Saturday, January 29, 2011

Year 2001-Age 15: Bittersweet Frustrations

One More Taste of Innocence

Father, don’t you know that I am weeping
over things I never guessed could happen

If I could only be a little girl again
dancing in the summer wind
laughing, playing shake-a-paw with Sasha
and crying only over my skinned knee…

Father, being a woman’s not easy
especially when all I've wanted to be
is a perfect child on your shoulders

Scenic and pleasant
with Mother,
and ice cream

Not here in the dark
I'm afraid of the dark
And I want one more taste
of innocence


Burning, burning
my head’s turning
hoping, praying,
spirit breaking

Pining for impossible
reaching for implausible
making, shaking
time and taking

Burning, turning
painful learning
teasingly not feasible
in every single way

Hoping, praying
spirit breaking
I have lost the day

Lady Jane

Young and bright
and pure as light
she was thrust on the throne
after family passed

And so she learned to love
her arranged spouse
and then they flew passion
aroused by ideas

To bring goodness to a land
embittered with bloodshed
blame, shame and guilt
and sly, crooked clergy

While thousands lay begging
they brought back the shilling
and put bread in their hands
but one would not stand for it…
The Roman Catholic Mary

And so they were taken
into a dark tower
where they had nothing, no one
no one, but each other

Bodies embodied
with love for Heaven
broken free of stringence
as the guillotine fell

Stop and listen

to hear the sound of people chatting
to hear the words
that they are saying
to pass the words
and listen to the tone
to pass the noise
and hear the breeze flow
to hear your body
the footsteps
all your movements
to feel the sunlight, feel it shining through
to look past the clouds
and hear your own heartbeat
to hear the rhythm
your individual rhythm
to hear the notes, the notes of your breath
and hear a song from this
and hear what's in the song
But, Just, Stop:
to hear a song, by you
with harmonies from God

Where is my voice?

Where is my voice?
it comes and goes
with all my woes
or woe is me
contradictory regards
this hypocrisy of cards
to you, to me
where is my voice?


Flitter, flutter
but never stutter
keep inside
those butterflies
lock them, bury them
suppress them
let them help you

Overcast Light

Serene, the window
through overcast light
the shadows, none
the quiet, not quite

Grey, with light
singing delight
the birds came to perch
through imminent might

Loving to want
to love, and to not
the overcast light
is beauty contrite

Swept into the night
admiring the stars
through clouds and contraction
I see only fractions
of my destined actions …

And I think of my dreams
and I long for the means
to look them in the eyes
and demolish their disguise

Plastic World

I register is all ways as
feelings that don't always appeal
to the plastic, plastic, plastic world

With walls that are chemical
crooked and cracked
with sparkles adorned
though ceilings are packed

But away from their eyes
are all their true lies
as they fix with their left
until nothings' left

Empty-Hearted Ocean

Most things that are in my head
connect straight to my heart
it seems a clever endeavor
a journey much apart

From sameness
of the game-S
yes, that functioning factory
of Satisfactory

Or even less..
the people
that just talk and gab
they talk and gab
and all of glib

On the surface
of this empty hearted ocean
where I must swim profusely
with this tank on my back


I have so much to see
I have so much to learn
there are so many little things
that make the fire burn

For young love is but understood
by only hearts that deeply beat
in passing
through the darkness

Broken down, and near defeat
there's now a silent wanting
that cannot be quite be reached
the moonlight’s light is blazing bleak
as all the lies are preached

I can't help be astounded
that great things become rotten
turned upside down but grounded
the real loves' not forgotten

I'll suffer in frustration
I'll want angels to take me
but in time I'll pick up the glass
and swear
It will not break me

Conscious wish

When I see sunrise for real
and smell sweet grass
in my front yard
I'll feel the air and
I’ll feel the real deal
I'll feel the truth flow

The First Week Of September

The first Week of September
time to begin again
with sulking oak tree branches
their leaves their dying friends

Above the mighty mountains
the iridescent rays shine
powerfully upon them
preluding the ways of time

The breeze blows in a whisper
and tells us to remember
it’s song of summer’s last grace
in the first week of September

Copyright © N.M.Rose Guedes 2011 (originals 2001)

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