Christmas Songs

Tis the season, yes, tis the season
for joy, strength, purity of heart, purity of faith
unity in family, friends old and new
sharing and giving unconditional love
...yet there is a distance in the feel
of the Christmas songs 
- at least for me
a detached sense of how blessed
we are all supposed to be
when the world is exploding
walls going up, fear and hate soaring
the eagles fly high - the eagle flies alone
and the baby's cry and a child's scream
mother, father, sister, brother
running into harms way instead of into the arms
of someone familiar, someone who shares - the same bloodline
maybe they are not hiding on my street
or bleeding in my city but there is a haunting howl
that penetrates and scars the purity of a holy night
and there is no sleep or restful place in my home
the sounds are loud, the sounds are clear,
deafeningly loud and crystal clear
the cry is there for all to hear - where do I belong
and what if we don't, what if we tune out
turn up the volume on Christmas songs
drowning out the cries; what if we choose
to remain detached - and distant
wrapped in the warmth, wrapped in the safety
of our own homes; not knowing where I belong
what if we choose to close our hearts,
and block the sounds that are drowning out - the Christmas songs

© 2015 TrilbyYates

The Boys

Early morning, a few blinking street lights 
off in the distance 
Red flashing color slices its way through the darkness; 
"...stop don't rush the day has not dawned yet..." 
Perfection in, just bitter enough coffee 
with a dash of cinnamon - aroma therapy 
a sentimental tapping into a holiday season 
that has always resonated peace and good will 
I wonder what Francois drinks as the sun rises over the city of lights 
How strong the coffee is that slip between the lips 
of Vladimir as he saddles up for his A.M. ride photo op in-style
Or Bashar as he reads the daily obits 
sipping some strange brew, pondering what else is there is to do 
- rattle sabers background white noise 
I wonder, briefly, if Rivlin and Benjamin break bread 
while gathering stones 
And if Mamoud stays in bed a moment longer to clear his head 
before the first one is thrown
Does Barack grab a cup of joe while on the go
kissing his girls as he rushes to the daily debriefing 
And what if anything starts the day for Hassan and Mahmoud 
when a figure head is only recognized in the palace 
paper to pen and a pot of Persian tea simmers ever so slowly...

I think about things like this 
as I linger over the perfection in 
just bitter enough coffee with a dash of cinnamon - aroma therapy 
a sentimental tapping into a holiday season 
that has always resonated peace and good will

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Someone Is Shouting Jihad

Clear Parisian sky 
a sweet night 
to live and die 
without purpose
or validation of intent
but a twist of fate 
walking down 
the Champs Elysees 
and in my heart 
there is a love song 
and bright city lights
and what is that 
I heard you say 
not in a soft whisper 
but accusatory verbiage
and solitary sob
someone is shouting Jihad
you have a cause 
but you have no home 
you hide, linger and roam 
and wander in obscurity 
blanketed chatter code 
distant and detached
from the pulse 
of the universe 
you were born 
to cherish and to hold
loyal to a higher source 
fantasy wild illusion 
of what may be waiting 
for your brothers
on the other side
there is no solution
there is no pride
stained in blood and flesh 
your stairway to heaven
is a fiery inferno 
leading not to the purity 
of innocent virgins 
as you have been told
but as a venomous snake 
you will find only darkness 
not shadow or light 
nor colors bright 
but an abyss 
of nothingness 
we create what we are
someone is shouting Jihad... 

© 2015 TrilbyYates 

Shifting Blame Shifting Time

Shifting time, shifting blame
an overly exposed place to be
Like an old black and white film
silence in the dramatic - pronunciation
classification weakened domination
of thought and word daydreams soothing 
It is a beautifully worn white albatross
hanging with ease from your neck - you never take it off
...moved quietly with your tender touch
to the deepest part of my lost heart
Take the time to search it out
and walk gingerly through my shadow
Walk carefree and with ease
the vision is deep - the vision is wide
Please be careful not to disrupt my solitude
shifting blame, shifting time
It has been years to my amazement
I sometimes count them in my sleep 
the way I hear the second hand moving
similar calming of counting sheep
Wishing I could somehow forget
forget the sound of your heavenly name
Wishing if only time could stand still
and everything that stood still - would remain the same
When you are alone in those private moments
a soft wind will blow tousling your hair about
A spray from the ocean will come across the bow
and your thoughts will be taken from here to there
And when the day begins to fade 
turning into that peaceful space of gray
The sun slipping off to the west 
and the moon begins to rise
I'll stand on my side of the Sound
and play back every word you ever said
Every word etched in memorial stone 
skipping lost seashells across the bay
and continue to wonder shifting time shifting blame
- what the fuck happened to you anyway... 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

