Don't cry me a river
Water flows and adapts
Its turbulence can subside
In its stillness
Only leveled calmness is witnessed
Instead
Mourn me Mohamed's mountain to climb
Weep me Noah's deluge to survive
Lament me a "Trail of Tears" to walk
Bemoan me a Nagasaki fire to scour
Suffer me a Stonehenged countenance to carve
Render unto me towering monuments and extravagant actions
Be worthy of this grief
Don't cry me a river

by vee ghozlan
art - http://www.planetwaves.net/river_via72.jpg

The scent of the roses
and the color of blood red passion
shocking pink tipped accentuated petals
riveted me
sending me hurtling
back to the past.

Memories of late night dancing
all night loving,
we knew we had eternity
and time to watch our love grow.

Days when I loved you so deeply
past the superficial
it ventured deeper than the subcutaneous
dredging into the subterranean.

You became necessary
with every breathe
and exhalation,
but forever is a child's dream,
and I discovered
that our love was as ephemeral
as the scent of a dying rose.

If I write my grief, I can find a way to go on,
If I write my grief, I won't look at death as an answer,
If I write my grief, I can find a new paradigm...

 

 

I was the bough that witnessed the sudden plummet to the earth

the single crystal tear that ran unexpectedly from the corner of his eye

the note in the sibilant silences hovering under discernable decibels of a hero's celebration

like a thief lurking in his hidden lair

I grieved

for my Grendel

though he be monster

dunno, where this poem came from...hero's are often celebrated yet the monsters they kill are oftimes remembered, as well. ...I think of the parents of monsters... we love our children, monster or angel...

 

Disclaimer: I am a pacifist. This a POEM, nothing more, the feelings are real, however.

it would have been faster by a bullet

watching you die

incrementally

as your body failed

i was powerless to do anything

wanted to do something

listening to your lame excuses for your denial

god it’s just another betrayal

as you sought explanations

for the cascading problems

demanding job

child acting crazy (it never occurred to you watching you die made him crazed)

man unresponsive and emotionally unavailable

boss is a dictator

the rationalizations were endless

but you insisted on my tea and sympathy

dying would have been faster with a bullet

it’s a constant refrain

echoing through my brain

as i pour the Earl Gray

wondering

canyou see my hidden thoughts

of sliding a wee bit of hemlock

with the honey

into the ceramic cup

did you wonder

why i was so nonchalant

about your slow suicide?

it ‘s faster by a bullet

 

 

Notes: Socrates - He was born and lived in Athens where he spent most of his time in enthusiastic pursuit of wisdom (philosophy). As an old man, he fell into grave disrepute with the Athenianstate powers, and was commanded to stop his public disputes, and his associations with young aristocrats. He carried on as usual.

Finally, he was arrested and accused of corrupting the youth, inventing new deities and disbelieving in the divine (atheism). According to traditional accounts, he was sentenced to die by drinking poison. Presented with an opportunity to leave Athens, he believed it would be more honorable to stay in his home country. Therefore, at the age of 70, he drank the hemlock and died.

by butterflynxile (c) 2006

 

*inspired by Jus' Tammy; my friend Ange (Butifl), sent me this pic, awhile back.

my public face is one of a japing jester

ensuring that my audience is mirthful

chuckling at my antics

while i poke fun at life's comedic errors

making farcial comments

with broad, flamboyant gestures

contrived and calculating

 

i caper to elicit

a chuckle and a giggle

my existence

seemingly a Mardi Gras

on display

 

inside

an obscured chamber

i huddle, weeping at injustice

my life's light shadowed by pain

as i drink from the cup of sorrows

ensconced

a funerary procession of

elegiac notes echoes

straining to escape

sometimes exuding the confinement

despite my best efforts

i am compelled to cover these unsightly emotions

with a quick bon mot

or clever repartee

 

i am no Rapunzel

to be rescued or freed by a grim tale

will never be allowed

to let down my hair

 

in a moment of carelessness

mistakenly

the mask slips

the masquerade

falters

repulsed by the revelations

you turn away in confusion

perhaps

embarrassment

hurriedly

i re-clothe myself in the costume of the jester

re-establishing your

comfort zone

1. The Comedy of Errors is an early play by William Shakespeare, written between 1592 and 1594. It is his shortest play, and one of  his most farcical: while some of its humor derives from puns and wordplay, a large part comes from slapstick and mistaken identity

2. The Book of Counted Sorrows was a previously nonexistent book "quoted" in many of Dean Koontz's books

3. Rapunzel is a German fairy tale in the collection assembled by the Brothers Grimm, and first published in 1812 as part of  children's and household Tales. It is one of the best known of fairy tales, and its plot has been used and parodied by many  cartoonists and comedians, its best known line ("Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair") having entered popular culture.