HAIKU CHAINSTREAM


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angry thunderstorms
across deep blue ocean swells
star-kissed explosions

star-kissed explosions
lover’s passion-clenched eyelids
soon sleep descending

soon sleep descending
life demands its sacrifice
death a bitter toll

death a bitter toll
human souls ascend the scale
stars suddenly aglow

stars sudden aglow
midnight meadows bathed in light
winds begin to blow

winds begin to blow
softly swaying, children dance
to music unheard

to music unheard
new life from true love formed
the world rejoices

the world rejoices
eagles screech their summer songs
eyes glancing upward

eyes glancing upward
a silent voice offers prayer
clouds begin to weep

clouds begin to weep
lashing rains, the voice of God
angry thunderstorms

SECRETS by D.L.McHale


Should you desire to be hateful — to dissect an innocent heart from the inside, to bury a soul under its own weight, bind it in secrecy. Afflict it with a power it cannot share, knowledge it cannot teach, truth it cannot practice.

Secrets are dangerous not in being told, but in being kept.

What is locked in the heart is so vulnerable and precious; it is a force meant to be reflected upon, reconciled, and released. Perhaps some secrets are too burdensome to be unleashed in shameless entirety or in direct confidence, and those are scattered throughout time in legends, myths, in art and poetry; masterpieces littering each single experience with whispers and with shadows. The secrets and their fragments we may be blessed or cursed to encounter are not for us to harbor, but to share as we see fit:

When we share foolishly, they instruct us; when we share wisely, they enlighten others.

In life, we accumulate so many secrets — they settle under our skin. They imprison us in our own minds, trap us with our own wills. Sometimes such secrets efface our very desire to live, for being alive is no more than sharing secrets:

Taking them on and letting them go.

For those who are truly living, there is no such thing as a secret, for to hear a whisper is to be whispered oneself. Being alive is standing on an ocean shore listening to the tide or marking the centre of a gust of wind or smiling quietly at a stranger’s conversation or holding the unshed tears of a close friend, inhaling the hushed morsels of existence and inserting ourselves in their place.

When we do this, we take the wind and give to it our being, and thus the burden of being is lightened for all. We cannot hold secrets dear, we can only hold them in vain. We are merely vessels after all:

Filled so we may be emptied, emptied so we may be filled again.

 

 

FRANKENSTEIN


Unfortunately, many people will relate all to knowingly to the poem. Re-posted from a talented poetess I’ve collaborated with in the past (https://dlmchale.com/2013/02/06/in-remembrance-of-sandy-hook-elementary/) Her work has an brutal, often naked truth to it. Please visit her blog for this and much, much more of her incredible writing at: http://hastywords.wordpress.com/

Supriya


9

I think a while of Supriya, and while I think,
She’s the reason I write poems with India ink
To make permanent my words, my thoughts, my love
For this beautiful vision sent from heaven above
“Greatly Beloved” is what her name means
Angels whisper her name, or so it seems
She’s the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon
Her grace floods my heart like a summer monsoon
Her poetic heart understands my desire
Her songs and poems do my muse inspire
For she is that link between heaven and earth
She’s the reason for my laughter, my joy, and my mirth
I don’t know from where she draws such beauty and grace
I only know she hides behind a beautiful face
In my heart, in my soul, to the center of my core
And all that I ask is a few minutes more
To have and to hold her in my faraway arms
To protect and to love her and keep her from harm.
She’s the reason I write such words on this day
For she’s entered my life and carried me away.
For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak
But only thinks and does and continually seeks
To lift up my spirit past the stars up above,
Supriya my friend, my hope, and my love.

 

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Armageddon of Faith


 

When the Angel of Death extends his wing
And Heavenly stars fall into their black holes;
And Angels no longer sing;
When Mountains to dust once more descend
And the Stain of Original Sin eviscerates the soul;
When breath of Man is sucked from his great chest
And His hopes and joys are laid to eternal rest.
Then shall our eyes, in one final moment, see
It’s all been a Celestial mockery! To wit:

Life has been damned from the beginning
And meaning is but a vaporous fog that leads nowhere.
Christ wasted upon Roman cross, yet the wooden nails pierce us all;
we the lost and faceless children of Golgotha.
While God, the coward, dances to hopeless praise
And we, our feet planted in jagged stone,
Give way to bended knee and broken bone
At last falling upon bleeding palms! And mutter thus:

Oh God! Oh God! Why have you forsaken me?
When I have betrothed my life, my heart and soul to thee;
The free will that you’ve given me recoils beneath your vengeful rod.
Blighted love, as fire rages through Eden’s gates,
His Celestial image consumed in the belly of the snake;
We, the children of Adam, cursed and abandoned
Have stormed Heaven and cast God to earth
And locked Him in temples…worshiping His bones.
Will not the Saints in pious verse compose
His holy eulogy? Lay granite praise upon His
Grave, and silence these babbling Prophets!

The warm embrace of Hell awaits the faithful
And the wretched alike; Heaven is but a cloudy
Cauldron pouring souls into a molten sea;
Feathers floating downward from the torn
Wings of the Heavenly Host.
Fate draws the darkened veil upon mankind
and the gates of paradise, with resounding contempt,
slam profoundly shut.

Secrets


My shadow falls away.
No sun will touch this truth.
Wandering, cold and revealed
almost naked in my sin.
I have squandered the best of me,
descending now with the rest of me.
Secrets eat at my guts
and I am consumed completely.
Would that my lips could part
and exorcise that which I dare not speak.
I am taunted by courage beyond my reach.
My body is cleaved in two;
one side dead, the other living in fear of living.
My own hand betrays me,
and I cannot sleep eternal.
The truth is an acid
eating away any hope of resurrection.
I am undone, yet left standing.