© Jan Frayne
Jan Frayne April 2013
Armaggeddon
Shadows, night.. comfort is here.
Instead of the harsh light of morning.
Shadows, night.. you'll find me there.
Heedless to the warnings.
I watch the life flow from me
My soul seems on fire
Those winds of change surround me
No one knows what I desire
End of daylight, end of pain
end of unhappiness
the story of the slain.
I know your harshness
and your reality of lies.
I see my friendships
and those who watch as the ember dies.
My heart is still left
but yearns to be free
save yourselves
Please, don't wait for me
It is the Armaggeddon
The day all deeds are done
and with your leave, take my love
the endless journey has begun
My Quivering Soul
No. Really
I do know how I am
I'm all messed up
that's nothing new
I don't know what to do
or who to be
or what you expect from me
it really doesn't matter anyway
you can scream at a wall until it breaks
but in the end
it's still broken,
How do you change you?
who is it that I have turned into
it's not me
it's not you
God, please don't let it be them
it must be them
because
I will wreck you
and I will use you
I don't know
you
Please, don't go
'cause I am scared
what if I really am who I came from
I know I push you away
what if it really is all my fault
stay
cause I am not me
Something
has been taken
from my quivering
soul
Love.
Whole Again
As the sun caresses my cheek
With it's gentle rays of warmth.
A cool breeze of summer night eve,
Ruffles my hair in playful delight.
I lift my face to the teasing rain
That it may wash the tears of an earlier time.
So are the thoughts that come
Not demanding.but requesting
Entrance to the cautious spirit.
With the warmth that suggests comfort
As a blanket would the cold.
A gentleness that teases at the senses
With a healing promise.
A sweetness that dare my emotions
To awaken from its' sleep.
To shut this mighty door of fear
Is but a brief reflection of old ideals
The newness of it
Challenges my every instinct.
So I dare to welcome what is unknown
With a soft embrace,
That I may experience
That which I am free to trust.
And I hear on the breeze,
Like an echo in the wind
A voice...
"I will make you whole again.."
After The Rains
After the rains that fell so soft
In my mind I see a view
This time not a field full of flowers
But a life with me being without you.
When you left me, forever, not to return
A big part of me died.
I told you that I didn't need you
But I couldn't convince my heart, I lied.
Loneliness took the place of your face
And the nights became so long, too long.
Depression transformed to agitation
And I knew that I was oh so wrong.
I can't spend the rest of my life
Crying over the past, In Pain. In vain.
I just need to concentrate on the future
And something solid that will last.
Does anything last?
After the rains that fell so soft
In my mind I see a view
Of me adjusting to the changes,
And I'm far better off without you.
Just Poetry
The past used to haunt me
like cold fingers
gripping my sleeve
and tracing
the tear tracks
on my cheeks.
Stuck
in this circle
this endless
cycle
of temporary
relief.
No winged creatures
appeared to whisk me
away
no burst of light
dawned
to burn away the haze.
It was merely
the constant
apathy
never forward
always still
while fleets
of people
ran past.
The flowers
in my garden
refused to bloom
Sometimes I'd try
to force the petals
open
but they'd only
fall
apart.
Somewhere
in the mess
there was me;
me, who kept looking
out
me, who kept
running
in my
circle
watching crowds
go by.
All
that kept me
busy
was to write
and write and write
till all the
crumpled poems
and tear-stained
pages
pointed in
to a little boys heart.
There
my reflection
appeared.
Still
No winged creatures
came
to set
me free.
Just poetry
Poetry Is
I have found
poetry is invariably
not unlike a candle
that burns out
having consumed
its possibilities.
The theme going through
various stages,
of loss,
into idealism,
which is always dead
idealism,
nothing fleshed,
nothing to touch,
nothing interactive,
no answer ever,
nothing of the beloved,
no affections,
only mourning
of lack and loss,
as the candle burns
until it has consumed itself
and then perishing
alone
into no more
than the dark.
That does not prevent
dreams
of wanting it
to be more than that,
as if a candle
can be lit
and something better
might happen,
rather than perishing
into the dark
as it flickers out.
Complications
This world has turned
too complicated,
and we hardly seem able
to do things that matter
in simple, beautiful, ways.
There are a million customs,
thousands of possible rituals,
endless unfathomable mixtures
of customary practices,
merged, evolved, melded,
in infinitely complicated ways,
as chaotic patterns,
that defy proper response,
defy reasonable prediction
as to course of action.
