The Seeds

I recon that personal relationships are like farm soil,

where each date experience nurtures the ground

and sets the stage for a seed to sprout.

A person’s romantic landscape is rather barren

when they’ve gone long stretches of time

without the experiences necessary for the seedings.

Romance requires cultivation of multiple seeds,

some more developed and mature than others,

but that ultimately bring beauty from the fruit of labors.

Two seedings sprouted at the same time will clash

as it is a law of nature and humanity for behaviours so,

and only one seed can fill the space of love.

Love, once grown, only withers when untended to,

when it is dying or lost, with only remnants of lost presence

that nurture the soil for new seeds, just as nature intended.

Love is only as fertile as a person’s being lets it be.

Seeds only grow when the conditions permit,

and when each seed has seen sufficient investment.

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Night

Another short poem for your enjoyment!

Night has fallen on the street, just as it does daily.
Streetlights brighten a few dark corners in my view.
All is silent, with only the occasional walker passing by,
taking their dog out for their scheduled urgent business.
They telegraph their presence in the snow,
an exceptional noise for an ordinarily silent scene.
Along the street, a few rooms in each home are lit,
but are nonetheless entirely, blissfully quiet.

This scene is a privilege, the thought of which not lost on me,
having spent so long in the safety of this home.
Everything in sight is frozen in peace and silence,
things not all people have the fortune to experience.
I thank the night for being the calm moment in my life,
as not an end on it’s own, but a renewal and beginning.
All is silent on this street I’ve known for so long,
this suburban landscape forever stored for remembering.

Temptation to React

I react brashly and suddenly

to the situations

I have no control over.

An armchair judge is aimless,

bound to hopelessness

and eternal deprecation of self.

It is easier without care,

letting it be,

And let sleeping dogs lie.

There is no clear benefit

to lashing out

at the news on TV.

There is no real joy

in my reactions

to stupid comments by ignorants.

The scorching temptation to react

is a ploy

to further arm the trolls.

I choose not to care,

to let go

And let their war rage.

They will be their undoing,

without my help

and be those worse off.

Attempting to react is fleeting,

as much so

as are all life’s moments.

Announcing “Follower Spotlight” Series

Hello!

I’m starting a new networking feature on the blog! It’s called “Follower Spotlight”! I want to put the focus on helping you grow your own blog’s follower base or that of a friend’s.

If you have a blog or know a friend with a good one, let me know in the comments and I will highlight their work on a monthly (for now) basis! Every month will see a new highlighted blog. If you would like me to repost (with your expressed permission) a creation from that blog, please let me know.

It’s all about you! As a thanks for following “TWC”, I would like to help you grow your reader base! Sound fair?

 

Escape from the Demon’s Maw

Notice anything about the structure of this one?

Escape.

Caught. Hell.

Another long night.

Another Escape, Caught Again.

More hell until an opening.

Freedom. Until the one fatal mistake.

Jungle leaves border the tropical hidden island

that encompasses the lair of the hero’s demons

and their maw that holds the hero anchored whole.

Their only escape is out the patterns of their predictability

and in with new tools and tricks for their breakthrough prosperity.

Each of us has their own demon, their own hell on an island.

It’s up to us alone to leave it, and sail towards greener landmasses.

No one lives well fighting our demons and cycles stuck in the same patterns.

The jungle is treacherous and unforgiving to they who tread on it lightly,

As the maw has teeth to dig in skin and draw back,

it constantly seeks to feed the abyss of their long self-abuse.

One can be slowed or stopped by the island’s traps,

and battered down with fatigue by the long struggle,

that all hope of freedom could fade away

in the blink of a blunt instant.

So reach the shore with perseverance,

Climb on to the lifeboat,

and row away, before

a renewed capture,

Renewed hell,

Darkness.

What is this between us?

…I think this is pretty self-explanatory when you read it. 😊

I don’t know what this is, or where this is going.

