Best Accounted Poems
Written: December 12, 2023
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Twilight swallowed me, striking me speechless
With subtle caress of a wicked breeze
Stirring the surge, I drift inwardly
And wild geese soar home in the sky.
Floating at a low level on a long, rolling skein.
Their banter ruined their afternoon
Friends unified on a familiar trip.
I've seen them ride on the oceans.
Pulling back the waves' white locks.
In the quiet, glassy sea, my skiff barely ripples.
Lavender clouds and double geese.
Random ideas diffuse as waves.
But my ideas act as stars in the sky
Bringing delight with a single chuckle.
Happiness simply cannot be accounted for.
Also, it seems as a wayward child.
Even amid the thrills, sadness arises.
Akin to one drop of rain on quiet waters.
Spread ripples will erase dazzling rays.
With a single echoed plink of its sad note.
Is it worth staying with the wispy Hope scarf?
Then laid across my shoulders?
The light tilts on other days.
That warms the day as a lover's kiss.
And I anchor at home in delightful calm.
~My Tricycle~
Christmas eve,
I could not help but peek.
There it was, a blue and pinkish bike.
With streamers all for me...
A ride, I wanted to feel inside.
A surprise, I ruined for my eyes.
The joy I felt, a naughty kid like me could not hide.
Running back into my room, jumping with glee.
Waiting and waiting...............................................
Christmas day, comes to life.
I'm all excited.. With the biggest grin...
Mommy walks me to my bike.
My grin slowly fades away.
A red tricycle, I start to cry.
I did not understand, why my older sister got the pretty bike.
My Christmas, ruined by a ruby red tricycle.
Mommies, hug did not comfort me.
I cried all night, and asked my daddy'
"How can this be?"
"It's not fair!"
"it's not fair!"
Daddy, had only one response..
"Sweetie, soon you will see."
New Years Eve**
I sit near the windowpane.
Staring at my sister ride her blue pinkish bike.
Even the streamers were laughing at me.
Night fall comes around..
It's cold and everyone is asleep.
I sneak my way into the barn.
I stare at it~
My sisters bike!
The smile on my face, I still can't erase.
"This bike will be mine tonight."
I grab the bike by the handles bars.
I walk the bike under the stars.
Two hours pass, and still I can't operate the pedals.
Finally I remove my shoes, and reach the pedals with my toes.
I'm off into the night, than suddenly I fell upon them rocks.
If only I waited for that push from daddy's hands.
:To Be Continued:
Lesson not learned,
My scars all accounted for.
Deserving all deserts and worth all worths,
My love is admiration’s mirrored whole,
A shadowed shade whose forms do form rebirths,
I’m boldly uncontrolled in her control.
A burning nymph who’s in all fairness fair,
My love’s accounted without frankness frank,
To stress distress she counts my bareness bare
And burns my ardor with a rankness rank.
To hold and not be held is wealthless wealth,
To see and not be seen is sightless sight,
To cure and not be cured is healthless health,
To love and not be loved is lightless light.
A crisp and charming cat sans coyness coy,
My love’s a lifeless life and joyless joy.
funny no matter how much you love someone it's never enough
you can change your ways or meet them half way
you can comprimise and desquise how you feel for love
in the end nothing is ever enough
they say that true love exists but true love is what hurts you the most
finding yourself comes through pain and hurt
no exceptions in the laws of love just broken rules
sometimes when we try to hard we loose focus on what really matters
the time we invest in to falling in love cannot be accounted for
we cannot get it back or get recognition for it it's lost forever
total eclipse of the heart as the song says total emotional breakdown
some people live for love some people love for life
some people never live because they are lost in love
we can search for the rainbow or wish upon on a star
in the end nothing matters it's over for real
in that moment we loose reality on what could destroy us
we say with conviction that we will never fall in love again
until we become blind by what we can't see
the circle of life revolves around us endlessly
for we are just mere pawns being played by the facts of life
That was the last call.
Aunt Rosie and the kids have left.
They’re safe
The rest have been accounted for.
It’s just us now.
Is everybody ready?
I never really thought this day could come.
Preparations aside, it was just a compulsive
precaution. Our family, friends, will we
ever see them, talk to them again?
How could we have done this to ourselves?
Funny, the things I think of at a time like this.
I got tickets to a Springsteen concert next month.
Who cares now?
Six months ago, when I bought them, I still had some trust.
