesque goddess forever. I thought my youth would never die.

I once even believed I would find the answers. The answers to the big questions. Little did I realize the big questions would not only never be answered, for the most part, I never asked the biggest ones until age taught me how. Now I wonder at how I could ever have thought that I knew anything of life.

Rolling thunder. Lightning flashes. Rain. My youth. My Spirit. My life. Linking what remains of my future to a more realistic life view not only becomes important but necessary. Positive thought processes and a retraining of my mind does not portend to be a simple undertaking. et, the only way to move forward and achieve my goals is to solve the riddle of negativity which at times prevents me from stepping into my truth and my best destiny.

I should be sleeping. My midnight muse keeps tugging at my heart. Time for a poem before sleep…

Those Were the Days

Autumn leaves piled high for jumping
Chasing. Running. Hearts a-pumping.
At no time would my world change
Yet now life appears so very strange.

People aren’t as good as they seem
Existence lost its youthful sheen
Dreams no longer feel just out of hand
Not from the view, not where I stand.

Yet good things come to those who strive
A sense of purpose, staying alive
Age defines only the mindset we allow
No retreat in life, only here and now.

Tomorrow’s numbers has shrunk one more day
I call my dreams to lock in and stay
Though altered a bit from their once lofty perch
I continue to strive, forsake not the search.

For we’re all living the truths we concede
But I pursue the one’s I believe
I stroll my path a single man, alone
Not my original vision, not the tone.

I’ll continue my trek through the older of days
I’ll shrug of indifference, apathy, dismay
My words will carry me home to my world
Whence legacy and memory will then be unfurled.

I write.
I seek.
I grow.
I learn.

One day I’ll know. I’ll see. I’ll discern.

For now let’s simply walk and enjoy our lives
Yes, let’s do this, you, dear reader and I.

 

Ayesha’s Song

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Ayesha’s Song

I sense you there, in the dark

Petite, lithe, stormy eyes, lovely.

I hear your tears

Sail soft on your cheeks.

Sadness travels an ocean south

Riding waves like valiant messengers

Ears beckon to hear the words

Soul craves the gentle touch.

Dreams nestle your chin on my chest

Scent – exhilarating, touch – divine

Dance, oh the dance,

Silence, made thunder

Fingers thrill in the stroke of your hair

Damp shoulder, monument to trust

Completion, companion, compatriot, friend

I lend you my hand in the words I send

Allow hope to stir in your beautiful heart

Allow peace a chance, a brace, a start

Please, please receive kindness and know

Love sprouts in odd places and aspires to grow.

She once wrote me these words, addressed to this then untitled poem, “Forgive me Michael… Just write your beautiful poems… please promise me, you’ll never stop. Every word speaks to my heart. Just write…. it’s the highest form of loving.”

Writing. It’s power should never be discounted. It’s worth should never be questioned.

I am grateful for Ayesha’s support, wisdom, and strong influence on my life which in turn enhances my writing.