R.J. Conte's Blog, page 5

Rescue

Her hands are greased

His shoulder impinged

Maybe I reached?

Maybe I walked sadly by

 

But those where I stubbornly stayed

Until my fingers locked up in pain

For some I righteously stayed

And held on

 

I cry to them to never let go

But their arm drops limp

The muscles relax

They give up

 

Perspiration pleading hoarse prayers

Whisk away like the wind on my tears

And she slips

Hands like oil

 

I promised to stay

I could have raised you up

Maybe foolishness, naivete

Tricked me into dreams of suc...

Boring, Boring

Hurt him, strike him, hate him

Drama

He’s cool with it all

But the mundane is a curse

An unconquerable foe

That slowly destroys like a wrecking ball.

 

Waiting, hoping, for something to go wrong

Crimes of passion, deaths and break-ups

Frightening, broken, messy life

Adrenaline-junky

He passes on the gossip

He dines for dinner on strife

 

So many nights he wishes

That something juicy and delicious

Would shake up his boring, boring world

Would send a tingle up his spine

Make him gasp in horror

...

Done

No longer a size ten

Can’t wear those soft old shirts

Crow’s feet round the eyes

Waking up just hurts

 

Hairdo’s perfect

Makeup now just right

Yet curves have multiplied

Diet is a fight

 

She knows it’s about her heart

She knows her friends abound

She knows the mirror lies to her

She knows life’s better older, she’s found

 

She’d never choose to be a teen again

She’d never give up her freedom now

Her sobriety, maturity…

But how

 

Can she turn off that voice that says

Neither man nor women loo...

Heaven’s Child

I walk the streets of gold
Arriving weary, worn, aged, old

Wrinkles burrowed deep – having seen much of sin
Years of sunrises and sunsets ’til eyesight fades dim.

Outside the mansions skipping bright like a rose
An innocent in white, a child whose soft dress flows:

“Aged elder, welcome!” she cries with delight
She’s one who died young, vivid fresh sight.

Cheeks flushed and brow crisp
Light hair curling,falling in wisps:

“Tell me your story, victorious hero!”
Plump fists cushion dimples chin
S...

Second Generation

I remember when she was born

Gray blue eyes, wrinkled face

Wails and coos all over the place

 

I remember her as a child

Skinned knees and bedtime takes

Picture books and cooties on males

 

Years go by and now she’s a mom

She wipes her babies’ faces

She drives us to tourist places

 

And in the evening when I state in her eyes

She’s listening so well

She’s nodding and engaging, so I tell

 

The backstory of my life

The ugly and raw

The emotional truths I saw

 

And that baby girl grown

Understan...

I Can’t Win

Be real

Be you

Be honest

Be true

 

Don’t hide

Don’t lie

Don’t take it

Go ahead and cry

 

Confidently, I

Am honest and bold

Blog it

Yell it

Grin

Hot and cold

 

Then they squirm

Cringe

Frown

Scold

“Don’t say that!

Embarrassment

Too, too bold.”

 

What is right?

What’s the sin?

I can’t win.

 

 

 

The Color Orange

I existed in a world without orange

Eyes soothed, rainbows and hues
But no orange

Then that first fateful epiphany
When I realized the seating, excruciating sight
That filled my mind

Gasping, sobbing, reeling, falling
Overwhelmed
With orange

But back to peace, solace, rest
Pastels floating behind my eyelids
Bringing a new pure breath of air

But now I have a condition
Born of bitter sedition
Because represented by the concept of rejection
Is the color orange

Now I see it everywhere
Even where...

Maybe We’re Praying for the Wrong Things

Imagine a child who has her heart set on a piece of hard candy.  She can taste that sugar on her tongue, the fruity flavor, and has a good idea about the delight it’s going to give her melting in her mouth.

Yet she’s six years old. Not a cent to her name.  Can’t even reach the tall shelf where she thinks the magic candy exists – basically a different dimension of sweet goodness that is privy to the adults and not her.

Being a child whose faith in her daddy’s kindness knows no bounds, she stea...

Maybe I’m Flawed

How do I act?

When do I act?

What do I do?

What do I say?

 

When you see someone drowning

Do you throw off your shoes and dive in?

What if they don’t want to be saved?

What if they love the salt in their lungs, the burn I their heart, the water soaking their eyes?

 

When do you give up?

And when you do, do you feel responsible for the rest of your days?

Maybe I never learned how to give up.

 

Maybe I’m flawed.

Boundaries

Brain and spirit
Soul and mind
Where they intersect
And combine?

Where does
Biochemistry
Fade deep into
Spirituality?

When do I say “Enough!
You’re wrong!”
When give comfort
Blanket with a song?

Cycle after cycle
Generationally blind
Procures one after the other
No healing I find.

Yet the individual
Stands alone
In front of God
And his judgment throne.

Only He can sift
The past from the present
The one from the whole
The wicked memories or pleasant.

But what about me
Bruised and torn?
I watch...