Poetry of Cynthia Gail Manor, B.A.
Montopolis, Austin, Texas
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He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. Psalms 126:6
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Psalm 30:5
List of Selections
Click on links below
Candle
The Trail
Death of a Child
Melancholy
Descent into Darkness
Untitled
Alone
Embrace
I Know
Candle
“Mama…?”
The nocturnal gossip stills
for the whispers of a child.
“Mama…?”
The stars hold each answer,
their light refracting in each tear
borne behind gestures and smiles,
shed in corners and shadows
where no one can see
Mother’s pain.
Her many candles
have carried her petitions,
dreams,
and screams
on their scented breaths,
brief lights
that dance in the storms,
until the wicks are gone,
and she stands in the dark
waiting for God to speak.
But she never knew
that I was waiting too.
Though matrimony pummeled
it’s fickle bouquet in to her heart,
her blood was thicker
than any iniquity
or unraveled dream.
In her wounds
she somehow found
the temerity to go on.
Unknowingly she lay laid
the stars and midnight sun
at my feet,
gifts for the Queen she saw in me,
treasures from a poor woman
who wept yet kept her dignity,
a soldier whose armor was sacrifice,
reflecting yet in my summer days.
As winter calls,
And my eyes grow dim,
I will reach back like a child
to the flames which held
my fascination
and carried Mama’s tears God.
(1999, updated in 2009)
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The Trail
Daily
Alone
I walk this trail
That once teemed with life
And held fascination close,
But winter came early—
That life is a memory.
This place is inundated
With shadows
And the haunting
decaying
colic cries
Of dreams laid to rest,
eulogized by lethargy.
I stumble over countless crosses,
Kneel before them when I pray
To a God who seems now a stranger,
veiled by my disillusionment.
Night clings to this cemetery like a thicket—
no moon
no stars
no milky way
To entice me with hope.
Even meditations on halcyon days
Are powerless against the curse
Of the rote, empty motion of a life
That lost its luster too soon.
(2006, updated in 2009)
Back to Top
Death of a Child
I’ve watched the succession
of miseries
slowly train across your face,
driving fear into your subconscious
and eroding your dimples.
I see you lost in halcyon days
when you thought I wasn’t looking.
The light that once twinkled in your eyes
has dulled
and left them petrified.
I hear you at night
crying for each dream
you lay to rest
in the fallow of your anguish
because the stars that once held
your fascination
now seem too far away.
The breast from which
you drew your life
has dried in the unforgiving noon
festering in want
to ease the pain
you hide from me,
yearning to hear the secrets I do not want to know.
As time has ripened
I’ve sacrificed you in my shame
and buried you with my guilt.
My Child—
a flame dancing with disillusionment,
trying to hold its own,
flickering bright then dark then bright
then slowly,
slowly…
flickering
away.
(2006)
Back to Top
Melancholy
There is a place within my heart,
the womb of my soul & dreams,
but now it has been rendered barren
& bears me fruit no more.
For in this tomb, the Reaper sows
by the promise of my tears
the seedlings of rage and fear
which burgeon to misery.
The blight steeps the recesses
of my entire existence
leaving no joy untainted,
nor dormant wound unfestered.
There is no haven without or within
to flee this pestilence.
So I walk in an illusion--
a phantom whom no one can feel.
Emotions and thoughts are raveled
by the shrapnel of insanity.
Reality is splintered beyond the point
of discernability.
No more do I see the Girl
who played with dolls & fantasies,
who rollicked free in carelessness
& danced with innocence,
Nor the Woman who’s braved perdition
with the aegis of her Spirit,
who weaved poetry and psalms
from the siege of thunderstorms.
I, the Child, lay raped beneath
the sickle which crafted Our demise,
crying silently
with every etch into our Heart.
(1996)
Back to Top
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Psalm 30:5
List of Selections
Click on links below
Candle
The Trail
Death of a Child
Melancholy
Descent into Darkness
Untitled
Alone
Embrace
I Know
Candle
“Mama…?”
The nocturnal gossip stills
for the whispers of a child.
“Mama…?”
The stars hold each answer,
their light refracting in each tear
borne behind gestures and smiles,
shed in corners and shadows
where no one can see
Mother’s pain.
Her many candles
have carried her petitions,
dreams,
and screams
on their scented breaths,
brief lights
that dance in the storms,
until the wicks are gone,
and she stands in the dark
waiting for God to speak.
But she never knew
that I was waiting too.
Though matrimony pummeled
it’s fickle bouquet in to her heart,
her blood was thicker
than any iniquity
or unraveled dream.
In her wounds
she somehow found
the temerity to go on.
Unknowingly she lay laid
the stars and midnight sun
at my feet,
gifts for the Queen she saw in me,
treasures from a poor woman
who wept yet kept her dignity,
a soldier whose armor was sacrifice,
reflecting yet in my summer days.
As winter calls,
And my eyes grow dim,
I will reach back like a child
to the flames which held
my fascination
and carried Mama’s tears God.
(1999, updated in 2009)
Back to Top
The Trail
Daily
Alone
I walk this trail
That once teemed with life
And held fascination close,
But winter came early—
That life is a memory.
This place is inundated
With shadows
And the haunting
decaying
colic cries
Of dreams laid to rest,
eulogized by lethargy.
I stumble over countless crosses,
Kneel before them when I pray
To a God who seems now a stranger,
veiled by my disillusionment.
Night clings to this cemetery like a thicket—
no moon
no stars
no milky way
To entice me with hope.
Even meditations on halcyon days
Are powerless against the curse
Of the rote, empty motion of a life
That lost its luster too soon.
(2006, updated in 2009)
Back to Top
Death of a Child
I’ve watched the succession
of miseries
slowly train across your face,
driving fear into your subconscious
and eroding your dimples.
I see you lost in halcyon days
when you thought I wasn’t looking.
The light that once twinkled in your eyes
has dulled
and left them petrified.
I hear you at night
crying for each dream
you lay to rest
in the fallow of your anguish
because the stars that once held
your fascination
now seem too far away.
The breast from which
you drew your life
has dried in the unforgiving noon
festering in want
to ease the pain
you hide from me,
yearning to hear the secrets I do not want to know.
As time has ripened
I’ve sacrificed you in my shame
and buried you with my guilt.
My Child—
a flame dancing with disillusionment,
trying to hold its own,
flickering bright then dark then bright
then slowly,
slowly…
flickering
away.
(2006)
Back to Top
Melancholy
There is a place within my heart,
the womb of my soul & dreams,
but now it has been rendered barren
& bears me fruit no more.
For in this tomb, the Reaper sows
by the promise of my tears
the seedlings of rage and fear
which burgeon to misery.
The blight steeps the recesses
of my entire existence
leaving no joy untainted,
nor dormant wound unfestered.
There is no haven without or within
to flee this pestilence.
So I walk in an illusion--
a phantom whom no one can feel.
Emotions and thoughts are raveled
by the shrapnel of insanity.
Reality is splintered beyond the point
of discernability.
No more do I see the Girl
who played with dolls & fantasies,
who rollicked free in carelessness
& danced with innocence,
Nor the Woman who’s braved perdition
with the aegis of her Spirit,
who weaved poetry and psalms
from the siege of thunderstorms.
I, the Child, lay raped beneath
the sickle which crafted Our demise,
crying silently
with every etch into our Heart.
(1996)
Back to Top
Descent into Darkness
Where am I?
How did I get here?
Through a long and winding road
laden with death –
death of my heart
death of my spirit
and at the end a solitary grave
left to mark a life
of failure and pain,
and an emptiness –
that horrible emptiness
a void in my heart
where there is nothing except
the ghosts of hopes and dreams
laid to rest there
until the End.
Where is God
for the weak in spirit
who have been battered too long
by the waves of perdition
and who sadly give up the fight,
lost and wondering
if God ever existed.
Is the blood of Jesus enough,
for those who die
by their own swords
to escape agony of life,
or will their souls suffer in death
as they did in life
in never-ending fires.
(2007)
Back to Top
(Untitled)
Life
Is an empty
Drama
And we are all
But puppets of sorrow.
All that we think
Or feel
Is illusion.
Our dreams are specters
We chase after
That turn
Laugh at us
Then disappear.
(circa late 1980's/early 1990's)
Back to Top
Alone
Alone
I sit at this table,
pondering life and death.
Where has life brought me?
To what place?
To this table,
to this moment,
to surmise the seclusion
I feel
in the deepest places
of my soul.
Alone,
in pain and despondent,
which no medications can allay
which no distraction can convey
Against this tide
washing over me
like waves of silent perdition,
ebbing and flowing at the shores
of my illusions
‘til nothing is left
but the bare chasms of my heart.
I am in the midst of billions
yet all alone.
No one hears my cries.
There is no one to bear me up
to some halcyon place.
I am left
to my own devices,
to grasp at and hold on to
distraction after distraction
until each one waxes and wanes
only to be replaced by another.
Oh, that t he years should progress
in this way,
slowly wasting the soul!
(2006)
Back to Top
Where am I?
How did I get here?
Through a long and winding road
laden with death –
death of my heart
death of my spirit
and at the end a solitary grave
left to mark a life
of failure and pain,
and an emptiness –
that horrible emptiness
a void in my heart
where there is nothing except
the ghosts of hopes and dreams
laid to rest there
until the End.
Where is God
for the weak in spirit
who have been battered too long
by the waves of perdition
and who sadly give up the fight,
lost and wondering
if God ever existed.
Is the blood of Jesus enough,
for those who die
by their own swords
to escape agony of life,
or will their souls suffer in death
as they did in life
in never-ending fires.
(2007)
Back to Top
(Untitled)
Life
Is an empty
Drama
And we are all
But puppets of sorrow.
All that we think
Or feel
Is illusion.
Our dreams are specters
We chase after
That turn
Laugh at us
Then disappear.
(circa late 1980's/early 1990's)
Back to Top
Alone
Alone
I sit at this table,
pondering life and death.
Where has life brought me?
To what place?
To this table,
to this moment,
to surmise the seclusion
I feel
in the deepest places
of my soul.
Alone,
in pain and despondent,
which no medications can allay
which no distraction can convey
Against this tide
washing over me
like waves of silent perdition,
ebbing and flowing at the shores
of my illusions
‘til nothing is left
but the bare chasms of my heart.
I am in the midst of billions
yet all alone.
No one hears my cries.
There is no one to bear me up
to some halcyon place.
I am left
to my own devices,
to grasp at and hold on to
distraction after distraction
until each one waxes and wanes
only to be replaced by another.
Oh, that t he years should progress
in this way,
slowly wasting the soul!
(2006)
Back to Top
Embrace
Wherefore my heart cries out,
I long to walk into the Sea,
For in Her warm embrace
There is forgetfulness
Of tragedies past,
Skeletons that refuse
To sleep,
That would be drowned
In her depths.
Though the scars
On my arm
And the scars in my heart
Relent against sleep,
There will be eternal sleep
In my escape to this place,
That holds no hello’s
Or good-bye’s
Nor failures,
Nor taunting ghosts
Of what I hoped
And dreamed,
That I dream for
No more.
No one
To hear my cries
Against the crashing waves,
Nobody to mourn,
No mourning for myself,
No wracking emptiness
No jagged pill
To sedate a pain.
Let the Sea
Take me into her shadowy embrace,
As all my existence has been
Haunted by shadows,
And our kiss eternal,
Will hold
The only life
I have ever known.
(2008)
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I Know
There are no shadows
in this place.
There is Darkness.
And all my living and dying
have led me here
to this uninhabitable place,
filled with challis’s
of the misery
from all my failings,
imbued with a razor’s blood,
seasoned with my fears.
Here, the nightmare must end.
The sorrow must end.
The mime longer suffices
the seemingly insatiable yearnings of my soul.
“And Still I Rise!”
Maya exclaimed.
“Long live the Fighters!”
a hero explained.
Yet,
I am tired.
I am tired.
I can fight no more.
I have tried to walk the waters
in God’s wake,
but my fears would often encircle and attack.
I have danced through Satan’s fires,
often losing balance and perspective.
Alas,
God is Satan,
and Satan is God,
and there is no reprieve
for me.
Shall perchance the Heavens
rise up
And wash my warring soul?
Will Hell eternally incense
the innards
from my distended heart?
Or will I languish in the same Purgatory
In which I now subsist?
Who has fallen on his own sword
and risen to tell the tale?
There is none.
So, I must kiss this challis
and drink to my sorrows
this one
last time.
(2006)
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