This Broken Sonnet

If just one single teardrop here must fall
To drown these feelings formerly denied
And taken with the salt to pass it all
Onto the very rose that we despised

Yet roses are averse to stay in bloom
Whenever subtle winter calls your name
And standing with his hands inside your gown
He’ll find no warmth to feed on, just more pain

But thoughts of pain were never far behind
We’d only propagate this love to win
I’d heard an old cliché that, love was blind
And had to hang a lantern on that sin

Yet sin is just the reason we must hide

From all those broken sonnets strung outside

Remembrance

Now we carry you home nameless soldier
From those red fields you ploughed long ago
And the flowers we gathered to give you
Were all plucked from a blanket of snow

Did you march with the promise of glory?
Through a countryside tainted with shame
Then you climbed on the back of the donkeys
Who refused to remember your name

But the poems you sent they destroyed us
Though we savoured each line for the pain
Then we locked them away from our children
And we never revealed them again

So we built you a tower of honour
Which you climbed with your gun on your back
Then you rolled up the flag of surrender
And prepared for another attack

Now you stand with your face to the heavens
As we stand with our backs to the sea
And your rifle is loaded and ready
Then is handed to someone like me

This Transient Thought

We are all born smiling,

you said. But images

of toothless men-

babies, did not ring true

for me. Because I remember

the tears from the struggle

against freedom, and the

certain pain that would    

surely follow.

Yet I am now overwhelmed

to give it voice.

 

Then why do it?

you ask. To hide

the truth my friend.

Who would think to

search these ramblings

for real meaning, but

find anything other

than a good idea,

on a cold winters night….

 

written by a man

of few words, with an

awful lot to say.

 

 

Desperate For The Impostor

From carving reckless follies in the night
I stretch a bitter hand so you will know
My heart is dull and failing in the light
As fire in your breast no longer glows

I stole a pot of honey from your room
In jealousy I smeared it on the walls
I prayed you’d never catch me in the gloom
Especially when spite and anger calls

Positioning myself outside you head
I'm constantly reminded of our time
Remembering those roses on your bed
And how I waited patiently in line

So now my dear I hold a scarlet cure
Some little pills to swallow one by one
But so convinced your bleakest heart was pure
My love provided bullets for your gun

Now let me take a lifetime to adjust
To all the gifts you laid down by my side
And as I gently veil them in my dust
I bravely cross the line that you provide

ANNOUNCEMENT

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Good reading

In Between Nowhere

Collecting driftwood from the shore
She carves in words with care
Then asking where her thoughts came from
There in between nowhere

She stole my heart five thousand times
Accomplished with great flair
And every song and poem sprang
From in between nowhere

Then when at last my aching heart
And soul no longer care
I read aloud her words of love
From in between nowhere

I'll tie some chain around this heart
So no one else will dare
Remove it from my resting place
Lost in between nowhere

For Carol Lynn & Leonard
Leonard for the inspiration to write,
Carol Lynn for the inspiration to try and do it properly

All That We Are is a Broken Promise

Let me bury all my sorrow
Collected through the years
Then lay atop a wreath of words
That sounded insincere

Next take away my pen and ink
And cast them to the sea
But as the moon commands the tides
Lies flow on back to me

Now dismantle all my weapons
But leave this soldiers gun
To keep away the hounds of truth
Surrounding everyone

Ah but if my war is over
I'm not afraid to cry
That the harlots and the valiant
Must give love one more try

Aphrodite Gives The Game Away

Shall I love you
with the passion
of a martyr?
Becoming
lost in the
futility of the
moment.

Or should I
at least resort
to the excuse
of a coward?

Confessing,
behold,
I am but a man

His Ambiguous Writings on Love

I knew a poet,
who used obscure
metaphor, to justify
untruths about those
he loved.
But as time passed,
each lie was taken
daily, and used to
prop up the illusion
of his invincibility.

I have become superman,
he would declare.
Yet was concerned
his new found
redemption, would
one day be denied him.

So he took to falling
in love, all over again.
Analising each experience,
in a scientific study of self
denial. Then one by one
documented the disasters
that would follow.

But at last, when each tale
became the essence of
his existence, he recited
them all back to his victims,
and the whole thing would
start over again.

