Sing out the pain of your heart woven in a soul-stirring Elegy. An elegy is a mournful, melancholic or plaintive poem, usually associated with a funeral song or a lament for the dead. Popular Elegies have often expressed three stages of loss. First is a lament, portraying grief and sorrow, then praise and admiration of the idealized dead, and finally consolation and solace. Soak your heart in memories as you float from one Elegy to the other.
She was screaming. I don’t know who that she is. But that she was screaming ’cause, the bleeding won’t stop. The blood was pouring out in the form of clots, and the alcohol and pills were doing a great job.
You heard what you wanted to hear You felt what you wanted to feel You ignored all the evidence to the contrary And resigned yourself to the fates But what you did not see Was the turmoil that started it
Ash Wednesday 2018 “I always buy The Big Issue in London because round our way, it’s a load of Romanians. I say, you should look after Your own first”. The ash-smudge as fresh on her forehead as a virgin, painted
The red-gold heaven of stormy autumn leafy-misty lights this late October dawn recalling to me, curiously, the design hidden in words, swirls of the wood-smoke of ages time-ridden, missing things: a fleeting meeting with the past: something else that does
Sign of what once may be left Breath taken deeply denial of death Presence of grace to have a place to hide As family leaves fall temperatures will rise Accepting the passing of a goodbye For moments of inscription Left
thieved by dust of years, still living dead between those tacit yellow words engraved in marble– yet, yen for you tastes opiate honeyed in flowery strings of elegy myrrh scent hanging from a lifeless tree. Come back for me love,
Don’t cry for me… I’ve met my destiny And found solace in the soil that covers me. Look beyond my grave Gather the stones, guns, bullets and grenades Build them into wheels For windmills, bicycles and trains. Look into children’s
After all the heartbreaks, and the suicidal thoughts within her mind. SHE WAS FINALLY HAPPY!! As she remembered the 128 times she got raped. The times evil boys said ”I LOVE YOU” — eventhough their word were fake. SHE WAS
Murmurs of laughs filling the gaps- of time and reality are his trademark. How can I not wonder about what’s next? Affability is something he easily conveys- but don’t let that let you get carried away! He can fence and
With scrunched and bushy furrowed brow I often ponder the precise circumstances that any thing 2 be born this way as a poker face Tracing back lineage of self or arbitrary individual unpredictable as the Dow Reckoning a series of
Explosions rocked Manchester Arena after finale of Ariana Grande concert where just moment before avid fans of this idol did cavort and flirt shattering poignant moments, when one than another attendant did amidst helter skelter yell and blurt now treasured
A 21st century apostle strove to ease our appalling quandary ameliorating the sensation sans being caught between the devil and the dark blue sea, This tethered to the oblate spheroid earthling doth strive toward savoir-faire re: As the fickle finger
April 9th 1929, my father gasped his first breath of air Head populated with black curly locks No pediatrician at his home birth, when he uttered that initial blare Nor preschool instructors extant to teach him building blocks Inherent in
A strand of pearls clung to slender tree limbs bejeweled woody flora prismatic orbs tell tale sign recent cloudburst cleft darkened heavens rained watery life source liquid downpour laced branched canopy awash with molecular droplets requisite to feed burlesque Vaudeville
It is not on you, dear poet, but on your Nation, and its rulers, spread all over Their body, mind and soul; irreparable, Their cancerous thoughts and deeds; ‘The red salute’, they offer to all, a mean, Cheap and cruel
What to do with this fatuous heart, my friend? Who always yearns for you As, it is still standing by waiting for a veracious friend Who has left his mate loitering in this brutal world. Here, I stand staring out
Among my Father’s gifts that keep giving I see less and less of the living. I find art that will never, be given to us again ever. Blue plaques and statues confirm their passage. Blues and bad news can’t hide
I remember well that sweltering summer. Sky bright at 1 am, no breeze to blow the dark in, blackout blinds and fans whispering. Still sleep was difficult, years before whale-song tapes and Victor Meldrew. Though we had our own versions.
George Washington and Abraham Lincoln commanders in chief epitomized supreme martial mien and vocalized special flair talents summoned from their native heart-land motif in Modus Operandi of bootstraps dare acquired evanescent mythic reverence extant within bibliographic brief and closest role
It’s happening again, Such unbearable pain, And if my soul is crying As my heart is breaking, then that’s fine… I’ve let so many people down, Lost so many beautiful opportunities I feel so failed and forlorn, But is that
Led down from the tower Head high and hands bound Blindfold declined against the wall Black square pinned to his heart Eyes afire and shining proud He sang… He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury, Carreras, he