Best Afternoons Poems
From nowhere,
a type of sadness descends
as that which sometimes possesses
a child on rainy afternoons
when what is vulnerable withdraws
and curls up in a corner
of the mind to seal
itself with silence.
It's a sadness that doesn’t
wear a name, more like a shadow
cast by something way back
that memory has forgot
or put away concealed
behind a veil of sleep.
It comes creeping
out of the quiet
and hangs as a blur
beyond the reach of sight,
a blank in the headlights
of a child’s far away stare,
without shape or form,
a sadness perhaps left
by a scar or the imprint
of a longing cast by a previous life,
or nothing, nothing more
than an ordinary sadness
that comes upon us all
on rainy afternoons,
when we are alone.
Before iron winter commands the land
The brown ground sparks a bittersweet blaze
Bonfire breezes cross in smoky strands
Where nut stashing squirrels pause to gaze
On museums of leafy orange haze
Maroon afternoons of apple's sharp bite
Foretells the night tomcats dress as jaguars
Tricking candies for ghoulish appetites
For sweet treats, they knock on doors near and far
As spells of cuteness fill their cookie jars
Even when the morning sun flees the east
And the rains arrive, secluded and dank
We prepare to share the harvest feast
For the coming spring, behind the cloud banks
For the warmth of family ~ I give thanks.
10/16/20
For 'Autumn' poetry contest
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
I was listening to roller skating tunes.
Yes, I am shallow, sir.
And though thou may say villainess or mistress,
I am content to be who I am.
One noon, we were over dull
and our hearts we serviced
like two thieves there
in the kissing place
where breaths are both as one
and the first of many kisses doubles.
He made vows in mine ear.
He has such hands and lips
and his fortunate nature fed mine eyes
oh, nothing was scarce.
Our horns locked together
with the intensest chutzpah
and we well-made our match.
We sparked feelings we all ascribe to heaven.
I would not tell you
I can serve a man
that by slow designs
men can melt.
He swore oaths
and dropped
half won.
Later he paid
the sweetest
after-debts
—he did owe it.
.
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songs for this:
Find Me the Pulse of the Universe by Laetitia Sadier
Stormy (Bossa Mix) by S-Tone Inc
summer afternoons
hot breath of summer
even the dark shadows sweat ~
solstice stupor
sweltering doldrums
heat waves rise on sallow breaths ~
only the bees buzz
A visit to my village in the month of june,
all that it offers you is a very short day and a lazy afternoon.
Soft whirring of the fan making heavy the eyelids,
trying in futile to stay open over a paragraph in a book.
With the little ones all wide awake,
chattering over games of carrom and chess
sending about a crazy cacophony of voices.
But with the red and green sherbets making up
for the tormenting heat outside.
Competing over how many mangoes one can eat,
a one..a two..and there's no count how many more.
The otherwise chirpy fruit orchard wears
a graveyard like eerie mood of it's own in the hot summer noon.
With not too many birds in sight,
yet you can sometimes spot a dog sulking in the grove hiding from the hot sunlight.
While I continue to crib and cry waiting impatiently for the monsoons
a sibling in a faraway land keeps fond memories of his Indian summer afternoons.
In dusty Karoo towns
Sunday afternoons are
sentences of solitary confinement
Deserted streets
closed doors and windows
No sign of life
One wonders if the rapture
has taken place
Ya know….
I’m not here to play video games with my neighbor...to build another world on some
other plane of existence...I want to be engaged by more tangible realities that
fester inside the scope of society… not to fiddle in some artificial plot that seems
just like them…. And I’m not here to go to the casino with co-workers …I’m not
looking to screw with survival just to feel the depth of hope….just to get high off the
shock of joy…. hope is a positive outlet for patience…not in the dangerous
anticipation of hedonistic change…. Oh and the surprise of joy….warning…it will be
taken away from you if you use it like a drug …cause then it’s something you have
to abstain from in order to overcome addiction… I’m not here to gamble away what
I’m allowed to feel…And I’m not here to go drinking with acquaintances at the local
dive bar… I don’t need to change my emotional sensations any more in order to live
in easier acceptance of the now and what comes with it…
NO, I’m not here to bull crap about bathing suits at your pool parties, or to listen to
your window shopping adventures…I’m sure the type of blinds you get will look just
fine…and I’m tired of discussing what vacations you might go on… you do plenty of
nothing here, I can’t imagine… actually, I don’t want to imagine what types of
laziness you plan on indulging in… No, I’m not here to check out your gun rack… I’m
not waiting to talk about moist vagina… I don’t care what color your sunglasses are
or what type of car you have….
