Author: poetryfest

It profits us little
to spill no blood at all
amid night birds of envy
and our
pervading desires.

By the end of each daylight
we are all as guilty as the serpent
lying in wait for its prize
no matter what.

Patience bears us little more—
perhaps a bit of virtue.

The virtue is gained
yes

but the people
want dramas and blood:

the child held for ransom
under the wicked burn
of the world.

II.

I too adore violence; and,
when I had shaved my head completely
and those of
a few men who emerged
curiously from their cells

I perused the odd stack of books
(which sat like rapturous treasure
on the wobbly library cart).

They lead me to Ezra Pound
and then dreamily to Ku-to-en.
Stately crows on my window ledge
block out a winter sun.
They bow their heads in sorrow.

My sentence for loving you

too strongly

is 161 days, 161 nights:

time enough to read these books

time enough to cry

They say that if you write it down,
it stops hurting.
So here I am,
sending words,
I know you’ll never read,
hoping they’ll leave my mind,
if only for a moment.

The truth is—
I’m obsessed with you.
Every hour, every minute,
every day.
I’m constantly thinking about you.
I wonder what it’s like
to hold you,
to kiss you,
to hear your laugh
not as a distant echo,
but as a warmth against my skin.

Do you ever think of me?
Even for a single second
On a busy week?
I long for the days
when I used to see you,
when we talked about anything—
everything.
Even though it felt wrong,
it felt so good
to have your counterfeit attention.
Was I only a joke to you?
Did you lose interest,
find someone new—
someone easier to love?
Should I do the same?

But how am I supposed to find
someone better than you?
When you’re everything
I ever dreamed of—
and more.

Maybe I’m a fool,
begging for a single glance
that may never come
I know we’d never work,
know you’d choose someone
simpler—
someone who doesn’t feel
like she’s cursed
with thoughts of you.
Someone who isn ́t me,
never me.

I try not to compare,
but I’ve never had a crush
so strong
it feels like a magnetic field,
pulling me back to you,
again
and again
like gravity to a world
I can never call home.
Now that I know you exist,
how can I love
anyone else?
You’ve cursed me
I’m damned
It feels like I’ll never stop
thinking about you

The worst part is—
you might never know.
Never know
how happy I wanted
to make you.

Maybe I’ll tell you someday,
when my heart
no longer beats
for you.
But I’m sure
you’ll find someone better—
everyone else does.

Still, I’ve never felt this strong
for anyone before.
I’m sorry
you’ll never know.
But I can’t help but wonder—
what if?

Upon these waning mountaintops I felt
the loss of you for the first time. Every
notion staggers below with dull, opulent
eyes flowing over the gravel and sands.

In each direction there remains what once
was, and still is, completely unfazed
by your removal from this Earth. Can I
truly accept your absence when nothing

around me has changed? Such resonant
feelings waver inside, it’s impossible
that no amount wouldn’t escape and affect
my surroundings. Those encompassed

in the journey look on with smiling teeth
and joyous cries, enraptured by the natural
world. Absolutely nothing echos what
you’ve done, and where you now sit;

hopelessly, I expect something tangible
to acknowledge my great sadness. With
no outstretched hand, I feel nothing
for the wonders that yesterday compelled me.

The looming colored mountains once
possessing heavenly oppression appear
as if a minor wind could topple them. The
aging ruins of an empire ingrained in this

Earth no longer feel essential; tattered
bricks strewn about during the onset
of a conquering. Lifelessness overwhelms
my sight and all I take in. Dead and vapid

is the world around me as it continues
to tread through layers of unaffected
time; beating no pulse and breaking
your memory, moment after moment.

The only extension I sense is heat,
radiating through our thinning air,
sternly holding me to the
ground with little room to breathe.

Always have I hesitated in the
warmth of the sun, now it appears
as cruel and detestable. Never more
have I craved the stillness of

a January Winter. How unfair that
you had to leave in Winter, while
I’m forced to endure the Summer.
I wish for the numbing cold to

overtake and force my thoughts to
cease, if only for a fleeting second.
In great timeless uncertainty, I
would forgo what compels me now,

and feel your absence for what it
must be… Perhaps I’m overly selfish,
concerned with my meager place,
while those nearest to you feel a

shared intensity hardly fathomable.
They must embrace your lifeless
presence, that inarguable truth making
up the whole of your death. Here,

I can only picture you abstractly.
I’m unable to make out your face
and shape. How you remain presently
I cannot know. To me, you once were,

and now, you are not. You’ll be missing,
the only consolation being the words
of those who knew you as I couldn’t.
I must accept them as concrete.

