The Poet

The Poet

Monday, December 26, 2016

Sealed And Locked By Ronald S Porter ©2016

Arms to wrap me around
laughter to thrill my heart with sound
Soft strong hands to caress my face,
I miss these things and strive to not.
The door I locked, the cell I've sealed
where all unfulfilled desires live.
these things are fled and gone
and, it's foolish, for them, to long.
They are not to come again
and, I've no time for foolery

A Seafaring Metaphor by Ronald S Porter ©2016

What a pair the two of us made;
What a pretty couple, you and me.
We built a ship, designed to sink, then
Set sail to an uncertain destination, 
upon an unknown, uncharted, sea.
True love made a poor guiding star;
Neither were faithfulness or devotion.
Lost together in endless aloneness, 
Drifting across an unnamed ocean

Fine Arts by Ronald S Porter ©2016

I wanted to do 
a pencil sketch of you
from images in memory
and found me 
asking myself
how can one draw
a soul rhapsody
What border lines
what cross stitch shading
illustrates heart felt blues
embedded deep in memory
you were always the poem
that I could not write
And how do I begin
to draw poetry

Like A River by Ron Porter ©2016

Years have flowed past like a river;
A rushing stream of happenstance.
Some few things turned out as planned.
A great many came by chance.
Both angels and devils, I heard call
And, I rise again each time I fall.
Somehow, as I look back on it all,
love looms large; the hurts seem small.

Break Time Is Over by Ronald S Porter ©2016

All the revenging angels 
went out on break;
Retribution flirts with 
the girl at the coat check.
The hangman's noose droops, 
slack and loose,
While the shroud tailor 
measures inseam and neck.
The Reaper grimly 
mounts his skeletal steed,
And brings it about, 
with the reins' quick jerk.
Lucifer yells, 
his voice booming thru the hells,
Break time is over, 
get your lazy asses back to work!

It Doesn't Work by Ronald S Porter ©2016

I committed to not love again;
Not because of anger and hurt,
but simply because it doesn't work
A broken clock is right twice a day
And, a car with a failing engine can
still motor from point A to B.  
A broken heart is a kind of machine
which only manufactures misery.
Even when the suffering has gone,
The heart remains in jagged pieces.
And the miracle process that turns
Love into joy and pleasure ceases.
So, I just don't bother with love
Anymore; it simply doesn't work.

Go Down Moses by Ronald S Porter ©2016

Oh, the rumble of chariots,
Through standing walls of water, 
to safety, run the recent slaves.
The great I Am, the cloud and fire,
sets free the walls; looses the waves.
Pharaoh's army weighed down with
weapons of war, find watery graves.
Miriam strikes her tambourine and, 
sings and, dances on the far bank
A psalm of victory, a freedom song;
deliverance on the morning shore.

Lurking Darkness ( I Am With You) by Ron Porter ©2016

The rain comes down on broken streets
and, footsteps echo in the night behind.
I, the lurking darkness, linger in
your memories of a different time,
like the forsaken embrace of love
that vanished up a hole in a vein, or
the click and clack of high heeled shoes.

I am the fading sound that lurks
in the corners of short-term hotel rooms
and the stale gin breath of low rent whores
who ply their trade out on Morgan Street.

And you see my face darkly reflected
at the bottom of your whiskey glass,
And, breathe in the stench of my decay
in the alley ways down on dealers row.

You can hear my soundless voice
attacking your glutted ears from
bar room jukeboxes and cheap radios
and, the lunatic laughter from 
toothless meth addled waitresses
in glare lit all night greasy spoons
Want a top off on that coffee, hon?

And, you want to truly be rid of me
but, you just can't let me go. 
I am always with you in darkness;
In lurking darkness; I am always there

I Made Myth-Takes In Love by Ronald S Porter ©2016

Heracles had his twelve intractable labors
Seven arduous voyages, Sinbad had.
Myself, I had four wives in turn, 
more than enough to drive a man mad.
The first  was the Erinyes unleashed;
O, how her words did fly and flay.
The second, a Harpy, who fed on my soul. 
Tearing it from my core each day,
To regrow, as I slept each night, complete.
With each new morning, again she would eat.
Number three, like Euripides, slipped away
Nor could I ever lead her back but,
left her locked in the cold deep dark,
and so I felt my hurting heart bleed;
Happily, when I departed, she was freed.
Ah, by the last, she remains a mystery;
First she loved fiercely, then she was gone.
I lie awake late at night, abed and alone,
And think she turned Medusa's gaze
upon my heart and, turned it to stone.

Out Of Africa, Exodus To Diaspora by Ron Porter ©2016

fiery chariots try the sky
none of them swing low
like other tribes long ago
we wandered and we wondered
forty years? four hundred
but it does not matter
all wilderness is barren
empty hard and cold
a million ways to day
yet no way to live
we followed the drinking gourd
in the land of promised hope
we found freedom chained
and on the willows by
the rivers of babylon
we hung our harps
hung our hearts
hung our heads and wept
Oh son of man tell me
can these bones live again