Lyrical Ramblings
a little book of poetry
by
Stacy Stutz
Published by Lively Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright Stacy Stutz
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Poetry is for the young, the foolish – the idealistic among each generation. Some follow rigorous rules – tucking inspiration into set lines, rhymes and rhythm while others prefer the free flow of words that tumble out with tenuous threads capturing them together in a semi-cohesive bundle – or not. The desired results are the same; poets want to engage you, the reader, with powerful thoughts and imagery that invoke, evoke and provoke.
Poetry is for the old, the wise – the realist of past generations.
Anger-ridden angst filled children that know nothing of the truths in this world write poetry. It is written by free spirits who long to share a glimpse of the beauty they see every day. It is penned, pecked and jotted down on bits paper by those whose emotionally outbursts cannot be contained, or shared. Poetry is the voice of the one who will not speak.
For me, poetry is the music in my heart and mind.
A man great and strong.
He gave me strength, he’s now gone.
Memory kept alive deep in my writer’s soul
and it’s in his name that I strive.
He gave me more than morals,
more than any could know.
He gave me my dreams.
His love for me had,
no boundaries,
no limits,
no end.
Belief was all it took,
a gift he gave to free
I miss the man who taught
words are powerful tools.
He believed I had the talent,
to wield them with ease.
My heart aches with sorrow,
knowing he will never see,
the fruits of his devotion to me.
I will cross the barrier of white capped waves,
far from the safe haven of the bay behind me.
Taking to the ocean as we did that day,
we said forever good-bye.
Noisy chattering
black speckled breasted birds fly
southward bound to roost.
Flocks landing upon
fire red fruit laden trees
stripping them leaf bare.
Sweet tones on thin air
songbirds season finale
the mating dance done.
Feathers fall lightly
worn ragged and torn from use
of the seasons passed.
Ring added this year
dead dry leaves litter the ground
graceful lines, nude boughs.
Autumnal fire dancing
on darkening skies
the gloaming begins.
Night falling early
slipping into tomorrow
the chill of dawn breaks.
Cool air breathes upon
silver gilded leaf litter
mourning icy lace.
Cinders on the hearth
blackened soul left to ashes
life begetting death.
Bolting from heaven
silver white heat destinies
strike with hot fury.
Fire consuming
new life and green tender limbs
debris cleared away.
Heat boiling the sap
running through the golden heart
of the proud oak tree.
Dry tinder explodes
red hot sparks of destruction
foster the fire.
Seedpods bursting forth
germination from the flames
settle in white ash.
Purifying heat
baptizing absolution
cleansing by fire.
Life forged by the flames
tender new shoots emerging
to smoke tainted air.
Verdant greens abound
cut glass crystal clear water
lapping up white sands.
Reflections of paradise lived
in fractured waves of reality.
Morning is a special time, when the sun crests the horizon bringing light and warmth to
mother earth. Never is this more apparent than in the spring. Trees budding and
exploding in glorious color the dreariness of winter becoming an echo of memory. It is a
good time to quietly reflect on the past and dream of the future.
Light slipping over
cresting of the pinnacle
baptism of earth.
Perished memories
fertile soils of tomorrow
spawn the dreams to come.
Lovers touch lingers
as the sun reaches zenith
cresting pinnacle.
Fruits of the labor
forged with eternal spirit
born unto the world.
Enlightenment gained
attained in life’s endless coil
fulfillment complete.
Hope eternal springs
as tender new shoots begin
reaching for the sun.
Unfurling to light
gathering inner energy
husks fall to the ground.
Blossoms delightful
petals sweetly scent the air
as the south wind blows.
Bee’s buzz lazily
from bloom to satiny bloom
pollen clinging tight.
Leaves fully open
tiny buds of fruit appear
life’s continuance.
Sighs upon a winters winds gale,
laughter, lonely in a cool forest glade.
Soft summer winds billow the sail,
while we sip Margareta’s in the shade.
Linger a moment, cherish the earth renewed,
sweet blossom, burgeoning upon the knoll.
Mountains patch worked, admiring the view,
cloaked, Mother - nature sharing her soul.
Burgeoning tight bud
hold fast against humid heat
slide slowly open.
Slipping petals push
outwards fanning petticoats
behold natures gift.
Heavy heads swaying
lazily in light warm winds
soporific scent.
Awash in green light,
sun-dapples delight
upon dancing—
among sparkling
dew droplets.
Deepening shadows
gather pools of light.
Moss bound banks
binding soil,
the lazy stream
bites - nips away
Mother Earth.
