Tag Archives: tragedy

Where Once I Died

Thereupon the bridge stood I,
above the crowd’s tumultuous storm,
in offering, what hope had I
against their hapless raging form
that crashed in waves upon the piers
once placed by honest men,
now torn from ragged indolence
of hatred’s depth again.
In lacking faith and understanding,
lost from knowledge kept,
they clamored high in selfishness
not owning all the tears we wept.

So to hope and value pressed,
my hands across their sky,
I tried imparting all my strength
in knowledge, that they too might try
to come to understand the pain
and sacrifice of the few
that stacked, for them, their soapbox pulpits
high to get a better view,
born on shoulders of the past
and those who gave it all
in hope to birth this great tomorrow,
where none would here the tyrant’s call.

But hope misplaced to ignorance
distorts across the sands of time,
degrades to soulless decadence
when all they know is “mine”.

Standing high above the mass,
arms spread wide with calming tone,
plead did I of petulance
to find compassion, here alone.
As the roaring din grew faint
to hear my crying plead,
I saw the flash, heard the crack
from which all hope did fast recede.
Mid-breath in phrase “this hope is mine”,
the thud collapsed my chest,
exploding truth without a breath,
the bullet never came to rest
but caught my soul, eternal,
and cast me heaven-high,
as upon my fallen body gazed,
I watched my mortal image die.

I stood upon that bridge in hope.
I laid my soul to bear.
I gave my heart to save them,
receiving just their leaden stare.
No matter recollection,
their numbers grow the great divide
that separates few honest men
upon the bridge where once I died.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry

The Mourning After

Flickered glimpse of dawn, in mourning…
“My God! My love! What has happened here?”
She stands beside me, shivering, drenched, reaching for my hand, behind her.
I hold her close.
The shore line is gone.
No structure stands.
The sky, aching grey, bouncing seagull’s cries against its tarnished iron ceiling.
Morning stands defending time, the pulse of life still throbbing…
Stunned into the aftermath we silently walk the empty beach, weeping, gasping, between what rubble remains, and not one soul.
Surreal this empty host of life, waves roll with an auditorium echo.
Piercing rays subdue the harsh deliverance, gently cracking hints of hope, bouncing subtle shadows across the slowly relaxing waves… sparkling their crescent shapes with diamonds.
She collapses at my feet, sobbing.
I look on, out over the vacant sea, wondering what has become…

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Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

For Paris, For Us

Bend the moment upon me.
Steer my heart to mend my soul.
Force the truth to boldly stand that I may feel its hold.

What of this hate enflamed in cause that steals the youth from ancient lives?
What merciless torture waits beyond the face of hatred’s eyes?

I stand in solidarity, but frozen to this day remain.
Can I not move to change the fabric of what this hatred’s lain?
Are words in rage and anger torn upon this page enough?
Is something deep within this well rising ‘gainst the rough
and calloused turn of man that through his selfish rage is born?
Is there nothing here to stem this growth of ancient hatred sworn?

My God! My God! What is this hell that from this heaven’s shore is breached?
Can love return upon the soil where blood was spilled, by God beseeched?

No faith I’ve lost, believe me, but how I can stand still
when through the acts of cowardice we’re forced another bitter pill?

Love, I cry, it’s love say I, that stems the hatred left in wake,
but seems to drift to hollow halls that such these shadows make.

So I pray… for peace,
for some greater understanding,
for hope of resurrection born from all our souls, demanding.

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Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, Uncategorized, Universal Soul

In Eros’ Service – the mender

Cast betwixt two drifts of wind my sorry soul did drown,
torn between two lover’s tides, in confluence, pulled me down
beneath these waves of temporal flux, be cast to love’s deep purpose,
where only I can pay the debt, one hundred years be tied to service.

In penance to all breaking hearts that I may mend their shattered hopes,
forever ‘neath the northern star, forever pulling frozen ropes.

No reference to horizon made that I my debt delay,
held beyond sweet morning’s dawn, denied each glimpse of day.

Cast I wreck from havoc to belay a pardon’s sweet remorse
that these poor souls adrift here, by me, return their course.

So to love or death they go with fractured hearts amend,
yet of the shards here left behind unto my selfish purpose lend
a hope that love may still await when placed within my own,
that penanced years of servitude may build a heart, so grown.

Yet still the seas of love do crash, deliver me their broken hopes,
as time stands still beneath this pole, these frozen hands on frozen ropes.

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Filed under Poetry, True Love

Where Once I Died

Thereupon the bridge stood I,
above the crowd’s tumultuous storm,
in offering, what hope had I
against their hapless raging form
that crashed in waves upon the piers
once placed by honest men,
now torn from ragged indolence
of hatred’s depth again.
In lacking faith and understanding,
lost from knowledge kept,
they clamored high in selfishness
not owning all the tears we wept.

