Poetry is dead only to those who have silenced their hearts
Poetry is dead only to those who have silenced their hearts
We are so drawn within ourselves,
That life around us nearly fades.
We place these things in hidden shelves,
When daily cares the mind invades.
But when we buy the time to see,
Enjoy what we for granted take,
Appreciative we come to be,
For gifted things that we forsake;
A lofty tree along a lake,
A single cloud in bluish skies,
The sun when evening starts to wake,
The break of dawn as darkness flies;
The scent of flowers sprayed by spring,
The lengthened days that summer shares,
The reds that fall to trees will bring,
The gown of down that winter wears;
The moon in stages till it smiles,
The stars applauding twilight plays,
The chorus night performs for miles,
The songs of birds at morning rays;
The sand that plays with flirting seas,
The spray of crashing waves on rocks,
The soothing touch of ocean breeze,
The joy derived from lengthy walks;
A brightly colored butterfly,
A hummingbird in flawless flight,
A dragonfly that hovers high,
A purple finch that eyes delight;
A hermit thrush of lilting songs,
The precious air that lifts its wings,
The rain that falls where it belongs,
A wondrous home that holds these things.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by v2osk from Unsplash
Return, my muse, my voice give back,
For night has yet to settle down.
As sundown dims to shades of black,
My thoughts in fading ink now drown.
My fleeting words are barely there,
Unnoticed, lines that crave the light.
So please, my friend, see my despair,
And grant me words that I may write.
This darkness hides the world outside;
It veils my eyes so I can't see.
Rich colors daylight had supplied,
But now my words will not pour free.
Beside the window, dressed in black,
I sit, and frown, for night has won.
My coffee cools, my pen holds back,
My muse has left me, like the sun.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image courtesy of paintingvalley.com CC BY-NC 4.0 License
Remember now, in these your later years,
The book inside your heart of happy days.
When you first felt the fruits within your womb;
When you first held them close with love ablaze.
When they with happy eyes first took their steps,
As you held out your arms and sang to them.
The giggles drawn from lips that played like songs;
The joy they spread like flowers on a stem.
Those seeds have grown like trees with mighty roots,
Because of all the love you showered them.
Then they in turn one day will plant new trees,
And fill your heart with joy, a priceless gem!
Inside you now are stored your happy years,
So turn to them to rid your heart of fears.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by one_life from Pixabay
Falsehood masks its face to loot
Hearts of young, their love uproot;
Pulling eyes away from truth,
Blinding minds of trusting youth.
Parents strive to teach what's right,
Fending off what causes blight.
Fighting surging tides of hate,
Love they wield to guard the gate.
In the end their love will yield
Stronger minds, with kindness sealed.
Youngsters grow to face the hate,
Striking down its loathsome fate.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
The men can hear the sounds of rattling guns,
As some hold out that peace will end the war;
A war where death has gathered many sons,
And still returns with grave to gather more.
The soldiers search for strength to battle on;
They forge ahead despite the dead around.
Then death begins to walk in early dawn,
Collecting scarlet trophies from the ground.
This ghastly scene has played in all the wars,
When nations ravage nations they abhor.
Yet men of peace will strive to shut the doors,
Before rapacious death returns for more.
From dawn to dusk the sun observes the pain
Of countless men who reach for peace in vain.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Activedia from Pixabay
This night, I pause to rest a weary pen,
Then close my eyes to dream of early days.
The days of lyrics penned by Blake and Frost,
But drowned today by verses lacking blaze.
Awakened sorrow grips my searching mind,
For rhyming lines antique to many seem.
Contemporary verse composed in prose,
Has shunned the rhythmic lyrics I esteem.
The lack of meter seen in modern verse,
Deprives the heart of ballads lit aflame.
But I delight in works of Byron, Keats,
Their rhythmic poems rising lines of fame.
Do not believe their songs have seen their day,
For even now, such lilting lines I breathe.
The words within my heart won't be restrained,
Like roaring ocean waves they start to seethe.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
Of what are you afraid this night,
A chambered room of doubt and fright?
Of thoughts you've lost in darkened halls,
A pen whose ink has taken flight?
Perhaps your muse has gone to sleep,
In search of dreams that it may reap;
To bring to mind what you have pined,
So words your pen can gently weep.
It dreams of coves where seas advance,
And waves arise then crash and dance;
Of fields of blooms, a setting sun,
Of stars that light the dark expanse.