In The Hands Of The Misinformed

Illuminating 
star bursts 
shattered glass 
piercing
penetration
shock 
your system 
set back
sound crackling 
bolt of lightening 
never 
- strikes twice 
never 
- strikes twice 
same place 
same time 
wind blows 
dust circles 
whipped into 
a frieze 
there's no place 
- like home
there's no place 
- like home 
lost track 
of ones 
own self 
humanity 
falls 
to the right 
he picks up 
a gun 
instead of 
using his words 
his fist flies 
into thin air 
missing 
- its mark 
missing 
- the point 
of no return 
not unlike 
a bullet 
...in the hands of the misinformed 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Little Soldier

Restrictions and conviction 
all on the right side of God 
and what happens 
if we don't fit the mold 
if we don't fit 
what we have been told 
march on little soldier 
march on 
take the time to think 
long and hard 
slight of hand 
hidden card 
king of diamonds 
queen of hearts 
heart hearts 
bleeding hearts 
worn reluctantly 
like her crown 
slipping down 
that slope of rational 
and madness 
main vein slice 
weak in the knees 
another attempt 
another failure 
skip to the last page 
and read ahead
and when you get 
to the best part
remember to start
from the beginning again
repetitive action
a minority fraction
societal reaction
march on little soldier
march on... 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

We Are Ready For Peace

Drifting timeline moving 
with a renewed 
inspiration
- Reluctance hovers above...
Shifting weight 
from left to right 
and all that comes 
around is the absence 
of good will...
The side stepping 
warmonger
pounding 
of the chest
beating the drum 
soars with an intense 
vibration that pierces 
the right side 
of the brain 
and shoots into 
the worlds consciousness - 
Our continued effort 
and solidarity persists
"We are ready for peace..." echos throughout
Yet the troops remain standing at attention 
"We are ready for peace..." echos throughout
Yet the troops remain standing at attention -

© 2015 TrilbyYates



 

Soothing Vibration

Early morning sun 
begins to wake up
Arm reaching yawn
splintered beams of light 
stretch across 
the horizon 
While a lazy lapping 
of the tide 
comes and goes 
repeating a pattern 
in perfect sync 
with the pull 
of the moon,
as it faithfully 
orbits the earth 
Off in the distance 
a curved line 
remains a constant
just outside of the rim
old and faithful
field of vision;
a focal point for reference  
some things remain eternal
- Sand and sea 
echo one another 
with peaceful chatter 
Soothing vibration
to an often bruised 
and battered mind 
in search of a safe haven,
if only for short 
periods of time 
Refreshing the core 
senses and humanity,
as the day to day 
chip away at even those 
more saintly in spirit;
wresting with their
own moral compass
The tempest shifts
across the shore 
Dancing fools shutter
pulling their collars up
A protective shield
from the perfection
of a storm brewing 
off in the distant future
Weather-vane continues 
to point due north
regardless of which
way the tides turn
or the winds blow...
- Sand and sea 
echo one another 
with peaceful chatter 
Soothing vibration
to an often bruised 
and battered mind 
in search of a safe haven
if only for short 
periods of time... 

© 2015 TrilbyYates



 

Brightest Of Eyes

The arms of love 
Wrapped around me 
Small boy 
Baby child 
Little angel with 
The brightest of eyes 
Cherishing and grateful 
For all of what this life 
Has unfolded before me
..and it took a while 
But I have come to know 
Life is what we make of it 
As time slowly passes 
- and harsh memories fade 
The space I wake in 
Is full of optimism 
...and surprise 
Even as our world 
Spins reluctantly out of control
- setting its self ablaze 
Off in a quieter calming place 
There is a true Wisdom 
...and words from the oh so very Wise 
As I drift off peacefully
Into my heavenly place 
Of an imaginary feather bed
 - and Cheshire wide smiles 
I will continue to count 
...all of my blessings 
And walk the unknown miles
With the arms of love 
Wrapped around me 
Small boy 
Baby child 
Little angel with 
The brightest of eyes ~


© 2014 TrilbyYates 

Goddess Of Delight

New York City's
Side walk 
Grey scale rush
Crowded void
400,000 strong
Zip-locked masses
Shoulders bump
Causing discomfort 
And souls bounce
Woman wrapped 
In Belief garb 
Floats in a mystical fog
Feet don't seem
To touch the ground
Too close for comfort 
One might say 
One might have 
A sense of push back 
Automatic reaction 
Too close for comfort 
Eyes crystal clear 
Orbs tell a story
Accent-ed words 
Mingle with the scent 
Reminiscent incense 
Throwback memory lapse
She reaches out
Touches my hand
"...please put your name in the book..."
Improvised words
With good intention
I can not hide 
The puzzled expression 
Mystified suggestion
Cloaking my face 
For solitary protection
Small gold emblem
Placed into my pocket 
- Work Smoothly Lifetime Peace
Torn folded page
Handwritten name
Scratched in vein
For reassurance
For salvation
For दान Dāna - donation
Soaking blood red beads 
Slipped around my wrist
In the holiest of exchange 
Warmest thoughts
And well wishes 
- from the Goddess Of Delight 