Trust in the world, in our leaders. None
of this makes sense.
Do the egos of two men matter?
I remember as a child the grade school,
duck and cover drill.
I remember the black and yellow shelter signs.
That was over fifty years ago.
Have we learned nothing?
Come on, let’s go. It’s a bit of a drive.
Wild as a Star, Far away in the milky-way
Brighter than the sun; invisible in the light of the day,
Twinkling on the starlit sky, in the calmness of night
In-accounted within the count of yondering eye-sight.
Horizons also showth me a never ending art,
Deception of limits, always they brought:
Always I found them kissing the lows
And then thoughts shattered: what fortune shows.
Passion of moon, enlightened her blind eyes,
Umbrage of sun splendid her to be pride of skies,
Bride among the countless models equal by none,
Spreading her skirt and dancing over ode of Sun.
My heart kindled, when I glimpsed shining Mars,
Unique in its art, among the countless stars.
So, they taught me a lesson of courage,
Your past should be a reminder,
Of how far you have come.
Your past should be the key to the present,
Not to a ball and chain.
Your past should be a line in the sand,
That you never step back over.
Your past should be a record of past mistakes,
Not re-visited.
Your past should come with a map,
To buried treasure,
Not a bowl of rotten fruit.
Your past should spit you out,
Not suck you in.
Your past should leave you with a pair of Tweezers,
To pull out those annoying thorns in your side.
Not a microscope to pick out the nits.
Your past should send out some echoes of laughter,
Not waves of pain and regret.
Your past should be all present and accounted for,
So, you can stride confidently into a brighter future.
They wiped my thoughts
with antiseptic hands,
wrung my mind through linen logic
and hung me between breakfast
and scheduled silence.
Every hour—accounted for.
Every spark—neutralised.
Brainwashed.
Hope came in timed doses—
measured in milligrams
and dispensed with a paper cup
and plastic smile.
I swallowed the sun in tablet form
until it glowed from the inside
like a malfunctioning lamp.
Brainwashed.
I used to speak in fractured gold,
each sentence a riddle
spun from starlight and defiance.
They taught me to speak correctly—
which meant quietly,
which meant not at all.
Brainwashed.
They dressed me in fabric
the colour of pause,
stitched my name
into the hem of conformity,
taught me not to wander
outside the red line
of permissible imagination.
Brainwashed.
They made me fill in boxes:
Do you still hear them?
Do you still dream strange?
Do you still think
you are more than
this?
I circled no, and smiled.
Brainwashed.
My mirror stopped recognising me.
It showed a still ocean
where once there were storms.
I waved—but my reflection
had better things to do
than remember who I was
before routine became religion.
Brainwashed.
But some nights—
when the world forgets to monitor me,
and the ceiling isn’t watching—
I find poems hidden
under my tongue,
fierce and unprescribed.
I whisper them backwards
to keep them safe.
Still writing.
Or so they think.
Because inside the silence,
beneath the disinfected compliance,
something unwashed pulses—
raw, brilliant,
and unfinished.
I remember.
"Through Windows Abstract Ad Infinitum"
Ascending plural through the Sun
becomes One
Seen through different windows
Seams sewn in souls strung like pearls cast out into the world
Everyone is written into The Story, all accounted for, not gone unsung
Sun through the plural Ascending
One becomes
Windows different, though seen
(Lovejoy-Burton/September 2018)
across the table pink-eyed – not even Alice’s rabbit either – the impenitent sat – stooped – round as a fatted pig – full of pride in service – unabashed by his kill count – he spoke of philosophy Paris and London – his son following in his footsteps - Afghanistan his war – Perrier green glass sparkled – heat withheld – lust present & accounted for – lust for the military bit
across the table sat Alice - unknowing peacemonger – she observed his head turtling into his neck – she didn’t comment on his war stories – caffeine drove her to the precipice of honesty - lemming like she fell – but not for him – the hour spent down the rabbit hole passed – the sustenance she fed him swallowed - they parted ways
no company found – matchless – burnt-out flames – neither the better off for the meet
No excuses needed
Nor apologizes
This is who I am as a person, a human being and the man that I intend to be. Take your thoughts and beliefs and keep them for yourself. I am this man that you see before you without shame.
Not a shell of myself, maybe rough around the edges that seem to cut through the surface of my personal imperfections. My life and struggles has made me, prepare me for unexpected disappointments. So that I could just smile with tears in my eyes holding my head, no matter the circumstances. I make no excuses for myself every tear and worried thoughts are accounted for compared to the scares that cover parts of my body. I’m a fighter in every aspect of any thought or words form.
