A Mother's Day Poem (True Love Is A Blessing, A Blessing Words Can Not Possibly Give Thanks Enough)

You are my mother

I owe you all

My hair, my eyes

My chin, my brow

I can never repay the debt I owe

A debt you never thought about before

A debt you would most adamantly refuse to spell

For, good or bad,

For right or wrong,

I am that glimmer that can’t be drowned

To you, I am that perfection you’ll always dote upon

              I am the ideal within each your songs

              The only place to feel home when I feel drowned

              The one true space when I feel less than strong

And in you, I see the good in me

You are the mirror, ever showing the best sides of my reality

             And in you, I am told I am the best that’s ever been

You instill belief, which still breeds a possibility,  

That deep beneath my every sin, you’ll only ever see the good within

          

         You are my mother, the only one there could have been

         And I’ve been blessed to be your son

         You are my mother, the best any could ever choose as home

         You’ve given all, all for me

         From the right to breathe, to this flesh and bone

         I can never repay for the life you’ve given,

Nor can I give thanks enough, for teaching me to bet,

The man to which I’ve grown into

And what you’ve given is all you could

My accomplishments, my feats

Owe homage to you deeply,

Yet my maladies are not a burden you can own

Those are on fate and me alone,

And despite the powerlessness in your stare

You still always find a way to push the boundaries in your own flair

Love’s the light that guides the blind

And love’s the thing I think of when I dream

A spotlight on all in life, the power, the gift of mind

A sacred verse never out of sight

A passage and direction, always caring, ever here

You are my mother, a fact I’m blessed to own

The one thing I wouldn’t change if I even could,

A reality so profound, it makes even the darkest of days

A reality clearly understood and entirely well pronounced.

And each night before I close my eyes,

I say an extra prayer, for all the unborn

Children yet to come, to be so lucky

To have a mother who loves them even half as much

As you’ve always showered your love on me.

The Hornet

listen to ‘The Hornet’ on Audioboo

To my favorite fading hornet,

I know not if you ever shall

Be in true receipt of this message

I am breathing out into the ethos now

To my fading favorite hornet, I

Wonder if you’ve lived your last of days to come

To the fullest that can be done.  I imagine your choosing

Not to sting, ruffled both friend

And kin alike.

To the hornet fading, you frightened

Me at first, as you dawdled about my

Garden green.  The small sphere you

Occupied seemed to grow it’s dimensions

Out.  Seeing you, preoccupied, with whatever

Your intent there was, altered the chemistry

Of my being. 

Blood runs hot yet fear heats further and to

Calm, the body alters by influx, fusing in the

Coldest paralysis man could ever know.

You circled about me, mingled with my hair, peering

Into cavities exposed and I felt the ice chipping quickly

As I realized you were not at all like your cousins, the one’s

I met buzzing by the weeds when I was yet more than a little old.

To my favorite fading hornet,

Sting me now, so you at least

Could depart knowing exactly

How it felt to oblige the nature you

Never chose

To my fading favorite hornet,

You’ve more then proved yourself

A friend, spending time with me,

Despite the incoherency, I believe

You understood me, as I, believe I

Can also say, I understand both the pleasure

And the peril, of your today, tomorrow and yesterday

therefore, please, please

allow me to extend my arm to you,

for I can think of no coda fitting, aptly

more, than to forever bear the scar of your

charm

Well, fell asleep for a day and a half, well, not really, but I definitely was unable to hop online yesterday. Luckily for me though, the D'verse Open Link Night party is still raging on with the fullest of forces and there is so much fun to explore and see, so how bout following me over there.

As I step upon the Checkerboard

I. Acacia

Invariably-with precision of motive- I venture,

Undoubtedly, athanasia exists-

My perpetuity of indulgence-

Peering, and with each trespass—

Vision forgets all semblance of time, proffering ethereality

In syllabic serenade, a soiree of combinatory collectiveness enhances:

Those aqueous aphorisms of belief,

A childlike joviality invoked anew,

Through a singularity of symbiotic parallax—

Albeit syncopated— Cosmic alliances skirt past the doubting fields—

Dancing, freely—

To metronomic missteps of expressiveness—

Assiduously seizing each- as if, through perceived telemetry alone—

The spices intrinsic to vitality, transfer apperceived

In as such, your world—

Intersects with mine.

II.  Ashlar

Every cast of smoke, perspicaciously detailed

All sparks from stone—flint or scythe-

Ignites a widening of eyes—

Stock Gnosticism skewed—

As the perplexities of an individualistic mindset—

Appear in twin—

Where Dogmatic phylum’s mirrored in.

III. Blazing Star

Like whirlpools of vapor, swirling

A maelstrom of pedagogue, ellipses cosmic void,

Shrapnel steals the heavens, along catenary lines—

Disintegrating the abscess of doubt—with conviction.

Didactics change.

IV. GAOTU

Conflagrations echo, rousing infundibulum’s dormancy

Vesuvian terror illumes—fusee, Congreve- striking match.  Inciter of—

Pompeian strategy.  Expatriated-the troubadours of consistency—

Ashen in their faithlessness, volcanically scrawl mementos for failure’s future-formed duplicitous indoctrinations—

All as- architectonical gyrations thrust dimensions forth—

In exaggerated artistry—a formula forgotten, renewed.

V. Trestle Board

Eternal chords, sung,

To the tune of gemstone—

Divined by elven mystics,

Mimetic verve trysting with preconception’s curse

In masonic fervor—

Construct, in diagram—

Equations for methodology—

Interlocked.  Patterned weave

Interpretational anonymity—

Birthed to live free.

VI. The Brides Chair

Eureka. 

Three. Four. Five.

Extrapolation Nine. Sixteen. Twenty-Five.

You use what you’ve been blessed

A mind. So beautiful, that a word,

Would suppress- the perfection of angularity

That your verse-in write (sic), inherently bridges heart to hypothalamus to cerebrum to cerebellum to synapse.

 Brian's hosting Open Link Night over at D'Verse.  Doors open up at 3pm.  Stop on in for some poetic perusal and while entrenched in the festivity, submit one of your own.  Cheers!!!

The Northern Apostrophe

O’ beleaguered child of snow

How dark and dreary your skyline glows,

Grey and black mixing the night

Pitch and jet are close to you

O’ disheartened river partially froze

Enough to be so close to sleep

Yet never able to close your eyes

Forced to watch as other waterways drift in dream

O’ Cantankerous bulletin wind

Scraping sidings from house and inn,

Whistling in announcing fashion

Alerting the public of your gusting glory

O’ thick skinned nature’s misfit

Mortal words uttering such violent betrayals

With verse so intense and thick

Your ears must be bloodied sick

O’ Great northern empire

The only place I’ve ever called home

Despite the savage winters and much too shallow summer

Your boundaries