Yellow flowers
thin stalks,
perfume misty air.
Tall pines tang scent
veils thinly
the dank must
of decay,
humus.
Words spoken in haste-
zesty bitter lemon rinds
leave you spitting
dust settling ‘round ankles
shins black ‘n blue;
kid shoes hit their mark.
Winter, spring - fall, summer.
The winter of my heart falls in spring.
The heat of a summer’s day burns furious,
an inferno beneath azure winter skies
in the desert.
Rats dig holes in the shifting sands,
a timeless land standing still no more.
Winds blow
sugar-fine demons of dust swirling,
eroding walls built to enclose emotion.
Hate, love – jealousy, fear.
Love begetting hate, when jealousy
allows fear to propagate in minds
of foolish people,
who believe they, alone, are right.
Worms eat flesh; deepen the holes
while bodies rot beneath the sands
of land that moves, undulating, changing
never standing still,
and yet, left unchanged in the hearts of men, women,
children.
There are those who believe, who know
the sands will erode walls of hate.
A single, sharp-edged, grain etching deeply
burrowing into the buttress until,
at last, it crumbles
back into the tides
of undulating earth..
Sun up and the day begins,
crisp yellow light blooming over
the horizon yellows, tangerines
pinks cut fresh from the garden, dying faster
in cut crystal
filled with stagnant water spilling
on wood, racing towards the edge
of eternity
to drip slowly down on vinyl floors,
more comfortable to the foot than tile.
Droplets of water wash away yesterday's
grimy footprints to be sopped up
by a musty old sponge that sits beside
a clean sink of dirty dishes that will serve
a luncheon to ladies wearing pearls
choking swan necks
clad in yesterdays fashions imported
from China, India, Pakistan and they wonder
with fluttering hands
why the economy is heading south to Mexico
slipping behind the wheel of Hyundai’s fortune
returning to empty nests to roost
as the sun dips low to the west returning
home in the East.
Threads ragged edge used cloth of life
frayed, soft fringe and tired colors
ravaged by light, touch and tears
swaddling new life, shroud of shadows
that dance across many souls.
Blazing cardinal banner snaps to attention,
huffs of steamed breath expel from flaring nostrils.
Eyes, shot with blood, narrow as the magenta sky burns
away the day’s last vestiges – hope.
Needle sharp stiletto blade, finding its mark, sinks
deep to the hilt. Billowing rage rents the air,
as a thin scarlet trickle,
droplet of life,
falls unheeded
to earth.
Prideful beast, head thrust to the heavens.
Vermilion shafts of light fading fast, dusk’s
slender fingers slide in, reclaiming shadows.
And he tucks his head to his chest in a final
defiant charge, gorging the air with fury
against that crimson pennant of pain.
Shuddering, the ground quakes in his wake
as dust demons ride his flanks
spurning his fury.
Liquid golden dagger of light consecrates the
night, desecrates the day. Mother Earth
gracelessly receiving the behemoth weight
to her breast, sanguine stain blooming
a winter’s rose, viscously forced
by man’s own hand.
Now I lay you down to sleep
Slicing through the soft sinew
and tissue, you stole the breath
of life, a father to a son, gone.
I pray the Lord, your soul to keep
Today you reap the rewards,
the fruition of promises made,
apples, bitter from tainted soil.
If you die before you wake
Almond scents the air around you,
inhaled deeply, accept the acrid
aftertaste following you to afterlife.
I pray the Lord, your soul to take
Delivering you to the bowls of hell,
brimstone and sulfur cloak you in
acid blankets of torment.
In the Name of the Father,
The man you took from
the Son,
will never play ball with.
the Holy Ghost:
Have pity on your soul,
I will not.
Amen
you are
nothing
in
My eyes.
you mean
less to
Me
than the
filth on a
camel's
ass.
Be gone
from My
sight you
loathsome
toad.
your intellect
less
than a
fleck of
spittle.
your
arrogance
is beyond
all measure.
The
very sight
of you
is more
than
I will bear.
I loathe you
Silenced- our cardinal song, essence shattered
into discordant broken melodies.
Folderol of the heartache- so battered.
The livid bruises of disharmony.
Souls sliced asunder, love sours to hate
and fervent steel bequeaths entwining scars
now tangled threads, we seek to extricate
from silken bonds as they begin to mar.
Ensnared cruelly, blindly love falls apart.
Raining tears- abandon your emotion-
descending fears locked fast in the lost heart.
Sufferance, life devoid of devotion.
Indifferent to passions sweet symphony,
yet, in your eyes I seek epiphany.
