This is life

More from 379 Jefferson Street...

A wild runs in my blood. It
rages to be free of the cage -
that is my life. I growl and threaten
to no avail. They take what is rightfully
mine, as I will take theirs

when my time here is done.

A wild beats in my raw heart. It
burns to be unleashed and uncontrolled;
I am in the savage seas, tempestuous,
against battered shores of my
captors. When I leave, they shall be

empty, and I will laugh.

A wild lives in my soul. It
is my destiny, my nature, to fight the chains
that bind me. And I will fight, even if
it destroys me. I am the wild, as it is
me: the very essence of life. Unchallenged,

untamed, undenied, I will be free.

Excerpt:

Poetry
I wouldn’t care for the words by poets
When they hadn’t expressed feelings at all
Because they are just empty words on
Lifeless paper, and nothing real (like me or you)

Full poem here.

It is a cliché, they say. But I can’t be bothered by what’s truth and what is irony. I only wish now that hard rain poured on me. The path I’ve stayed has worn through the soles of my heels and I feel the ground move against me. The wrath I feel has been born on whose account to feel the heavy pound rise against me. It is fate, they debate. Tonight I can tell how hard I fell on that misguided tour. I’m longing after long gone, and I only wish to be proven more.

It’s ended in the worst sentiments between lovers. The park benches are abandoned and the museum paintings preserved. I’ve lied to you once before and I won’t tell it to you twice. It’s marked 2 o’clock and I surrender to my bed for the afternoon. My head is a mess but nothing’s amiss. The bed sheets rewind to proper and the paper folded and tucked in a corner.

What were you thinking when you pretended sleep as you fall through my arms and we melded? While I thought I kissed you and you were in a pleasant dream, your hair in my hand as I held it? Now, I won’t question this revelation of a secret. We’ll just stay as it was, haunting and riveting across the park. They’ll never know we were there, no evidence of our fingerprints in the rust because our feet took us away quickly as we bit the dust.

I fill you with the excerpts of my hasty decisions. You accept them without any hesitations. We said farewell later on, tracing our steps with the course of the stars. Our words rhyme with how they were painted upon. I see you turn and twirl in your pretty dress.

Into the shadows, I muster

The courage I have never desired

Into the curtains, I mutter

The secrets that I’ve tried to design

For all the right reasons to speak in a different tongue

I took that walk right off the path and went in circles

My music in my ears and my sentiments on my tongue

I began to speak

 

My hands shook from my held back tears

My feet aching a longing for a walk with you

I mouthed the lyrics of the song that made my heart beat

I began to sing

Can I forget you,
And your memories-sweet?
Can I need you not,
After all we've been through?
Could I find one day
That my heart loves another,
That my soul's bond is not of one trail?
Could I, in my need of you
Mingle my heart's life in another's cup?
Would I falter in my love,
Looking in another's eyes?
Would I learn to love another,
If I tried?
Should I need you less
When I could have so much more?
Should I run from this fate
So beset with baleful sorrows?

No. Nay. Never.
I love you, I love you.
I love you, and only you.
What is time to me, when it stands still
Whenever you leave my world?
What is joy, if not mingled
In your delightful sour-sweetness?
What is a silver lining in the clouds
If the sun is absent from the sky?
What is peace,
If all that's left is empty loneliness?

You cry a lot,
You mope at times.
You laugh at me,
You belittle me too, sometimes.
You can be mean,
You can be nasty,
You could be all I really didn't need right now.

But...
You make me smile,
You make me sing,
You make love last
And shine through in everything.
You keep me company
Even when you and I are both blue.
You hate me,
And still tell me you love me too.

And I do need you,
Love you
More than you will ever know.
I dare not speak of letting you go.
I dare not hope for anything more than this?
For whomever else, could make me swoon
And know pure joy in the simple boon of a kiss?

You are love to me.
You are the spice of life.
My love.
I love you.

