Best Abandons Poems
This gypsy soul is on the road
It leaves castles far behind
It abandons ghostly mist
which sabotages the caravan of life
It passes along the mountainside
by golden hay fields where daises bloom
by stream of waters which sweeps
a withered rose
towards the decayed lumber flume
This gypsy soul is on the road
from Edinburgh to Lochlomond
against high winds,against the rain
against aquatic monsters of pain
This gypsy soul is on the road
to the woodlands of your heart
where I would camp inside your tent
as our blissful thoughts impart
This gypsy soul within myself
and all the woman in me
would wantingly await your fingertips
to compose soft pastel fantasy
The smell of early coffee
then fills our empty cups
The song of the cicada
would echo in the shrubs
And as the chimney smoke
drift sideways in the breeze
as warm dappled light filters
through purple pansy leaves
The pressing of my lips
would leave their crimson mark
below your sun- kissed cheek
My arms would cling around
your once a muscular physique
We laze upon a hammock
strung between two old oak trees
I play on your guitar,my hundred melodies
As the incandescent half moon
rises above the dusky hue
and orange paper lanterns
float high in cobalt blue
We'd chase the opalescent glow
of a million firefly
You'd be able to touch me
before last embers die
This gypsy soul is on the road
in search to be set free
Across bridges,on a journey
your compass-my destiny.
When dawn's blush of light eclipses the moon
And afternoons find meadows sprinkled with dew
When I view willows smiling instead of weeping
And the keeping of promises is no longer a prize
When artist's eyes see only hues of sepia and gray
And the Milky Way abandons its billions of stars
That is when I will say, "I no longer love you"
And my heart will perish in saddest adieu
***
When my pen is lost, and my ink well runs dry
And the sky fills with clouds of yellow daffodils
When chills from the sun freezes over the seas
And bees create pollen and flowers make honey
When agony and love have been clearly defined
And my mind does not hold you in each thought
That is when my heart will no longer love you
And life will have no meaning in a world askew
***
When songbirds stop singing in harmonic trills
And heathered hills have lost their sweet scent
When fermented grapes become a bitter wine
And the shine in my eyes dulls when I see you
When a view of sunset does not leave me awed
And God turns his face from a repentant sinner
That is when I will say I don't love you any more
And oceans waves of blue will no longer rush ashore
***
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
July 25, 2017 ~ Romantic Contest Write
Sponsored by John Hamilton
This gypsy soul is on the road
It leaves castles far behind
It abandons ghostly mist
which sabotages the caravan of life
It passes along the mountainside
by golden hay fields where daises bloom
By streams of waters which sweeps a withered rose
towards the decayed lumber fume
This gypsy soul is on the road from Edinburgh to Loch Lomond
against high winds,against the rain,against aquatic monsters of pain
This gypsy soul is on the road to the woodlands of your heart
where I would camp inside your tent as our blissful thoughts impart
This gypsy soul within myself and all the woman in me
would wantingly await your fingertips to compose soft pastels'fantasy
The smell of early coffee then fills our empty cups
The song of the cicada would echo in the shrubs
And as the chimney smoke drift sideways in the breeze
as warm dappled light filters through purple pansy leaves
The pressing of my lips would leave their crimson mark below your sun-kissed cheek
My arms would cling around your once muscular physique
We laze upon a hammock strung between two old oak trees
I play on your guitar my hundred melodies
As the incandescent half moon rises above the dusky hue
and orange paper lanternes float high in cobalt blue
We'd chase the opalescent glow of a million firefly
You'd be able to touch me before last embers die
This gypsy soul is on tne road in search to be set free
Across bridges on a journey,your compass -my destiny.
This is a repost of a poem I've written the 30th of April 2014
It's so dark outside, my eyes can't distinguish where sand meets water. Somehow, dusk has come and gone, plunging the evening into darkness.
But even as my eyes yield to this opaque absence of light, my other senses heighten. I can hear the crash of waves as they abuse the shoreline, sending foaming water up the beach in icy streams. I'm lulled by the sound of polished pebbles colliding like marbles as they recede with the waves. I can feel the sea's cool mist against my face, taste its salt on my lips. The scent of seaweed drifts on the breeze in gentle wafts - and then, slowly, the faintest whiff of smoke.
