Tag Archives: counting the cost

Break Free

Trapped!
You feel stuck inside.
Turn the knob and pull.
Breathe in, break free;
Wide open spaces,
Fresh places and faces,
You can see for miles.

Step out into the unknown,
Let your inhibitions go,
Enjoy the ride.
Take a step inside;
Close the door behind.
As one door closes another appears,
Turn the knob and pull.
Turn the knob and pull.
Turn, turn, turn the knob.
And pull.

Step inside, come inside.
Here’s a nice jacket for you,
Your name on the door.
What you’re about to see?
Don’t panic, it’s all in your mind.
Lay down as you shrink small.
Strap yourself in, follow the hare down the hole.

Do you follow the white rabbit
Wearing your white jacket
In a room with white padded walls
Where no one answers your calls
Strapped in to save from a fall?

Let go, let go,
The doors you’ve opened
Lead nowhere worth being.
Breathe in, break free;
Leave behind the soft cushioned walls.
Open the door, return where you were,
Leave behind the thrilling ride—
Your lonely cage.

Best not to start, but no matter;
Return where you came from,
Return from afar.
There’s balm in a basin,
There’s tears on those faces,
The faces who knew you, though marred.

We can’t tell you how long
Until you’re free from the scars
But trust the promise, it’s not wrong.

Distrust on the rise:
You see no blemishes here—
But that’s proof of His promise sublime.

© 2016 H.K. Longmore

Protected: But the Truth Is…

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Protected: A Most Auspicious Start

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Backup Plan

She needed a backup plan
In case what she really wanted
Started to look a little wan.

He wouldn’t change his current plans;
As long as she was working on her backup man,
He would have to resist, ignore as she did fawn.

And so she needed a backup plan.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Expat

Author’s note: yes, yes, I know, I’ve bent the definition of expatriate a bit. Deal or chill.

What is an expat?
An expatriate.
Someone who used to live
In the country where you still do.

What made them choose to leave?
Did they feel by their country wronged?
A soldier and his wife felt so,
So off to her native Australia they go.

Have some chosen to leave
In pursuit of fortune or fame?
Perhaps on this some will lay claim,
Leaving behind family and friends lief.

Perchance they’re in pursuit
Of a lifelong ambition;
They want dreams to come to fruition,
To this end they uproot.

Are there ghosts from the past
Leaving them aghast?
A change of clime
Could be most sublime.

I once considered making Australia my home:
I’d soak my feet in South Pacific foam.
I counted up my likely score
To enter through citizenship’s door.

My chosen profession gave me a boost,
I’d just need a job,
And the score for this yob
Would let him in Brisbane or Canberra roost.

Heeding pleas
Of family,
Their fears I allayed,
And stayed;

Allowing me to sometimes host
Family parties and social gatherings,
And in the cling and clattering
I lost the ghosts.

Now, for one, ghosts gather up ahead,
As news fills him with dread:
He learns from the backchat
That a dear one wants to be an expat.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

The Hardest Prayers

Some may think it kind
To pray for others success.
But one may come to find
In that prayer, distress:

He wishes her success in her goals,
He prays fervently for it, but there’s a toll:
Much to his dismay,
Her goals will take her away.

Can he secretly hope she fails,
While praying she gets that letter in the mail?
No, ’tis selfish, ’tis not love.
He’ll send a unified message above.

Each time her departure is spoken of,
Part of his heart withers,
And though it goes against his druthers,
He’ll hope for that which sorrow comes of.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Discontent of Fabrications

Newly married man;
Wife made best meal she knew how.
Husband loved: a lie.

Stomach, day by day,
His repulsion enduring,
Same meal he received.

Stopped with honesty:
He cared not for it, never.
Served that meal no more.

Waxing didactic,
Say not, “I like” when not true,
Lest you reap encore.

Regarding a meal,
Natural pigmentation hid
By purple or red,

Movie or series,
Favorite sport or hobby;
Say not, “yea”, if “no”,

Lest thy discontent
Of thy fabrication born,
Fill eyes with sorrow.

©2015 H.K. Longmore

Maid of the Mist

Water Over Niagara Falls
I peer over the edge
At the rushing water below.
Not content
With second best,
It beckons.

Nor can one-fifth
The world’s freshwater
Plunging o’er its brink
Satisfy its thirst:
It calls out.

Two million liters
And more,
Per second,
Pass its lips.
It cries out.

The Maid of the Mist
Found escape from shame—
Refusing a mate arranged—
In the fifty meter drop;
So the legend goes.

The horseshoe calls,
Calls to me.
With my mass
Going o’er the brink,
It could be content.

With my body
In its depths,
Its thirst
At last
Satisfied.

For all the pain
I’ve caused her,
And her, and her,
I could do this
And feel justified.

All the pain
I will yet cause,
One small leap
O’er the rail
Could forestall.

But I see through the mist;
I see the pain
That leap would cause.
I linger, watching,
Then walk away.

She’ll not have me,
Not have me today.
Her rival Victoria
Retains first place.
The day remains beautiful.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

The Antisocial Experiment

When two people converse
But always on the second’s turf,
How does the first know
Whether the second cares?

They conduct an experiment—
Be their own turf king,
Stop conversing until where
Changes, not when.

But what if all conversations
Between the first and the rest
Are because he initiates?
How can he know the problem wasn’t just him?

And so was born
An innocent experiment:
He shall begin no conversations
No not one.

The antisocial element
Is quite perverse,
But perhaps this verse
Will wipe away the tears

Should it prove that the problem is him.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

Two-minute Warning

Meeting time in ten,
Processing ceramic-ly
What nature demands.

Mind is occupied
By blue and white striped candies
And red and purple.

Things and time pass by;
Level failed, I try once more.
How much time is left?

In panic I check;
Two minutes is all that’s left:
Skip some rituals.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore

Aside

For me, the problem with starting a poem on WordPress is that if I don’t get time to complete it then, in the heat of the emotion, while the words are rattling around in my head, bouncing off my skull … Continue reading

Field Mice

Walking down a desert path,
Sounds of stirring
Drew my eyes. Turning,
I beheld an object of wrath

Perhaps from the farmer’s wife.
It stopped, frozen: a deer
In headlights. A knife
Cut through my heart: fear.

Too dull, the blade, to last;
I laughed as I passed,
The mouse hoping I would not see.
Beyond his eyes, he turned to flee.

Walking down that desert path,
My eyes beheld
Another. He held
His youth as a tub a bath.

No sighting of farmer’s wife,
Too calm for cervine metaphor;
No fear of carnivore
Pierced him through with fear.

Filled with delight, he stood fast;
But before I passed,
He stopped his eating
In time to avoid a beating.

The many darting to and fro,
From hole to hole;
The two crossing the trail,
The first waiting for the second (aw, how cute!);

And the older fat one,
Too preoccupied with eating,
Too slow with his response,
So that if I had a heavier step
And a slower reaction time,
I’d be cleaning him off the bottom of my sandal.

© 2014 H.K. Longmore