Whitefall
Snow, the cold in a kiss.
Snow, frost bitten landscapes wallow.
Snow, the tears in the ice.
Snow, oceans frozen in sorrow.
Snow, a graveyard playground.
By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh
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Tag: poem
The Futility of Beauty
šHaiku No.10 – The Futility Of Beauty
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This is another of those poetic pieces, with multiple meanings/metaphors/analogies. What does this poem say to you? Let me know, discussions are fun! š¤
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š³Wordsmith Inc.š³
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š³Mirror mirror on the wall…š³
Poems about poems – Chris Brown & P.Diddy are my selected muses for today.
My favourite thing about writing these types of poems is not knowing what the poem is about until it’s finished. Because the creative process is not the typical one, of responding to a deep need to express something. With these, I here a song from my playlist, and feel something stir inside me. If the feeling in the pit of my stomach is strong enough, I select it to be squared2. Then watch as I start to express things i didn’t even know where residing within.
Yesterday2
Yesterday I fell in love, today feels like my funeral.
The past can feel like the end, when isolated pain becomes communal.
I just got hit by a bus, shouldnāt have been so beautiful.
Your impact sprayed into rainbows, then soaked the desert full.
Donāt know why I gave my heart, gave my trust, gave everything.
You think if I had the chance to do it over again, Iād do something different? Make better decisions?
The beast I was before follows behind, close like a night terror only just escaped ā the bed of indecision.
Ā
Give my all, you take it from me.
Take my all; you gave it to me,
Donāt even replace it for me.
But I keep making the same mistakes before – I see the danger but I go forward.
Repeated footsteps into the abyss, comfortable Iāve become to the darkness, my instincts a miss.
Ā
I feel like a killer hit me, the weapon was concealed initially.
Lover, assassin? The bullet thread to both, but at least love initially.
Ā
You deserve to feel it with me more.
I feel like I beg with you, plead with you,
My tears, a shallow drop in the Sahara.
I canāt comprehend how you canāt love when itās so easy too.
Soft is the spirit that seeās the spaces between trying harder.
Ā
I thought you could do it, I believed in the naĆÆve in you.
Little dress and footsteps towards me, disarming smiles that came from youth.
Ā
I just need to breathe, baby, now I got the freedom to.
First air of the saved, or last gasp of the failed? Love together and choose.
Yesterday I fell in love.
By Alpha Cauwenbrgh < Chris Brown/P. Diddy
Ā© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2018. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blogās author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
‘Random’ Late Night Poetry
This is a very peculiar poem. It came to me suddenly, while half asleep and trying to instagram without letting my phone fall onto my face. Sometimes I really feel that we don’t consciously create art, it just rises to the surface through from a deep uncharted place within. I’m still not sure what this poem actually means…Usually in these cases, it’s meaning is slowly uncovered by my conscious mind day by day.
I resisted the temptation to re-write or ‘improve’ it. Just kept it exactly how it came to me. Enjoy!
The Man Who Couldn’t Do Right.
Here he stood, on a cold pavement thinking of the love left.
Seeing shadows navigate the streets under the colour of magma – the dance of the bereft.
He walked for miles & miles, right foot before left.
Eventually his strides slowed, there was a fork in the road and a church in the middle – love snowed.
Everything was to his right, he went left.
By Alpha Cauwenbergh
Ā© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2017. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blogās author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
A poem about missing fathers
Strangely, this week I felt like delving once more into the old unaddressed sadness I have about my dad leaving us. So I’ve combined those feelings into this beautiful Frank Ocean song in my latest Poem2.
There will be tears2
Ā
There will be tears Iāve no doubt, there will be smiles, but a few.
A pain is coming from without, resenting a smile I maybe never knew.
And when those tears run out, weāll be numb and blue.
As the desert becomes my heart, Iāll lay still until the dark of the moon.
Ā
I canāt be there with youā¦but I can dream, I still dream.
My granddaddy was a player, pretty boy in a pair of gators.
Like you, fair skinned āexotic to your own – refined in all his layers.
Ā
See I met him later on, I think it was 1991.
An impression left on me, like you ā replaceable to no son.
Ā The only dad Iād ever known, but pretty soon heād be gone (too).
The only one, and not one. On borrowed time for his love too?
Ā
Hide my face, canāt let them see me crying,
I shelter a fragile window from a cold wind trying.
āCause these boys didnāt have no fatherās neither, and they werenāt crying.
What gives me the right? Is my pain worse? I still lay still ā not writhing.
Ā
Will there be tears?
My friend said it wasnāt so bad, you canāt miss what youāve never had, well I can, and Iām sad.
There will be tears.
‘I canāt be there’, thatās all you had to say to me was…
Life isnāt fair.
Why couldnāt you say to me, you wonāt be there,
Gone with the pretense.
You could of warned me, you wouldnāt be here…right here.
Whatās your name in past tense?
Ā
No, you wouldnāt be here for me.
Alpha Cauwenbergh < Frank Ocean
I would also like to add a link to a short autobiographical prose I wrote a few months ago on the same subject matter incase you haven’t read it.Ā Something different ā an autobiographical piece.
Ā© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blogās author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
A Poem about catching ‘feelings’ in a club
This week, I’ve chosen to use one of my favourite Shakka songs from his Lost Boys EP – Poems about poems is where I’m at right now, and i’ve multiplied this song for your reading pleasure.
You donāt know what you do to me 2
Even in the dark, I can see you. – Lost in the spaces between stars, to be near you.
I see you staring at the part of the room that I’m standing in.
Your face, turned towards me ā a narrow corner where a lost boy is sheltering.
Ā
Even in the dark, I can see you.
Ā
As if I’m doing magic tricks whilst you wonder how they’re happening.
Can you feel our future? Or does the eye that you use foresee a different understanding?
Ā
Even in the dark, I can see you.
Ā
Her eyes got me travelling, Cupids got a javelin.
I came when you called – his plans for us transcending.
Ā
Whoās that?
You donāt know what you do to me.
Understanding is astray, a lost child to me.
Ā
Whoās that?
Iām out of controlā¦out of control around you.
Violence would be peace in comparison around you.
Pretty bad at one-liners but I’m damn good at shuffling.
You erase my mother tongue; I move my feet towards you ā shuffling.
Ā
You donāt know what you doā¦
Trust, itās better if we dance, if I talk Iāll be rambling.
Fear ā together if I dance? I canāt decipher her, the words – theyāre scrambling.
Ā
You donāt know what you doā¦
To me, Iām out of control around youā¦
Lost in the spaces between stars, to be near you.
Alpha Cauwenbergh < Shakka
Ā© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blogās author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh ā Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Haiku No.6
I feel this could be my best one to date. Especially in terms of complexity of meaning and richness of imagery. The thing I love most about the haiku as a poetic concept, is the challenge of saying almost a whole chapter’s worth in just three lines.
