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The Best Abandoned Poems

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Disposable Wisdom

Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?

Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace

More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry

Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage

Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience

Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing

In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby

She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II	
Annie received little compensation

This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty

To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home

With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse

Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009


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Poet in Recluse

I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your wit and charm

With piqued reasons I have come to deduce
It's time to say fond farewell to my muse
She should seek a new poet and lay claim
for my words have grown utterly abstruse

Spare me sullen eyes, from cries in refrain
I shall not weep in sadness nor disdain
Bitterness does not become a recluse
My poet's heart weakens, I dare not feign

Time's drawn the shades in darkness of night
No candle flame shall glimmer enough light
in which I may be tempted before morn
to doubt seclusion and attempt to write

Cloistered without pen, I shall ever be
From thinking in rhyme I shall be set free
Poems half written on bits of scrap paper
I shall lock away and then toss the key

My hand has retired, this last poem now penned
No more idyll thoughts of mind will transcend
Bereft of rhymes and abandoned of verse
This poet knows her time has reached an end

Ink no longer flows through my tunneled veins
Expressed emotions in poetry wanes
And when interred, on my stone I shall read,
"Reclusive poet" over my remains


****   ****   ****
Fourth of July, 2017
Broken Wings "R" Form


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017


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The Stone

The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might



.                         Preface

Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied

Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone 
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown

Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale

“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn



.                         BETH’S TALE

1.              The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed

Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed

Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”



2.               The Quest

Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light

Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan 
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan 

While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry

For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou   
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou

The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled

The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled

A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned

I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died

The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him

Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail



3.              Contact

I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees

“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
	
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen

Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared



4.               Release

I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone



.                         Epilogue

That night the wayward winds were weird 
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared

At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled

The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red



.                         Epitaph

Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps



inspired by ~fc~

DEFINITIONS
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013


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PLEASE

~PLEASE~
 
Please pick me up!
Never mind I'm gonna fall, anyways
 
Please show me how to tie my shoes and sing a song! 
Don't worry mommy, I'll walk barefoot and teach myself one day
 
Please daddy show me how to ride my bike!
Never mind It takes up too much of your time
 
Mommy, please do not hit me again!
It's okay, I need to be taught a lesson
 
Cousin please do not touch!
Go ahead, they won't believe me anyway
 
Teacher, please defend me in school!
Never mind, my body is used to the abuse
 
Please don't tell me sleeping with you is the only way! 
Okay, I need to be loved even if it's for one night
 
Please teach me how to raise a baby!
It's okay, I can't blame others for my mistake
 
Please don't get violent when you drink tonight!'
If it makes you feel better hit me, 
I'll hide the bruise with makeup & tears
 
Please tell me that I'm beautiful!
Wait! Your right I'll never look like her!
 
Please someone call 911!
Never mind, it's only a broken bone
 
Officer, please don't take my husband?
Don't you know it was my fault, he loves me and won't hit me again
 
Please don't ask what happen to my face!
That's what I get for standing up and defending myself
 
Please God don't take my baby!
Go ahead and take her I don't deserve her
 
Please don't tell me your not in love with me!
I understand I'll never be worthy of your heart
 
Please don't walk away and break my heart!
It's okay, I never made progress or was good enough
 
Please someone help, I'm hurting inside!
Never mind my feelings don't count
 
Please God, can you hear me!
Please God, can you rescue me!
Please God, can you walk with me!
Please God, can you show me the way!
 
God- I was a baby, I was weak, and did not talk
God- you didn't protect me on my first fall
God- I was abandoned and neglected before I learned to crawl!
God- even you rejected all my prayers and call
 
I understand now I don't need nothing! 
I don't need no one at ALL
So PLEASE, PLEASE leave me alone, behind these walls 
.                              **
Please! If you read this teach me how to smile
WAIT! Smiles don't come with self blame & guilt

by;PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011


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My Love Shall Find You

Through eternal sun stars and space
My love shall find you I will embrace
Thru invisible realms and empty voids
There is nothing that my love avoids

Thru stormy clouds and distant dreams
My love shall be there in sailing streams
Within broken hearts and withered souls
My love shall rise above these hellish holes

Thru lonely streets and dark smoked rooms
My love shall find you through the fumes
Within abandoned hope and life on edge
My love shall find you this I solely pledge

Thru forgotten time and distant sorrow
My love shall find you with Cupids arrow
Thru hell itself and the armies of darkness
My love shall enlighten even the heartless

Thru times of grief and unwanted wasted war
Just look above for my love will start to pour
Thru anguished thoughts and apprehensions
My love shall find you through all dimensions.




Aug.05.2017
The Creative Collective Anthology Series
Sponsored by: Geraldine Taylor


Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2017


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Christmas Charity

He watched her all day,
From behind his window,
fascinated by her persistence,
renouncing a wholesome dinner,
the warmth and comfort of a home.
She stood, instead, in the telephone box
calling no one, receiving no one.
Surely if she did not phone anyone
One could assume she was waiting for one.
But no one rang.  All Christmas Eve.
 