I represent the broken men who believed in something once
Maybe twice, maybe I should just count up my tears and move on.
Dues paid and deposited into the tampered and broken sections of my heart, no dearly departed I’m still standing. I’m just aware that my life means something to me. I find myself looking into the mirror with wondering thoughts that seem to just cross my mind and time doesn’t exist. I want to hug myself, searching for some type comfort even though poetry frees me. There are lists of things going on but that’s the role or part played by the image of this broken man.
I work hard on who I am, doing my best not to be wrong though have been taught by several, sometimes I just don’t matter. It’s not in me to give up, just that part of me to be Noble and at the same time a broken man.
memories flow through me
like an open wound the blood trails
following a painful path twice walked
why is it so easy to remember the sadness
as if a welcomed choice once here repeating
the savage stabbing within ones heart
surely the goodness and comforted smiles
of a time long ago should be present and
accounted for
do we measure the good and the bad
within our lives so that we may rationalize
our own existence
perhaps we are predestined with each
of us receiving an exact amount of what
we need to survive this life
after all we do tend to justify and even
accept our misery as a payment due for
our own actions throughout life
our love it seems is simply put away within
a corner of our hearts accepting it as a wonderful
thing and we are happy with the time shared
should i consider myself as being selfish
because after all this time and all the goodness
i have been given i find myself wanting more
more happiness more love and above all else
more of you...
The sky is so dark
The pitch of the evening night
Softly colors start
They begin to blend inside
Light pink, lavender, and red
They all start to ride
To flow through in the lost night
Bringing hope again
Dancing the colors do spread
So lovely morning begins
Now even peach comes
Master, the one who made this
Reigns supremely high
Crafted the prettiest sky
All colors accounted for
Slowly sky brightens
And everything turns blue shade
Waiting for the night
So another show will post
And sky will color again
Russell Sivey
It wills faceless principles
For the appeasement of whom
We wish sometimes we didn't know
The shallow deluge reaps
Happy means, thorns
And righteousness bundled
Snug in a wrap
Ready to serve beyond
Apprehension and reinvention
The ornery masses
I in mid-pack alignment, soothed
They are now allowed to scorn
Who they choose
Without retribution
Accounted for or scored upon
This day will stand
Among them
Among them all
For the moments share potential
And the empty destinies
We plan for the trip ahead
Now recline to the music
Of the day's splendor
The tingling millisomethings
Eager to mule for the chance
At the big time
Toil mule toil
Knowing the sinister mendings
Of your glorified unintentions
Will glow unabashedly
For all to rise up in furor
The care cannot persist
For lords and laws
Always see things
In unscrupulous ways
Those darned nether-enders
Of fictitious regard towards
Descendants not their own
Don't they know the finale
Brings oral brilliance
To trump the future
And all muddying the nascent present
In the angelic reserve
In the ideal that circumstances
Imagined and post-facto
Will tarry all
To relinquish
Time enough to breathe.
(10/26/07)
Donut People
Not all donut people are large or police or thieves
Nor are they thin, eating only greens and leaves and vitamins
Or exercising on the side of reasons muscularity
All this takes time to digest of course
Another hole, another donut down
Finding the criminal intent within is not a sin
Each and every calorie must be accounted for
According to health reports and other sources
Sugar particles find their way to court
Another bite out of crime….(but what about the obvious holes in this story?)
Public opinion is all about perception and what went down
All energy and money spent takes time to digest as well
To track down lost donuts, confections imperfections
Bring it to just desserts and deliciousness of justice
Our dedicated police will not sleep on just one donut
Their job has just begun
All citizens of our fine town
Can rest assured…. (So let them sleep)
Why!...Some of my best friends are donuts…(the mayor shouts.)
There is nothing wrong with that
Knowing one is out there unconsumed….
Leaves donut people too confused
Children are donut people too
They eat them all, run back for more….Poof!.....They’re gone
Confectioner’s confess and conjecture
Did girls and boys steal or simply borrow them?
Dusting off sweet powder and tiny prints of suspects
Leads to one conclusion
Convictions are in order for any one large or small…mostly small
When donut snatchers perpetrate such crimes
Donut people have their rights to eat in peace
Protected from crumby children who steal their treats