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 Extinguished Revival of the Contemporary Arsonist

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It’s not what takes place at the birth and

death of every hour, but instead, what symmetries are provided upon the thirties— dividing lines of power

Amidst a veil of tragedy,

an encapsulating entity reveals itself

to be, a personality of untapped

potentiality, a reason for forbearance, a reason

to atone what’s been lost by disdainful blows

Amidst the reaches of escape,

to which our tragedies often follow flow,

we can enunciate the possibility of rendering

useless, through the daunting effects they often play

No longer must we wallow in our pitiful seas of

sweat and fear.  No longer is it necessary to dream alone in black and grey.  Now exposed, a new destination ignites the

sparks to which we pour our promises into, offering the symbolisms of hope and the prayer that shall lead us down an enlightened path

However, consequence is always alive in every choice there is to be made….

              Those that harrow our escape, can include what would be soured at during any other given time, yet in such spots as these, the finer points are buried beneath the opened windows that this new brand of savior here completes

Amidst a veil of tragedy, an encapsulating personality reveals itself.  It is here where we eagerly agree to its many hidden terms, where it dethrones us of our combative sense of self-loathing, and leads us up the peaks, to a world completely concealed by the bountiful wonders that shield us from evil’s corrosive eye. 

Yet, to such a choice, consequentiality demands repayment of our contracts stipulations.  Here, we find our chains forever freed, yet still, we must substitute one oppressor for the next, as we find ourselves knelled to their feet, offering up our fealty, bare and ever-more-forever frightfully exposed.   

To such ends, we mind not the burden caused by our individualized subservience.  For it’s not the expressions…no, it is the expressions, glazed upon our family and friends, which make extinguishing conflagration’s kiss, a sacrifice we’d, without doubt, if revisit we ever must, willfully renew, without a bat of lash or a shy of eye.

Together, forge forth and forward recall all the reasons why, we began onto such onsets, striving to, not complete victorious trots about a central stage, but, to do only what we can, and try, is, at last check, synonymous with the definition that embodies the spirit of man

Stop on over to D'Verse where Open Link Night will take its usual spot on the Tuesday Night place to be list.  Doors open at 3pm and it gets crowded really quick, with the party running all night long and longer.  So, write a poem, post it on your site then use the link tool at D'Verse to share your work with the D'Verse community, where a plethora of amazing poetry is always on display. Cheers 

The Nobody with the Chance to be a Hero to Somebody

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Contained with—

         In jury duty

Pain emanates

         From routes

Un honed

Armor-piercing.

Ear-shattering

A small incision

Just below

The line of sight…

Obstinate jailer

Pacing up a floor routine

Dangling freedom

About—watching as salvation

Steals from his unsteadiness—

Easily seen, and playable if so deemed—

His naivety

Ignorance…you’re the biggest thing to cross his page

                  A full context ad, in a world where the best

                  Has always been a passing byline or two

                  Sweat billows upon each the points…”don’t screw this up, don’t be that guy, just play it cool, wait for the cavalry to return, and take this guy away…”

                           “HEY…doesn’t it seem strange…”

“Ignore him…just trying to get in your head…stay focused….don’t be the fool…don’t be tricked”

                           “I’m innocent…I’m being set up…and you’re the patsy…the perfect nobody…not my words…but I’m sure the one’s you’ve thought over and over again…and guess what….they know it too….you’ll get a call…very soon if I’m close here…it’ll say something to the effect of….”

         “Shut UP…damn it….I said be quiet…”

Pools freely flow

Drainage ditches rutting down the carotid, spreading quickly beneath the uniform…

                           “Well…hey…I get it…really…I do…this is the break you’ve been praying for…dreaming of…ain’t it at least the tiniest bit odd though…that a bolo goes out…a vague description…White Male…Late 20’s to mid 40’s…no hair color…no additional features…kind of odd too, isn’t it…how such a major criminal I am…and they can’t or don’t even include the fact I have shoulder length hair and an extremely full beard…perhaps it’s just me…but I think those descriptions would’ve been added…don’t you…you seem like a fairly intelligent guy…kind of makes you wonder at least right?  