The wind blew icy cold and it was clear
she was not adequately clothed.
She must have been suffering a lot.
He wanted to shout to her:
Call it a truce, forget the caller,
come to my humble abode
and rest a while.  Here's plenty to eat,
turkey, vegetables, mince pies and cakes
and a warmed red sangria
to pump some blood into your face.
 
She stayed put until midnight
as winter's blizzard opened its doors,
to herald in the birth of Christ.
Her ghost cared not for this, 
and tired out she fell
crumbled dead on the floor
of  an abandoned telephone box.
 
Next day they took her away.
He remained at the window,
angry, wondering the why of it all.
It was days later that he remembered.
Then he felt the terrible shame. 
He had not prayed for her at all.
 
POTW  12/17/2016


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016


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The Most Unlovable Man In The World - Love Thrives

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The last time we spoke I told you about how my life had changed for the better.  I had been ridiculed and scorned for years.  Never had any self-worth.  Never thought about my future.  Then, one evening, an angel from above had been sent to me to inform me that I was indeed loved after all.  I didn't fully understand what it all meant at first, but I was overwhelmed with gratitude to say the least.  

A year has gone by, and I wanted to share with you some wonderful news.  If you'll recall, I was raised for a number of years in an orphanage.  The director there was a cruel man who beat me often, all because I was ugly and different.  After my rebirth, as I like to call it, I got to thinking about all the orphans still left in the world.  So I took my severance pay along with money I had saved over the years performing in the circus for a certain E.T. Farnum and purchased an old abandoned schoolhouse on the outskirts of London.  It hadn't been used in years and needed some freshening up and not a few repairs.  But with a little help from the locals I had it up and running in short order.  After securing all the needed certifications, I named it the Thomas Woodward School for Orphans.  You see, that is my birth name, a name that was obscured for most of my life as few people ever dignified me by addressing me by my given name.  But now there it was on high showing itself to the world.  Not that I'm high-minded about it of course, no.  I like to think of it as a reminder that all things are possible in life.  

Soon I was being sent orphan children from all over London.  I had no restrictions, really.  Any child up to 16 years old was welcome here.  The only qualification per say is that they be orphans, needing love and schooling.  Due to my financial limitations I could only hire two teachers; one for children 2-10 years old and one for children 11-16.  But I held out and engaged only the very best.  Not only did these teachers need to meet high academic standards, they had to have demonstrated over the years that they truly loved children.  Yes, for you see, my children deserve the best that life can give them.  After all, they've already been dealt a bad hand, they not having parents and all.      

Now at this point I'd like to tell you about a very special orphan that I've especially come to love.  When she was small her home caught fire and her mummy and daddy were killed.  To make matters worse, she had suffered burns over eighty percent of her body.  When she first came to the orphanage I noticed that the other children tended to ignore her.  And she said nary a word, no, but instead would be off to herself most of the day and night.  Her teacher tried her best to bring the little girl, who's name is Katie, out of her shell but with poor results. Then, one day I had an epiphany of sorts.  I thought to myself, here I am the former 'most unlovable man in the world.'  But now I'm loved and cherished.  What made the difference for me was when someone went out of their way at great risk to let me know I was loved. 

So one day during class I walked into the classroom and introduced myself.  Now the children had rarely seen me and only from a distance.  But now here I was in all my inglorious ugliness right before their very eyes.  Needless to say all the children got quiet and had anxious looks on their faces.  So I sat down gently in front of them all and told them my story, just as I've told it to all of you.  After I was done, and to my surprise, they all came up to me one by one and gave me a hug.  Why, it brought tears to my eyes.  But there sat Katie in her corner chair, eyes cast downward.  I called to her:

'Katie, come here darling.'

She looked up at me and I could see that her eyes too were brimming with tears.  I repeated:

'C'mon little Katie, it's okay dear.'

As she stood up and slowly walked toward me all the children watched with eyes agog.  I sat her down beside me and said to her:

'Now, Katie, you've heard me tell my story to everyone.  Now it's time that you told us yours.  It's okay sweetie, we're all here for you.'

Well, for the first time she spoke.  And spoke.  And spoke.  Why, she went on for an hour!  Not just about the awful fire, but about her mummy and daddy and teddy and her doggy named Fritz.  It was the second most memorable moment of my life, next to my rebirth.  Because you see, Katie was having a rebirth of her own. Yes, from that day on all of the children began treating her like any other.  After a time no one saw the burns anymore, just a beautiful little girl named Katie Lynn.

So there you have it.  I wanted to share with you a bit of my joy.  Life is wonderful. I hope and pray that life is equally wonderful for each and every one of you.  