Normally, I’m a noob when it comes to matters of love,

but this is still early enough that I rush to hope,

flush with the thought that I’ll know soon just what we are.

Dating is the vulnerability I’ve not yet overcome,

and every date is a continuous new territory for me.

Yet dating you is so easy because you either feel the same,

or you know enough to look beyond stuttering and blunder.

Still, I’m overthinking here: what is this between us?

I am anxious to know, anxious to feel what others have.

Can you tell me? It is a feeling more fleeting than moments

so impermanent that come and go at their leisure.

Cleansing

Loosely based on stories I’ve heard from those who have to deal with difficult moments in their lives. Life isn’t always easy. For some, it’s hard to cope. For their loved ones, even harder when they know.

Another original poem by Cœur d’un Poète.

Based on stories told by people along the way.

_______________________________________

“My love, it’s a road I’ve been down

so many times before.

Going day by day, you hope

not to give in, or lose your way.

I’ve done this so many times,

to give in, feel bad, and re-resolve.

Albert tosses around in his grave

Watching me make the same mistakes,

And here I am, making them again,

Always to expect a different outcome.

Such is the nature of my addictions,

Never to end, but always to have them.”

“My love, cleansing is my calling,

my redemption from sober-less timing.

I can never feel as pure as the already clean

when I am not in abstention myself.

It is a purification cycle that is and is not,

to always be my freedom and my chain.

Along the way, I risk no freedom with more chain

and to never again live out of the rain.

I cleanse myself to be worthy of you,

never to miss another moment of all that you do.

Patterns are all I am, whether I break them or not,

but I pray no more of our moments are ever forgot.”

“My love, humans weren’t made to be perfect,

but we don’t learn very quick either.

I’ve fallen in yet another pattern,

and got stuck in the same manner as before.

Don’t fault or pity me – this is what I am,

battered down by the demons I’ve developed.

Some experiences just can’t be unlearned

and bind us in circles without hope of excision.

If I’m imperfect, it’s not that I can’t change,

but I lose more of me as it goes on.

I don’t know if I truly know myself,

or if I was lost trying to always be cleansed.”

“My love, I have found myself again,

out of the ashes of time I’ve risen.

I am a new person, ready to live once again,

and be the person your eyes have seen in me.

Eternity is a moment etched in your joy,

where I am both weak and strong in your presence.

I can go knowing your love and support is substance

enough to merit continuance of this cleanse.

There are no ends I will not no longer go,

No paths I will not rather not meet

to justify the renewed faith in your bountiful eyes

and the calm clarity now carved within me.“

“Former love, I am lost once more in the ocean of my failure,

and I don’t know if I’ll return to you as I was.

I am sorry if I never lived up to your fantasy,

but reality has made me the demon of your dreams.

I have become a nightmare so, and you’ve left me,

a love of mine neglected and rusted for too long.

My heart and home sit empty in the void of nurture,

with the walls and veins absent of all texture.

My cleanse has been, and is, a clear failure;

neither faith nor abstinence is enough to push forward.

I go ahead now, knowing all that I’ve lost

you were my crutch, and I, your dead weight.”

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Oh, the irony in this short poem is strong.

– An original work by Coeur d’un Poète.

Let them talk.
Let them rage and wail,
and devour one another,
But do not let if affect you.

Keep your head up,
and away from your screen,
lest you be subsumed
by all things virtual.

It is all just noise from all corners,
mindless, anonymous hordes,
of either ignorance or outrage,
hiding behind a keyboard online.

Get up and out from the virtual
and into the rich real world.
Your mind’s newfound freedom
gives you opportunity in daylight.

New Beginnings

Comforts are as cold as withered plants,
energies from novelties are quickly lost.
When one waits in one place for changes,
cold reality besets cold, hard failures.

It falls on us to seek growth in novelty,
lest we lose the luck of opportunity.
If new beginnings aren’t taken promptly,
Never again will we make any gains.