I glance over my shoulder, where a tiny dot of light penetrates the darkness. It's a beacon on this cool night, and I walk slowly toward it, digging my toes into the soft sand with each step.
dim moonlight
peeks through thinning clouds--
fire crackles
He's still there, stoking the fire, feeding the flames until the heat is tangible. The air wavers between us like a veil - a line I want to cross. He stirs up clouds of smoke, stirring feelings within me as I watch his busy hands. I wait patiently for him to notice my approach, and when he does, my breath catches.
rainbow flames
burst from seasoned maple--
blue eyes sparkle
I watch golden light flicker across his skin, softening the lines of his face. He abandons his task, moving around the fire until he stands before me, smiling as if he knows my heart is thundering in my chest.
He waits for a painstaking moment to pass. Then he kisses me with toasted marshmallow lips, pulling me down into his lap to watch the sparks rise like fireflies into the breathless night.
When life parades a fine line
between alienation and rationality,
internal intruders of the soul shroud spotlights.
In my dreams
I'm playing charades with the grim reaper.
surrounded by selfish acts from satanic spirits.
Featherless angels of twilight need tender pearls,
as gifts from the elusive self-centred sun,
when a jealous mercenary moon manipulates murkiness.
Sometimes,
all I have is my shadow and me,
but it abandons me in times of darkness,
leaving me at the mercy of nature's invisible imitations.
Behind forgotten frozen gates of winter,
static stars have shunned black hearted skies,
refusing to flicker in their metallic beams.
I've become a nemesis
to the empathy of the elements,
personifying mimicking,
miming onyx coated raindrops,
sprinkling dust storms
with freckled shades of crimson.
Destiny drifts in wayward winds
towards contrasting crossroads,
hoping for soothing golden arms of dawn to uncloak
defrosting hearts with rainbow rays of gleaming light.
If the universe reversed its selfless role,
would some still be lost chasing clusters
within silhouettes of a waning crescent,
graphically illustrating illusions whilst crystal gazing?
Beyond where our fingers can sketch reality.
ignorance is consumed in our own
bubbles filled with hollowness,
reluctant to see the weariness
of the grey winged nebula.
Symphony of seasons are temporary like emotions.
Harmony harbours in harvesting heirloom roses,
among gossamer meadows of compassionate butterflies.
Colours of Earth's fabric never falter in a cocoon mind
resembling an eclipse's ebony and ivory tones.
Ironic tears that spill are mocking me
in scathing streaks delighting down my cheeks.
They trace their paths as soft as fingertips
atop sad ivories caressing pain -
but shame me in their scalding disregard
and blame me that they even do exist.
I ache in death knell spiral of regrets,
their embers smolder as they stoke with ire
with flaring pain till nothing’s left but ash -
besmirched by lust reduced to worthless grey.
My life now but an aftertaste of soot;
sweet self-indulgence too much to withstand.
In sunset mood I grow my shadow’s length
in angst I’m reaching out midst twilight guilt,
beseeching in day’s fade Salvation’s light;
forgiveness of my own abandons me.
Oh, burn of sins does choke my soul in smoke
as tattered heart is purged upon the pyre.
Susan Ashley
February 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: Contest 600, Any Free Verse, Any Theme, Max 20 Lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Freezing in the midst of hostile ice monsoon
triggering aching woes beneath blood and bones,
I search for a quilt woven in sanguine rune
silken feathers of clementine and gold tones-
body ails, yet spirit soars, sings to the moon,
beyond clouds obscured in kohl sleets of hailstones
whilst rhapsodies of nature serve light to calm-
scattered scars in the air, like cosmic mint balm
But as skies swing heavy, and coldness seeps in,
hope breathes from sapphire dews of rain waltzing free,
for when mists of nature envelopes my skin,
I find traces of peace from roots of my tree
amidst the piercing pain pulsating within-
fields of eagle ferns, the tranquilizing key,
sets a serene scene with silver sequined lines,
sprinkling zests of zen from inner sun that shines.
