Tag Archives: poetry

Something about Raven

Standard

6b65a408d2f387a261b3857b30e8d717

Her story ended for every blood tear that she cried for no one understood the demons she carried inside.

She held on to them tightly afraid to let them go. they were the only ones that loved and caressed her heart and soothed the empty holes.

The days of her blindness was a beautiful darkness no one else could begin see. It was a different kind of light that caused her to be ungodly but the essence of unique.

She held the bosom of darkness so kindly in the palm of her hands and welcomed the unknown for they have shown her a place that she could belong.

Rejected among the ones that love should have been most given shamed and claimed and unholy for no purpose at all.

She questioned over and over wasn’t love supposed to be sanctified and most highest of all.

In her mind spinning… the betrayal, the hurt, and loss. Family, friends, and lovers all had done her wrong.

The feeling… in her veins had somehow changed. The darkness took away all of her pains. Adorned her with kisses and made her never-ending promises that darkness never travels alone . ~ A. Smith 16′

(photo is not my own. Unknown at this time.)

Advertisements

Standard

She walks across the room ‘ with her beauty so fair ‘ she glides along with the grace ‘ that’s beyond compare. For she is a lady in white ‘ her heart is so pure ‘ that’s beyond delight ‘ for those who hold her most dear ‘ can not fight . No other can […]

via Lady in white – Promote Yourself — poetreecreations.org

Serenity and The Pen

Standard

serenity Serenity Photograph by Lei

Feels good to snap my camera and and scroll my pen put the two together and you get twins lol, I love the arts always have it feels good to be back after being gone for so long. I won’t make promises anymore though, I will leave that up to god and the universe but things have been good so far. That is a blog away coming soon…to much to say about all of that and it wouldn’t hurt to keep curious minds wandering now would it? But, I did manage to be nice enough to write another poem…that I thought I could post for today that will land in another book hopefully, soon. I’m getting too old!! why never!! I’m just a spring chicken!! I hope I inspire anyone who may be having a rough day out there dealing with any type of illness because I know what it’s like just to get a smile in one corner. Love and light to all who may cross my path ❤ ❤ ❤

The Life Test

Stepping back into my element what's healing properties for me
I lost track of time when I thought I was losing my mind I was
fragile, hurting freezing in a moment in time.

I thought I was losing everything, life seemed to be an un-easement
to me nothing seemed to soothe my aches, my pains the loss, the gains
it didn't matter I was in chains.

I come to realize during this moment of appeasement there was one way to heal
my soul to control was what going on inside to end the chaos on the outside of
me to deal with what was on the inside of me because the inside was dying and there
was no pacifying a dying soul.

I must be brave I must be bold there in the balance my life stood still, frozen, and
on hold it took a many of nights my life had run cold vision, after vision soon my story
would unfold there is life in me a life worth living I've been showed.

Knowing, that I have come back here to finish this I can't wait to finish writing about love,
life, and living but, best of all sharing it our time can be cut short when we least suspect it's
one of my greatest lessons learned at best it's not often you get another chance the life living test.

~ Alesica Smith 2013

Poem of the day

Standard
No end to success

Success is not the triumph over regress,
Success is the power to suppress.
Success is not the money or the fame,
Success is, knowing you are still the same.
Success is not the power or the pride.
Success is the knowing how to hide.
Success is not a gift or gain,
Success is accepting and believing in your name.
Success is not a point or goal to seek,
Success is, believing you have never reached the peak.
Success is

Jeff Rushton

Mental Health Month

Standard

john_clare-by_e_hilton-blog-post1

Today’s featured poet will be John Clare (1793-1864)

Love Lives beyond the Tomb

Love lives beyond
The tomb, the earth, which fades like dew—
I love the fond,
The faithful, and the true
Love lives in sleep,
‘Tis happiness of healthy dreams
Eve’s dews may weep,
But love delightful seems.
‘Tis seen in flowers,
And in the even’s pearly dew
On earth’s green hours,
And in the heaven’s eternal blue.
‘Tis heard in spring
When light and sunbeams, warm and kind,
On angels’ wing
Bring love and music to the wind.
And where is voice,
So young, so beautiful and sweet
As nature’s choice,
Where Spring and lovers meet?
Love lives beyond
The tomb, the earth, the flowers, and dew.
I love the fond,
The faithful, young and true.


Poem of the month

Standard

I will be posting poetry from poet’s who have suffered from the effect’s of mental illness but, yet was able to contribuet to the literary world with their great words of poetry. I hope that you find them as interesting as I did.

sylvia-plath-photographLesbos by Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)
Viciousness in the kitchen!
The potatoes hiss.
It is all Hollywood, windowless,
The fluorescent light wincing on and off like a terrible migraine,
Coy paper strips for doors —
Stage curtains, a widow’s frizz.
And I, love, am a pathological liar,
And my child — look at her, face down on the floor,
Little unstrung puppet, kicking to disappear —
Why she is schizophrenic,
Her face is red and white, a panic,
You have stuck her kittens outside your window
In a sort of cement well
Where they crap and puke and cry and she can’t hear.
You say you can’t stand her,
The bastard’s a girl.
You who have blown your tubes like a bad radio
Clear of voices and history, the staticky
Noise of the new.
You say I should drown the kittens. Their smell!
You say I should drown my girl.
She’ll cut her throat at ten if she’s mad at two.
The baby smiles, fat snail,
From the polished lozenges of orange linoleum.
You could eat him. He’s a boy.
You say your husband is just no good to you.
His Jew-Mama guards his sweet sex like a pearl.
You have one baby, I have two.
I should sit on a rock off Cornwall and comb my hair.
I should wear tiger pants, I should have an affair.
We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,
Me and you.

Meanwhile there’s a stink of fat and baby crap.
I’m doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.
The smog of cooking, the smog of hell
Floats our heads, two venemous opposites,
Our bones, our hair.
I call you Orphan, orphan. You are ill.
The sun gives you ulcers, the wind gives you T.B.
Once you were beautiful.
In New York, in Hollywood, the men said: ‘Through?
Gee baby, you are rare.’
You acted, acted for the thrill.
The impotent husband slumps out for a coffee.
I try to keep him in,
An old pole for the lightning,
The acid baths, the skyfuls off of you.
He lumps it down the plastic cobbled hill,
Flogged trolley. The sparks are blue.
The blue sparks spill,
Splitting like quartz into a million bits.

O jewel! O valuable!
That night the moon
Dragged its blood bag, sick
Animal
Up over the harbor lights.
And then grew normal,
Hard and apart and white.
The scale-sheen on the sand scared me to death.
We kept picking up handfuls, loving it,
Working it like dough, a mulatto body,
The silk grits.
A dog picked up your doggy husband. He went on.

Now I am silent, hate
Up to my neck,
Thick, thick.
I do not speak.
I am packing the hard potatoes like good clothes,
I am packing the babies,
I am packing the sick cats.
O vase of acid,
It is love you are full of. You know who you hate.
He is hugging his ball and chain down by the gate
That opens to the sea
Where it drives in, white and black,
Then spews it back.
Every day you fill him with soul-stuff, like a pitcher.
You are so exhausted.
Your voice my ear-ring,
Flapping and sucking, blood-loving bat.
That is that. That is that.
You peer from the door,
Sad hag. ‘Every woman’s a whore.
I can’t communicate.’

I see your cute décor
Close on you like the fist of a baby
Or an anemone, that sea
Sweetheart, that kleptomaniac.
I am still raw.
I say I may be back.
You know what lies are for.

Even in your Zen heaven we shan’t meet.