Best After Poems
I could have cried like a bride at a funeral
Bled out, dry. I could have but I was already
dehydrated...I
i think of you
I wish someone could turn the
moon back on, turn the dimmer back up
on the stars. I can't stand these dark
black nights void of even one tiny ray
of light. I am tired of walking blind through
the evenings of my everyday life...I
i think of you
Yesterday I dreamt the night sky exploded.
Bright white pinholes of light appeared .
It was as if an invisible hand was holding a huge
Fourth of July sparkler against a waterfall of black gold.
I watched the oil well blaze. The whole Earth was on fire.
The world was burning hot. Without fear I walked through
the flames warm, comforted as if I was being held in his light...I
i think of you
Still in the grip of my sleep suddenly an ocean appears.
its water rises and shapes itself like the head of a dragon.
Its neck is shaped like a Chinese silk fan. At the same time
it is just a huge wave. The kind surfers expect to find in heaven.
There is nothing threatening about this apparition.
Quite the opposite like the fire it feels as if it is a part of me...I
i think of you
Do I miss you?
Miss you? I died with you!
There's a knock at my door but I'm not here.
Life's going to have to wait. I'm in hiding.
I feel safe inside my walls. In reality my bedroom light
is all the outdoors I need. It is my Sun. I hate here without you.
So I lie in my bed motionless starring into my nothingness and I...
i think of you
(Frozen!)
As time passes...introspective...I begin to understand.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water all the elementals are him.
(I begin to thaw!)
He is with me even in my ignorance he has never left me.
You can take the lord into your heart without a word by accepting his light.
(Slightly cold!)
A deeper, purer understanding. A trust that rejects the dark no
matter how black. I am a part of all, a part of one as you are. A part of me.
(Warm!)
I open my curtains...watch the dark exit
hurried as love rushes in. Firmly in his hold...I
I think of you...
Once again with you.
Fully! We...the power of one...I
I think of us.
The Beginning!
March 25 2015
Armand
(WARNING SIGNS)
You are old and fragile
Claiming to be a lion when in bed
In some way, you remind me of the walking dead
Your bones make a sound when walking across the room
Rattling, as if they know your end is near
Confusing rigor mortis where muscle mass once stood
You say you have stamina that has no end
Until now, your back hurts when you move
Losing count of every inch that got away!!!
With your moods constantly changing,
I prefer not to mention the belly fat around your waist
Then you have romantic days, you plea to love
You chase down a Viagra pill with red fuzz
Seemingly, without adding depression to your day
Pill's are the only object expanding when swallowed
40 some, and you think you can romp around the room
I yawn, yet you are the one tired, next to doom
Dusty and old you boxer shorts
Can't remember the last time you stayed up late
Kicking the bucket every time I talk about S E X
Your hairline aged with time, bold and bald
I forgot which one you recalled this morning
Perhaps these are signs of low testosterone
Merely in the meantime............... R.I.P. WILL YA!!!
BY: PD
After the party and all our great fun,
new friends were trickling out my front door.
With their goodbye hugs, they left one by one,
and I was left feeling surely “the more
the merrier” was a phrase that was true
with my apartment now emptied of sound!
But through the night, I’d been noticing YOU.
Unlike the others, you’d just stuck around.
You told me you’d waited all night for the chance
to be with me only. My heart skipped a beat.
Putting on music, you asked for a dance!
The moment was magic, and you were so sweet.
Today we still dance to that same song.
After the party, my prince came along!
June 29, 2019
To my daughter who never listens.
Life is not as simple as a cliché.
It's not lullabies and butterflies.
Not all sounds are soothing,
not all flowers are faithful.
It's not as relaxing as a reverie,
rarely as poetic as a poem,
so you can't hide everything behind metaphors.
You have to express your true verses,
you have to serenade in your own melody -
but never forget the chorus to our song.
Life is full of storytellers who will lead you astray,
so never believe everything you hear or see -
create your own biography, make your own history.
Our existence is fragile like petals,
yet your birth created an oasis in my heart.
I remember when they said you would not blossom,
yet you flourished in essences of evergreen elegance.
I was the first to cradle you in my arms,
as I promised to protect you endlessly.
Hoping that you would soar forever,
spread your wings higher and higher.
We never truly realise the sacrifices of our parents.
I wonder if you will ever know,
how sometimes all I had left was my smile -
never would I reveal my frailties.
It was not a simple case of masculinity,
because even the most ferocious lion cries.