A walk where flowers dress in style,
As sun rays bathe them near the Nile.
In flight with birds of choral songs,
While soaring high above each isle.
Or maybe stands as couples walk,
While sharing kisses as they talk;
Observing children as they play
A game of hopscotch drawn with chalk.
In silence deep then close your eyes,
To see yourself above the skies,
And view the dreams you want to write,
When you invite your muse to rise.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay
I pause, somewhat perplexed by what I feel,
An ache that has withdrawn to secret halls.
A chamber where my thoughts cannot reveal
The mental state I hid behind these walls.
A final act has played as curtains fall,
And memories begin to slowly fade.
It seems that age has changed me overall,
In time, perhaps, before my grave is made.
From trees I hear the songs of morning birds,
Distracting me from musing years gone by.
Their lovely ballads are like healing words,
The type that balms and pain dares to defy.
These woods applaud my walk of beaming cheer,
For I at last have shed the days of fear.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by luke-stackpoole from Unsplash
From far away she slowly walks,
Her shrieks of anger rise and climb.
She rides the ocean as she stalks,
And traps the day in lightless time.
Across the vast expanse she goes,
Her windswept hair of clouds her crown.
Beyond her breath are cries of woes;
Her angry tears small islands drown.
She reaches land in darkened skies,
The trees all shake their heads in fear.
Undressed and scared as waters rise,
They start to moan, for death is near.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
Blue marble dancing with the beaming sun,
Your spin is swift, yet balanced in the void.
A glowing moon returns when you are done,
Applauding with the stars what they've enjoyed.
Your siblings envy your azurean gown,
For none of them your beauty can deny.
Majestic is the shawl of softest down
That dress your form from high above the sky.
The orange blush of falling dusk reveals
A symphony of hues that dye your gown.
Faint amber, gold and scarlet that appeals
To all that view the splendor of your crown.
Sleep well, my charming lady, till the dawn,
Then dance again, as all the stars look on.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
Beware of honeyed words she softly sings
To ears of faithful men whose hearts she seeks.
Her scented body draped with luscious things,
She stalks with lustful songs and shapely peaks.
Her name was known throughout the eras past,
Yet ever men on knees will bend to her.
Ignoring that her words a spell will cast,
They crave the poisoned brew her hand will stir.
But know her name to guard from her attacks,
And crave the one whose soul to yours is bound.
For she will shower love and faithful acts;
Her arms will guide you home, where rest is found.
Temptation is her name, a dark allure,
So know her name, and cling to what is pure.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by KELLEPICS from Pixabay
Oh, moldy cheese, why do you tempt me so?
Why call at me with rancid bluish lines?
Your piquant bite makes my saliva flow,
Your texture my aversion undermines.
The raiment on your skin and scent belie
The finest food the mouth can hope to dine.
I am enticed to force my lips to try
Your Bleu d’Auvergne to zest with finest wine.
The Stilton’s bluish veins all Britons prize,
And Gorgonzola shows Italian pride.
Delighting in these blues may seem unwise,
Until a piece defies the lips to slide.
Despite the color of its moldy skin,
I crave to try your Roquefort’s pungent sting.
Its wafting scent will tempt my mouth to sin;
Averting eyes as taste buds start to sing.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by PDPhotos from Pixabay
You sneering king atop this lofty ground,
Your army waits to hear your battle cry.
The rooks and queen with might my pawns astound,
As knights dare tread where bishops fight and die.
The battle rages on, your lines advance;
I hear the snorts of horses close to me.
The end seems nigh despite my bravest stance,
While you behind your queen begin to flee.
But there where you take rest, my pawn has reached,
And thrusts his silver lance aside your queen.
You howl and see that your lines have been breached;
A pawn has aimed a blow that was unseen.
Your prideful laugh has ended at his hand;
A lowly pawn now mates you where you stand.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
The waves of time in haste lap at my feet,
As rising tides submerge my years of life.
Now death demands my breath in its deceit;
With fervent lies it seeks to cause me strife.
My youthful vigor time has cast aside,
And serves me only flashes of the past.
Reflections I hold dear with joyful pride,
Soon death will take away from me at last.
But I will not go down while losing hope!
For God calls out to me yet once again.
The ember in my heart has burned the rope,
Which had me fearing death's unholy reign.
God's love will break the spell that death has cast;
The waves of time don't fear, to life hold fast.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
Face to face with death last night,
Ravens watched while still in flight.
