Best Absently Poems
just a tooth pick
I pick up a toothpick
from a half empty glass jar
stare at it dreamily
actually some where else,
absently stroking its texture,
this was a tree once
birds nested in its branches
squirrels stole its acorns
hid them, for the hard cold times
it was tall and stalwart
filled with life.
I pick up a rock,
I hold a mountain.
Requiem of a Phoenix
Silhouettes and storm clouds loom,
etched against a blackened sky
by bolts of electric blue
and ashen moon rays.
I mourn at dusk; the death of the light.
Languid flames dance
from tree to tree,
as a passing of the torch
to the sacrificial pyre.
I mourn by fire; the death of the light.
A tormented world in anguish
heaves a guttural howl,
which resonates through the darkness
carving deep channels in tangible silence.
I mourn in song; the death of the light.
Absently numb, I view it all
with a looming realization
that I was never made for this world
captive to flesh and desolation.
I mourn alone; the death of the light.
I surrender to my captivity.
I surrender to the agony.
I surrender to the storm and fire.
I embrace the void.
From the cinders of night
skyward I strain on bolts of electric blue
pursuing the tranquility of the moonlight.
Unqualified freedom granted by absolute loss
is a new captivity.
So mourn I at daybreak, the death of the night.
4/14/17
For Contest: Mythical Creatures
Hosted by: Julia Ward
Daddy always kneeled--
but it was Momma who prayed,
as he spread lips that couldn't dissent,
no matter how much they trembled.
She was always naked for him
bleeding babies upon the floor,
while he explored their cradle,
fingering walls absently--
assessing her foundation;
Momma prayed for simple things,
blankets and frigidity--
anything to create separation;
Where naked wouldn't matter
under the cloak of autonomy
and the only grasping thoughts--
would be her own.
We seine them up
like dust
in pollen-stained hands,
briefly weight them,
balancing them in minds,
determining worth,
profundity.
And like those before,
we toss them absently
into wind—
winnowing maple seeds—
whirling them from us—
as we shape lives,
change destinies.
Now,
they seem to flit
to nothingness,
like us—
pale night insects
pestering
opal moons,
infestations of night
thickly settling
on the liquid glass
of our tongues.
I could write a speech
Dot all the i’s, double check
The spelling and the grammar in anticipation...
We all know how
First time meetings can be daunting
The cold sweats, the nervous twitch
And not to mention those bad hair days
Can all play their unique part,
In the end, it will just be the two of us
Standing or sitting across from each other
Probably smiling absently
Wondering what the other one was thinking…
Totally confused, should I have hugged him
Or was the hands shake enough?
Fiddling with my earrings,
Quickly look at you when you look away..
What would you say?
One word I will definitely utter is hello,
Before I brush my lips over yours…
*lol, Mr. Hall, the ending
is just because,
I know how you like
things twisted*
An old poet yearned, for a freedom not earned.
Watched as his world burned, as a beating heart churned.
A hate raging, against his malicious captor.
A war he’s raging, chapter by chapter.
He’s screaming in agony, yet none can hear.
A mind filled absently, year after year.
A battle rages, yet it’s hidden with a smile.
He’s filled countless pages, though he’s suffered for a while.
A true heart shown, that finally set him free.
A love that’s grown, how can this be?
A loving embrace, envelopes his soul.
A touch like lace, completes him whole.
A summers breeze, closes over a bitter chill.
No silent pleas, with her strongest of will.
Though time stops, for a short while.
His heart drops, as he hears a voice so vile.
A bitter sound, envelops his thought.
A tourniquet wound, for the battle he fought.
She’s leaving him, he feels empty again.
He’s trying to swim, in a current of sin.
He’s drowning alone, he’s accepting the fate.
A failure was shown, only demons can sate.
A hope is all he has, a hope is all he knows.
Nothing as good as, a kiss during his final throes.
“Come back to me”, he pleads with a sorrow so true.
“Come back and you’ll see, I will not fail you.”
Though she’s already left, now his mind broken and bent.