I hope you never face a struggle,
as difficult as the trials forsaken upon me
and
I'm sorry if at times you saw no emotions,
apologies for the tears I never let you see,
nor the fears I never allowed you to feel,
but it was the way I was brought up to be,
it's how reality curated my personality.
If the suppression of my feelings made you distant -
remember a father will always be a shepherd for his flock.
Wars from the past have infiltrated mankind,
yet there will be many battles to come -
just don't fall asleep among heartless sleeping souls.
I shiver upon the thought of our closing goodbye,
when my shield can no longer protect you,
as every knight has to eventually lay down his sword.
The world can be a cruel and wild place,
and I remind you there is always a rainy day,
so choose wisely the paths to ponder upon -
learn how to build your own abode.
You'll always be a baby in my eyes.
I'll always be so proud.
Even in silence... I will forever love you.
Dad.
cry
in the
privacy
of your sad thoughts
behind louvered blinds
till pain wanes…then
wipe away
your tears:
smile
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
August Ninette contest
Host: Caren Krutsinger
© 8th August 2019
Opening line from "Highway Five Love Poem" by Ruth L. Schwartz
This is a love poem for all the tomatoes
I squished to make our Date-Night spaghetti.
Our love, like the pasta, was shiny. So the story goes.
We sit at our table, between us a rose
Red as the marinara I chose. (He let me).
This is a love poem for all our tomatoes.
We watch the steam, which the mouth quickly blows
Away (like the wind and those petals the day he met me).
Our love, like the pasta, was sticky. So the story goes.
We sip our red wine. Chianti, it has a good nose.
(In the morning, do you think he will regret me?)
This is a love poem. For all our tomatoes
Are gone, just as the wine hides grapes squished by toes
in authentic California vineyards. (You get me?)
Our love, like the pasta, was steamy. So the story goes.
We finish our meal with gestures the other knows.
(I wonder if he'll someday forget me.)
This isn't a love poem for all our tomatoes.
Our love, like our pasta, was al dente. So our story goes.
There is one kind of beauty in a morning walk illuminated by the moon..and yet…there is a different kind of beauty walking after a rain…when all the streets are wet.
The streets take on a glow…one you never see at noon…the shadows seem to shimmer in light reflected from the moon.
There is a freshness in the air…a coolness in the breeze…as it carries with it raindrops it has shaken from the trees.
Still enough raindrops remain upon the trees…those unable to take flight…giving the trees a feeling of Christmas…as they sparkle in the night.
Age seems to fade away…as you breathe the misty air into your lungs…as you splash around in puddles…like you did when you were young.
If you listen to the crickets…the owls…the nightingales…you find it difficult to decide…if you are hearing more sounds than usual…or if they’re just amplified.
You stop a moment…look up…and give thanks…grateful you’ve been allowed…to watch the moon, the stars….the planets…playing hide and seek among the clouds.
And you pause as you’re walk is ending…trying to remember everything because you don’t want to forget…
the sights
the sounds
from your morning walk…
when all the streets are wet.
Lightning flashed, blinded my innocent, trusting eyes.
Thunder ravaged my soul, and forced out my cries.
Destructive winds threatened, ripped me all apart.
Raindrops, the tears that ever flooded my heart.
Dark clouds were ever-present, in turbulent air.
Yet, no winds could stir the flowers in my hair.
No longer waiting for that storm to pass the hill.
I left it behind, and walked away by my own will.
A rainbow shined beautifully, yet arched into a frown.
As every now and then, the rain still comes down.
I have stepped right over you, like scattered debris.
As the sun's rays now light down a new path for me.
For Shanity Rain's contest - "After The Storm"
On the day after Christmas, they started appearing,
cast out of houses, stripped of their finery,
lying crooked in the gutter, garbage bags flanking.
My brothers and I walked to school
and halfway there, three blocks away,
was a steep ravine called The Hollow.
A place of some dark mystery in summer,
one hundred feet deep and forbidden land
according to most parents, The Hollow
sang its song to all neighborhood kids.
Returning to school after Christmas,
my brothers and I would drag the discarded
Christmas trees along the sidewalk and onto the bridge
that spanned The Hollow, then heave them over the railing,
watching their graceful tumble earthward,
their air brushing final fall.
"Hey, I used to do that too!" Donnie was a lot older,
almost done with high school, and his walk took him
right by our elementary school - he laughed to see us
hauling the trees to that concluding bridge.
He grabbed a large one, bigger than any of us could handle,
and upon the bridge had us help him hold it upright on the railing,
as it stood in life, as it looked down upon Christmas gifts;
we watched it slowly lean into Gravity,
watched the balletic descent into silence.
