DREAM AGAIN

Here’s a little poem from my upcoming book titled, ‘The Kiln: A Place for My Damp Heart to Harden’.

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DREAM AGAIN

Yet another dream to remind me you’re not here.
What I am to do with it is becoming rather clear.
You reminded me this time, at the end, with a kiss;
A farewell touch from you to me, as if to say we’re finished.

I laugh sometimes at the thought that the biggest competition anyone could have
Is six feet under and immortalized on a granite slab.

All these dreams of what could be, eliminate my fear.
New formed memories shared with you…my love, my muse, my dear….

When you come to call upon me during temporary slumber;
Waking up becomes the nightmare that wrenches us asunder.

It’s disturbing news in this waking life after spending time with you.
Again you go though, drifting into darkness, tilting my heart askew.
So, farewell for now. Like a stone I’ll wait, until we meet again.
A part of me is reserved for you, till I reach my inevitable end.

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Excerpts and More

Here are a couple of excerpts from the title ‘Scarecrow’, available on kindle through amazon. It tells the tale of an admirer and how he won the heart of the person he adored for years.

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Green Eyes

Green eyes, how oddly ironic.
Staring into the reflective color of my own
that have, at one time, made my gaze iconic.

Tracking down what lies behind
In a passive gesture to introduce myself
To parts of this woman’s unsettled mind.

She listens; then breaks away.
Into lectures of her past and her mistakes.
Promises that promote a desire to stay.

What is her perception of me?
What could she see in someone so opposite?
Or, does she possess a deeper need to be?

Below the surface of initially, exists a cloister of all.
The good, the bad, within the nebbish,
together make a good conversation for reality.

She listens more closely to my unknown taboo.
Fascinated and distant at the words enveloping her.
Her sense of fright leaving with every Boo!

Turbulence amid feeling allows me to be her guide.
Her realistic perspective, meets my diligent mind.
Settled in youth now looks into a heart open wide.

Be-set that our gaze is unquestioned authority
Allowed and surrounded by the inner sets of antiquity
That alone makes me comfortable referring to her as my Persephone.

 

 

Pulchritude

I cannot help but to look at a picture of this pulchritudinous woman.
All the things she makes me feel are nothing shy of being human.
We knew this would be hard at times, coordinating our moments alone.
We’re writing letters with pen…on paper…and speaking on the phone.

We engage secretly in quiet, open spaces. So we can see each other’s devious faces.
Yet, we hold together a truer foundation built over the years of missed embraces.
With a fondness and devotion towards the care of one-anothers heart.
This love we share is saddest in the bittersweet moments when we must part.

I hold-fast to the way I love her and keep resolute with my constitution.
She sees me for the way I am and this frees her from tired absolution.
We’re building something…a future, perhaps…we’re seeing each other’s greater potential.
Our fledgling love has known distance as friends, and as lover’s our time spent is sentimental.

Logic does not keep rhythm to love, though in ways it helps meld the heart to the mind.
It helps us to read each other’s glances and gets us through distances so unkind.
This fragile tryst we have endeavored shows potential to end in untimely disaster.
But, I’d rather know I’m true to myself by showing her a love that serves no master.

‘JANUARY GIRL’

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‘JANUARY GIRL’

With this ring, things come to an end.
I’ll always be a silent lover and friend.
To each other, we’ve never deceived
Perhaps this affair offered too much to believe.

It’s a cold winters day, and the snow looks divine.
Fitting weather for the severing of communication, this time.
I’ll stand and endure the weight of this feeling.
It’ll make me stronger and you won’t catch me kneeling.

It’s not to be tough nor stubborn, with pride
And it’s not because I don’t enjoy this ride;
Though, those things are equally true.
I won’t kneel, simply, because I love you.
I hope to come through and see that one day
That we’re happy because we found a new way.

Until those small plans can come to fruition
I’ll have to head towards a new destination.
The one I’ve been working on that’s just within reach
The one that grants me my small island and beach.
There will always be hope in me for you and I;
It will stay in my heart till the day comes I die.

Most of this month has been bitter cold.
January girl, please don’t wait till you’re old
To make life a sweet one, as sweet as can be.
Don’t look back on things and wish you had me.
Go after something that pleases your heart
Fight for a love that turns you to art.
Don’t ever forget the moments we shared
And know in each one, that I truly cared.

Know there’s no way I see getting over you
Everything is a constant reminder of all the things we used to do.
The talks we once had and the things that we spoke of;
The annoyance of knowing that technically, we can’t even break up.