Sometimes mind gets blanketed in confusion,
sinking behind steel walls sculpted in distress
although shadowed stars swirl like an illusion,
faith is the thread for thin needles to redress
and restitch fragmented frames of vague vision.
So let suppressed agony slowly digress
in pearl pages of cathartic tomorrows-
now my ink abandons yesterday's sorrows.
The clinical sentence was pronounced,
perfumed with the devil’s royal scent ~
a relapse that smells
like an ethereal remedy
as every restless leaf abandons
its luscious green to the grave,
where her heartbeat
still sighs amidst the sleepless sunrise
beneath the loam,
where gloaming once, upon a blood moon,
homed the valiant vibratos
of her laughter,
yet if the only way to remember
is to remain unhealed,
as russet strings
of a violin ring through,
carrying sweet nightmares ~
held within the dusk
like beloved nightingales,
letting my inner calendar
return to circling the date
when she last breathed my name ~
O divine darkness,
let me fade until the face
of September’s stars wane
and phase the sorrow
into soundless torrents of
rehearsed requiems
until hurt sounds like a hypnotic hymn.
I swallowed, O Griefversary,
my penance through turning time,
the italicised letters
chronicling the chronic memoirs
while the tongue of trauma
prescribes crippling anxiety
into my thoughts,
I have long bottled
blurred hope
and summer sonatas,
with every memory crushed
like an autopsy listed as an accessory,
weaving words
borrowed from archived affections
as I leave line after line,
no longer aching
for the dark to understand that
my faith developed a stutter,
my pulse filed pleas for Prozac,
my ink confessed unseen panic,
my skin carried fingerprints
of midnight fears ~
and I still walk through
the black rose maze of memories,
around the season of
her irrevocable demise ~
September, the soulful wraith
of ghosts I love beyond death…
My existence is a poem I've never finished,
as I've always been unsure what form it should take.
In a labyrinth of lyrics, words are like whores,
unfaithful and easily bought in a virtual marketplace,
so I wonder if it's better to leave them unwritten -
but an unprecedented urge to scribble overcomes me.
My muse is not amused with prose.
Love for rhymes and syllables abandons me.
Yet, I know one day I will produce my best poem.
I remember when I was invisible,
silence was so surreal, until my pen began to shout.
If only love was like our words.
I never asked to be loved,
I always thought it was a natural emotion,
but when you are seen as a foreign seed,
you feel you do not belong.
Fate is like Judas,
that comes with a price,
leaving you confused with the mind like Russian Roulette,
wondering which verses should be sacrificed,
before the final 'bang' takes your life.
We search for normal in an ordinary world,
where such definitions are a matter of perception.
Childhood becomes an enigma when you are guideless,
so you search for faith, but end up faithless.
When your world is burning,
rage becomes your most loyal companion -
releasing trauma through misunderstood screams.
I was born lost in a place I did not belong,
a different breed from a foreign seed.
I've been finding myself since the day I took my first breath,
a bird born too early with ruptured wings,
unable to fly, struggling to breathe,
before I could write or sing,
the universe engraved an anthology of adversity,
an impromptu narrative turning me into an accidental poet -
with an unlabelled identity.
I've walked amongst devils and angels,
been betrayed by their wicked schemes.
Yet, I never cry for yesterday,
I am not a manifestation of my suffering.
There are so many ghosts, I could not heal,
I know their silhouettes will forever haunt,
but I continue to count my blessings,
as I've grown invisible wings,
spreading in the form of free verse.
Their feathers have become my quill,
where my ink soars like an eagle,
because I'm not afraid of approaching storms.
The story of my life will eventually be forgotten,
but maybe my poems will live forever.
Silent One
11 March 2022
If a goodbye echoes when you say hello
And tears concealed admonish your smile
As life abandons you without hinting why,
Did you miss the sound of her silent cries?
If you need to ask how long does love last
You haven't heard the moan of her heart
Where quietly she hides grief of her wants
And quelling her passion, embraces doubts.