I lived in Fear, Insecurity
leading to Jealousy, Hate
living Deaf Dumb and Blind
Eyes wide open
staring
at the world
blind
to all shut tight
lids heavy with
sleep of a dreamer
A face
Soulless reflecting eyes
window to the soul
Blinded by emotion
shine with harsh light
Deaf to my pleas
You hear, but don’t listen
You speak but say nothing
words echo’s of nothing
empty promises
singing discordant
harmony
never the song.
Hot hazy, lazy days of summer,
red riot of overblown roses,
their petticoats litter
the ground below –
scented carpeting crushed
between a child’s kool-aide
stained hands.
Groovy grape lips,
greedily sucking the juices,
trails from quickly melting
refreshments clutched tightly
to keep safe from the puppy
whipping tail.
Faded blooms
dead-headed to
propagate more
more,
more,
‘til the leaves turn
dark green and lose
their luster under the
punishing
shimmering
heat of the solstice.
Painted matron
garish orange yellow
and gold,
robes set ablaze
the new light
angled to show
her at her best.
Behind gouged out gourds
flickering candles burn
the soft inner flesh
and goblins,
ghoulies,
witches
trip lightly up
the steps sing songing
mantra from candied lips.
Her pretty plumage falls
unheeded
in piles of decay – rotting
beneath the emerging skeleton.
Bare bones striking
against the purest shade of blue,
crisp cold air allowing the truth
of the heaven’s reflections seen.
White cold blanket
tucks her in for the winter’s night.
Cross hatched across virgin snow,
sparrows lay lacy trails
obliterated,
whuomp,
by a falling angel.
Leftover leaves hang
stubbornly, refusing to fall
to the frost hardened ground,
rattling dry old rustling - in the winds.
Bobbling yellow heads
threatened decapitation
on stems so fine, so weak,
heralding the coming of renewal time.
As sweet rains cleanse the earth,
clearing cobwebs from the heavens,
blown on the March currents.
Lightly bundled tots
clutch tight with pudgy hands
spools of fine twine and above
towheads, dancing on the streams
of the lions roar - kaleidoscopic kites aflutter.
Pushing aside the ugly
trappings of the year gone by,
downy bits of green appear,
fresh to my tired eyes,
extreme pristine green.
Leaping about
climbing walls
doors
plucking nerves
needle sharp
claws.
Motor running
sweetly winding
around – tangled
and then you pounce!
Growling at flies
batting dust motes
Hiding in shoes
unsuspecting feet
mewling your disgust
displeasure.
Standing guard
outside –
Kitten with the
heart of the
Lion
Sleep!
I crave my sleep!
Come to me, now.
I command my mind,
To cease all thought,
Allowing me peace.
I cannot think.
I cannot write.
I cannot read.
I cannot rest.
I desire,
Sweet oblivion.
Sinking into,
the dark emptiness.
Insomnia
Wakes.
Blocked, blocked, blocked.
Round and round I go,
A trip around the block,
That everybody knows.
Searching, searching, searching,
for the right word.
Banging, banging, banging,
my mind only finding the absurd.
Finally I pass,
thru the looking glass.
To my world of,
sweet fantasy.
Only to hear the piercing scream:
MOMMY!
Will you shine it on,
just to blow it off?
Will you grow weary and tired,
stomping the dust from your boots.
Will you walk away?
Can you shine it on,
just to blow it off-
Can you erase that memory, moment lips touch
breath mingling a moment before time
Can you forget?
He shined it on
pretty as a copper penny.
Freshly minted - printed upon unyielding ore.
Buffed and polished until the last image
fades away.
He shined it on
removing the tarnish
patina of age, knowledge, beauty
wisdom wiped away - dark smudges upon
stark white cloth.
Will I shine it on,
just to blow it off
living as a shade - a memory
allowing dreams of hope fall prey
to misery?
Will I shine-
Will I shine?
Or will I just blow it off?
So long - farewell –
get the hell out of my sight.
End this futile fight now.
Enough I say, just go away –
and leave me in
bitter peace.
Allow my heart –
my soul, my inner me
a measure of release.
My eyes red - rimmed
salt for Margarita glasses
drowning sorrow in
sweet drink that go
down easy.
With my back to you,
I open the door.
Wind rushes around
skirts my sweet scent
lingering behind
carried on Springs breath.
Release - Renewal - Rebirth
Love is an act of will,
standing when you want to run,
trust in the face of fear.
Honoring faith, believing in hope.
Devotion, loyalty, friendship
twined in the weft and weave
as life’s fabric unravels--
threads to be woven anew.