So to hope and value pressed,
my hands across their sky,
I tried imparting all my strength
in knowledge, that they too might try
to come to understand the pain
and sacrifice of the few
that stacked, for them, their soapbox pulpits
high to get a better view,
born on shoulders of the past
and those who gave it all
in hope to birth this great tomorrow,
where none would here the tyrant’s call.

But hope misplaced to ignorance
distorts across the sands of time,
degrades to soulless decadence
when all they know is “mine”.

Standing high above the mass,
arms spread wide with calming tone,
plead did I of petulance
to find compassion, here alone.
As the roaring din grew faint
to hear my crying plead,
I saw the flash, heard the crack
from which all hope did fast recede.
Mid-breath in phrase “this hope is mine”,
the thud collapsed my chest,
exploding truth without a breath,
the bullet never came to rest
but caught my soul, eternal,
and cast me heaven-high,
as upon my fallen body gazed,
I watched my mortal image die.

I stood upon that bridge in hope.
I laid my soul to bear.
I gave my heart to save them,
receiving just their leaden stare.
No matter recollection,
their numbers grow the great divide
that separates few honest men
upon the bridge where once I died.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Teardrop’s Honor

What teardrop’s lines in honor hold
are more than I can bear,
when witnessed in the eyes of mother’s
weeping through such deep despair.

For them my heart is broken,
for them I give my deepest prayer.
No word or act or motion
can begin to mend the rending there
that claws at love innate,
love born in womb and born of soul
of mothers whose sweet loves, now gone,
shudder every moment on
and shake in disbelief,
fall in heaps of deepest grief
when every moment, every sight
denies their hope, denies their right,
befriends an aching heart to cope,
yet only echoes pain –
of last words spoken, last hug and kiss,
last kindest little token
granted from sweet childhood’s bliss.

Such rage confounds my spirit,
no line of thought can bring the “why”.
I seek for resolution, so absurd,
yet still I try –

What blackness fills this world now?
What mantra does such evil chant?
What sickened heart has found this world?
What soulless evil does it incant?

“Fear not!”, I try to cling to,
as in prayer and in action seek
to persuade a better world around me,
influence hope and love to keep –
Defeat the sickened “ick” of hate,
replace it with the kindest words
that echo only caring,
thus give to life what life deserves –
No senseless tears upon a mother’s cheek…

In reflection of the Newtown, Connecticut Tragedy – 14-Dec-2012

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Filed under Memory, Poetry

The Courtyard Ghosts – Part Four – The Mason and The Blacksmith

Part four and final entry of The Courtyard Ghosts is written by the Mason and the Blacksmith. From their unique perspective they have witnessed this story unfold over the years and across the lives of our two lovers. Their contribution here is their memorial.

The Courtyard Ghosts
Part Four
The Mason and The Blacksmith

Aye, we two, on courtyard’s berm
do work for better tradin’.
Our skills in alabaster stone
and iron braids of laden.

Our shops adjoin, near out of view
from the daily dance that plays on two
at courtyard fountain and parapet,
where into morning sun we set
our eyes each day to witness love in passin’,
and watch it quickly walk away with nod acknowledged fashion.

My friend and I, some years we’ve spent
at toil in craft to pay the rent,
and many grand designs we’ve made –
as people of this little burg have found us worthy to be paid
and keep coming back for more –

Strange witness thus,
we’ve seen from just
a stone’s throw beyond our courtyard’s fountain,
in backdrop, man and woman love,
silhouetted still before the mountain’s
distant horizon breakin’.

Yet each day we’ve watched this dance of love,
and longing theirs ne’er one has taken –
and so to us, two hearts is breakin’…

So many years has passed us by,
the two of us turn slow to grey,
yet morning coffee finds us fixed
to watch this lover’s play –
each day –
each day –

And so we’ve seen the two in love
come to age, set old and grey,
weakness in their limbs and features
deny the youth of love they play –

Yet still, today –
we see them come no more…

The parapet where once she sat
to take his smile and nod for hers,
is shuttered shut and weather worn,
so closes in for death, for sure –
And mornings now are silent still,
for ne’er a set of hooves do pass,
as he would ride to fountain there
to gaze upon his lass,
and long to love her more –
no more…

So as the quiet courtyard yields,
no light of love and life is found
by two quiet working watchers here
on the berm at courtyard’s ground.
The silence stifles all the hope
once held that theirs would manifest,
now morning holds just nature’s song,
and the truth that two have laid to rest –
their love, a nod and smile.

Thus we two commission ours,
as gift to them and courtyard green,
paid of what we’ve learned of love,
and to our own indenture glean
that they must live immortal,
captured in the morning’s light,
that they in quiet courtyard’s echo
may always feel the light of such unspoken love –
and we that hold the living,
take truth in such to rise above
and reach for such a light.

Two ghosts we leave for courtyard’s night.
Two souls we leave in love…

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Filed under History, Memory, Poetry, True Love