So I’ll write you these songs, you’re my guilty pleasure.
Just a tiny glimpse of you is like discovering treasure.
I can’t help but be me or not feel what I feel
But it’s me I share with you and it makes me feel real.

I want to step to the future and relish the past
I want to create heaven and I want us to last.
I can’t wait to show you my full fledged affection
And give all of me to you with fierce dedication.

I’ve earned your heart and by it I’ll stand
Beside you I’d walk with your hand in my hand.
I’ll for sure be your man, my January Girl
My Scarecrow, my Scarlet, my priceless pearl.

By: Charles Poore

‘THE WHITE RAVEN’

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[Read to the rhythm you would read ‘The Raven’. Always and forever more.]

‘THE WHITE RAVEN’

Once upon a midnight dream wherein I walked adrift, serene;
Passing many upright conifers set firmly in the pineland floor.
Sunshine abound, the scurries of forest creatures could be heard all around.
From overhead there came a sound,
Clamoring from from above, silencing the critters that shuffled on the floor.
This unearthly noise gave my heart a start.
‘It’s just my mind’ to myself, I thought.
‘No beasts above the forest floor, it’s imagination…little more….’

Early time in sober dream is when it’s best to stroll amid the clovers,
below the outstretched boughs of the deciduous’ shadows;
Adoring silhouettes of branches resembling a sketch upon natures planted rows.
I walk to the rhythm of my chest’s metronomic blows.
Up ahead I spot a meadow; A clearing in my vision now, that divides the forest floor.
One giant shadow cast upon this ground, my heartbeat is the only sound;
My imagination conjured beasts from horror stories and lore of yore.

As I stepped into the clearing and made my way beyond the depth
Of the shadows laid by the pines blanketing the floor.
Outstretched, in the center of the clearing
Growing from the meadows clovered floor;
I see a tree standing tall, the king above the pineland floor.
A shudder struck me, twas the thought that we both stand alone;
What rests between is a transparent door.
I was ill prepared for the caw of the bird that fluttered over.
“It’s just a bird, a mighty tree, and my imagination, little more.”

Straight out front, above my head, there it perched on a broken bough.
Odd little bird with eyes blood red, twas an albino little fowl.
It picked it’s breast to suffice an itch, precision with an all white beak.
It ruffled feathers, suggesting comfort, and I wondered if this bird could speak.
“All white bird, raven shaped, frighten me some more.
State your name if you have a voice, this request I implore.”
It crooked it’s head and drew lungs full, as if to hold the air in store.
A moment passed and words fell out quoted he, “Not Ever More.”

This low hung branch was out of reach as plainly as I could see.
The sea of clovers grew ever smaller as I made my way towards the tree.
The evanescence of honeysuckle took it’s place within my senses.
“I feel the presence of a very suspicious, rare-bird, with infuriating intentions.
Tell me bird, what do you see? Be it anguish about my Gina Marie?
Her death impacted my life so hard, it struck me down into my core.”
Quote the white raven, “Not Ever More.”

Ever such a rare a bird, have I not seen before;
It perched itself upon a branch up above the pineland floor.
It sat and stared, layered in sheet white feathers, it’s red eyes piercing crepuscular rays.
It stared at me until my soul depleted whilst I thought about Gina Marie
-Whose name’s not whispered anymore-
My immortal muse who made the passing between Life, and Death’s door.
Not ever to be seen again to walk with me on my dreamscapes floor.
To mock my pain the white raven’s name: ‘Not Ever More’.

“Rare bird, why do you stare? You glare as if you have a care.
A care for what I won’t ever know as I stand below your familiar glow.”
The bird stayed peering through my soul as if it was a glass window.
A mild chill touched my spine, which felt disturbing in warm weather.
(It made me think this bird a jester as if it knew to what I was fettered.)
It brow beat me and I tried to run, to steal away on the Pine Barrens’ floor.
I failed to flee so there I stood, no longer moving anymore.
Shrieked the white raven, “Not Ever More.”

“Derilect! Filth I say! Your rare occurance is an abomination.
Birds like you should not exist they’re torn apart after gestation.”
There it lingered and stared deeper still, burning a hole in my tattered will.
How to resist this minuscule damnation that rests it’s wings for self preservation;
Projecting thoughts into my head of all the wrongs I’ve done and said.
A sordid terror filled my heart whilst this ghastly bird brought what’s in store.
Said again to shake my core the white raven caws, “Not Ever More.”