Until the next time.  















































Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018


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STRAWBERRY

STRAWBERRY

Can you feel the warmness of the sun, 
reflecting off the red tones of my hair.
The sun touching the edge of my toes!
My seasons true nature ignited by a layer of flares.

Can you feel the stars shine for me at night?
While the moon beams a color of envy.
Can you see me lost underneath the crimson tide in the clouds.
Some where out there my eyes wonder for you.

Can you feel the fresh bruise in my strawberry heart?
As it bleeds every day just for you!
Wondering if life can ever be sweet like sugar and glue.
Crying under the night and its skies is how it would seem.
Lost in a midnight red field in a forever dream.

Can you feel the texture of my wounds?
They feel rugged like rocky mountain sour berries.
Covered in daiquiri as I drown under the rivers current.
Attracting canaries to enjoy my wild strawberries.

Can you feel the wings of my broken dreams?
Here I am falling off the cliff and the feeling of love.
Abandoned like a batch of strawberries for its flaws.

Do you see me standing with a sad look.
Can I show you all them hammer hits I took.
That will be the end of story, to my book.
How my strawberries have beauty that you over looked.

by; p.d.


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011


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Winter


With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath,
laid a sheet of slippery freezing cold by my feet
and then whispered in my ear right to the drum
that echoed in my brain with excruciating pain.

She, his wife was of a complete different temperament
quietly without fuss she crafted blanched cotton flakes,
each a masterpiece, unique as if she retained every design 
she had ever imagined so each time she could create anew.

He however with his bravado with his swelled chest
would pepper speeding glass-like pellets into the air.
Sting our faces without regret. Salt our wounds.
Mercilessly bite into our flesh with his frosted fangs.

Daintily she'd sprinkle the sky with the magic of her cheer
feather the atmosphere in a delicate splatter of alabaster.
Layer by layer she laid soft sheets of snow to the delight
of everyone alike creating a playground of endless mirth.

His breath reeked of dreams frozen, nipped in the bud.
Already he had high jacked his sisters, the Autumn twins
sent them packing, hurried, gathering their rustic garments.
He had no love of his siblings except his baby sister, Spring.

His wife loving and caring would temper his yearly onslaught.
She knew of his pain, deep, abandoned by his father Summer.
At times she'd blow slightly warmer air to provide respite for
us mere humans and allow the sun to warm our weary bones.

They  would sit together and it was her would bring out
the albums of family photos view pictures of his mother.
Her smile like music would soothe his stone cold heart.
He loved, when she'd visit in the guise of an Indian Summer.

With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath.
I felt her presence there to temper his harsh avail.

Winter had arrived but when they walked as one 
this magnificent couple dressed in their royal winter whites,
without a second thought you  would bow in front of their regal 
stance, a sight to behold, one that encompassed the entire land.


04~01~2015
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Seasons





Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


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A Well-Known Stranger

'Twas a sound I thought alarming, most assuredly disarming;
Up I rose from peaceful slumber to discern what it might be.
While my candle flickered, wavered; whilst my heartbeat halted, quavered,
At my window I was favoured by it sounding, dreadfully-
In the darkness loudly pounding- drawing nearer, dreadfully
As if calling out to me.

When the window I unshuttered, as my heart so wildly fluttered
Sounded forth the sound, and nearer, sounded forth so dismally:
And I heard the tempest sighing, through the trees and chimneys crying,
As if left alone and dying by some God-forsaken sea-
Quite forsaken, quite abandoned by the inky, lifeless sea,
Just as black as black can be.

There I stood a moment longer as the wailing winds grew stronger.
'Tis, I thought, but silly fancies dreamed imaginatively;
For there's nothing coming, leaving, and the night can be deceiving;
Yes, the wind was only breathing on the ancient maple tree,
Which was rapping on the shutters in the night, incessantly-
This was all that it could be.

Then a furious arctic guster gathered might and main and muster
And with hands so cold and clammy put my candle out while he
Wrapped his chilling hands around me, in his frozen grip he bound me;
I, his presence all around me groaned and grumbled in the dark;
As I groped and griped and stumbled, groaned and grumbled in the dark-
While he laughed so wickedly.

To the window, pitter-patter, I rehasped it with a clatter
Then relit and watched my candle as it flamed assuredly,
While it lit the old surroundings; but then how my heart was pounding!
As I gazed at the astounding standing on my posted bed,
Perched above the feathered pillows where I rest my weary head,
Perched there unashamedly.

"Ah," said I, "this nameless flutter sounding, pounding on the shutter
It was only this dear fellow trying so determinedly
To gain entrance to my dwelling, all to bring this piece of spelling,
And there really is no telling who has sent him here to me
'Till I read the little letter fastened on below his knee,
That he bears so cheerfully.

I undid the purple ribbon tied about the charming pigeon,
Quite forgetful of his presence as I read absorbedly.
I spent little time deciding who had sent this piece of writing,
For it bore me happy tidings in a hand I knew so well;
In a cheerful, laughing manner, so it was not hard to tell
That it was from my Melody.