Her sadden vibes don't well-up your eyes
And the sound of her hurt just passes you by
As contemptuous voice ridicules her plight,
What it wouldn't say, you certainly have.
March 22, 2019
HM: Strand select 5 contest by Brian Strand
Sure as spring-ebullient cedes to summer’s escapades
In vagaries of time a budding flower parches and fades
And the sweet sound of hatchlings abandons its nest
And autumn’s gilded leaves perish in throes of decay
And dethroned from its apex, sun-glorious as well sets.
Much alike nature, as life unleashes unsettling events
For some, its turbulence triggers hysterical blindness
And esteem that waxed to full-moon begins to wane
Akin to a sunny day that darkens and suddenly rains
Or flame of desires extinguishes in lovelorn marriage.
Purpose and meaning no longer wield a special clout
As soul of vigor confused harbors despondent doubt
And sense of self deteriorates into endless distraught
Till a beloved hand of compassion lovingly reaches out
Reconsolidating its ego, letting spent passions sprout;
Spurring momentous days, seizing thrilled moments,
Un-remembering yesterday, rejoicing bliss of present
Knowing tomorrow’s fate isn’t as assured as today’s,
Cognizant of transience and impermanence of being,
For now is real as can be, for tomorrow may be elusive.
October 6, 2021
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 7 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Hysterical Blindness
'Twas a fortnight fraught with tainted stars;
'Midst mournful tears salting Neptune's sea.
A withered lass swallows internal scars,
'Twixt purist passions removed from thee.
Thoust bravest beloved her soul kept dear;
A buccaneer's quest sculpting pirated pride:
"Seizing Zeus' crown 'neath Poseidon's bier;
A jewel I'll bequeath to thine waiting bride."
Lantern lights flicker past sheltered shores.
Naked thee writhes; nary a vow to don.
Rest not the rues grieved 'pon garish moors -
Whilst honored prayers of thou beau breathes non.
Replete in requiem; Thalassa exhales,
Thine darkened omens proclaimed by thee.
Dying the deaths of thoust betrothed prevails;
Whilst unheard novenas abandons she.
A fortnight chills and the stars grow dim;
Neptune's waters heal whilst God's fingers burn.
A comely maiden torches thy heart for him -
In hope thine's glow reflects lost love's return.
SEX ON FIRE
She silently retires to his secret chamber.
Knowing he was waiting for her...
The doors were locked
the windows closed.
Her backless bodycon...
abandons her ...
as he removes all her layers...
she reciprocates his actions ...
he grabs a fistful of her hair.
she summons herself to his passion ...
perspiring profusely ...
he leaves his Mark on her...
And the mirror witnessed their SEX on fire ...
Always & forever
Red fiery @2017 copyright
Gods Of Man's Vanity Demanding Intolerance
False realities fed to the masses
Another ghost ships sails the seas
Knowing not, yet their lie passes
Escaping truth's majestic pleas
God of vanity demands intolerance
Only its hate is to be displayed
Damn morals, into deeper ignorance
Silent servitude must then be paid
Love, always a great promised reward
Yet black evil roots firmly laid
In black garden in a devil's yard
Nobody sees the beast they ride
God of darkness their faith hides
R.J. Lindley
July 12th, 1978
( Fake Gods Lying)
( Rhyming acrostic)
Note: The one true God never lies, never
steals and never abandons his only Son.
New Note- Old poem edited to shorten.-removed
verses of
T
O
R
U
L
E
Abused and mauled by filthy loveless hands,
Devoured by baseness, wickedness and shame,
A victim, slave to selfish fools’ demands,
With freedom kept on paranoid restrain.
The mannish-child has crushed the sweetest rose,
And, cheerful, tears off butterfly’s soft wings,
Intent on turning beauty’s joys to woes,
He’s threatened, terrified of purer things.
Courageous, strong, her soul has overcome,
This unclean, cowardly, and hate-filled world,
‘Though bruised and battered, bleeding, coldly numb,
Her shy and tender petals have uncurled.
She spreads her lovely wings and takes to flight,
Abandons shadows, makes for heaven’s light.
for Deb's and Cyndi's sonnet contest
shakespearean sonnet