Too Much To Ask

On 2018021020180210 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

Is it too much to ask that you be real?
I think it likely is, for long I’ve known
This world’s disdain regarding how I feel,
And that what’s true inside is rarely shown,
Like sparkling eyes that mask a heart of stone.
The colors of deceit, the cloth we wear —-
And far too much to ask a soul to bare.

Is it too far to go to come in close?
I think it is, I’ve seen it twice, and more,
The distance traveled: half of an ‘almost’,
The shortest pathway, leading out the door
That promises returns, then yields but poor.
I’ve known it so, and felt it to be such —-
It’s way too far to go to really touch.

These questions cycle, churning in my mind;
Theses moments that we see,
That leave us

Blind

2017 : March

On 2017122720171227 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

The world was seized; I felt it’s sharp convulsion.
A force too great for me to comprehend
Had placed the light and dark into emulsion.
Yet there I was, as ready to pretend
That I could catch the storm, and apprehend
The waves and wind, as ever one man lied
From hapless vanity disguised as pride.

But cognizance of posturing does not
In/of itself acquit the foolish heart:
I’d tried to make the world go small by thought,
To make it somewhat tamable. In part,
I’d left the horse behind, and kept the cart.
The winds of March brought on a storm so great
That I sought to traduce – or sublimate.

The storms of earth and life are much the same;
We’ll turn away, until that proves in vain.
We try transforming them into a game
Of splashing puddles in the stinging rain,
Half ingenuity, and half insane.
For some things are too much for us, too real:
So maybe we should stop our thought, and feel.

The world was seized, and so, at last, was I.
The storm drowned out complacency in blasts
Of wind and rain that tore across the sky.
No hundred futures, nor a thousand pasts,
Could keep that wind from tearing at our masts,
And leaving broken ships washed up on shore:
Like this smashed hulk that I must
Answer for

Timeless Village

On 2017121620171216 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

So off into the snow begins his day:
The old town’s still asleep, or mostly so —
Just melting ice and mud along the way,
And turns that catch the full winds as they blow
The make his progress more than slightly slow.
And it’s as though the village sits without
The changing ways that time is all about.

Ensconced in wool, a shovel in his hand —
A wooden handle, and a metal spade —
He starts to dig a path across the land,
And very sluggishly a way is made
Across flat ground, and up the valley grade.
But still, it’s though a hundred years ago
Came back, for all external things might show.

But what are we, but moments in a weave;
A woof of time, a warp of this and that,
And dash of hope and what we might believe,
To climb and to descend and span the flat
And dig our way through this, our habitat,
Inside a world where time is meaningless
To ponder what this all is
Teaching us

The world is so –

On 2017102020171020 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

It isn’t where it comes from, what it was –
It’s all about tomorrow, and today;
For every thing is named for what it does,
Not what did way back in yesterday.
The world is so – it simply is that way:
As every bit of yarn is made for yarning
For weaving new, or maybe just for darning.

The past does not determine who we are.
It’s all about tomorrow, and today:
For journeys can be hard, though near or far,
And what we’ve said not be what we will say.
The world is so – it simply is that way:
That sometimes, what we’ve known is worth forgetting,
And looking forward, better than regretting.

we borrow shadows…

On 20171003 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

we borrow shadows, too late to return;
we stretch out like the fingers of a lake,
and build our coves. we have so much to learn,
but know less how to give than how to take,
and buy at best some real among much fake.

we misapply, and maladjust, and say
of those we’ve broken, “they’re just made that way”

A Secret in the Stars

On 2017091220170911 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

The broken times had come, and they’d come hard:
Her spirit bent, her body tired and sore —
The doors seemed shut, her every pathway barred,
And what was once a joy, now felt a chore:
She didn’t want to face it anymore.
And so she rode out past the lights, and cars –
Her whispered wish: a secret in the stars.

And there, the wonder lit upon her eyes;
The voices of the many come before
Had filled with her with such ardor, and surprise
As picked her weary heart up, off the floor
Of what had been. Intead, now, what’s in store
For her seemed possibility; her scars
Were soothed by secrets whispered in the stars

The Hindsight Warehouse

On 2017082820170828 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

Within this room, with its fluorescent buzz,
Are all the ghosts of what has come and gone;
The hindsight warehouse: "should've", and "because" --
Those words that empty failure tends to spawn,
From which few real conclusions can be drawn
Other than that we will do what we do,
And stand in empty rooms when all is through.

I hear an echo, from a different day,
And see the room alive with industry,
The work we did to find a better way,
And give with caring, and with honesty,
Before the wreckage of our vanity
Exploded like a thousand fading stars
In bitterness, and chapters of memoirs.

We mop the floors that nobody will see,
And touch the dead, who can no longer feel,
We say we'll stay, then make our plans to flee,
Reneging on each sworn and sacred deal:
From others our dead promises conceal --

Because we hoped, we ventured for the heights,
But it's okay, now
                  just 
                      turn out
                              the lights

Imperious

On 2017081920170819 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

She made the laws, and he could stay, or not.

It was her game, and he a pawn or rook —

It wasn’t quite a trap; he wasn’t caught —

But more strength than he had was what it took

To change his part within her plotted book —

And so he was obsequious and fawning

And did as he was told, while she sat

Yawning

The Swirl of Seasons

On 2017072220170722 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

He loved the colors of the swirl of seasons,
The semiotic utterance of youth,
How lassitude gets tangled up in reasons,
And how all our finesse becomes uncouth
In search for just a little bit of truth;
Like pictures in a child’s book we see
The swirl of seasons and mortality.

She asked for loyalty, some faint allegiance,
For love to see the soul and not the form,
And set to seek among the swirl of seasons,
To find some shelter from the coming storm
Where laughter was the rule, the gauge, the norm —
Like stained-glass colors: clear and autumn bright
That herald morning after dismal night.

The met when each was searching for an answer,
An image each had carried in their heart,
A silent singer and a secret dancer,
Who joined, then hoped to never be apart,
As though each ended in the other’s start;
The swirl of seasons, now, in polychrome –
And how the search for love, sometimes, hits home

No Talent for Certainty

Tag: Rhyme Royal

Too Much To Ask

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2017 : March

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Timeless Village

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The world is so –

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we borrow shadows…

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A Secret in the Stars

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The Hindsight Warehouse

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Imperious

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The Swirl of Seasons

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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