"My favourite ribbon, I've untied it from my hair and wrapped inside it
All the words I wish to say, but am too far to tell to thee."
From this point and on hereafter I omit her words of laughter,
Words that make my heart beat faster; words that stop it suddenly:
Words that make me melancholy; words that make me shout with glee-
Words sent by my Melody.

When I'd traced each perfect letter, I was thinking clearer, better;
I set out some feed and water for my friend, repentantly.
"Pigeon," said I, "rest beside me; walls and roof shall safely hide thee
From the tempest roaring blindly o'er the inky, lifeless sea."
And I squinted through the shadows where he perched there silently;
Resting, sleeping peacefully.

Drawing near, I kissed him gently, thinking all the while intently
That the very place I kissed him once was cradled tenderly
By the hand I wish was holding onto mine, and deftly molding
Into mine, and mine enfolding, that of her who wrote to me;
That of her so far away across the inky, lifeless sea-
That of dearest Melody.

Entered In Kelly Deschler's Contest, "The Raven"


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014


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The Ghost of My Lonely

Abandoned in the fifties after the war
A freight elevator stuck between floors
Obsolete machinery, splintered old chairs
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

Dead air presses down, stifling and thick
Something still dwells behind one of those bricks
Curled up in a ball, it waits for me there
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

A musty gray vapor that whispers my name
It seeps through the wall and creeps to my brain
It sighs and it groans as my soul is laid bare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

It mumbles and moans and drones of ancient tombs
Of claustrophobic closets and dim, hollow rooms
I cry out for help, echoes answer my prayer
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

The ghost of my lonely, my lost and alone
My hopeless and helpless, my can't go back home
It's looking at me now with a dull, vacant stare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere













Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012


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Tangled Vines

I walk along the old familiar path in the wood of my childhood - the place that I willingly abandoned for the lure of new friends and activities that carried me ever farther from my simple carefree days. Nothing here is quite the same, and all that once was large to my child’s eyes has grown small. How can it be? The houses on the fringe of this old wood are the same houses we always came upon as children as we ran - exuberant wild Indians of our enchanted forest - away from our foes and into the safety of “clearings” - those back yards of neighbors whom we never really knew. Our small legs ran so quickly down that well-worn long-ago path in the days when we were soldiers hastening to secure our forts. Other times we searched for treasures in the wood's crevices, finding - one day - bed springs, metal pieces, and old mattresses and converting them into contraptions for jumping. I tread slowly, noticing how many spots along my way are now overrun with weeds and tangled vines. How did I ever not notice there were vines here at all? They must have been well hidden off our path. Perhaps a kindly neighbor kept the pathway clear of them out of consideration for all us kids. I cannot know. . . It was so long ago. I glimpse the raspberry bushes we used to happily discover each summer when fuzzy berries showed brightly red and plump. And there’s old man Miller’s house, whose fence we used to climb so we might quickly steal the juicy apples fallen from his tree. Sadness tugs at my heart. The tree has vanished, and in the place of old man Miller’s shed now sits a swing set looking barely used. I head toward the center of this miniature forest recalling how it used to hold such grandness in my young imagination. The pond where we used to skate in winter has disappeared as well. In its place is a broad high pile of dirt, and at the north outer edge in the distance I can see diverse machines used for excavation. Maybe soon the wood will be cut down. Though small, this place was once so wondrous! I think back to our Christmas vacations, looking for the perfect little hill to drag our sleds up- and the thrill of barely missing trees as we slid back down. Everything was magical, crisp and clean. Suddenly I trip on tangled vines I’ve failed to see. The vines are stumbling blocks that have blotted out the utter charm this locale once held for me. You’d think that being smaller to my grown-up eyes, the wood would seem even simpler now. But no, it’s lost the grace of my simple and easy childhood days; It’s become a labyrinth of too lush plant life. I think how - like my complicated life - this old familiar place is decaying and is overwhelmed with all these obnoxious vines and how one day - like the pond and Mr. Miller’s apple tree - this dear wood will have vanished. inspired by events of my childhood and the contest of Constance la France and now for Caleb Smith's In the Woods Poetry Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013


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O Glorious Autumn

O glorious Autumn of melancholic 
Gold -
All abouts the brightly lit
Woodlands
Your wonderful artistry behold!
Tinted bronzes,
Darting between awkward firs
Of sobering Evergreen,
Loiter inside mauve havens
Splashed with palest yellows -
And dappled with many differing 
Limes
Throughout this variegated Theme;
A myriad of rustling contentment,
Sweetest contrasting charms,
Complimentary...
Softly whispering leafy hues...
Hushed...most elegantly serene.
 
Bursting into the swelling copses 
And invading between the 
Dwindling fields:
Auburn, primrose and lilac views -
Abundant with seasons 
Celebrations
That so magnificently infuse!
Glowering in simmering sunset,
And spluttering in misty dawn:
Afire with all the orbs oozing 
Revelry, 
That upon barkened furniture,
To thus gild - and resplendently
Adorn!

Now is the time
That dry tinkling leaves
Give musical resonance 
To a breath exhaled from
A breeze...
Fanning the boughs roaring flames
That each out-stretched branch 
does eagerly seize,
Fired from the eternal torch
That immortal Ceridwen tirelessly
Sought;
Whilst I hang upon evocative
Memories
That this arresting moment briefly 
Caught.

Blazing with a consummate passion
Ignited from a poets grappling 
Thoughts:
The Muses to this joyous splendour
Were summarily summoned
And brought;
But as elusive as the enchanting
Notes
From the intoxicating pipes of 
Evasive Pan...
So as elusive the words of the 
Unwritten verse 
That so evade this singular man.

So burn! You gaily painted colours,
Within abandoned restrain,
Your dizzying carousel 
A whirling kaleidoscope 
Upon an artists ever changing frame.
Soft ochres and dappled browns
Mixed with vivid orange and crimson
Red...
Applied lavishly from the palette 
Of Artemis 
Over which the vibrant pastes 
Are thinly spread.

A riot of pastel shades
All exploding forth -
With the raging power of a 
Supernova
Of an immense, dazzling force!
All hail to the almighty:
From the devout to the Divine...
And all hail to the Grandeur 
And Majesty -
Of his awe-inspiring design!






Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2015


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Holding Water

I wish love could be a river
Flowing through the trees
Sparkling like crystal waters 
So I can drink her as I please
But this love she's complicated
She often brings me to my knees
My need is like a fever
That feels like a disease
 
At times she make me strong
I feel like the mighty oak
Other times she wraps so tightly
In her embrace I start to choke
At times she feels so solid
And then she turns to smoke
When I think in terms of forever
She laughs like it's a joke

Yes, I want her to be a river
Flowing through the trees
Sparkling like crystal waters
So I can drink her as I please
But love she's complicated
She often brings me to my knees
My need is like a fever
That feels like a disease

When the years turned into shouts
Love didn't love me any more
What was broke just couldn't be fixed
Love kept me locked outside her door
She once had made me happy
Then in two my heart was tore
I had wished upon her forever
Instead she abandoned me on the shore

Then I went down to the ocean
There I found love near the sand
She was not mine to control
Her nature I could not command
Love, she's far too complicated
Her I may never fully understand
When I try to hold her to tightly
She slips easily from my hand

So I dive into her ocean
Feel her cure my heart's dis-ease
She becomes my endless pleasure
She says "Do with me as you please"
Time is no longer important
I travel her ocean like a breeze
Love she was always forever
Now I enjoy her with such ease

So if you want love to be a river
Flowing through the trees
Sparkling like crystal waters
So you can drink her as you please
Try not to hold her tightly
if you wish to cure your hearts dis-ease
Love she can gift you forever
or leave you broken on your knees!


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016


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An Eternity I

Stood upright, between two roads,
On a thin metal rail,
A solitary, brown coloured bottle 
Of beer,                                     
Sporting a red and whitle label,                      
Emptied and callously abandoned...
Just like the tin can of cider
Plonked down beside you on your 
Little polished mahogony table.                     
An unremarkable glass bottle,
As if a piece of submitted 
Street avant-garde left on display,                                             
Purposely discarded by some 
Unknown person or persons here;              
Whilst, with the whole passing 
World 
Seated in driving ignorance before 
It,
All existence dashing endlessly
Away                                                                          
When  frantically tumbling and 
Twirling
Inside the madly spinning,           
Half-rounded Hemisphere.                    



Somewhere, after enduring a short 
Commercial break...
Every advert dryly commented upon -
Each being accorded an equally
Dismissive and condescending stare,              
One in particular informing it's 
Disinterested audience
Of the frightful perils 
On developing pancreatic cancer,                  
A warm couch, motionless, 
Suddenly stirs and starts upwards 
Like a cornered panther                           
Snarling before the hunters gun!                 
Your sullen visage momentarily
Betrayed                                     
When briefly enraptured by dazzling
Images 
Of the shimmering Aegean:-
And you, swimming alone, in your
Perfectly constructed little rocky 
Idyll                  
Where brightly coloured shoals of
Exotic fishes teem; 
Then that reinstated glare,                    
Fiercely conveyed with all the
ferocity 
Of a blazing Grecian sun,                              
That perpetually resides 
In all its burning arrogance there!            



For I envision a single angry tear,
Pertaining to a faint hint of dark
Mascara,
Hesitating against a brushed 
Indentation
As if a last remaining,
Desperately-clinging, raindrop
Being pushed acrosss the oily 
Curvature
Of my panoramic windscreen...                            
A tear that contains, perhaps,
The whole of the worlds filtered
Oceans;                                                
The pitiless look in those wild, 
Turbulent eyes
Awash with the currents surging ebb;
Low utterances of broken trusts,
Unrequited love and misplaced 
Devotions...                                             
All precursors to oft repeated vocal 
Denunciations
Spawned from some unjustified,
Obscure, nagging doubt;                                   
Recalling my own dismal resignation's 
When knowing better 
Than to try and hopelessly intervene!                    
Same old recriminations and wearisome           
Accusations                                     
Now being muttered, I should'nt wonder,
Barely audibly throughout...                                                                                            
Will herald the onset of newly 
Assembled confusion... 
As you struggle wretchedly 
In preparation for another troubling
Dream!                                                                       



Overhead, lunar dignitaries, arisen  
From behind confinement of their cells 
Celestial bars...                                            
But irrevocably anchored to the
Impossible deeps;                                                 
Here, patiently awaiting, in all their 
Accursed immortality, 
The defeated Titans and great usurped 
Cronus soundly sleep;                                                                                                       
And a gathering together when offering 
Obedient prayers:-                                                      
Cloistered abominations of awakened
Stars -                                                                       
Whose exultation's shine brightly in
Dutiful obeyance -                
In worshipful praise of his most 
Hallowed regime!                                      
They whomst unashamedly dare to 
Brazenly gaze 
Upon portrayal of flushed irreverence;
Now attempting, albeit she greivously 
Offended 
Like a cast-out Angel,
To stagger up the step's defiant 
Incline;
Which, in supportive awkwardness, 
Stoically resists the steadying 
Advantages 
Proffered from thickly carpeted 
Stairs.                                                               
But I have long since fled.
For soon I will join the thining lines 
Of departing cars 
That invade upon the unearthly realm
Of flittering Bat and barred Nightjars.        


Please read part two.                   


Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2017


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An Eternity II

And I begin my own steep climb into 
The Chalkland Downs                                                                     
Where none but stiff blast and 
Continous drone,              
Warbling chants from drifting curlew,
Muffled and alarmed bleats from 
Scattered flocks of confused and 
Wandering sheep -                                                         
Home to the ancient Guardians!                              
And still the blustering winds, 
Blowing hence Time-Immemorial,                                     
Eroding into disapproving frowns
Etched on every crumbling brow
And sharp escarpment of balding peak;                                                        
Here all meddlesome tribes of men 
Are held in equal contempt                                    
By these benign Spirits
Secured far above the bustling and 
Intrusive sounds;                                                                                                                   
Scrupulously bearing witness 
To mundane existence of shabby 
Lives -
Disorganised and unkempt!                               
Every day noise slowly detaching, 
Floating absently upwards -
Forever removed from the creeping 
Sprawl 
Of pretty seaside towns.                                                                                           
                                             


Nothing but a void -                      
An inestimable void of invisible 
Owl                                                    
Whose serrated flight shuns the 
Chaotic hours of Humankind;                            
A great void whose voluminous 
Updraft
Could quite easily inflate the 
Narrowing corridors 
Of a wearied and depleted mind;                                       
Above, hurrying nonchalantly,  
And, somewhat, dismissively by:-                   
The outlined caricature of
Silhouetted clouds                                                             
Weakly traced against the dreadful 
Expanse 
Of a vast grassland sky!                        
...And thus I find myself wondering,
What now of abandoned promises?
Pledges, once earnestly sworn,
Callously disowned and then thrown
Aside?
Thee unpalatable stigma of this
Undeserving unworthiness!
How easy words are to utter -
What an utter confoundment 
When one tragically feels so
Compelled 
To irretrievably renege on all such 
Solemn vows!                                 
                                                                                                                     
                                                                                  

This bellowing furore that does,
At an instant, 
Most strangely, inwardly roar 
As if enraged like a muted, 
Pebble-tossing sea!                                         
Sudden squalling gusts, slamming 
Into the car,
Appearing, apparently, from out of 
Nowhere                                                                
To vigourously assault unto the 
Angry columns of towering air;                      
The tumultuous display of Heavens
Showering Firmaments...
Finally, at last - arraigned enmasse!            
...Then...a subdued wail that wails 
Amidst a wailing silence...                                    
Which, more and more,
Oh so ever disconcertingly...                                             
As if a lamentation for happier
Moments long since past...                                    
Would seem to emanate from within
The very depths me!                                                                                                


Me...me...driving...all alone...
Helplessly trapped in an                  
Infinitely immeasurable,
Solitary, brown-coloured bottle of 
Beer -
For all of a damnable eternity!!                



Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2017


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The Butterfly

Enroling  you a worm (cumbersome and)
hairy, you- scimitar of leaves
Knows the pain ,writhing pupae
Abandoned and convicted
Constricted hanging straightjacket
Squirming like a jackrabbit
Gagged nocturnally -  blindfold humility
Rejected by those mocking moths
and jealously believing left the key

Both found our grace on bended knees
..left there dangling from a tree..

Unhinge now those spinakers of glory
Pretty - flaky- flinder
Streaked in splatters paint
Dust of the fairies
Gaze at me with criss-cross eyes
Innocent beauty oh ye butterfly

Spiny antennae, stretching out transmitters
Taking flight so easily
Flitting off with no goodbyes
To a newer afternoon over there

Dashing in the sun
Kneeding and gouging all those zinnias
Joy! Slurping up the nectar
Whisky! Tequila! Brandy and Champagne!
Swops them for a chorus of pansies
Dancing blooming flowers
Crazy blessed colours
Bouncing delight.- erratic in flight
Dodging in between the bees

O enchanted mystic butterfly
Only pausing for a while
Hold me in your spell
For you walked that crooked mile




Linger in this dream
So seldom comes to see
Just as you, my timepiece too
Is coiled in spring
A dustpuff within the wind

Specked all  over  pollen confetti
Envied now by every moth
Suicidal circle - one kamikaze candle
Seared and singed  and slowly fried
Getting what theyre vetted for

But the sun his laughing in his sky
Beseeching all the yet to open flowers
Awake !Awake!
An angel is coming by


Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2018


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Darling, you dragged me in too deep

Darling, you dragged me in too deep 
And abandoned me like an anchor in a lonely sea. 
You shouldn't make promises that you can't keep. 

I was doomed once suspicion began to creep 
As it swam in your words that lacked in honesty.
Darling, you dragged me in too deep. 

Please tell me, did you lose an inch of sleep 
Making empty promises and cheating on me?
You shouldn't make promises that you can't keep. 

I should've listened to doubt upon taking a leap, 
Love should carry no doubt; certainty is key. 
Darling, you dragged me in too deep, 

This torturously lonely sea does weep 
That you could ever reach such a cold degree. 
You shouldn't make promises that you can't keep, 

But apparently I'm a promise not worth keeping; 
If you want to call this love, I'll say it can't be. 
Darling, you dragged me in too deep,
You shouldn't make promises that you can't keep.

By Anne Currin 


Copyright © Anne Currin | Year Posted 2013


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The Lady Of The House

It’s siesta, yet one can hear from the second floor of the house the animated sharing of juicy news some visitors have brought to the gracious host, the lovely widow of a wealthy sugar planter.  The sound of laughter is carried over the charming veranda bordered by lacy cast-iron grillwork, with its delicate oak leaf and acorn design and colorful, overhanging ornamental plants and flowers.  

Three Creole society matrons in their typical 1840s long dress fashion despite the sultry heat are being served their tea and fanned by the owner’s black slaves. They are talking about the strange happenings at what used to be Dr. Louis and Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie’s grand house at 1140 Royal Street, a few houses away from the where they are having an afternoon gossip. Apparently, the last tenant abandoned the Lalaurie house not only because of some ghost sightings and agonized sounds that were heard from within.  His furniture business inventory was also being mysteriously destroyed at night. 

The lady of the house remembers how Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie used to be a respected member of New Orleans society.  After the fire in 1834 and the subsequent discovery by firemen of seven emaciated slaves at the attic with obvious traces of abuse and torture, the couple and their four grown-up children had to flee in the middle of the night, or be lynched by the angry townsfolk.  

Were all the stories true?  Six years later, no human bones were discovered at the backyard, nor actual records or reports thereof, negating further accusations of slave murders, including that of a young girl who allegedly fell from the rooftop trying to escape her lady’s wrath.  If Mdme. Lalaurie was the inhuman monster the press accused her of that time, then all of her contemporaries were also guilty, including all plantation owners, for the practice of slavery was fundamentally immoral and depraved.  The lady of the house tells herself it is best to keep silent and let one person take all the condemnation.  This removes the attention of the press and the restless community away from her social circle and her own guilt. 


privileged mindset 
and undue exploitation -
cancer cell takes root




Inspired by A House in New Orleans Contest 
27 January 2016


Note:  The Lady of the House is a fictitious character, but relies heavily on historical background from:

1.	Mad Madam Lalaurie: New Orlean’s Famous Murderess Revealed  by Victoria Costner Love and Lorelei Shannon
2.	Old New Orleans, a History of Vieux Carre, Its Ancient and Historical Buildings by Stanley Clisby Arthur
3.	Mdme. Delphine Lalaurie, Wikipedia


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016


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Captive Bird - 12 Bars 12 Dreams