The bitter wind cut through
As razor sharp as needles
Penetrating skin and bone
I could not see
And relied on the guidance
Of passing lights
Foot falls were anticipated
Seeking new, hidden dangers
As feather-white precipitation
Sashayed to the ground
And off in the frozen horizon
I heard your call
But as we crossed paths
There was no warmth
Between eye to eye
We were strangers

© Donna Roberts

all broken hearts and broken skin
eventually need some medicine
eyes dull and brain coughing up
images of pain
nerves taut and ears sharpened
to the point of no return
now only the path
leading towards madness
is the easiest road to take

your hands could mold love into perfection,
or break every
single
thing.

The trains don't run on New Year's Day.
We had no need for tickets anyway,
prompted to take the chance
to walk the tracks
as we'd always wanted to.
You can't say it's not one
of life's finer pleasures,
laying down your destination on the rails
and following to see where it takes you.
All the same
it had been the thrill of uncertainty
that had brought us here.

He played gymnast,
balancing on beams and dancing over rocks
as I made to topple him, grinning
(and feeling, rather blissfully)
like a five-year-old
set free from rules
and the threats of authority.

And when we reached the bridge
the tracks formed on the river
I kept on,
intrigued at whether or not he
would follow.
I looked back at him;
his hesitation was palpable
but follow he did,
and then I could not doubt him anymore.
We both shivered
from the cold
and the danger
of what should happen if a foot were to catch
or the wind were to blow too fiercely.
He kept at my side
faithfully
and we didn't quite make it out to the middle
as our courage failed us at last.
But the thought that we might have
or one day could
was enough of an adventure for today.

We strolled across the footprints we'd left
and raced back into town,
oblivious,
and I thought it so unfair that I couldn't enjoy him like this
every second,
that I would never appease his desires;
for it was not me
whom he had eyes for.
I knew not if one such existed,
but it was clear it was not --
nor ever would it be --
me.

So I delighted in his presence
at the stagnant trainyards,
grateful for his time
and that he called me friend,
and playfully, lover.
And I half-wished there had been a train
to act as a quick getaway
to remove him from my mind
to make the day worth it.

Instead I watched the tracks,
motionless and ready to receive,
and all of a sudden I needed
more than trains and submarines,
more than tracks that lead nowhere,
more than this.

--dlf

i'm standing at
the edge

and the world is at
my feet

and it's waiting right under
my nose

just waiting for me
to leap

Note: This is by no means meant as an insult to Jesus. The man is fantastic, even though I am an atheïst - I was raised as a Christian. Please don't read if you are a strict believer and have a problem with Jesus being mentioned in silly poetry with a deeper thought.

Excerpt:

Couching
The spoons that sprung from the cupboard
Leaving their spouses, the cups far behind
Hid safely behind the large red couch, aboard
Of the dust bunny ship a-sail away to the far

The rest can be found here.

A distant echo called my name.
Shaking the tiniest nerve that pounds-
Softly and gently-I can't help to turn around.
I paused a while,
listened to the intense beat it spake.
It burns a hole in my chest, i can hardly breathe,
So bizarre I've fallen wild.
I pleaded back.
And then the echo cast a spell:
through depths of love and hate,
only itself could break.

Yes, I do remember this place
how the moonlight glows here
wait has it been that long?
I blame the rabbit hole
I stood to near  the edge
and  fell and fell

My notebooks, my pens
I stir the dust of ages
how faded these pages be
yet I know those words
I spoke them once
and I fell and fell

"Hello" echoes
but no answer
stacked are my thoughts
how neat I left them
row after row after row
and I fell and fell

Now I have returned
the gates are open
the bridge lowered
I sit here in my favorite chair
I have tales and stories
not yet told or written

but where will I start?
at the beginning or after

I fell and fell......

In this New Year
my quill lays unsung,
parchment slowly curling,
like Time's fetal unfurling.

Oh you ragged vane quill,
poemless much too long,
spill thy burden of ink onto
this skin of stillborn lamb.

Release me from this
frozen time, this place
where thoughts are dark,
poets lonely and silent.