by James G. Piatt
Death In A Meadow
He floated in a softly flowing brook; it celebrated his betrothal to moisture as it meandered through colored meadows of white flowers.
He felt the water entering inside his being. Knowing that this was death, he breathed in the dampness of the stream, and was separated from the anguish of his painful life.
Une Nuit Effroyable
Scarlet nightmares scream against blood stained walls
They cry out deafeningly to his desperate sorrows,
Cheeks turned brackish, as eyes spewed forth salty-tears
The withered fruit, of the dark anguish, that haunted him.
The sun shrouded in misty blankets of darkened despair
Dimmed the sky as the devil’s foot crushed his soul,
His existence, a dull sign of what could have been;
His soul blunted like the ebony matte of aged paintings,
Reddened eyes, sad remain of a drunken morn,
Displayed most vividly his lost state of being.
He cried out to those he loved and loved him
Hoping within wretchedness, they would understand,
They arrived with kisses for his sunken ash cheeks
Wet with misgivings, fear, and tearful recriminations.
Tears streamed down the dampened lines carved into his face,
He whispered in a sad mournful tone, “Am I dying?”
With comforting words, they all said, “no you will live,”
He lay back hopefully upon his bed filled with tubes and wires.
He bewailed his bad choices and swore to reform
Only his dad understood the significance of his words,
Only his dad knew the extreme difficulty that loomed ahead
In the dark pain filled days and nights of his dry future.
Another Lousy Workday
Somnambulant thoughts like a
cacophony of broken bags of
dung peal discordant throbs in
the miasma of a leaden sunrise
as yesterday’s uninspiring
memories wrapped in the rusted
smog drift into the disturbed
upcoming moments of an another
insignificant day. Homeless
musicians with broken clarinet
and violin missing a string play
discordant tunes matching the
mind-numbing hours of another
distressed day, as dull people
with empty minds board
mechanical coffins screaming on
rusted rails to a grey cubicle in a
high rise office somewhere in a
grimy city. Like Lemmings with
fractured minds rushing
unthinkingly to their demise, the
vacant wage earners rush to their
meaningless cells with no
thoughts of significant labor.
Again and again the stubble of
sameness stares at their vacant
minds each day like inoperative
sirens that shatter the surgical
blessings of an unnamed bobble
headed god that sits on the
dashboard of a green taxicab, all
amounting to nothing.
Deadly Times & Deadly Places
Gigantic roaring waves of crimson,
Twisting, and turning, crash onto
Barren foreign shores, leaving
Behind the bodies of the dead,
Coloring the sand with blood…
Thunderous waves filled with
Flesh and bones bequeathed
To the deep, drown the vibrations
The dark ideological despots
Control the lives of the innocent,
By sending deadly searing bombs
Into their homes, obliterating everything,
By spewing hatred in the rusted
Moments of the unforgiving hours
They, without remorse, leave
Mothers to grieve alone on the
Tamarack as coffins filled with only
Memories are lifted off dark planes.
Duplicity dripping from narrowed eyes
Staring from concealed faces into a vat
Of absurdity: Truth, always in the eye
Of the beholder, based on personal Biases…
Misconceptions and scarlet fears, spews
From the minds of those with 7th century Mentalities, 21st century hate, deadly bombs, And automatic rifles.
Gory images, sounds of screaming Children…
Acrid odors of blood, barricades built
Of trash and burning tires, protecting
Nothing but an archaic ideology of
Abhorrence: Sad, worn faces staring,
Staring, staring… into empty dreams:
Wars, chaos, hate, instability, tearing
At the fabric of the world’s sanity: Corroded Credos riding on rails of Rusted iron,
Leading to blood stained oblivion. Ruthless,
Frenzied scenes of death causing Nightmares in gentle people,
The tools of insane warriors of gore and Lust. They exemplify that, which is holy Truth in their twisted revengeful souls.
From where do these misguided Terrorists of hate and blood lust come? From the place where all destroyers are
Born, the slums where poverty, fear
And, hopelessness dwell each day.
James’ poems have been nominated for pushcart and best of web awards, and many were published in The Top 100 Poems of 2016, 2015 & 2014 Anthologies. He has published 3 collections of poetry, “The Silent Pond” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms,” (2014) and “LIFE,” (2016), and over 970 poems. His fourth collection of poetry will be released shortly. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU.