No Peace

No peace.
No peace!
No matter which room
No matter which house
No matter which neighbourhood
Even through my earplugs
Even through my headphones
Even in the woods!
Even by the river!
Even by the lake!
No peace!
Electric saws
Lawn mowers
Motorcycles
Trucks
Sirens
Aeroplanes
Helicopters
Highway
TVs
Radio
Dogs barking
Doors banging
Moms nagging
Smokers coughing
Children screaming
Telephones ringing
Amateurs singing
No peace!
I wish I knew
what true silence sounds like.
People are everywhere!
The noise is everywhere!
I can’t escape it!
I have
no peace.

 

Elaine Bento
August 7, 2017

Penumbra

(Where the Light touches the Dark)

Like the moon,
I reflect the light from my brother.
And like the moon,
I forever carry a shadow
on one side,
on one side that only the bravest
dare to explore.
For what is there
but the unseen?
What is there
but the unheard, the unthought,
the unknown?
The Mystery.
Yet the light
lies just beyond the meridian
illuminating its beloved
in a sea of affection and care.
How can such a light
be bound to such darkness?
The mystery
lies in the fact that
the light side often wanes
to be like the dark side,
just as the dark side
yearns to be like the light,
even though the light side
tries to eliminate the dark
sees the dark side
of its beloved
and tries to illuminate it
as much as possible,
it still,
in the end,
returns to darkness.
But the dark side
holds a secret.
While the light side
Waxes and wanes
and ebbs and flows,
receiving energy,
then giving it away,
forever beholding
the same two orbs,
the dark side
is free to gaze
into the infinite depths
of the Universe
and behold the infinite
heavenly bodies
that shine from afar.
So even though
the light side believes
it’s turning into darkness
every time it wanes,
the dark side is forever
receiving light, love, and strength
from the infinite beloveds and brethren unknown
who sail the same void
and whose soul seeds
are made from the same essence:
Love.

Elaine Bento
August 3, 2017

Influence

You’ve converted me.
I don’t know how
you’ve done it,
but you have.
I’m a domestic;
a homebody.
A future stay-at-home mom.

I can’t believe
I used to dream
of travelling
to Kenya,
to China,
to Australia,
of climbing mountains
and rowing rapids,
of finding fame
and evading danger.

Now I dream
of grocery shopping,
of organizing,
of decorating,
of peace and quiet,
of healthy living,
of safety and solitude,
of marital bliss,
of baking,
of growing vegetables and herbs,
of performing rituals,
of petting and playing with my dream cat,
of having guests for dinner and a movie,
of exercising and meditating at home,
of singing as loud as I want,
whenever I want,
of cleaning house whenever I want,
of being naked whenever I want,
of making love with you whenever I want,
of showering with you,
of going to bed together
after a movie and snuggle is done,
instead of saying goodbye
and not knowing when I’ll see you again.

I dream of our future home,
made just the way we like it.
I dream of our children,
and how they will look like
and who they will be.
I dream of naming them,
and feeding them,
and kissing and holding them,
and washing them,
and teaching them,
and singing with them,
and playing,
and exploring,
and learning with them.
I dream that they will be
smarter and wiser than us,
that they will be leaders,
and catalysts,
and influence the change
that I dream of
in this world.

That’s how I will make a difference.
Not by fame or adventure,
but by loving and humble influence.
I’ve found my purpose,
and it’s all thanks to you.

Elaine Bento  May 15, 2017

Cernunnos

 

In the shadows He waits,
eyeing you through the leaves,
stalking you close behind,
silent.
An ever-faithful presence
as you try to find You.

He is the hunt,
He is the animal,
and when you falter,
He braces for the pounce.

And then you call His name.

All at once he encompasses you
He fills you
He lifts you
He is you:

your Ambition
your Wild
your Sex
your Pride
your Strength
your Brave
He is You.

He chases away distress,
and when the fear is vanquished,
He lays you down gently
on a bed of fallen leaves,
sweeps the hair back from your face,
kisses you in blessing,
and returns to His abode

lying in wait
until You hunger again.

Elaine Bento  September 2015

Sonnet to Iambe

When most I wink then does my mind best jest,
For all the day it views things unrespected,
And when it tires, from humour finds no rest,
With just one spark, all further thoughts affected.
Then thou whose laughter laughter doth incite,
How would thy laughter’s sound form happy song,
On this drab day with eyes playfully bright,
When to my weary eye thy grin shines strong?
How would I say mine ears be blessed made
By hearing such a joke as thou could say,
When in despair I wallow in my shade,
Until your clever wit doth make my day?
All days are grey and boring as can be,
And nights bring whimsy with my Iambe.

