Michael....How are you?

If Michael was a mentor and a friend
you'd think I should have known when he had died.
A year or so has skipped by since his end.
A year in which I've been pre-occupied

with other daft diversions of the day,
and re-inventing reasons not to care.
So much to do with so little to say,
till now his legacy may lift me where

I may regain the banter and the wits
which decorated many daily duels.
In private or on forums as befits
We'd oscillate from geniuses to fools.

Some days we drove each other round the bend..
Yes. Michael is a mentor and a friend.

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Denial Of The Inner Bully.

I guess, the mess we find ourselves within
is relative to where we planned to be.
That cold chagrin could camouflage the grin
upon the face we let the others see.

Although, we cannot hide the true intent
when onlookers are more astute than we.
How hard it is to hide then, what we meant
How hard it is, to admit...this is me?

How many foolish arguments arose
to sate one's puerile, paranoid defence?
How many friends have you imagined 'foes'?
How can the ego combat common sense?

I guess the mess we find ourselves within
is Karma's way of redressing that sin?

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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In true remembrance, unsullied by creed.

Effect and consequences play their part
regardless of the perpetrators' role.
Their own departure dislocates their heart.
Perhaps their mind's mistaken for their soul?

A million atoms separated then
in one misguided act of gormless god
No deity did this, but mortal men.
No deity would need to be so awed.

Revered and worshipped by a clever ruse
of quaint select translations from the past.
The role of most religions? To confuse.
Prolong their selfish doctrines to the last.

No matter that they cannot justify
a faith that deems one innocent must die.

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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The Reckoning.

I hugged a brittle stick the other night
The remnants of a friend.
A wheezing, gasping, floundering fish.
He sang in bursts..
but still, he sang.

I tried to fill his furrowed lines
Re-paint his hair jet-black
Inflated out his sullen shouders
Gave this man his boyhood back.
A drink or three he shared with me
The clock slowly rewound
The shadows of his awkward dance
Too shallow now, to be profound.
"I knew you when…" he mouthed again
Then stopped for breath, but said, no more.
I rubbed his back. I held his hand.
But could not wait, to close that door.

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Somnambulistic Sonnet

How strange, when sleep is scarce the dreams increase
with amplified intensity and strength
behind eyes bravely batting at the crease
we fill that space regardless of the length

Forgetting, when fatigue brings in the dawn
our memories and prophecies combine
to conjure up somnambulistic spawn
and motherlodes within the mental mine

The vividness of visions in such states
embeds them in our minds throughout the day
And so we banish logic, which dictates
sleep deprivation's target is dismay
Lest we confuse reality with dreams
can we be sure that all is as it seems?

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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A Tsonnet

How can we ever comprehend or care,
as bystanders who question all we see?
Discouraged by the lack of logic there,
within the cause of each catastrophe.

Is Nature now the weapon of the gods?
What sacrifice could this be offered for?
The athiests and theists are at odds
on how this reinforces faith, once more.

A random act of nature or a test,
designed to rally each religion's strength?
Regardless, on the ground they do their best,
as humans show they'll go to any length...

we'll put aside these trivial affairs..
compassion shouldn't catch us unawares?

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Leave me never, leave me now.

Leave me never, leave me now.

Leave me never, leave me now
Leave the sweat upon my brow
Leave the why's, the where and how
to help the helpless grieve.
Leave behind the broken vow,
however, though, ... just leave.

Leave me not, in true temptation,
coveting this single nation
Bringing calm to consternation
while the embers build,
beneath the mask of indignation?
Consciences are killed

And while we wait, we cast the net
o'er waters which have not run yet
but hide in summer's silhouette,
as time tries to perceive.

[...] Read more

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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New Year Sonnet

Each year I fear a little less than last
as time erodes the terrors I have known.
No longer doomed to deem the die is cast,
though 'change for change's sake' is overblown.

I know I need a catalyst, ad lib
to spur the odd excursion from the droll
I know the pen is nowt without the nib
I know the ink inside me is the goal.

I seek not to discover what is new
when what is old has yet to be explained.
I'll dig down deep and ask, 'What can I do
to share the knowledge I've already gained? '

In order to bequeath our wisdom's wealth...
This year I'll start by honouring myself.

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Facing facets of timely reminders.

I wound my way through the maze of me
unaware of the unseen company

Walking in parallels, they turned as did I
Appeared and then vanished in the blink of a why.

The man and the boy and the being without
as one, on a quest, on a question of doubt

Never finding the truths, for the truths are well masked
Insufficient heed paid, to the questions we asked.

Still I knew they were there
Still I knew they were me
Still I knew if we met
We would never agree.

For, for all they have learned
stored behind the brick wall
of the mind’s ebbing tide,

[...] Read more

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Bonjour mon Cher et Cher-alike.

What may today's self seeking search unearth?
And at what time, precisely will it start?
Will we uncover anything of worth
and find a way to share it, through our art.

For I believe each poet is condemned
to set aside a section of their day
and ask themselves, 'Would I be my own friend? '
or would the true me, make me walk away?

As much as we may muse on all that's good,
there is in each a raw primeval trait.
A selfish and survival gene that could
explain how swiftly Love can turn to Hate.

But as the turmoil turns behind our mask
at least, we had the decency to ask.

poem by Hola Mentirosa
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