The Strange Emptiness of the Night
Eerie emotions stormed through my weary mind
as dark visions screamed
into my haunting memories
streaming through the wind,
and as the moon flowed into the darkness
of the unforgiving horizon,
my mind was forced
to wade into the icy metaphoric ocean
ebbing in the shallows of my sorrows.
I strived to extinguish
the absurdity of the sorrowful existence
but pieces of metallic anxiety
spewed from under the earth
to a place near where my mind
could not carry the heaviness of oxidized time,
and while climbing inside
rusting silence to escape,
I failed to bury
the demons of the night that called to me
in the hundred stolen voices of a mocking bird.
In the far-off distance,
I heard the faint haunting sound
of a ghost train’s whistle
echoing in the space between life and death,
a place where those in their fading years,
as the spectre with a scythe
searched for us to end our absurd existence.
The decomposing hours of the night,
continually held me captive
in this nightmare of dread,
left me with a sense of agonized wistfulness,
as I anxiously waited,
to no avail,
for reality to smother the hauntings of unreality
that had arrived in the strange emptiness
of the night.
Long Forgotten Memories
In an old cardboard box in the attic,
personal notes sent on cold mornings,
rusted paper clips,
a high school ring,
a chipped red checker piece,
but mostly just long lost memories.
The old box sits beside
an antique mirror,
a single bed,
a dented in trumpet from the 1930s,
boxes of esoteric philosophy books,
sacks of old games;
and an old picture album
of unknown faces… unfinished;
the forgotten memories attached,
are covered with countless years of dust.
The things glistened with newness
a long time ago
when those who lived in this old house
still breathed, laughed and loved… now
a dull silence.
Life, so brief, so taken for granted,
as precious moments fade,
what was can only be found
in old picture albums,
and in the memories of
those very few of ebbing years,
who are still alive to remember.
Strange Pulses in my Questing Mind
The quivering lobes in my questing brain,
wait for soothing symbols
from a remote entity,
to tell me I should not be afraid.
I know it may be true, but,
I see the limits of reason
when concerning the problems,
and questions, concerning God’s existence.
Even scientists claim
that nothing can
evolve from nothing,
God, must have created everything.
But then what created God?
Or does God
have no beginning,
and time does not really exist,
except in our limited
time controlled minds?
My grandfather’s clock,
peals the message that death is inevitable.
my mind still refuses
to accept the reality of the timing,
for it is still playing with an unreality…
that we do not really exist,
and are only imaginary figments
in the mind of a God.
The Goddess in my Mind Garden
Sekhmet the lioness,
covered my withering mind garden
with seven arrows and three tears,
and I watched grief growing
in my plastic garden soil
of red crystals
where shadows of sorrow lived.
It was a dark metallic day,
and the rusting sun
hid in the lonely thoughts of tears,
as she released
an icy wind into my mind,
so that I couldn’t remember
the warm metaphors
that would grow
beautiful visions into memories.
James, a retired professor and octogenarian, Best of Web nominee and three time Pushcart nominee, has had four books of poetry; “Solace Between the Lines,” “Light,” “Ancient Rhythms,” and “The Silent Pond,” over 1530 poems, five novels and 35 short stories published worldwide. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, SLO, and his doctorate from BYU. His fifth book of poetry is set for release this year.