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Storm of Tears
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Storm of Tears |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration 
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I hate the rain. Hi all. C Storm of Tears ©2001, 2002 C.G. Ward drip drip night crashes darkness, collared angels scream the sting; creation dawning at the brink of madness betrayed through life, and chaos reigned by blindness. yet there, stooped before the pillars of recollection, an old man - smooth of face - faces tomorrow gazing behind. his hopes: dust. charity: stolen. dreams? they've faded into a wash of grief breaking waves of salty frost over a mocking core of unyielding self-pity. cast naked into the fires of regret, he labors them out incessantly, if only to recall the lack now burning. wearing a waterproof stole laced in diligent masochism, he waits. weeps. -rejects the life he could brave without this fantasy collection; shards of spite breathing whispers ...into the years of many ago. so head to stone, knees to rock, he prays. still, answers don't fall from the heavens, truth doesn't burst from the skies. and peace, peace doesn't well from within... only the ache - painted gray - rolls forward to breach the chasm. familiar and loathed, rife with despair, it strides his life edged in denial. at the end, it is only a small piece of his soul left sacrificed at the altar of pain. tiny, since so little there remains. defeated in desire, shattered in solitude, he rises to depart. flying from the chalice of a nightmare, he soars over the banks of asperity to land at the feet of demons, each a cackling bolt crashing the din through a storm of tears... drip drip [This message has been edited by Christopher (12-28-2001 08:38 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 C.G. Ward - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Elizabeth Cor Senior Member
since 2000-10-13
Posts 879Over the river and through the woods |
"answers don't fall from the heavens, truth doesn't burst from the skies" ... As I said before, there were so many lines that struck me that I couldn’t hold them long enough before they were swallowed new images: black and illuminated. Stark and brilliant... like a comic ~smile~; the whole poem a caricature of misery, really. But the two above... those stayed. Not only as individuals, but appreciated as braid work ... two fine ties that made the whole -- for me -- more intimate and true. You have done a fine, fine job here. I applaud you King of Darkness. Your muse is always sharper in shadow... p.s. I have to disagree, just this once, hearing you read this was much more impacting. p.p.s. I like the rain, I get to use my umbrella! [This message has been edited by Elizabeth Cor (12-28-2001 10:26 PM).] |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
I long for some rain - but not as you describe it. Though you do it well (as you do everything). |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
Good to see you posting C...and rain? aw, hell, I was BORN WET... gonna re-read this abit...I'll be back! HUGS... |
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Jamie Member Elite
since 2000-06-26
Posts 3168Blue Heaven |
always enjoy your poems Christopher-- almost surrealistic--but with an edge. There is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar. |
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Kit McCallum
Administrator
Member Laureate
since 2000-04-30
Posts 14774Ontario, Canada |
"shards of spite breathing whispers ...into the years of many ago." "at the end, it is only a small piece of his soul left sacrificed at the altar of pain. tiny, since so little there remains." It's wonderful to read you again Christopher! This holds such power ... dark and haunting imagery that comes across vividly throughout the read. You've captured the torment and misery of this individual with incredible clarity. Very well written indeed!  Best wishes for a Happy New Year to you Chris! /Kit |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Chris! Urmm... Ahem... hello, bud. This poem drips liquid shadows, transparent and brilliant. I love it, the darkness the barrage of image in oily waves washing over each other. It's good to see you back here at least for a poetic fix. My favorite image, by far the most poignant and memorable to me. "weaving a waterproof stole laced in diligent masochism" These two lines speak so eloquently to me... I could relate so well, letting the hurts(and joys) of the world slide off my skin while continuously and deliberately wounding myself... Anyways, the description is poignant and intensely sorrowful.. I enjoyed it greatly. I hope to see and hear more of you.. please? LOL "A hard, cold wisom is required for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom always accomplishes evil" - Robert Heinlein |
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Elizabeth Cor Senior Member
since 2000-10-13
Posts 879Over the river and through the woods |
Hi. I just had to revisit this. To give a little attention to things... ~smiles~ This reminds me of Christian, you know? And it gives me the same light confusion he does: in places, not quite being able to tell where reality finally crosses into fiction or embellishment... but that’s always a question here, isn’t it? how you manage to take something like “drip drip” and make it fits is beyond me... to flay open a few lines: “an old man - smooth of face -” god, beautifully done... you know what I picture when I read this ~soft grin~. What you say in such small spaces, Chris. I swear, your images are so STRONG... collared angels, pillars of recollection, his waterproof stole, and -- my favorite -- the diligent masochism. (that one makes me shake my head and turn a tart smile) I SEE when you write... not just visions of one night, but the breaking waves of memories in his head... and I always wonder, what is he gazing back at (with hollowed, weeping eyes: wet with shame, regret, and the furtive residue of his bane)? Are his regrets the conspicuous sins his life has allowed exposure? The rotted, sweet taste of tattered, saccharine memories? Or something deeper, as it always seems... that makes him flinch and stare to the side, anywhere but the questioning gaze of his present head hunter (don‘t plus me)... Ahh... but answers don’t fall from the heavens... truth doesn’t burst from the skies... and, honestly, I can barely imagine him one to pray... but perhaps it’s to a god I don’t know... or one that I have worshipped in desperation, but never given name. I think we all have one of those. But despite this human sacrifice... (and sometimes, one must wonder if it IS...) ... ache is the only true constant companion... a childhood friend, perhaps? One that grew into a final fiend in the last days... but maybe I’m stirring history and assumption, and I’ve always related a little too well... “at the end, it is only a small piece of his soul left sacrificed at the altar of pain. tiny, since so little there remains.” Oh, so it is a sacrifice... by whom, I speculate (to myself, of course ~sly side-slide of the eyes~)... but here is the fiction... watch it: since so little remains... defeated in desire, shattered in solitude, he rises to depart. Defeat. Hmm. And stones rarely shatter, do they? Not encased in iron... not petrified by constant compression... not to any degree they’d believe (but that’s a tease, and not a scolding). “flying from the chalice of a nightmare, he soars over the banks of asperity to land at the feet of demons, each a cackling bolt crashing the din through a storm of tears...” Oh, and here’s that requisite happy ending you’re so famous for; at least no one died. But the demons had to attend this little pity-party, didn‘t they?... as did the tears... (drip... drip...) You rip me open when you write, you know that? Not anything as clean as a slice... it’s got to be ragged, prolonged... Perhaps it is masochism that coaxes me to follow into those lettered depths... pretending understanding, linking myself and my experience so close until I can’t discern anything... the way one’s vision blurs when an object is scant inches from their nose... how am I suppose to read without clouding when half resides in my chest, and the rest in grappling conjecture? Ahh, well... the point is, I read to know, even when it’s not ‘you’ on these lines... because somehow you’re always IN them... I like this one a lot, pot. I do. It’s sharp in comparison to some of yours... a little more focused and fluid. But maybe that’s the rain today... Hugs, winter-worn one... I'm always willing to share my umbrella. |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
You're such a drip! Sorry I missed this way back when - would have really done a number on me after my miserable Christmas...lol You've done extremely well with the imagery here and set a deep undertone of helplessness and hopelessness. I, too, like the smoothfaced old man analogy... Very well done, bro. Michael |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
hey! thank y'all in here for looking at this... mike, you're alive!  hardly write poetry anymore... wonder why that is  C |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
interesting... five years later and guess what? it's raining today too!?!! ignore me - i'm just browsing |
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