         “Just you…just shut up…let me think…no more out of you…”

                           “Hey, I get it…don’t let ethics or something so minor as due diligence get in the way now…no, and then, what are the odds…that the bolo goes out at 3:00pm from…. and at 3:30 I’m getting picked up here…when we’re at least 2 hours away from….”

Instigating morality from a robust crypt

         Options are limited; yet trip the switch we often must

                  Demand more information, additional data to bolster the claim…if not, then why…please…some details must be obtained…some conveniences have to be explained….

Open ended…. the way every story…ever play…finishes…when you cut away…

A Dream about Winning

Well, this came to me yesterday.  I was going to write it up as a poem, but obviously I reconsidered and thought it would best be told via the short story medium.  Anyhow, this is one of those rare occasions, when I post something other than poetry on this blog.  Hope all enjoy.

I had the most vivid of dreams last night.  I awoke fully believing I had just won the lottery.  In the dream there was then the waking dream, the kind that you transform into a zone unbreakable, where all the fantasies of change come fully to life.  The feeling was beyond comprehension, except for those who’ve perhaps been blessed by a similar fate. 

I paced my room looking for the ticket, tossing papers from drawers, checking books to see if I had used it as a placeholder, outturned pockets in the laundry bin, praying those numbers I would then find.  Then, in the mirror, I noticed the ticket was somehow stuck to my forehead.  A smile so wide filled my cheeks as I pulled it from my brow.  I held it up, lauding all it represented, seemingly for hours, as time simply stayed motionless before me there. 

I grabbed my keys, hopped in the car, pajamas still on, hair still tousled.  The streets were perfectly empty as I took the short journey to the downtown lottery office, heart racing the entire time.  When I arrived at the building the doors were locked.  Nobody could be seen anywhere.  It had all the qualities of a ghost town, a place void of life. It was then, when I reached for my phone, that I realized that it was Sunday.  I couldn’t go home, not yet, not back to bed, not now. 

It was then that I happened to notice a church offering service, to which I gladly entered, completely ignorant of what my appearance could or would project.  The pastor read his readings and filled the tiny room with the greatest passion I’d ever seen.  There were but a dozen people in there.  I was the only one not in a suit-coat or a Sunday-dress, but nobody cast a judgmental eye upon me, not a single one.  But, really, how could they, when this preacher was beyond anything anyone, well okay, more than I, had ever seen before.  I was once again filled with the same joy I had experienced just a few hours earlier, yet none of the franticness filled me, not even in the slightest degree.  The man in God’s cloak came to each of us there, shook each by the hand, placing an arm, tenderly upon a shoulder.  He looked us in the eyes, and said some words, words so moving, so beautiful that I could not remember any of them at all, not a single one. 

As the service was concluding, another man came down from behind the, up until then, sealed doors behind the pulpit, carrying a long wire-mesh basket, asking, without speaking, for anything we could give, to help.  At such a moment, seconds before this man looked me in the eye, speaking nothing, just looking at me, I realized I didn’t have my wallet, I didn’t have anything on me except my keys.  He looked at me, not in disgust, but instead with compassionate eyes of understanding.  As he walked away, I realized something and called back to him.  While making the short trip back to me, I met him half the way.  I looked him in the eye, and without a moment of hesitancy, not a single one, I placed a solitary piece of paper in that meshed basket, to which he replied, “bless you sir.”

I then awoke, for real.  I sat there in my darkened room.  It certainly was Sunday.  I calmly went to my wallet and pulled out the lottery ticket from within from where I always kept them.  I sat at the computer and went to the state’s website.  I checked the numbers, realizing I didn’t have a single one of them.  I sighed, but not as long as I would have expected. 

I hopped in the shower.  I put on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.  I pulled back the curtains and opened the blinds.  Light rushed in and the dogs jumped quickly atop the bed, as they always do.   I let them both kiss me on the nose and told them I’d be back soon.  I got in my car and reversed out of my driveway.  I had to stop right at the end, as many cars happened to be travelling past my house.  It was then I saw a large man and a thin man walking a small golden retriever.  As they approached me, I realized these were the men from my dream.  I noticed the dog’s collar said Jesus.  As they got closer I waved to them, and the thinner man simply said, “and bless you sir.”