Tentative, the lifted pen,
echoes of words
but do not return
I intended to post this here to begin with, but messed up. Still getting used to being back, and there are changes to WordPress since I’ve been away that are tripping me up a bit as well. Anyway, I went to reblog it and accidentally reblogged it to my blog too. LOL…so I’m posting it here too. I WILL get used to this again. :)
Amid the silence
Soft whispers of wind
Soothe my restless soul
Stun and astonish,
With subtle divulgence,
Amid common communication
A monotone revelation
Drifting on halcyon air.
An ominous precursor -
Flashing red lights,
Bells clanging, flags waving
Madly with such tragic bane -
Even clouds burrow humbly,
Shrouding rays of the sun
Awed and moved
A brilliant full-moon flight
By the escape of such
Rationed to a rapt mind.
Trust of the un-trusting
Meandering beyond boundaries
Of a self-conscious mind.
Tonight I cannot think of words to say.
They waved goodbye and wandered out my door.
I’m stuck in silence, and have feet of clay.
Why deal with less when what I want is more?
Perhaps tomorrow when the sun comes up
I’ll find the nutrients on which to sup.
Perhaps my muse will tap me on the head
and say, I brought the sun. Get out of bed.
The Tick, Then the Tock
Do you know it? The Tick followed by the Tock.
In the quiet room, in the night hangs the clock.
You sit in the room, you can only anticipate
how the breathing will play out this late.
You ponder the recent events, they keep repeating
and it dawns on you that now life can be fleeting.
Tick’s followed by Tock’s, the clock’s special call
while you watch the rise and fall
it occurs to you that short of the labored breathing
all you can here is that incessant ticking and tocking.
Soon the spark is gone, the breathing has ceased
but now in the total silence there endures
that damn tick then tock that has not ceased.
There is that clock that hangs on the wall
that measures the time that runs from us all.
Now when I hear that ringing silence in the room,
I have a sense of doom and gloom
if I hear that rude sound of the tick then the tock.
There is no place to run
the journey has only really begun
for those left behind, who have to compose
that loving prose for those who lie in repose.
My advice to you is you will have writer’s block
if you try to compose in a room with the clock
and you can only hear the Tick then the Tock.
Sometimes silence says what the words can’t tell,
Sometimes all it requires is being on the line,
“AHEM”, she spoke and “HMM”, I spoke.
And that was enough to convey ,
To each other that we care,
Whether the other one cares or not.
We miss each other,
Whether the other one misses or not.
We still think about each other,
And we hope the future would be better.
We wish the better of the tomorrow for each other.
We don’t use words much,
Ahem and Hmm says it all.
I miss her,
She misses me.
I care and so does she.
Words never came easy to me
now I drink these words with a gulping familiarity, a familiarity
that soothes my throat with pleasure
frees my throat from this steel prison of silence.
How easy it appears to my starving unsatisfied soul
to pick up this glass full of language, full of words
and feel it glide like a cool river through my esophagus.
The wild well of pained/buckets full
of crap, releases like a snap snap/surging
fluently to the surface
it reveals itself
as if it were always there, waiting
waiting to speak. How easy it appears
from time to time the steel snap snaps!
and there you are
free, familiarity; facing directly
surly you speak, words surely familiar rise,
soothing my throat with peace
how easy it comes to be -
© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
No, lately I have not had much to say.
Emotion swoops in, takes the words away.
I try to speak, hear only choking tears.
Heartsore, the aching place there burns and sears
as if a flaming spear pierced with its fire.
A whispered voice: “You’re doing better.” Liar!
My dear sweet cat wove with his little paws
a place that heals so slowly. How grief gnaws.
A trail of brambles, thickened vines, and thorns,
emotion tangles, sneers at me, and scorns
a restful sleep. Its choking hands grip tight
upon my usual demeanor. Fight
is what I have to do so I don’t fall
into a hole of black despair. A wall
of whooshing water, tears unbidden, come.
I sob without control, am stricken dumb
as I mourn my beloved, now gone, cat.
His absence makes me feel that someone’s bat
slammed hard upon my head. The silence here
makes so much noise, and sends a sharpened spear
into the soft recesses of my heart.
I feel it as if someone threw a dart
that found its target. I will not forget
my Snuggles. This remains my safest bet.