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Best Nette Onclaud Poems

Below are the all-time best Nette Onclaud poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Nette Onclaud Poem

VOICE IN HIDING



Hiding here inside my closet, I feel safe in the dark knowing on a pile of sheets lies my very psyche; it's only a thought, yet I am unhurt among drawers… so I curl and stare blank, imbibing bits of gentle murmurings that whisper on hangers as they sway with the lint...I strain to listen but prickly voices rush out of reach from the sleeves of a night like a conversation behind closed doors… I hear yet can't quite grasp what my heart wants to say in low dips ; like a tremolo carrying mould of twilight... it chants all sermons of a Sunday church bell speaking in tongues I knew once...long ago. The moon slices the folds around me in black suds washing a laundry of venting desire, only to find myself trapped in pins…I feel a stab, a grating chill: perhaps, I have no language when no one wants to listen.
Favorite Poem You've Ever WrittenContest Sponsor: Carol Eastman by nette onclaud


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KARMA



Fluted hands angle on knees as glimpses 
sort the knitted threads of a late afternoon
where gathering of blooms abide.
Almost friendless, a man inhabits his space
ready to inhale the waft of new dusk, 
of how a world in his inner terrain mirrors
the ceremonials of a mindful passage
upon grasses and half-lit windows
outside the self. 

And through a prayerful instance,
he connects with a god hushing the tempo
of sighs mixed with incense blowing, as if 
to twirl in an air of breaths cleansing
the scabs of trespasses. Miles of babel words
turn into a different language: quite unknown
and understood only by him who finds
contentment in being unbound ,of gliding 
above a haloed sky that reflects the movement
inside his awakened essence.

For the atonement of all misgivings,
he releases his pride in layers 
of deep confession to pay for his karmic debt;
that in a warm communion with humility
he makes amends for life's consequences

as stillness becomes his friend.


Anthony Slausen's Karma


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AS FATHER IS TO HIS DAUGHTER


Passing through framed windows like ours, I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends that burned your innocence at 21... and though you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted. We both searched deeply into our souls as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted to let you know, it was alright; but that mound of shoulders turned away. Down the years as officer and gentleman, Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair, leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills until you arrive under crawling dock of stars. But in free moments, how you cherished me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds, to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon. You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams... until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel. I see you through all framed windows like ours, that even if my iced breaths needed you more as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry for love’s company... “ I have adored you in moments of distance and nearness, if not always, then for all eternity.” Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh? Dad, everything is all right. The Confessional Contest


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IN THE MOOD


lately, i have been in this female mood for some kind of abandon, that which exhales the tigress fire out of my lungs digging the veins from a week's' routine movements pruned to the barest of a payroll’s droll… antiseptic cubicles dictate the rags of chlorine-infected lunch where rooms i strut around have nothing except robotic people, same rye snacks, basins of expired coffee and files of schizoid folio.. just outside, the sky coughs of gas masks rendering a paper bag of humanity to suffocate on clanking bones along claustrophobic subways: such a hemorrhaging day waiting for 5pm to hiss, halt ,and heave… i need to dance with the arms of a jazzy moon fondling my back and whistling the tunes of recklesness when all but the spirit lusts for is just a slice of raw breaths spiraling into tangy punches of rockstar blues... spare me the cranky claws of a friday so sore; i alight like a feline dressed in black lace with cabaret wings, feathers splattered on glitzy cobblestones... voluptuous legs hot and wild sniffing sultry lavender scent of friday night’s parade; and the band notes howl, free like me.
Favorite Poem Of Yours Contest of Giorgio V by nette onclaud


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GRATITUDE'S FLOW

'        '''''''''    ''''''''' ''

                                                         
most times, i wander past troubled winds of  shore
when dark sighs heave upon a hazed door,
the crux of crosses seems to welcome  me
listening to whines of own stories seeking plea,
and the wings of gray clouds immerse in  cries
pausing, i carry gratitude with grace still in my eyes,


when moments are lid covered, like  mourning shawl
my senses stoop ever weary as they begin to fall,
then I hear a  chuckling of street kids spilling the day
as if hours are given by a Maker to strum and gaily play,
by  then; I hold His LIGHT, a sliver of it begins to bloom
erasing crumbs of doubt in shades of twisted gloom.

once, thrice by the armchair are letters spread around
mostly payables , some due end of month’s mound
neck shrinks till coffee brews, like soft smoke in heat
thanking the Father for a home that sings in mellow beat


with smiles easing  burdens that seem heavy weight
for heart’s growling hides many things like love, hope, and fate,
my eyes, my skin become plump again, and dear life wanders by
prayers whisper 'all is right', a joyful world wraps a mellow sigh,
looking up at the night’s ray, simple pleasures cannot be bought
I bow for His mercy and let go, to rest on His Light ever sought.




all rights reserved
            ©


" """" '''''' 

Robert Ball's Honoring the Father Contest
by: nette onclaud


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FIRST CHERUBIC CHANCE

This road is snake-like except
for the crusty scales of an intestinal
late dusk. A boy treaded on the 
lane tracks lean and nomadic...
burnt shoulders grilled and toasted by
the sun, as if his coal skin sparked like
burning diamond weeds. In a flash, a tender
sorcery poured in my veins. There and then,
I longed to whisper a tune, play the tambourine or
partake of the loaf in my sack with him.
But he waited for paper clouds to ruffle his hair,
seemingly undisturbed by pilgrims like me 
holding unto holy relics and bones of night. The gauze
shirt as his frock winged with the silver winds,
windblown stroking my ebony tresses with a whisper
hushed by his delicate omnipresence.

In a dimly lit bus, sand wheezed tribal notes
moist on my eyelids uprooted by uncontained
temples of longing, now becoming thick
as woolen destiny. If only for a flicker of time,
his eyelids met mine so briefly... parting saline dust
of sacred, smiling gazes. I was inside a cell 
of a wombed bus. He was outside enlarged by a
hundred stars exploding dewdrops, inviting eternity.
For a fraction of silence, we met somewhere
between the fluorescent of our twin eyes. He, the angel 
first fondly encountered ; I, the dreamer ever bewildered…
I remember...I was five.  
                             
                           ---oooo----oooo---

(( P.D.'s " your Own Favorite Poem
by nette onclaud))



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YOU ARE THE ONE


l. Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite ambrosia: she would lift her anklets in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..” Evenings touched her candle hands; hands that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights; her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan; “night and day you are the one…” And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants. ll. From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me; her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights with each veil of her almond eyes that enter into my irises: a serene sight too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word. Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles and music walked me through reality’s maze. And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study, coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet, she stayed like a moth with charm flushed in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing . lll. And only Mom could melt my temper when my raging soul paused to wonder at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head… and now, she hovers around me. I become her eyes, chanting, “night and day, you are the one” ; never balking at my surreal conquests. She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights without question; with much love dripping from her graceful movement, straying all through these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…” Leonora Galinta's Poem For Mommy By: nette onclaud


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IN RED'S SILENT FURY


Metallic city howls like a wounded animal scraped by nocturnal vigils of grandchildren and elders emaciated like tuberculosis lungs gasping from chug-chugs of tobacco soot... and the face of a night is hammered by ripped moans like plucked strings in motel rooms; pagan women opening limbs for a meal in silent fury. This is the other side of town... beggars peddling hope; factory shoulders ranting over shuffled cards and fired gin as wives’ blistered fingers clean rented pots, gibbering same monotone of hymn, “give us daily bread, daily bread”. Outside, the pier coughs off the commercial honks of weighed cargo reeked with labor’s perspiration, where pawnshops buzz with greed's snicker... the evening owl attempts winks under the grime of bloodied moon… it spits the larynx of tenants’ raged hoots wishing morsels of fresh sunset would pour some grace of life’s salve, before the shrill of red sets in... again.
Color of Sound Contest/ Monterey Sirak by nette onclaud


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SERENDIPITY


August wind, glass moon,serendipity... two chairs gazing at each other in tender flow. Hundred miles away, clouds gather to fondle the opening and closing of after- midnight refrains, both trespassing a continental divide to awaken upon scrolls of ramblings united by the sorcery of mystic spaces between humid lenses. On such lit evenings, I will surrender to the maleness of a trembling heart ; your cheeks swollen like yeast…a shaven head, the blue of your shirt buried in my cellar unbuttoning the heaving pauses between the nearness of our skin… Chairs grind in wanton anticipation of palms touching my hair… you whisper, “ I adore you beyond words.”... and I; I falter while a glint climbs into the almond of my Oreo eyes… The scent of hours lingers as we wrap our fingers into morn, owning a body language in play of charades… Your mouth hushed, searching the curves of my spine glazed by soft bites of an August wind brushing our lips…until the slide screen fades off, and we are dissolved into a paradise inhabiting unborn stars. In raw enchantment, our warmed glances wait for a next time, as if a tarot of angels had known about serendipity.


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AWAITING DAWN



twilight gentle, inky moaning, seeking, caressing ambrosia, prurience; mantra, lace mystifying,unbuttoning...deepening pastel, awaiting dawn
Diamante Form Contest by nette onclaud


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