However, I will never truly know

you came to me in a dream last night
like you had never left.
i knew the instant i saw you.
i held you tightly in my arms,
taking in everything about you.
not as if you had slipped from my memory
but because it had been so long
since the image i had of you
was one with you living and breathing.
and suddenly i forgot i was dreaming–
you and i were together like old times.
the past had been rewritten
to form the reality i once wished for.
in an instant my eyes opened,
greeted by rays of light and silence–
the morning mocked me with its likeness
to the day you took your last breath.
and i stayed there, just as i did before,
knowing that every day after,
i would awaken to a life without you.

Despite hunting
the balm of hymn or mantra,
I’ve yet to grasp the prayer
for the death of an idea.
There is no altar.
Nowhere to lay my flowers down
as tears fall from my mind’s eye
into the ocean of all I’d dreamed.

There is no sacred place for mourning
this picture of a life. Made fiction by
reality (or, my sorry choices).
Still, I ache for all I had imagined for myself.
The silver edge of possibility
worn down, made dull
by sand in my hourglass.

– Grieving Expectations

A secret system
A hidden way of life
someone out there is finding
finding out what the world is about
finding the answers
someone out there is searching…
on a cold winter night
1000 years ago
a knight stood guard at a castle
with a grey mist
came snow
the knight fell asleep
he became feverish
and soon he woke
his body burning
no feeling left in his fingers or feet
he jumped at the sight of a blue jay
And the green spring trees
he had slept
like a hibernating bear
through all of winter
when he walked through the streets
he knew something felt off
the whole town had left him
in the spirit of frost
as he walked out the castle
he glanced over his shoulder
there was a dark soul behind him
The knight turned and swung
but the soul was lost
it didn’t even jump, it was the spirit of frost…
the knight left the castle
and the spirit
is still told to be near.,
the spirit is here
today
learning the ways of the modern world
but as time ages
the spirit fades
his soul becomes more and more lost
his dark shadow fades
and he becomes tired
he knows the answers
he’s been here all along
but the more our world fights
the more he fades
all he has
are his old ways
the way we find the answers
is if everyone fights together
when that knight ran 1000 years ago
he ran from the answers and the spirits below
The answers were in that castle long ago
people came around to see the spirits show,
he sang and wept and spoke aloud
“Everyone has a place”
“You just need to make yours”
The spirits are all around with answers and sounds
some are the wind, and when you hear it howl
they are speaking and screaming
even though it might sound calm or creepy
the wind has the answers to our worlds legacy.
When you hear a fire roar and light with woosh
Spirit burny has awakened
you’ve started his journey
He crackles and roars
rages out loud
these are the answers
flying around
each ember
is a world that someone created
each ember is an answer
as the fire dies out
it fills with answers
answers to our worlds legacy.
When you hear the spit of water from your sinks spout
thats spirit Liqo coming out she makes herself known everyday
billions of people use her day by day
when her rush is heard her answers are spouted
she has the least
she has shared the most
she has made a legacy.
The knight from 1000 years ago
lost frost in the warm spring glow
ever winter
when the cold snow falls
hes there
at the beginning of spring when the frost builds on the grass
hes there
When the cold creeps into the night
he’s there
when you get a frosty chill down your spine
frost is there…

Tuesday, January 17th
I was worried about what to make for lunch.
She’s a picky eater and I can’t buy groceries until Friday. It’s only Tuesday.
(They were worried you weren’t getting enough oxygen)
I went to work, feeling a restlessness.
(You went to sleep. Did you feel scared?)
I was home by four pm.
I started homework and thought about dinner.
(You slipped into a coma. What did you think about before that?)
I went to bed that evening, you were in the back of my mind.
(Rich was there. Your family was there. You were already gone.)

