prisoner to this world of literary creation
word-smith to constructs of elation
though accolades are a deflation
feedback commentary give indication
if want is for self-immolation
or search for alternate vocation
both a source of much consternation
yielding less pleasure than masturbation
thus rendering this poem to nullification
I am pleased to announce the pre-release of my latest book of poetry titled:
REFLECTION – RESPONSE through the voice of poetry.
As an introduction, this collection of poems is premised on reflection of the many important and diverse issues facing the global human community today and, through the voice of poetry, express my personal response to a perceived affect these issues are having on human, societal evolution. Interspersed amongst these poems are several reflecting a personal philosophy toward life, sexuality and the environment.
I hope you would take a few moments to visit my Self-publishing website to review the contents of this book and I would be further honored if you found it worthy of comment. It will soon be available in a variety of print format including, as an e-book for I-pad and tablet.
Thank you in advance for your time in this regard.
Enjoy:
I have been more then expressive, speaking from the heart,
All but a few mental words is needed to give a start,
To convey meaning to a message, an emotional spark,
To its reader; my intent being, more than just a lark.
Accolade or attention is not the purpose of desire,
Simply, it’s the earnest intent by words, to inspire,
To garner an expressive response that does fuel my fire,
To give meaning to all I do, rather then from it, retire.
I should be happy, elated that my life has chance to change
But, an uneasy gnawing in my stomach strangely remains.
Steps taken now are out of my hands to contain,
Will the outcome desired, simply go up in flames?
Like a tree bud blossoming to a new leaf,
My life passage too embarks upon a new street.
The desire for its journey to birth anxiety relief,
Though in this moment passage, uncertainty is all I see.
Cruel, by some measure, emotional suffering is mine to endure.
Time and time again, change has been ventured to offer a cure
But, what’s been desired, seems never to mature.
Possibly, this time too, it’s not for sure.
Pursuance of lofty, dreamt life goals
Falling as casualty to whim’s realty,
Forgotten to past time domain
Yet, given chance, can be resurrected,
To again see light of promise
Transcended by strength of unyielding hope,
That tomorrow bares fruit; to see a brighter day.
This is the first in a series of Episodes of narrated poetry.
This first is titled: A Reader’s Tribute
Enjoy!
The following was in response to a challenge to create a piece that did not use the same word twice (including the Title):
The Watch
This symbol of life lived bequeathed for safekeeping into the future. Its workings represent passing seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years endured until energies expended denote an end that has been charted long before birth. Tarnished gold casing, cracked crystal measure toil, hardship and pain suffered through life’s enduring past brought forward in rewarding peace.
Grave markers symbolize forever what shall be given to lives remaining as memory’s keeper endowed by material possessions gained, accumulate, box stored, preserved, weathered-age signs showing.
Cemetery gate’s embrace quells past turbulence beneath soil demarcating Souls’ light risen, body’s deep sleep.
Feeling compelled to compose something of substance I could only come up with the following due to a strange sense of mind:
A blank page lays before me waiting to be blemished with markings representing some semblance of meaning in the form of words that will express my thoughts in a fashion of form and order that will with luck and exposure, conjure a response within the known and ideally yet to be known, spectrum of human emotion (I would include aliens but they’re not suppose to exist) yet to know exactly what those words ought to be is not exactly clear to me so my intention from this point forward is to basically put down the words as they manifest in that part of my brain responsible for such activity with the hope that I won’t forget what those words are by the time they reach the finger tips of my hands that take on the charge of pushing the keys to the keypad with further hope that I don’t misspell or misuse any specific word such that it throws off any potential reader from realizing the relevance of this piece that appears to be materializing to my astonishment, right before my eyes and further, that the imperative of proper grammar and punctuation is appropriately emphasized and not over done as has been known to occur in past writings that unlike this writing were constructed with a premeditated thought of purpose guiding its development be it a poem, prose or even short story that I am known by those who know me, to have written and several of them I may add, though much of them have yet to be widely distributed for critical review, a review that may prove too harmful to my fragile psyche were the critique to be less then flattering potentially giving rise to not writing anything more – full stop.
Embarking upon this new year 2013, after decades of writing and amassing hundreds of poems, prose and a variety of essay on a spectrum of topic; you might say my `muse to the moment’ so expressed, I have decided when warranted, to provide a preamble to what is posted with the intent of adding context or background. Ideally this will add a touch of `color’ to better illustrate the reason or understanding to the posting’s content.
To this end, here is the first of the 2013 series:
As any writer, author, I experience from time to time a sense of frustration stemming from the seeming inability to attract critical attention to my works. This garners a sense that what is being written is inadequate, superfluous, non-relevant yet, for some unfathomable reason, like an addiction to recreational drugs, I continue to spoon out page after page of material. This frustration from time to time must be expelled by expressing it in written form – a catharsis if you will. Hence, the following:
Poetic Lethargy
Much to write, much to say
This my life, has become the way
Yet, not one heeds the words wrote
Let alone, the words spoke.
There is no special wisdom or insight to behold
But to transcend what my consciousness is told,
The unknown words of thought brought to the light of day,
Leaving to others to interpret what they have to say.
So what becomes of this poetic lethargy?
How to release the creative energy,
To dispel the thoughts, those that come to mind
With want only to make see, the literary blind?
Light Of Promise?
lost to the abyss of anonymity
thought a place of mental serenity
but reality plays its role of complicity
by infusion of emotion’s brutality;
what savior of fact relinquishes this curse,
what tome of word purchases a reverse
for light of promise to disperse
the emptiness void found immersed?
blind are they that dispense their eye view
seeing other then what in truth is askew
stunting any challenge to make anew
prospect for a brighter future to shine through.
__________________________
Author
Unwittingly shackled to a chain of volubility
By charge of the ethereal high-court of judgment
To espouse translation of conscious energy
Transcended as Mind of Thought
Promulgating ineffable cosmic wisdom
To a realm of reality’s form
As the written Word
naykdpoet 