Karma waves it’s finger at me in my newly corrupted peaceful place.
The residence in my memory of Gina Marie, before death laid it’s hands upon her face.
Before my life got so detached and she remained a saving grace.
Before her life became a ghost, where only in dreams I can adore.
I linger now, it’s been so long since she wandered through my midnight door.
I look up at the rarest bird that’s reflecting me above the pineland floor.
There he was, this white raven repeating, reminding me “Not Ever More.”

So I strafe away from it. “Useless bird!” I scream while brandishing my walking stick.
I fix my sight upon my target, this empty, albino, hideous crow.
I pull back and steady my stare and give a holler whilst I throw.
My stick spins swiftly cutting the air shattering branches galore.
My target stayed perched upon the bough not moving from above the pineland floor.
“I know it struck you, I hit my mark!” Said I, to one with few words in store.
It looked at me distordertly, quoted he “Not Ever More.”

Reluctantly, I fell down upon my knees and clenched the clovers under me.
I plunged my fingers into the dirt and screamed, “go then, make worm food of me!
End this, leave me at peace, if it’s death you bring then make it so.
I’ve left all I own behind and you make it seem it’s time to go.”
Silence is the name of the sound as the forest exposed it’s deaf ears;
It carried on for years (or so it seemed) as a drop of tear passed to the floor.
The white raven cut the silence uttering, once again, “Not Ever More.”

As I knelt I felt, too, that my soul was no longer standing.
I observe a sight of pulchritude whilst my muse flailed by, dancing.
I looked up and sneered at my rapture and laughed at it’s deceptive, pintly size.
“You think that all that you can see is the demon that resides in me;
It’s now or it’s not to take my life deliberately.
Take your stand and present your trick, end it swift I do implore.”
It crooked it’s head once again and retorted sharply, “Not Ever More.”

My fury burned and flushed my face in my attempt to quell this rage.
This cunning bird, alabaster white, attempts to thwart life’s final page.
Or so I think this dubious act is happening on the pineland stage.
I decide to rise and gather strength to soldier through my drunken gait.
I make my way to this king of trees. Perched upon it, the rare bird defining me.
This white raven, this false prophet nonsense sage bids me what it has in store.
I hug the king and plea no more;
I quote the white raven “Not Ever More”.

I was craven and through screaming, berating, and cursing this nightmarish white raven.
The resin sticking to my palms has reduced my qualms and teary streaming;
Reminding me of the gummy feeling that slows my pace.
Not ever again will I see her face if I continue to linger in this place;
tearing asunder my scar laden heart to not ever find a home to restart.
It’s best to move on and find a cure and share myself with something pure;
To carry on forever more.

What is left for me to ponder aside from the doubt of where I wander;
And the insidious lingering of the smell of musk permeating the air.
All my life I’ve been the artist of my own deluded affliction
I’ve asked again and again for repentance through a silent benediction.
As for help I did so find. To ask for help, this act alone I do abhor.
The lonely squawk above my walk is a mirrored image of my life so poor.
If, in turn, I change this state, I’ll be alone not ever more.

I have noted among the shrouds looking up at the puffs of clouds
That the moment to evaporate will wake me from this curious state.
The wish of a purple world with lulliby and candy cloud
pushed this song to its wits end and opened up these once locked doors.
A flood of water fills the pinelands deluging from the Atlantic’s shore.
Filling my mind and cleansing my heart to reassure me there’s something more.
Something sure that I may not have, not again, not ever more.

The distant twilight casts it’s glow and reminds me that it’s time to go
Away from sweetness and Gina Marie back to my world where she’ll not ever be.
The quiet place where I once existed that the white raven perverted and twisted
Into a realm that no longer matters and that I may now detour.
A place I frequented in utter silence when midnight opens up it’s door.
Not once invaded by a bird whom above the king tree would dare to soar.
I’ll stay away not to come back, not again, nor ever more.

The rare bird, ivory raven, once was there and now unseen
Vanished into the backdrop of the clouds in the sky’s felicity.
I dreamed a dream of who I am. A reclusive hermit, a white raven.
A soul unsound that fights itself for all the goodness it’s so craving.
A distant memory flies away from me and redirects all I’ve bore.
It paints a portrait of a ghost, a monster, an empty shell sunbleached on the shore.
The life is done and not to be, I quoted he, “Not Ever More”.

For: William Poore

By: Charles Poore