Sometimes the journey gets weary,
Rest is imminent,
The reflection pensive...
Like a soldier in hostile combat,
I will persevere.
The mission transparent now more than ever.
I love writing,
I love poetry,
I love being unique,
The race is not always for the swift.
I will reach the finish line!
As for now,
In this intricate relay,
I've only touched the tip of the baton.
💥GIVING UP IS NOT AN OPTION💥
To those here with me in my journey, a sincere THANK
YOU ❤
Happy International Women's Day!!! ❤
POEM ⬇
PURE AND TRUE
Every day
Beauty becomes her
Beckons her
To walk perplexed valley
Or harrowing alley
Here to fulfill her destiny
She is fire on ice
Tender meat to white rice
Her vocal
Direct language clear and concise
She is love
Tapestry inside her
Weaving her
To a steadfast teacher
Broad shouldered councillor
First response surgeon and doctor
Can surely multiply
With positive supply
Let her soar
Caterpillar turned butterfly
She is love
And everyday
As an infinite light
More and more
Beauty becomes her...❤❤❤
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2023.
#internationalwomensday #localpoetry #trinilingo #trinidialect #Trinidadandtobago #woman #beauty #strongwomen #wordsmith0412
Temporary embers
Gleam into swift sham of a night
Transit a meagre mile away
Sleeping like a lion cub
Moon on a lambent high
Copious are the scenarios
One can't help but detect
Whilst glowing of coals cease to exist
Moments in captured time
To awaken any subconscious mind
A contemporary prism shaped corner
Designed to annihilate yesterday's war
Conceived to hearten tomorrow's peace
With every emotional rush
A tempestuous roar would avail
Dance to a bonfire's rhythm
Even in its square perimeter
As daylight emerges
Watch the flaming embers burn
Amidst its golden radiance
Embrace the jovial mystery
For it is short lived
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
Iridescent entwined beauty True magnetic force As a nautical ship steering Full boisterous course Era of brass turned to golden Blurred signs of olden Emerald leaves upon this earth Assent to your worth Woven fine thread so arduous Joyfully combust You were loved… From near and afar Ms Hedy Lamarr
Carnation flower full in bloom Vision of glory Eyes were doors to a labyrinth Of melancholy Versatility undenied Accolades aside Emerald leaves upon this earth Assent to your worth Flair never whispered to ponder Should there be wonder You were loved… From near and afar Ms Hedy Lamarr
Mighty tide viciously ebbing, Opaque world became. Demise of withered rose petals, Timeless endured name. Paramount innovator, Hold supreme structure. Emerald leaves upon this earth, Assent to your worth. Sheer fairness concurred with trailblaze. Amidst dusty haze, You were loved… From near and afar, Ms Hedy Lamarr.
A rotating prison… This desolate dungeon, All the while my smile, Creating illusion. Slurry speech tongue heavy, Sun rising already, Dismal road toting load, Bag of woes I carry. Isolated corner, Not one clue or answer, Yet you dare say you care, In bleakest hemisphere… Don’t come with the weight of judgement, Cause I have no room left to spare.
No prismatic rainbow… Golden petals in sight, Amidst the flight of night, Journey in black and white. Palpitations and sweat, Alter ego a threat, Breath of air a nightmare, Solitude and regret. Engulfed in morbid fear, My flesh I cannot wear, Yet you dare say you care, In dreary atmosphere… Don’t come with the weight of judgement, Cause I have no room left to spare.
This furrowed mountain I climb
My reflection has been lost
Hollowness I harbor
No wandering fugitive
But a carbon copy
Of my melancholy mindset
Willing to dance among
Soft twilight rays
Like a barefooted gypsy
Flower child of the night
Gesticulating to a fading azure
Sturdy in my stance
Divinity will soon come
But for now
These exquisite daisies interlaced
Among midnight tresses
Will befittingly suffice
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
Pain of a mimicked heart Agonizing whirlwind Jesters know the lyrics Mimed tune for a mocking raven Dismembered and torn Exhausted from dangling Repeatedly to puppeteers delight Seized and dominated In arduous angst Strings perforated within New rhythm being born Of faint palpitations Decaying remains surround Ravaged carcass existent laying motionless on the ground Irregular beats obvious transgressor Leaves room to ponder Myriad of thoughts brew In a subliminal mind Does fate even compensate Will a rain shower suffice Exact amount that awakens Wilted wildflowers dazed From scorched brazen sunlight Scrutiny feels like Final nail on the coffin Paling heartbeats Infrequent and throbbing A mere mortal’s prelude of Walking an unending tightrope
Three steps from the wishing well...
Beige hills fuels this somber aura.
Softly bow down my head,
In succession of falling teardrops.
Silver coin dazzle eluded my sadness,
No gazing of any rippled motion,
Glare of sunshine was my companion.
Translucent words within me,
Crystalline and lucid,
Yet a gripping joust deters any utter,
Or repressed remark from these frigid lips.
Sub conscious eager to constrain,
Heartbreak of a time bygone,
Any reprisal assuredly condemned.
No repetition of the past,
Along this dreary reality.
In sequential fashion,
As a mockingbird flew by,
Beam of lucent sunshine was solemnly,
My one and only companion.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
Woman, dry your tears and cry no more,
Not oblivious to your trials before,
The weight of the world is not yours to bear,
Speak to God without unease and fear.
Amidst this flowing river,
Make peace with your creator,
Immobile wounds do not condone,
Leave your burdens by this river stone.
Woman, dry your tears and cry no more,
Like clustered debris upon a sandy shore,
May your pain be successfully buried,
Answers you have often queried.
Cast them in crystal water,
Dawn of your ever after,
As a queen departing her throne,
Leave your burdens by this river stone.
Woman, dry your tears and cry no more,
Here in nature's solace you can rest assure,
Now relinquish and instantly release,
Heartache will promptly decrease.
As the whitest doves fly by,
In a celestial sky,
Signifies you are not alone,
Leave your burdens by this river stone.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021