© 2014 TrilbyYates

It's Not How Many Notes You Play

It’s not how many notes
How many notes you play
It’s the spaces in between
Like lines between words 

Of woe or endearment
It's the silence 

That lingers in the air
Silence that lingers 

After making love
Spaces in between - lines, notes, words
Silence floats 

Peacefully above
Floats peacefully 

While lovers embrace
Quiet gentle embrace 

Where words
Like notes 

Are better left to linger
In the reverie 

Of perfection - unspoken
It’s not how many notes you play

It’s the spaces in between
It’s not how many words you say…

© 2014 TrilbyYates 

Those Beyond The Age Of Service

I can feel the beat of the drum
that repetitive mesmerizing 
all to familiar vibration 
that pounds deep in the heart
blood pumping adrenaline rush
of those that can not see beyond 
their own insecurities - fears
egos soar high above 
with the wing span - symbolic majestic strength
of an eagle - hawk mentality
never questioning the obvious
never questioning the past
- those beyond the age of service

I remember that vibration, that sensation
the lacking of humanity and compassion
that fills the hearts - of some
the puffing up of their chest with fists pounding 
words spewing free flowing venom - poison 
like the rumbling sound of the earth cracking 
splitting down the middle - jagged edges
swallowing the souls of those in search 
of salvation and redemption 
the sound of those that continue to reject
- those beyond the age of service

I hear the beat of the drum
an all to familiar sound that pounds 
louder and louder - each day 
and there are no lessons learned 
we fall to our knees praying to our particular source of god 
we hold our children close - they are all our children
close to our chest hearts pounding - rhythmic surrender
wounds so deeply ingrained - subconscious prejudice
there is no power of prayer or ranting and raving
that will ever set the record straight 
that will ever clear the slate
posing the same questions - repetitive prompting
war the only acceptable answer  
- for those beyond the age of service

© 2014 TrilbyYates

Self

Flickering flash light 
sparkling florescent glitter 
weaving shadowy reflections 
and sounds vibrating  - 

Imagine: tiny poetic dancers  
movements fluttering on stucco walls 
texture rubs the senses with twirling 
drips of a grand illusion 
fan fare and flags waving...
with no peaceful conclusion -

Yet the heart continues to pose 
question after question 
without clarity - the illusive peace of mind 
the illusive state of being 
in alignment with ones Self - or another-s...Self 

The solidarity of peace and being
continually alludes someone like me 
with fear of the faithless cautionary guide
skipping stones across a vast ocean
from here to there a safe haven ... is too far to see

Reflection is an action
examining all the pages 
our own personal story book -
like pop up characters 
they willingly unfold
page one, two so on...and on and on
we reluctantly savor a perspective look...
While some images are  to difficult to hold
or look squarely head on...eyes close

Drawing on the powers that be
drawing on some ancestral Euro strength 
a Pandora's box within you and me
drawing on rumored reputation 
east coast tough guy fact
lands solidly scuffed knees
hands of a beggar ...fingers entwined Gods final act

Pulling images and memories 
are bricks in the foundation
the foundation of ones own being
Self...posing the questions, 
holding the answers
revealing more 
always concealing less
casting light into the darkness
un-ringing the proverbial bell
changing the lines drawn in the sand 
a distant voice 
speaking clearly 
decoded words of knowledge
a fine line between fate 
and freedom of choice

...freedom of choice 

© 2014 TrilbyYates

 

Choices Made

I am not 
enlightened 
reaching 
for that place of zen 
searching 
for peaceful moments 
that seem to fade 
into a harmonious 
hum 
the calming thoughts 
that fill empty spaces 
leaving in between 
nothingness
void 
of the shift in direction 
the path chosen...
guided by birth right
domino effect
choices followed 
the children to the pied piper
choices made 
from broken toys
scattered about
choices made 
...non the less

© 2013 Trilby    

Nothing More

Death doesn't knock 
before entering 
unexpected guest 
comes to call 
whispers gentle shush 
soft breeze 
leaving just the slightest 
chill on the cheek 
incomplete bargaining 
back and forth 
ready or not 
sometimes 
maybe 
no 
undetermined peacefulness 
awaiting 
off in the distance 
the unknown throws
lovely shadows
on us all
fear not 
what is on 
the other side 
of nothingness 
we wallow 
in our childhood 
often religiously 
prompted rhetoric 
baby angel 
wings playfully 
brush against 
our core 
reminding us 
there is nothing 
to be afraid of
when there is nothing
more... 

© 2013 Trilby