The world has turned
too complicated
and we hardly seem able
to do things that matter
in simple, beautiful, ways,
and that is part of the reason
why it is so difficult
to find even on effective way
to say to a beloved other,
that one truly loves,
for it always seems lost
in the noise of it all,
among customary practices,
among a million rituals,
an endless compilation
of complications,
until it is the hardest thing
to find one effective way
to say to a beloved other,
that one truly loves,
the hardest thing to say
I love you, truly I love you,
and find one has response
that is simple, beautiful,
instead of all lost
in the endless dark abyss
of human culture
with its confrontations,
its meldings, mergings,
its confoundings,
its compoundings
of conflicted ways,
and what now do I do
to tell my beloved other
that I love you,
when a world turns
ever so complicated
that hardly anything is heard
and ever less is believed
of anything as can be said
in simple, beautiful ways?
My beloved, tell me,
what can I do,
what can I say,
how might I convince you
in simple, beautiful ways?
The Foundry Of My Being
The bellows pump
The fires roar
My hammer strikes hot steel
Frightening are the sounds they make
In the foundry of my being great works form
Upon the anvil they do break
My courage falters, my passions storm
Too poor are my creations for other eyes to take
The bellows pump
The fires roar
My hammer strikes hot steel
Sometimes one dream is saved
It comes into this world and here it is destroyed
The very land beneath it razed
The very one for whom my spirit was employed
Finds it shape not pleasing, this oblige me stand amazed
The bellows rest
The fires choke
My hammer strikes not steel
A single ember glows
Its heat stings my skin, as over my face it flows
It stares out of the furnace, like a piercing sanguine eye
The bellows start
The fires rouse
My hammer again strikes steel
‘Tis good the ember would not go out
This heart of the fire that would not die
It’s defiant light I will never rout
In the foundry of my being my emotions still cry and shout.
The Music Of The Night
Trees dance gracefully to the symphony of the wind.
They sway gently while lightening highlights the sky.
The air is warm and humidity high
And thunder rolls in background tempo.
The songs of the night unify the sweet melody;
They unify and tie the piece together.
This beautiful song brings such a calm deep within
Yet it makes me tremble as joy sweeps over me.
I sit in my chair watching,listening,alone.
The music brings images of my life story to mind.
As I become hypnotised to the rhythm and flow
It is all so sobering and beautiful.
The images become more vivid. The music more angry.
The music within me, that I am, accompanies the orchestration.
I think about the many places I've been to.
I see the empty eyes of strangers as life marches by.
The music crests, emotion peaks, images nearly real.
Inside is a tossed salad of different feelings.
Good, sad, excited, angry, ashamed, and alone.
Sometimes I feel as though I'm almost at lifes end.
A Sad and Lonely Man
So gently flows the breeze
The streetlamp lights the sky
I whisper in the dark
a saddened lullaby
For now I'm left alone
with nothing else to share
A sad and lonely man
in need of loving care
Beneath the distant plains
of somewhere long ago
lie memories and dreams
and thoughts that lost their glow
Is this that all could be
A silent lonesome prayer
of destiny foretold
and covered with despair.
Mad Poet
Mad poet's disease took up into trees
fell from the rafters and tripped over laughter
Mad poet's salvation beyond frustration
took up into heaven's scrutiny division
Mad poet's disquise to write white hot lies
studying maps and falling in traps
Mad poet's mistake the harlequins make
terrible dyes under capricorn skies
Mad poet's discovery, life's red and rubbery
blue and bright green, just as it seems
Mad poet's posessions astute little lessons
hidden agendas for big spenders
Mad poet's discipline indelible medicine
an american dreamer on a cumberland steamer
Mad poet's rage tears up the page
rips down the walls & fires up the halls
Mad poet's depression inquisition'd confessions
not me, not today, some other way
Mad poet's decision, oracular fission
immovable object unstoppable subject
Mad poet's writings thunder or lightning
a bird in his heart sings a new part
Mad poet's lessons learned lived and lessened
nothing is real, everyone squeals
Mad poet's people good, God, and evil
wasted young lives brainwashed to strive
Mad poet's understanding knowledge is demanding
Power is useless in the face of a tempest
Mad poet's past, elaborately cast
Old skin is discarded, self sought and guarded
Mad poet's reasons the years all of seasons
Life will go on after we're gone
Mad poet's ending it was impossible blending
short lines and rhymes I succeeded this time?
© Jan Frayne