Voices shrilled, "do quake with fear,
Death has come, your end is near."
Night withdrew when dawn arrived,
Flight of death, and I survived.
Fear awoke in me a scream;
Near to death, or just a dream?
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
I am what nightly haunts your dreams,
The nights of tears and drenching sweat.
I'm lurking while you cry in streams,
From pain your heart cannot forget.
I am the ache behind the mask,
What others fail to see in you.
The grief behind your heavy casque,
While smiles you paint to hide your blue.
I am the scar that mars your heart,
That drowns the hope for which you reach.
The voice you hear when bad dreams start,
When nightmares strive your sleep to breach.
I am depression, darkened soul,
Your one companion while you cry.
I'm not your friend, but have one goal,
To dim your light till your goodbye.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Andrik Langfield from Unsplash
My mind in darkness walks alone,
No friend to talk to as I groan;
No words to spur my weakened legs,
No hands to lift my arms of stone.
My eyes are drawn to shades of gray;
No colors, tints, but hues of clay.
No rainbow arch after the rain,
No crimson lips with which to play.
My heart is weak, but wants to fight,
To fend despair and leave this night.
To see tomorrow's dawn arrive,
Then kiss a day of colors bright.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
O silent soul, your muse abandoned you;
Your words begin to fade in this long night.
Your thoughts are there, but won't come into view;
Denied of light, you battle to gain sight.
Despair has wrapped her arms around your mind,
And steals the lines your hand wants to compose.
Ensnared within a grip that keeps you blind,
You struggle to set free your latent prose.
Imagine then, by using inner eyes,
Delightful acts that life has played for you.
Recalling days when wondrous words would rise,
When life displayed the scenes from which you drew.
On quiet nights, when thoughts won't flow as planned,
Allow your life to deftly guide your hand.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
When night had set in quiet darkened gray,
He sat upon his bed in startled stare,
For he had heard a voice, a ghastly bray,
Which kept his mind awake in great despair.
He knows not where the voice is in the room,
But feels the words from lips his soul debase.
With burning ears his mind hears words of doom,
Which cause his heart to run a frightful race.
The voice derides his mind with taunting clack,
In fright his eyes engage to find the groan.
He comes upon the mirror staring back,
And sees his lips then move, the voice his own.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
Life, unseen, wends a guarded hall;
It finds its home behind a wall.
This home, designed to carry life,
Will hold the gift in softest shawl.
This gift, a child that thrives within,
To mother's face a smile will pin.
When life inside she starts to feel,
Her heart this precious child will win.
No sacrifice will be too great;
No pain will make her love abate.
Not darkness, sadness nor despair,
Will keep her from her joyous fate.
She will embrace this growing soul,
Her greatest love will be her goal.
And when at last the child is born,
This precious life, will make her whole.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by Pixabay
The island, Puerto Rico, my sweet home,
Where happy children played with homemade toys,
And ripened mangoes layered smiling lips;
A joyous time for wide-eyed girls and boys!
Our humble house on sturdy stilts was built,
To face the rising floods the rains would bring.
But into brownish waters I would swim,
Not yet aware of nature's brutal sting.
At evening rest coquís would sing to me,
And I would smile as dreams performed their plays.
The rooster would cry out before the dawn,
A song I still can hear on longing days.
The day ahead would see me full of joy;
No rest for little feet that ran about.
The games I played were simple in design,
And yet with hearty laughter I would shout.
The stiffened wind would sail my flying kite,
As chicks and ducks had eyed my widened smile.
It seemed they feared that I would fly away
And meet the kite to play above the isle.
And after play, when hungry I would be,
The fruiting trees delicious treats would give.
Delightful songs from mother, I would hear;
A call to home, in dreams I still relive.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image courtesy of Pexel
The early morning fog clouds his vision,
Yet he can make out her outline
Within the shroud of the heavy mist.
Her divine figure entices him to join her,
While she signals with a finger to follow.
He is hesitant to traverse this unknown path,
But her smile, like a beacon welcoming
Weary seafarers, seduces his senses,
And so he complies with her request.
In what seems like hours, he follows her,
His heart craving the delights she promises.
So blinded is he in his singular pursuit,
He does not notice their space never narrows.
Then in the distance he hears the familiar
Wails of a siren, warning him to return.
But he already knows it is too late,
For he is now lost in his dream.
© Angel L Villanueva
Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay
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