Donnie kept with us that first month into the new year,
the pile of trees growing in the bottom of The Hollow.
He told us things, we told him things,
we asked him things and he told us more.
My brothers and I still talk about that big tree
on the railing of the bridge over The Hollow.
It hit right on top of the pile of other trees
and bounced off to the side, its own special place.
As January wore on, we didn't find as many trees,
and ultimately it was all done.
Eventually the school year too was done,
and then more years, and school itself was done.
The trees at the bottom of The Hollow rotted away to nothing.
Somewhere in there my mom told me that Donnie
had been shipped off to war, killed within a few weeks.
We had that one magic month.
December 25, 2016
For Anthony Slausen's contest - 'The Day After Christmas'
autumn storm
makes violence
against a trembling oak
the silence
afterwards
awakens our past
~~~
07.10.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Writing Challenge - Septolet Form
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
rest your head my love
in my caring and comforting arms
we will swing
on this rustic faded yellow porch
under the pink and orange and red hues
of the setting sun silhouetting
the streaking clouds over the horizon
let me gaze into those loving eyes
so soft and sweet reflecting your beauty
like caramel being wrapped around an apple
I can hear music coming from inside the old farmhouse
It is our favourite song.
The one we chose for our first dance
at our wedding
Oh how I remember that day
you were so beautiful
you were radiant
we danced oh we danced
arm in arm
cheek to cheek
you made my knees go weak
it was so beautiful
Oh how you are still so beautiful
after all these years
come dance my love
when the book of bedtime stories
kissed goodnight and turned the page
and was left to stand upon the shelf
to fox and spot with age
the bright sun lost the hat it wore
and its face that always smiled
with those outstretched lines of beams that shone
inside of every child.
The lightly touching tinkling bells,
Shimm'ring, babbling, laughing in the breeze,
The ever-merry tapping bells,
Who now has these?
Low, slow, iron bells;
Deep, still, lead bells.
Bells. Bells. Bells.
All gladly-sounding glowing golden-bells,
Lilting, lighter, brighter yellow bells,
Mightier-yellow even whiter bells!
Ivory-keyed I-concerto-bells!
Striding proudly in the breeze
I have these!
The bells of thoughts serenely dear,
Planning, looking, finding---here!
The hand that reaches for the loved bell's face,
Then touches, almost, the perfect place.
Low, slow, iron bells;
Deep, still, lead bells;
Bells, bells, bells.
Bells. Bells. Bells.
All terrible-sad mad rebellious bells,
Brazed, swinging-fast Goliath bells,
Stronger, harder-hearted mountain bells,
Caught! Smelted! Recast!
Now joyous-sounding royal-loyal-bells,
Silver-lovely radiant treasure-bells,
Sure-as-morning's darling pleasure-bells,
Sledging! steady! ready! wedding -bells! Bells!
All happy in the breeze,
We have these!
High, soft, snapdragon bells;
Kissed, whisp'ring, thoughful body-bells,
Bells.....bells.....bells.
Brazen night winds crash brittle glass of our furious voices
Quieting down, we slowly climb inside eyes lit with dear splendor
A flood of kisses roam north to west of mouths--- drowning stars
Soon after the sky had shed her liquid sorrow
When dark clouds quickly vanished
It turned immaculate, spotlessly blue.
As the cosmic hiss subsided
And the wind withdrew to its unknown hideout,
There was a hush- the hush that follows,
As the priest concludes his spirited sermon.
In that quiet, when dream and life coalesced
I saw the leaves trembling in the cold
Dragonflies performing a ballet in the air
Their wings catching glints of sunlight
Spiders moving round crystal studded webs,
Repairing the broken filaments of their gossamer
And birds from trees taking off into the sky
Enjoying a pervasive sense of peace
And my heart soaked in pure mirth
Humming the lyrics of a half forgotten song
I walked down through cobbled paths
Feeling the wetness beneath my feet,
To savor the beauty of Nature,
Newly bathed in the profuse vernal shower.
Suddenly the light blazoned,
Giving a golden glow to the leaves
And the suspended rain drops,
Glittered like sparkling gems.
Mesmerized by the beauty of the scene
There wobbled shiny silver droplets of joy
In my eyes too, struggling to be spilled out!
Resubmitted for 2022 Marathon Mile.No.15 Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
Placed Sixth
April.6. 2022
A Brian Strand Premier Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Brian Strand