The price was heft, and out of his life his true love went.
The knob turned
And opened the door
The door of the apartment
On the first floor
And the sudden gasp
Of air that the fireplace exhaled
Knocked an ember
To the floor
An ember that had been glowing
In the hearth
The room, a peaceful space
Warm but gloomy
As it slowly cooled down
The mercury downcast
And receding fast
“Close the door”! The inspector barked
Without looking ‘round
And with the click-thunk sound
His from followed the mercury
As it slowly pummelled
From his forehead
“Very curious”, said the man
In the coat
“Within a locked room,
This man may have been smote”
No open windows
No unlocked door
As the ember absently
Scorched the floor
Examining the body
The inspector soon found
A pocket of stones
And a pocket of ground
And as he thought
He absentmindedly made
A muttering sound
The rain pelted
The ground
Into submission
As rivulets of tears
Ran down panes
To coagulate into streams
To flow past
The old cemetery
At the end of Murray street
Where many a corpse
Wrapped in a sheet
Waited silently
For the trump
But there is more a decomposition
Than a composition around
It was there
Where
Those smooth stones
Were found
- The same place as the ground
The inspector knew
‘tis there that the man had gone
To a place of death
With which he was now one
To place of rest
Is it possible? Rest?
To where his love lay deep
Under the shadows of grazing sheep
To sleep, to sleep
But not a dream
His death was his last
Longing scream
The rocks and the ground
Was his last request
To lay with his love
To lay down and rest
Oh how very earnestly pleasing
I do so find
The wide, sun splashed avenues
Of grand residential Worthing;
Where the old poets
Announce each and every corner;
So neatly squared and turned
By thoroughly conceived Victorian
Order.
Quiet sonnets reside here
Seeking haven from weary
travels,
Sustained by appetizing foreign
aromas,
Loitering amidst the long drawing
shadows;
Clinging to the flinted garden walls,
Dallying with the scented Jasmine
From where hidden finches call.
Finding yourself gently led down
And into narrow, high walled
streets;
That delightfully converge upon
Bustling open spaces
Where the multi-nations meet;
And greet with quarrelsome gulls,
Strutting and yarking,
Barking like little dogs
Around our feet.
Here we can absently sit,
And make like carefree Parisians
Separated by an English sea,
Whilst contentedly sipping scalding
coffees
Of exciting continental styles;
And forgetting our mundane
troubles...
Smile and laugh, for perhaps,
Just the shortest of whiles.
OUT THE WINDOW
October 1st – There’s a tall tree down the block has
gone all red at top
in this green, early autumn
It’s quite an unusual year,
With more rain than summer’s want to yield
There’s been no mid-July burning of lawns,
And the trees, bushes, ground cover gone wild
The whole has tried to produce an out-of-door pinch,
And I often stand looking out a window,
Absently inhaling the chlorophyll
Houses on either side are vacant – the economy to
blame – nor cat, nor dog reside,
But I image some ghostly pair seated on the steps,
pets at their side
I put all this down as a, sort of, flowing jet
companion to solitude,
And I – prisoner of the mind – watch black words
take form,
Knowing there’s a whole, beautiful world with
nature’s abundant warmth out there
Just waiting to be joined by needful company
Dave Austin
I gaze at slate-grey cumulus clouds
fat with the rain that will pour out infinite love
on our beautiful earth. The earth now waits
in delicious, full-blooded glory; its bursting
breast is buoyed by a soul flush and filled
which barely contains the flesh of fertilitiy's spores.
O Gaia, O Goddess, I long for those days
of iniquitous youth when freedom meant
free from every constraint to play with Satyrs
and Fauns of forest and field as we chase
after Nymphs with bright light still shinning
the sun's youthful truth in their golden fair hair.
I long to follow the arterial, blood-sap flow
of rivers that constantly nurse the infantile hungers
of ravenous earth; then join the beauty Europa
as naked she throws her thin white ivory arms
around God's muscular neck while he absently strokes
the first flush of pink on her pale white breast.