Elaine Bento  2016
Parody of William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 43 (my favourite sonnet), inspired by my boring job and the Greek goddess of humour, Iambe

Dukkha

Why must one die while the other remains?
Both lovely in their way,
both equally wicked:
with this one’s charm
and that one’s wit.
Two sides of the same coin,
yet they cancel each other out.
As one strengthens,
the other is vanquished
and as the first weakens,
so the other takes the reign.
It seems both have purpose
when the other is there to thwart them.
And yet,
there must come a day
when one must be vanquished
indefinitely
by the other.
This is not the tale
of Light and Darkness
or Good and Evil.
This is the tale
of Innocence and Experience;
the child-self and the superego.
Though both learn from each other,
throughout a lifetime,
there will come a day
when one will overshadow the other,
and when this day comes
the ego under their mercy
will be forced to look at himself from afar
in only a short time,
as the hands of Death
seek to rid the world of this imbalance.
The child and the super will become mute—
one already dead,
the other shamed—
as Ego, their charge,
must suffer to look at
the choice they have made for him
(for once unaware of the consequences)
to hand him to Death, the rehabilitator,
to suffer the toils
of criminal and selfish men before him
as if they were the same.
And yet are they not
the same?
He and the criminals?
Lost on the treacherous path
to enlightenment?
One can only hope
that he will wish to do it again:
to suffer under the conflicted rule
of Child-self and Superego
and make up for what they have done
when Death allows him back
into the next life
and again
until he will suffer no more
and the coin becomes a sphere.

Elaine Bento  April 24, 2017

I’m Blue, It’s True

Blue is a colour you never get used to,
even though your eyes are most comfortable with it.
People say that “life finds a way,” but…
I just see blue.
And that’s all there ever will be.
And I’m happy.
Well, happy as I’ll ever be.
Being me.
Blue.
Blue is where your heart breaks.
Not like that cliché, drama queen, tween scene,
“Are you breaking up with me?!”
No, that’s some other, brighter colour.
I’m talking about genuine true blue,
but diluted to a serene clarity and with a touch of grey.
It’s like, you’re not shook up,
but you also know you will never be the same again,
like that thing that you thought you were
just isn’t there anymore.
Like they took it.
And you just have to accept it.
So that, even though you’re calm and clear,
you’re not your true self;
you’re diluted.
And some painters don’t understand that.
They just think
that you’re the colour of the sky.
But skies don’t focus on their identity.
No, that’s for other, brighter colours.
Not me.
I’m blue.

Elaine Bento  April 22, 2017

Am I Bridal?

Why the kerfuffle?
You’ve seen this before
With each added ruffle
You still ask for more

There’s no perfect number
Of beads you can stick
It will only encumber
And delay your pick

So make your decision
I know that it’s scary
You know you’re a vision
So don’t be so wary

He’ll see you, his queen
In all of your glory
Most beautiful he’s seen
And you won’t be sorry

When you see his face
You’ll know you’re perfect
And all of that lace
Would have no effect

On where he would place
Your heart to protect
And forever embrace

Elaine Bento  April 19, 2017
Inspired by Dictionary.com’s Word of the Day and Say Yes to the Dress Canada

The Wounded Stag

Passing amid the deepest shade
Of the wood’s sombre heart,
Last night I saw a wounded deer
Laid lonely and apart.

Such light as pierced the crowded boughs
(Light scattered, scant and dim,)
Passed through the fern that formed his couch
And centred full on him.

Pain trembled in his weary limbs,
Pain filled his patient eye;
Pain-crushed amid the shadowy fern
His branchy crown did lie.

Where were his comrades? where his mate?
All from his death-bed gone!
And he, thus struck and desolate,
Suffered and bled alone.

Did he feel what a man might feel
Friend-left, and sore distrest?
Did Pain’s keen dart, and Grief’s sharp sting
Strive in his mangled breast?

Did longing for affection lost
Barb every deadly dart;
Love unrepaid, and Faith betrayed, —
Did these torment his heart?

No! leave to man his proper doom!
These are the pangs that rise
Around the bed of state and gloom,
Where Adam’s offspring dies!

Charlotte Brontë  before 1833 (exact date unknown)