Spiraling down,
oblivion.
His eyes turned to obsidian.
I turn inwards,
seeking reprieve.
from he who is following me
In my mind’s eye,
I’ve become blind.
He comes for me, in his good time.
Reeking refuge,
from my own thoughts.
Deeper I go, surely I’m lost.
Comforting void,
wrapping my soul.
There’s nowhere else that I can go.
Silence screaming,
echoes abound.
Infinity, there is no sound.
Falling deeper,
in the abyss.
Darkness awaits, with his sweet kiss.
My eyes reflect,
reality.
Barren shell, a nonentity.
Hidden so deep,
in my psyche.
A woman’s struggle to be free.
Hate’s tattoo beats of rage upon my chest.
Blackened curled edges on my broken soul,
stained tainted and painted upon my breast.
Love's bloom trembles timid in the tempest
reaching to heal the ragged edges of the hole;
hate’s tattoo beats of rage upon my chest.
And deeper still the rage digs in, obsessed.
Destroy light within, seeking to extol,
stained tainted and painted upon my breast.
Tendrils of hope standing fast to attest,
the ruination of evil’s control.
Hate’s tattoo beats of rage upon my chest.
The tides of woe, wearily reach their crest,
and promises of yesterdays, lose hold
stained tainted and painted upon my breast.
Love’s bitter struggle, lost its noble quest,
darkening shadows consuming me whole.
Hate’s tattoo beats of rage upon my chest.
stained tainted and painted upon my breast.
Love’s laughter, light, chase away feral fear,
to shadowed corners, spiders of my mind.
And weeping wounds heal, joyous through the tears.
Seven slashes upon my soul appear,
past insults of love that refused to bind –
love’s laughter, light, chase away feral fear;
and seven years have passed, just disappear
leaving me behind, stealing my sight, blind.
And weeping wounds heal, joyous through the tears.
Seven men, I caught a glimpse, as they peer
upon the defiled form, that once was mine.
Love’s laughter, light, chase away feral fear.
No perching on pedestals, the choice clear,
laughter trapped behind ramparts that confine.
And weeping wounds heal, joyous through the tears.
Seven steps - heaven’s descent - as I near –
death’s loving embrace becoming entwined.
Love’s laughter, light, chase away feral fear,
and weeping wounds heal, joyous through the tears.
Love lost again - life bitterly shattered,
two words, that’s all it took - I said “Good-Bye.”
What little is left - raggedly tattered,
across the trade winds of chance now scattered,
carelessly spoken words tripped up with lies.
Love lost again - life bitterly shattered.
Packing a case used, well-worn and battered,
turning a deaf ear to pitiful cries.
What little is left - raggedly tattered,
upon the floor
Love lost again - life bitterly shattered,
what little is left - raggedly tattered.
Love a wicked fire that explodes from nothing,
from nowhere and consumes all, leaving naught but gray ash
behind that will nourish the soul for eternity. An electric blue
flame lit from within with no help from a sulfur tipped stick,
it simply exists to be. Is love reality? Can you quantify it;
can you measure its girth? Worth its weight in gold,
yet weightless. Insurmountable burden upon the shoulders
of those who carry the torch alone, yet light downy fluff
of an eaglets first molt carried gently down the cliffs face.
A contradiction, an enigma.
A caged sphere, hidden opening with its lock blending into mesh
of hard gauged wire. Risks for nothing but the applause
of children, the ohh's and ahh's of adults who have the heart
of a child and the fathomless black of blank stares
from those whose souls are old and shriveled. His wicked smile
flashes bright in the spot of light pinning him
down, searching for the one that sits among the crass
crush of humanity. He enjoys the eyes upon him,
even the jaded blunted green of the tired heart.
Love a wicked fire explodes from nothing, from nowhere
and consumes all, leaving naught but gray ash
behind nourishing the soul for eternity.
Within the mirrors glass, a face, alone,
reflected unto me a woman-child,
her sins unknown never to be atoned
kept caged within, the cages within,
her smile thin, kept caged within, all the while.
Peer deeply into pain grey-clouded eyes,
Searching hidden faults lying deep within,
And believe in, orig’nal sin, barbed lies.
Winds blow sour, reeking of rotten gin.
But dawning to she, in the looking glass,
the Goddess Truth has come again to prey,
As the dark shrouded dreams, at last have passed,
Into lackluster nights of yesterday.
At last the keening shriek, the banshee’s wail -
Subsides to silence - strength of soul prevails.
Lethargy seeping
leaching out of hard bleached bones
stealing precious strength.
