Poem: ” Wishful Thinking.”

Some celebrate the season with their loved —

Ones, Some celebrate with their dogs and cats.

Others seek solace in a church and they pray and they —

Sing, of a child born Christmas Day and they,

Remember that child died on a cross when–

He became a man and preached to the poor.

He healed the blind and the lame and he even,

Let Pharisees accuse Him of crimes he never,

Committed because he knew there was more,

Meaning in his death; as there was such joy,

At his birth. Where wisemen followed a star,

And Angels sang his glory, while his Young,

Mother Mary, treasured everything in,

Her heart and rejoiced that her baby would,

Save the human race and defeat death and,

The devil, so that we can all go to heaven.

And be free and eternal, finally perfect,

And praise God for that little baby forever. 

But some don’t know that story, some only– 

Know they have nothing to eat and that they,

Are spiritually weak because they can’t think,

Much beyond each day because they cannot,

See the light in the tunnel, they are suffering.

And thinking to far in advance would make,

Their eyes tear up with sorrows and they can’t,

Be weak if they are to survive the pain.

Some people are alone having lost their loved,

Ones, or they are living far away while,

Their family lives somewhere else and I hurt,

For the people who can’t celebrate with–

Utmost Joy, the birth of a Saviour and have,

The blessing of their family to support them. 

It is Christmas time and as much as we,

Are all together, some people are close,

To falling apart because they cannot,

Be happy at Christmas, they have lost their,

Holiday cheer because bad things happen,

At Christmas too and it’s hard to be full–

Of joy, when you are hurting more then is,

Obvious to other people even;

Though you wish you could be a person,

With only thoughts of laughter and cheer.
Music Video: HallelujahJeff Buckley


©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved


The Truth: Poetry

Here is another try at some poetry, hope you like!

The Truth

The Truth is like a pearl,
polished and genuine,
gleaming in the waters still.
Deep beneath where the
light dances and shimmies the waters surface.
It is something taken for granted, something I gave up.
It became this hole inside my heart burning, seething,
twisted and warped beyond recognition.
An evil formed out of something so pure.
A repulsive ugliness that strangles me.

I want to give you that pearl let it gleam in the sun;
Let it adorn a jewelled neck, a sign of hope on a beauties breast.
But I lied and I took our security away, I lashed myself tight to
seaweed strands of purple haze, watery worries.
They will be my grave, they will make you despise me.
For I am a broken soul now and I cannot turn around.
I am set in my ways, though I wail and turn wane.
You are the light of a pearl, the soft flick of ashes, your lashes
The soot of my pain, as I lie to you again, yes I came…

The scent of those ashes, that burning acrid smell,
reminds me of churches, of a place purer than pearls.
Where the air is so still I can hear my breath wrack,
hear my heart beat, find forgiveness relief.
As I cry in my soul, it’s forgiven but torn.
While you pray to Mecca it separates us more.
I speak of a heart beat between you and me.
A quiet place we rest, but you make me ache in pain.
Wound me, complete me, and I bite my tongue as my wry wit replies,
to the pain on my peaches and cream, the bruises the aches in my legs.
To find no relief, in that there is nothing but the trapping of my lies,
the seaweed grief come to strangle my reprieve.
A word of love, taken back, a thought perhaps I care to much.
But when I am skin to skin and feel as close as to anyone that I’ve ever been,
when I would give to you what I’d give to no one else, you turn your back.
You leash me, stop my attempts to train you that way.

So I swirl in and out of this complicated romance, the jumper in the whirlpool.
The one plashless, hopeless because she cannot take back time and thinks
you and the pearl that glimmers in her eye, would have never been,
had she not minced words and told you, I feel nothing, this hurts.
I enjoy the closeness but you are no shiny glimmering pearl of truth yourself.
And I see the future unravel, unruly, uninvited coming near,
ending because you refuse to believe in the significance of ashes and churches.
Because I refuse to live in the world the woman with pearl around her neck.
It’s chocking me, the truth, it slides, a warm gold chain that clasps the pearl in place,
tightens the pearl around me neck until lost breath is imminent.
When will I say it those impending words?
When will I say it I cannot trust you!?
I cannot tell the truth,
You choose to do works when faith is needed.
You hurt me, and care little to understand my body, to explore.
My lips seal the words, close them in a box, turn the key,
Pandora’s box ready to unleash a pearl of wisdom.
Wise words, there are no wisemen here.