Wednesday, January 18th
It’s quiet today. There’s a melancholy peace. Tomorrow, the 19th, is my parents’ anniversary. And I am
thinking of you.
I felt it before I knew for sure. I felt you were gone. I felt scared and panicked at what was to come.
(January 18th you took your last breath. They “pulled the plug.”)
The world lost a humble and loving and caring man, a veteran, a coworker, brother, friend.
But it still kept spinning. How could it? How dare it.
I hold on to the truth that heaven rejoiced and you were healed and whole and happy.
(Garret, Garret, Garret… can you hear me say your name?)

Thursday, January 19th
“Hi, can you give me a call?” was Rich’s message.
“Is it Garret?” I asked, but I knew.
(“It’s not good news” he said. It was not good news.)
I didn’t call him.
I couldn’t.

Friday, January 20th
“Call me this morning.” It was a Friday morning.
I called him. And I listened to everything that happened to you since the previous August. And I cried.
Then I hung up and I sobbed.
(You were being fitted for your wings, asking question after question about life, I am sure.)

Saturday, January 21st
I brought my daughter to TJ Maxx. It was morning. I walked around, trying to be ok but I wasn’t ok.
The tears came back in the Kitchen section and they didn’t stop until later that night and that’s because I
fell asleep. They came back when I woke up and stayed for five days.
(Garret, Garret, Garret. Did you hear me whisper your name? Do you see me mourn?)
I didn’t go to your funeral. I couldn’t.
Rich said it was a beautiful service. You deserved a beautiful service.
(You were there. They saw you, he said.)

Wednesday, January 17th
One year later.
I still feel the punch in my gut. I still feel the lump in my throat.
I still say your name three times whenever I think of you. And I think of you all throughout the week.
I will think about you forever, while still worrying about what to pack for lunch and what to make for
dinner, while the world still carries on without you as it should.
How dare it

Fog, but light.

These canyons,
his voice beside.

Rain; mirrors.

I fail to walk
and not see his face.

The loss of life.

Roads sparkle dawn,

but his voice is here.

(a weird sort of
resonance)

Through canyons
and canyons.

A clotted sky.

The air is dull, stagnant and stale, infertile and barren…like an empty page,
Filled with grey, black and white, added to a drab, simple shade of beige,
Silent and still, without dazzle or sparkle, shimmer or shine,
Absent of pastry or cream, pizza or coffee or juniper or pine.

The feeling is sullen and scared, lost without found…somewhat sad,
Built over time, lasting forever as if molecularly clad,
The absence of fragrance, like a game without a score, deeper than an empty soul,
It’s not a matter of wealth, luxury or poor, it draws all within like some far away black hole.

As if caught on a breeze, a waft in the air…something aloft, something, just more,
You are instantly awash in it’s draw, gasping for more, you needly implore,
The scent catches you in awe with its sudden approach,
Drawing ever nearer it begins to enthrall one and all with a relentless encroach.

What is it, this unique fragrance that before was never anywhere near,
Maybe it made olfactory entry as an invasive, and welcome, thought so, so clear,
Its as if, its encroach was not as a sense, not a taste nor a smell,
Could it be a potion or spell that suddenly under, you befell.

As the scent becomes strong, and eyes turn to gaze,
You see around her, a special kind of glow, yet far from being a cloud or some haze,
The reason becomes known and quite abundantly clear,
She is authentic and pure, always completely, instinctively sincere.

She carries herself with power, inside and around, setting her free, satisfyingly free,
The scent you smell could never have come from any blossom, spice, fruit or tree,
Intuitive yes, incomparable too, she is indeed the reason for this redolent aroma,
It’s far from man’s creation, manufacture nor an essence from any fauna or flora.

Once she’s near, the origin is clear, its completely, intrinsically her,
Beautiful never had a better expression through declaration, siren, or stir,
The fragrance is more, so very much more,
Made of elegance, allure, with attitude and strength, upon wings that allow her to soar.

It’s her…yes, her…all that she is, all that she was, all she will forever be,
Never duplicated, always regenerative, all that you feel and all that you see,
Completely congenital, adoptive and consanguineous, natural and innate,
It came at a price…the great price of sadness and joy, of loss and love, only she could translate.

Feel her, see her…touch her, a total of every sense, take her in,
It’s extra…above…icing on top, as well as deep from within,
Beyond all feelings, all senses, including a magical sixth, a complete and total ensoul,
In truth, despite old theory, the sum of all parts is far greater than the whole.