Where The Silent Ones Sleep

A Poem By Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas & Jim Murphy

The grave where every stranger rests
There lies an echoed soul
Beneath the wilted flower beds
They sleep where truths are whole

Oh friend please come and walk with me
And hear of all they tell
The lessons learned from lives before
Where fossil bodies dwell

You see the stones engraved with pain?
But markings never speak
About the loves who came and went
Those hearts that never sleep

And if you see a pulse sometimes
A swelling in the ground
That undulates and permeates
The silence all around

Then let us knell before each plot
Our ears pressed to the soil
And eavesdrop on the lives that were
Attached to mortal coil

I hear the crying of a girl
Who died while giving birth
The hour set upon the stone
Departure from the Earth

But when I take a closer look
The name inscribed is worn
Though I can see the time she died
Was right when I was born

So now I'll listen carefully
As if afraid to pry
To hear the soldier calling me
Who was prepared to die

From bunker hill to valley forge
We always fought with pride
But heed these words I tell you son
Use freedom as your guide

And as I pause to read his name
So plain for all to see
It was the very same one that
My father gave to me

Be still to all who feel the wind
It stirs the restless black
Wild horses gallop in the night
To bring each rider back

One by one, ten thousand more
And with each final breath
Anothers born, another dies
As birth begins with death

Now when at last we turn our backs
On souls who were so dear
Whose voices keep on calling us
And beg us to stay near

But hand in hand we walk away
To plan a life that's true
Yet always carry memories
Of hearts that we once knew

If you would like to learn more about Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas. Please visit
http://www.carollynngrellas.com/

Observations From The Barber Shop

So we brokered no thoughts of desertion
When the prophets confessed to their fraud
And the sinners who watched from the dance floor
Demanded their share of our God

How I loved you forever and ever
As I sang the song Sweet Adeline
So we waltzed to a tune that was silent
But our steps could not keep the time

Ah we danced to a jig that was broken
As the candle burned low in the night
From the wax of each candle we moulded
An effigy golden and bright

Then the effigy stood on a bar stool
And recited the mantra of pain
Then to all of the fools who would listen
It recited her mantra again

Now our feet they are bloody and swollen
As the music continues to play
We have danced every year of forever
We have danced for not even a day

Now I bid you fare well for the evening
As the partners continue to change
And they play Adeline everlasting
Before turning over the page

Things To Do When We Sleep

Ten thousand
words fell to
earth,
blazing like
sun's.

Each carried
a prophetic
vision,
that scorched
my conscious,
and remained
late into the day.

Then I became
the little Buddha,
sitting without
distraction,
my perversions
unbridled,
my demands
exacting,
my thoughts...

Controlled?

Resurgence

You told me I was
always at my
best in the
dead of
night.
Words
that were
profound
with musical
accompaniment
made us weep.

Oh how you tested me
with questions on
sincerity, until
with relief,
dawn broke,
and we slept off
the intensity of our
sexual reassurance.

Thoughts On Love, And Other Things

So he picks up his marker
To highlight the line
That all men are holy
All women divine

But the thoughts that he'd written
Where tainted with pain
He tried to ignore them
They followed again

So he chained up his longings
And no one could find
The power to read them
From deep in his mind

Now he's watched from the window
As birds disappear
Another wrong season
Another bad year

But through every long winter
He fashions his tools
To paint out of darkness
And write about fools

We All Should Be So Cursed

As weak as any man I call

to you night demon,

and beg for torment

that must only last forever.

But I have seen you with Samael,

and know you will never be faithful

to only one ideal.

You who carry no original sin

will eat out the sinner,

like a vampire,

lusting for the sons of light

from Babylon to Israel

and beyond.

Ah, but I have heard

you know his name,

and are forever cursed

to lay down you children

for your pride.

No wonder you rage

daughter of Hecate,

creation of Hera,

lover from Adam to Gilgamesh.

But I know you only as

lovely Lilith,

looking for a place to rest.

Right then, all you budding poets and writers.
If you would like to have a try at getting some of your work published follow my links section to,
http://poetrypages4u.com
and the rest will be explained. Go on you know you want to.

The Things I Mislaid

I found my understanding
on the Internet, but avoided
the fashion Buddhists, when
the sent out for vegetarian
lasagna, while meditating
with knees knotted to remind
them of their piety.

I found darkness
in a bitter old well, where I would
visit frequently to draw from
it's purity, and wallow in the
self satisfaction of my own
sacrifices.

I found my wisdom
in a copy of readers digest,
while waiting to see how many
points I had scored,
and if suicide was still not
an option.

I found my strength of character
where it had always been.

I would like to introduce my friend and fellow poet Myst,
and if you go to my links section you are certainly in for a treat.

Leonard Said

Leonard said,
I am content,
is this the end
of my life in art.

can happiness
hinder articulation?
light heart
overcome
dark dreaming.

I sleep
at your breast,
like a child
walled up
from pain.

But alas Janis
you must leave,
again
and
again
and
again

One Legged Man

One legged man,
himself confined,
swore with profound eloquence,
his mind understated.

Yet language not withstanding
our lady's feelings,
locked in concise English,
was all he said on the subject.

Do Not Worry, Just For Today

So we bled the unknown soldier
For the ones who knew the score
But the barrels of our weapons
Held no flowers anymore

Then the souls that we abandoned
Called for mercy from the dark
So we marched to their salvation
With our pipe band in the park

Yet the mothers stood forsaken
As the children walked away
Though they yearned for our protection
We had nothing left to say

For although we came as prophets
Of the unborn and the mild
Are we also called to stand by?
Every lost and unknown child