Contagious the man who spreads miserable grain
A slave to his own ball and chainConspicuous his burdenFor all to seeGlaring is his cynical strideHe drinks the nectar of the fruitless treeProbing for the fraud in welcoming facesUnrest he foresees, though not always at handHis growth is stunted by his mind’s oasisSlow to understandNot all breathed air is of frigid landBut for the contagious manWhen the cold wind blowsHe has arrived homeFor the cold is all he knows He disparages the notion of an offered handIntrigued by motiveThe toxin released from his spread wingsPollutes the air with energy so corrosiveSo hurried to judgeRusty is his weathered grudgeCrippled by his own conjectureSuspicious of a kind heartDisbelieving of a selfless gestureStaying warm beneath layers of unkind A postman of the world His letter delivered in crystal clear tone A pessimist loves a gatheringAnd never intends to be miserable alone But someday That icy exterior will slowly melt awayAnd after the thawLike warming iciclesThat cold demeanor will inevitably fallPerishing in a world no longer frozenAlways to beTossed about in turbulent seaWithering along the path he’s chosenCopyright © 2014 by Daryl R. Gaines. All rights reserved
darylg44
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Contagious
CATEGORY
life
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COMMENTS
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The Immortal Wize says: WOW!!! very deep |
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darylg44 says: Thanks wiz. Appreciate the read and the words |
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2b2b2 says: Fantastic....truly gifted my friend...thanks for sharing! |
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darylg44 says: thanks 2b really appreciate that |
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LP45 says: Wow, talkin about tellin' the truth! Deep I think is an understatement. This is so so true! Loved this one. |
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darylg44 says: Thank you lady poet. Your kind words are truly moving. Thanks for reading |
OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY darylg44
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Intellect without knowledge Darkness enlightened and in that light you find your truth
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Opportunity without contemplation When a...  |
The B Side of MeLost in rotation Twelve inches in gradual stages My life in microgrooves I am vinyl
Played out under the burden of a worn needle So many times I’ve scratched the surface Knowing they brought me to hear that one song they love And for them, I played it over, and over, and over again
Only because that’s what it was easiest to be You see, I was built to be a 45 But I’ve spun at 33 1/3 rpm’s Afraid to give them anything, other than what they knew me to be
They brought me for my song and dance Rarely do they listen to the other side Nobody cares what’s on the other side A one hit wonder, and the band played on….
If only they could know my variations I’m like a phonograph with an old soul Every ... |
Tomorrow's EveAs sure as the day When all seems just Still I stir Gently teased by the warmth of tempering words Yet still I shiver Here’s to the rattling of so many devalued bones And to the every man who is prudent, Whose words are actually acknowledged and heard, that truly knows A mere glitch to those The supposed all-knowing souls To whom the sum of my parts, is actually all that make me whole To those of whom not a line is blurred And liberty’s offered yet cautiously served
Each day is tomorrow’s eve The day before enduring much the same as today And the quest for quiet moments within them Just to pray Seeking a shift in the wind, Just one promising turn And a reason to rise for one more day |
Gale's BreathAs I walk this deserted path a tunnel of empty hollow,my eyes whisk awayand run North towards the Heavens.My mind wanders to the original score of swallowing silence.All but for the orphanage of gravel that cries out beneath my deliberate strides.Small abandoned pieces, splintered long ago.Broken in their own right,a quarry of screams, crunching under my hardened sole.How fitting.So rootless is my walkas the wind implores and whispers its final warning.Still, I remain unsurewhether confounded under the guard of shelter,or having never to see another morning.The forecast speaks aloud the “Fujita Scale†of me.Willingly I lay down my stonesand shiver from the exhale of my inner storm, still unseen.With everything I bare, feeling the unsavory airof Gale’s breath upon my own neck,I’m scarred and unclean.And Iâ€... |