Transmogrify the sensationalist
An astute ableism of absolution and idiocy
Divine demeaning meanings demoralizing democracy
Through persuasive procrastination and promiscuity
Festering fragmented feelings forgiven for failing
Jailing juveniles jealously just for jokes
Writing worrisome wit without witnesses to worry
Original orange and ornate operations
While whittling away wisdom in the White House
Tear apart traditionalism and tribalism
Innocent eyes are protuberant eyes
Observing awful atrocities at times absently
Transmogrify the sensationalist
That sensationalist is now president
Sitting on a throne of falsities and blatant lies
Reject form and comprehension of standardized realities
Garnish lies with a touch of fear
And it's gourmet for the uneducated
Saunter and swagger through scandal
All the while destroying those who granted you platform
Normal is abnormal and abnormal is normal
Forget saving the system we must destroy it
And build it back up from scratch
IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP AMERICA
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
Transmogrify the sensationalist
And even the devil blushes
Transmogrify the sensationalist
By waking up America
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
It's time to wake up, America!
As I entered, she was already speaking.
"But I opened my eyes, yours were
closed like a sleeping child's.
The movement of your lips proved otherwise.
My heart caught up in my throat,
it was sublime."
I couldn't stay here, weak knees
locked legs, propelled me out the door
that shut silently behind me.
Inside dark hallway, my shaky
legs gaining confidence.
Myriad doors open at my passage.
Their lights briefly caress my face,
stubbornly I move on.
As all things must this hall ends.
And I stand silently cursing my foolish soul.
The door before me opens grudgingly
as sigh passes, cross threshold.
In this room, spare décor
bearing the effects of entropy
in a thin divide of dust.
I am not alone.
My eye's reveal nothing.
Yet my skin flushes, my body
filled with the intoxicating scent
of your neck that summer.
My mind calls to flee,
as the dust resettles around
my seated form. My hand
absently sweeps clear
a spot beside me. I gaze to my right,
and I see her face again,
her rose hewn lips silently
form, "I trust you."
The words still make me cringe;
however, could you place
value where I myself do not?
Time dragged on,
Withered fingers languidly moved in circles
Casting dream fragments back into the air,
Only to resettle in a different pattern
At the edges of his mind.
His thoughts strayed
To souls arrayed in resplendent glory,
Myriad spirits en masse ascent.
He had never liked the work,
The look of fear,
Or worse yet of ignorance.
He had never stopped though,
The end justified the means.
Contemplated radiant streaking lines,
Blurred faces coursing to fate.
He frowned at remembered tears of joy.
Time dragged on.
Withered fingertip tapped absently
On tired lips pursed in thought.
Memory fragments flared
To fade then fall
Collected like sediment in layers,
A mosaic of lives.
A cacophony of voices
That had slowly dwindled
Till silence, no sound
Save that of the wind
That passed through the emerald
Canopy above his head.
His mind wound and wandered,
But to where?
He frowns to know purpose.
We sit across a table eating Pho;
two old friends, sharing food
and stories of our little worlds
Of my new love; my old projects
of his sweetheart; his old business
the dross men use to hide our hearts
We timidly tiptoe towards truth;
tiny steps in the deepening dance
of two old friends, carefully sharing
We talk of our ageing families;
my father's dementia and
his mother's parkinson's
He hesitates to use the chop sticks
that he's been so proficient with
and tentatively, he takes a fork
His hand absently stirs the soup
with the fork, as we dance away,
carefully, back to our little worlds
I feel the shaking of his hand
as we shake hands goodbye
and I wish that I could forget
Photograph 3: Rain
Dancing in the rain
umbrellas twirl, not a care
Chilly rain dampened hair
Clothes cling suggestively to the skin
Under dark skies, lightning flickers
Flashes, distant rumbling echo
Dancing there in the rain
umbrellas float, not a care
Rain drums absently
Wet clothes soaked
A laughing cry
a cry of delight
Or of surprise from thunder, high
Just dancing under a dark sky
Lights from an outer car come