Behold the face

Pensive is the face
of intellectualism
free of the rudimental.
beyond scope
magnification, creationism
spilling outward

Quiet is the voice
of intelligence
it cleaves not the satisfaction
in usurping
coveting all knowledge
for its own sake

Joyful are the eyes
of awareness
patient beyond all trials
that surely pass
all things shall have their
place and time

Peaceful is the mind
of comprehension
beyond all that is temporal
aspiring to truth
for only truth is capable
of surviving eternally

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

 

 

soul laceration

Another incarceration
another soul laceration
Discordant,
filled with fury,
rages that mask
their desolation
Deaf ears can’t hear
their alms of
self-deprecation,
prayed through
closed eyes,
in dingy, dank
prison cells
There they
inhale deeply
the putrid stench
of failure, sour smells
of bodily functions,
while the drone
of pleas for mercy
go unheard amongst
the filing of metal
shanks, the flush of
rusty toilets, pipes
banging and groaning
above their heads;
ghostly choruses of
lost souls floating
among them, heavy
laden with sorrows
They find their joy
in the thick of night,
memories become
reality, eyes squeeze
shut in submission to
laughing faces of family,
lovers and lost friends
Till daybreak they survive;
while movie-like dreams
play over again in tainted
minds and hearts

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Pending

A certain promise
is held
in a new year
on the horizon
never discounting
the lessons learned
amazing experiences
the first times
or the last times
still the promise
holds a certain ‘promise’
that this is the year
this is the one
that you secretly wait for
every year
the game changer

 

Even though
it may be just as
every other year
thankful for
what it was
and wasn’t
lessons learned
Still, I love
a new year
on the horizon

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

 

Projection

Projection upon her, incongruous
It wasn’t pessimism, it wasn’t illusory
very few comprehend the reality of it
things slipped through fingers
things dropped from lips
smiling faces and long sighs
contradictions
predictions
predilections
feelings spoke to her in the night,
wakeful nights, where she cursed words
out loud, to empty ceilings, to empty hearts
nights slipped into mornings
nights dropped from her life
hidden meanings and word play
patronizations
conciliations
deceptions

Still she smiles back
still she sighs in resignation

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Covet – Author Sarah Lamar King — The Salamander Chronicles – Don Beukes

Originally posted on Creative Talents Unleashed: ? Semblance of a lighted order Coveting a hidden corner Immersed in an aphotic soul, Tainted rays abounding… Nightmares’ latent queen, I surrender this illuminated drapery, As I bow To shadows rising … ? © Sarah Lamar King Excerpt from the book “My North Star Misled Me” $13.95 Plus…

via Covet – Author Sarah Lamar King — The Salamander Chronicles – Don Beukes

Pieces of Darkness

Darkness gently caressed her once more
Breath on her cheek was soft and steady,
his warm arm rested across her chest
She knew the shape of his long arms;
where wrist bone connected to tendon
Tracing the long lines of his body, their
legs pretzelled together in puzzle pieces

Winter winds blew outside their window
Sounds of the night lulled her to surrender
Shifting onto her side, instinctively moving
with her, tucking his knees into hers, their
bodies formed a question mark on the sheets
Together, they were never a question, the
fabric of their beings fit together perfectly

Breathing in unison
replenishing themselves
for every tomorrow

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

Haiku (Kismet)

She abandoned her high heels
swapped them for sneakers
Not cut out for the high life

He abandoned his sneakers
Laced up his Florsheims
Thought image was everything

Breathing in the country air
She smelled of city
Some things she couldn’t wash off

Driving a rented Fiat
In his only suit
Dirt beneath his finger nails

She kept checking for her watch
without knowing why
She had nowhere else to be

He was always day-dreaming
Lost track of the time
Late for his job interview

It was time to find herself
But where would she start
Now that time really stood still

A missed opportunity
Who was he kidding?
Not cut out for the high life

Sitting on the side of the road
Weaving daisy chains
Into her long, braided hair

Felt the tire blow on the car
Pulled over road side
Daisy vision in his eyes

She saw him looking at her
His eyes locked with hers
Last good-bye to the high life

©Brenda-Lee Ranta

 

 

A peek at Chapter One 💓

Brenda-Lee Ranta is an author/poet who resides in Timmins, Ontario, Canada. She began writing poetry 52 years ago, a practice she has cherished throughout her life, as a form of journaling, which recorded events throughout her lifetime. She is a mother of three children, two step children and a grandmother. Brenda-Lee shares her artistic journey […]

via Featured Writer: Brenda-Lee Ranta — Creative Talents Unleashed