Emptiness filling
languorous limbs hanging, just
waiting for motion.
Sleepy eyes wander
everywhere – somewhere, nowhere
never seeing truth.
Life bleeding away
to the nothingness of time
forgotten again.
Time passing again,
the quiet innocuous thief
ennui steals the soul.
Seek not wisdom of those who lead,
in putrid ground they spill their seed.
Brethren of the evil ones
believing not in the Son.
They spout tripe in the form of lies
evil darkens both your eyes.
Beckoning forth with words of love
hairy hand in kidded glove.
Wisdom found in what you fear
word of truth, of light, you hear.
Letters stamped upon a metal plate,
Lord of Lies shall be proud,
signs of false prophecy,
blasphemy for all to see.
For she has asked her Lord above
“Forgive my sins, forgive my debts,
forgive me all, for I have trespassed.”
I ask, what is there left to owe?
Christ died upon the cross for us,
He gave His only begotten Son for you, for me
and yet that does not seem to be enough,
for you plead and cry your Prayers
standing upon street corners;
He commanded you to secrecy,
what is in your heart
is between you and He.
Scream his accursed name and pound your fists
in futile fury against a pale red sky,
bleached by the tears of orphaned brothers
and sisters lost forever to eternal hell
fire and damnation.
Following sheep in wolves’ fur aroused
by promises promised by poison lips,
a kiss bestowed upon the brow
of a virgin; married.
Seek the path of riches
and the righteous shall turn their backs.
Churches filled overflowing; coffers
of glorious earth bound treasure
maps leading to dust.
Hearts filled with hope, of glory, singing Hosanna
turned aside, for hope is no treasure, faith no buttress
for those who seek glory in His name
yet keep a seed for himself.
Blessed is he who sows his seed
in his neighbors field.
Capricious and miserly
pessimistic, joyless soul.
Enter not to His Kingdom,
as your hand recedes
not from lack of need
but from selfish greed.
Grief dulled rusted old knife.
Plunging deep,
Lacerating my soul.
Tears, acid trails on tender cheeks.
Staining
tendrils,
burning
scars deep within.
Hate, vile putrid wasted life.
Welling from,
a tainted twisted need.
Love, pure liquid light.
Healing
balm,
easing
the tortured soul.
Laughter, giddy and fresh.
Easing the pain,
with sweet memories.
Joy, tempering the void.
Exalting in,
the freedom of death.
Perched upon a pristine shelf, cherished box,
and a plastic doll suffocates within.
Painted eyes peer from above as she mocks,
those that have caged her in, holding her locked
safely kept from life’s dark sinister sins.
Perched upon a pristine shelf, cherished box.
Dust slowly settles on that soulless box,
dulling the hot scarlet of her slashed grin.
Painted eyes peer from above as she mocks.
Time passes slowly, the clock’s tics and tocks,
measuring to the end, what might have been.
Perched upon a pristine shelf, cherished box.
Seasons of disuse, fades her winsome frock,
fool’s of the heart never learn, time will win.
Painted eyes peer from above as she mocks.
The day comes to bear, the box is unlocked.
Painted doll now dust, his sinister sin.
Perched upon a pristine shelf, cherished box,
painted eyes peer from above as she mocks.
Winds of change whipping shredding
away the dusty shelves
hope rests lightly upon.
Lifting gently riding aloft zephyrs
freed from shackles
binding, grounding to darkness.
Absolution - redemption
beckon
I love poetry, I love to read it, I love to write it – I love researching different forms. There
was a time when I eschewed “free form” style – I would often compare it to playing tennis without a net or baselines. Obviously, I got over such snobbery. My first freeform is included in this collection, Four Seasons and it has to be of my favorite poems. Once the free form bug bit me, I fell in love all over again – the lack of constraint was intoxicating.
Even though I now embrace free form, many different styles of traditional style poetry are represented in this little book. Oddly enough, my favorite styled forms of poetry are the polar opposite of freeform, the Haiku, the Senryu, the Tanka and several other Asian
formats; my favorite being the Haibun, which is a mix of short prose followed by a
complimenting Haiku. There is something extremely satisfying in boiling down a poem to its essential essence.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you! If you have a mind to, I would truly appreciate it if
you could leave a little review wherever it was that you found my little book. Good, bad or indifferent – I would love to hear your feedback.
Being an “unknown” writer is a tough gig especially in the world of poets and every review posted is a bit of gold for someone just starting out.
Facebook Page: Lively Publishing
Email: Stacy Stutz
Smashwords: Stacy Stutz's Author Page
Again, thank you!
~Stacy