Personalized Poetry
Sylvan Fitzsimmons
At a Pond in the Gardens
Sun cheers and cheers through the trees,
With their moss-matted hair.
A green, pale pond waits for a fresh breeze,
Mid-summer's air.
As cheery Sun and gentle
Breeze comes, I hold their hand.
As golden sand curly strands nestle
In my heartland,
Across our path stalked a pain.
"Both of you smile, way too much!"
Sun still cheers our warmth and winds proclaim
Love’s soft touch!
Ashes of My Father
I can imagine the breath you took
before that lie was shaken and scared.
Petrified to be an honest man, so instead
deny her voice and heels. Knock,
Knock,
Knock
down my truth. “I’m sorry. I should have protected you.”
You—who became unglued: Half asleep,
half high at breakfast time, almost
drowning in your shredded wheat and milk.
The echoes of our past washed over me,
Shades of black and gray saturat’d my sight.
Silence. At sunrise, the colors gather
And bring new light. Red-orange wings break free.
The rest of this life deserves a rewrite.
I arise from ashes of my father.
Unsettling the Settler
Inspired by the dispossession of so many lands, past and present.
There will be a day,
When we will walk away,
We’ll let the crumbling Presidential Palace decompose,
We’ll allow the abortion of these national embryos,
Of the greatest parasite,
Of a perceived sovereign birthright.
We will pass on our selfdom,[1]
We will give back our kingdom,[2]
To those fleeing from hellfire,
To those conquered by our empire.
We will bud and blossom together,
Neither of us will be the aggressor.
We’ll all thrive without the European blight,
Because we will no longer be white
[1] Independence
[2] Territories and lands governed by peoples not indigenous to the
area.
A Love that Lit the World
I plead someone to see my insides soon.
To grasp them as they would their own entrails,
To walk hand in hand through the altar tales,
Someone to watch the change of sun and moon,
And when I saunter in someone to swoon.
As he beholds my white cascading veils,
A moon of red will rise and bring vast gales.
A whaler’s crew with the betroth’d harpoon
His iron penetrates, reels her aground
The ship. They tear ‘part her heart from the sea
To milk her oil in lieu of love unowned.
They also skin her warmth and energy.
“Draw out irons!” Left in scrapes ‘n’ bones unbound.
Her carcass will still feed all in the sea.
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Posted Jan 5, 2023
Personalized poems created and edited for several clients and myself.
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