SpadeSo After all these years this is still meNever mind all those spoken about strides If it walks like a duck, quacks like oneWhat about wearing that dreadfully fitting shoe?Never mind the way I came up aces in my debutA spade is a spade regardless of tradeIsn’t that what you say?Regardless of status or spouseEven having moved into my big White HouseSeems to me your mind continues to be madeWould youLike to roll tape and cueThe last 150 years in review?I told you before I was intelligent and propheticYesI speak of that same “Hustle†Of which I still remain “unapologeticâ€Every day I walk these streetsEvery daySo when we talk and I see you smile and say“I call a spade a spadeâ€Is that really how you figure?Are you still awaiting my approving smile?Still?I thought I knew yo... |
Let's TalkLet’s just talk… And put to bed all the screamingTo each other we would neverBut to the hate we stay intimately connectedTo the outside eyes it’s seemingAnd to the taste of our unsweetened homeIt pours like black coffeeWith spoonfuls of our sugarless droneIt’s become our latest meaningIf we could just talk…Without the seasoning of disdainGod sees allHe hears the listening we don’t allowThe way we’ve slowed to a crawlThe kind words we no longer entertainYou screamI screamWe bristle at the mention of each other’s name When we’ve not the energy to breatheNo longer do we even know howThis was not His idea of cleaveLoyal to not a single vowI wish we could just talk…Having traveled that barren roadExploring every alternate routeNavigating without di... |
FacesFor each day we are given to rise We are the authorsPublished countless timesInside our hard coversindividual accounts litter the brittle pages Always on display through the windows of the worldEverydayRead by the legions of eyesOur facesThe autobiographies of uncharted livesFor us they concede the unspoken truthsOur ever changing facesRare a thing that can speak volumeswithout the obligation of conversationThough it may offer few words,few aberrationsStillOur facesAlways ever-present inevitably releasing those quiet revelations.Our novels construed by our facial debutsWe wear our smilesThe venomous glare of our many trialsEach creased line like a treasure map to wisdom, from the infinite number of learned lessonsOur expressions speak of our joy, our pain, our transgressionsEven our distant gaze... |
ContagiousContagious the man who spreads miserable grain A slave to his own ball and chainConspicuous his burdenFor all to seeGlaring is his cynical strideHe drinks the nectar of the fruitless treeProbing for the fraud in welcoming facesUnrest he foresees, though not always at handHis growth is stunted by his mind’s oasisSlow to understandNot all breathed air is of frigid landBut for the contagious manWhen the cold wind blowsHe has arrived homeFor the cold is all he knows He disparages the notion of an offered handIntrigued by motiveThe toxin released from his spread wingsPollutes the air with energy so corrosiveSo hurried to judgeRusty is his weathered grudgeCrippled by his own conjectureSuspicious of a kind heartDisbelieving of a selfless gestureStaying warm beneath layers of unkind A postman of the wor... |
That Should Have Been MeMy eyes and their hurtful lies As they show me a face familiarBut I know this is one they never truly knewAnd though from afarThese eyes of mineAffixed to this face in my likeness I now seeI’m as sure as the day is longThis face I see never desired to know meAnd though you don’t see from where you standI speak to you aloud as if you canYou’re that carbon copy of a manThe original author of meWho owns all my featuresYour only job to do what she couldn’tTo enlighten and make this boy a manBut I no longer obsess with why you wouldn’tBecause now it’s too lateI’m already brokenAs a child, instead of with you I sat hopingAnd threw my ball against a loveless wallWhile you were on the first train smokin’YouSo unwillingAnd IYour unworthy seedRegrettably stamped w... |
I Was Just LeavingMaybe it’s me Always overly acquainted with the all knowing eyesAnd the rubbernecking of studying staresThe steady flow of innuendoPerplexingThe arrows of displeasure aimed in my directionAll for having lowered my anchorRejoicing in where I’ve landedMaybe not the preferred destinationBut content with the richly cultivated grains of my beingFertilized in fortitude from the favor I’ve been grantedAnd the divine soils in which my feet have firmly been plantedMaybe it’s meBecause my world is now sereneNo longer entertaining the misunderstanding of meAnd those who are still burdenedWhen I feel no obligation to explain the essence of my theme Or the reasons for my chosen path Those of which have caused my soul to scream Far too often in the pastMaybe it’s meBecause these beads of perspiration are not from di... |