12 BARS Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock! Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc endures inside a barren cage, her catacomb in sundown sage. Of former days there is no trace except displays of fallen grace – Twelve dreams, abiding in her place, are free, inhabit yawning space: 12 DREAMS ... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes that dredge the depths of dawning skies, devining clouds that cling below, once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow; ... of clutching winds that carry free above an anguished leaden sea, dispersing dust of distant stars midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars; ... of swooping to a silent shore to perch beside the ocean’s roar, at last to feel the sobbing breeze message the leaves of rooted trees; ... of stalking strays and twilight tramps within the fog of lighthouse lamps that blink forlorn through caldron nights in search of shades of errant Kites; ... of darkling vast deserted lands, with shadowed stones on windswept sands, where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost disgorge faint groans in mourning frost; ... of blotting out the bloated moon while feathers beat a banshee tune and glimmers dance and prance aglow upon a pearly pale plateau; ... of tasting cool torrential rains, beyond the realm of binding reins, and sipping freedom they exude in quiet drops of solitude; ... of vanquishing a galley crew aboard a ship of midnight dew, beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams that mock the strands of scarlet streams; ... of sating once an aching craw with tearing beak, with ripping claw, and echoed by an eldritch screech while feasting on abandoned beach; ... of restive thoughts and weary wings that drift on haze in smoky rings, obscured within the opal shroud of her resemblance in the crowd; ... of croaking caws in broken rhyme in winter woe, in summer clime, while building nests of sundown sage beyond outside a barren cage.


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012


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The golden dusty days

Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths 
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.

Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly 
From the thickening air,
As they brightly 
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.

For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated  barns.

Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds 
lament!
Blown far out 
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily 
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.

So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley, 
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...

To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...

And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!





Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2014


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Pain

I have a pain so profound that I cannot name it.
I try to ignore it, but I’m forced to claim it.
It’s a gut wrenching sorrow that only grows
An affliction that absolute misery knows
There’s dejection in every breath that I take
And torment controls every move that I make
Love has abandoned me and pulverized my heart
Faith has done nothing but tear me apart.
My spirit is faded and my soul has turned bleak
I am forsaken by God and all that I seek
Despair has taken over my wretched being,
And blessings are something I’m not believing
My essence is distressed by everything that is
I’m demagnetized by all that the universe gives
It’s an existence of oppression on every plane
Like being institutionalized when you’re not insane
It’s a anguish so powerful my whole body will cry
A ruthless torture that begs my very being to die.




Inspired by Rokeyai Hassen's (It Feels) Like: This Too Shall Pass (Now on PoetrySoup)


Copyright © Kim Hilliker | Year Posted 2010


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EULOGY IN MY HEART



Out in the middle of a large farmland, I become a girl of old charm and unexpected songs again. Past the flanks where cluttered rows of hyacinths and ferns quiver, disarranged huts begin to shake as the rough wind wheezes. And on this late July, mounds of dust remind me of summers back in my grandfather’s hometown. Yet, a different vanishing overtakes me.

a season passes…
carrying all its flowers
to emerge as buds

Watching for thrushes that grow moist from dusky froth , my heels trek along deepened clay. As I lay on haystacks listening to stars chiming, the inky moon sinks its riddled face through a veil. Somehow, I feel alone...abandoned  like the  opera of a heart which seems to fall into a tragic ending. Yes, Grandpa isn’t around any longer, as a eulogy of tears swells.

on this barren field…
a solitary twig cracks
from one glittered tree

The nightfall drools looking for the yellow among clouds. For a while, the hazy outlines of strangers--native women and children ---disturb my old revelries  when Grandpa would linger by the porch dipping tunes from his violin. Through calm intervals of laughter, we sway together;  fire to air, salt to honey. Much as I need to inhabit this space, it no longer belongs to me, or to him. But twilight comes brimming with all the glistened jewels of our own world.

between two lifetimes
is a haunting melody…
like a song unsung


11/19/2015
Creative Haibuns Contest
For Charlotte Jade Puddifoot




Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015


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Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long, 
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.

I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.

The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.

Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive.  There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the 
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.

A car is cruising by our  house.  The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.

Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name.  In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.

We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us.  So we turn and go inside.


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008


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The Merry Go Round of Earth

One half is submerged in light,
the other in darkness.
Half says goodnight and the other
tugs the harness.

Kids climb backyard trees tinged
with school bus yellow.
As lovers play hide and seek
in the nighttime meadow.

Training wheels lay abandoned -
youthful eyes bear cornea confidence.
The silver spokes whistle through copper leaves -
once in a lifetime decadence.

August stars say their last farewell
in glorious beelines.
Whilst wrinkled fingers grasp the moon
in delicious daytime.

A woman dressed in white walks down the aisle -
her father proudly flaunts.
As a preacher recites Scripture at a funeral:
The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want...

A newborn's laugh lights the whole world up
with effortless ease.
Whilst a pair of liver-spotted legs
unbuckles its knees.

One takes the first step -
the other reaches the end of the line.
One is a wealth of wisdom -
and the other is a gift divine.

Tiny toes to caress the sand,
ashes to sprinkle in the sea -
as if Nature itself has read aloud
Ecclesiastes Three.


Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014