….No… NO, I’m not here just to fill the time with lifestyle pacifiers and lollipops just
to make the movement of the clock feel good…all your candy afternoons with your
sugar conversations have you constantly craving sweets …even after you gorge
yourself with Cadbury and Nestles…
… Yes….it’s another mars bars analogy just to drive home this point that I’ve had all
the butterfingers I can stand… Are Almond joys and reece’s all you want out of life?
…a snickers now leads to a milky way future…. and my spare time… my efforts …my
results need more sustenance than that…
In the afternoons
You took long walks by the sea
Or the ocean
With a stick in your hand
You stopped
Drew a heart in sand
And wrote ’I love you’
In the middle.
Joyfully you exclaimed
This is my favourite place
I’ll come here every day
SUNDAY AFTERNOONS
By Curtis Johnson
Mom had a sister not far away, and dad had three sisters, all of which lived within an hour's driving distance. That meant that
there were lots of cousins with which to play and grow up. Most of my paternal cousins were older than me, because mom was much younger than daddy. Not a problem, because it meant that we also had second cousins to play with who were more closer to our ages. Being geographically close meant that we could go on nice rides to visit them and enjoy a delicious meal also.
O, I do apologize if you thought this was about ‘cupid on a Sunday afternoon’.
O, pardon me, but I have had my share of picnics on a Sunday afternoon.
My thoughts here are tender ones, about family rides along the country sides;
And about getting away for family fellowship and fun, on a Sunday afternoon
Now, back to my story. Where was I? O, speaking of meals. The big food filled table with relatives sitting together enjoying a delicious meal was indeed the highlight of the afternoon. After the meal, the grownups would return to their seats of comfort to sit and talk about this, that, and the other. Occasionally, we kids would stop by to sit and listen for a spell, curious to know what the adults were talking about. And wouldn't you know it? I do not remember a word they said. So off we would go to play outside again.
We did not realize it then, but dad and mom were teaching us a valuable lesson
about the vital necessity of family life. They were saying that we should never
lose touch with not only our immediate family but also the relatives.
Any given Sunday afternoon was the one time that made all this possible. With no work or shopping to be concerned with, and having already been to church, Sunday afternoons were the most blessed times of the week. The memories of love, security, togetherness, and social interaction were born in the quiet country settings of Sunday afternoons.
cj08282014
autumn afternoons
all the melancholy winds
come to visit me
1-21-2013 The Best of Afternoons
Lying awake,I could see the light of day,
Through the door ,that of a keyhole,
Out of my opening eyes I notice, the lazy clock reaches up as the candle light did,
Somewhat like the night before,
On the wall,my calenders' picture,
A monkey in a sailor's suit with a pageboy haircut,
The summer breeze sneaks a glimps of future funny poses,
What will the future bring,hopefully more that just monkey business,
As in slow motion at first,surely- I race into the openess,
Seemingly resilient from a restless night of dreaming,
Through the sound of a far-a-way intuition calling,
Me out from into the sunlight,away from these cumbersome blues.
still we watch while most of you point fingers at the fat girl while your habits are
obese… even now I live in fear of what the future holds for me because of how
much of the meager more you many consume … you’ve made it a talent… the genius
of intellectual gluttony next here on ABC…millions marvel at these depreciative
skills… while the masses use relativity to stand in their defense of this constantly
consuming tootsie roll mentality …. And I cry as our spiritual health continues to
dwindle…
No, I’m not here to stand by active inactivity and let it reinforce a something that
creates nothing…No, I’m not here to watch how it makes you suffer and to look
away as you avoid what you have to endure…I’m not about to tolerate all of MY
OWN misgivings that have manifested out of this over-consumption culture and its
shallow draw…
….I am not okay with these ways… I will never give my stamp of approval….No, I do
not accept….!!!!
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Sunday afternoons
---------
i abandoned my self, and reached out with all my heart
to a God whom i knew could help me survive
and keep me from coming all the way apart
and for awhile i was so truly alive
now i am better, and so much worse
Jesus helped me through the valley of the shadow
lifted what seemed Satans' own curse
now i can function in this world, but i know,
this day to day life isn't the point of it all
this house i side doesn't matter anymore
i hear loud and clear the call
and i can't answer the knocking at the door
because of all this housework i have to do
the dishes need washing, the bedroom's a mess
asnd when i'm all done, there's laundry, too
i'm simply to busy and needed for God to bless
i say, when i think of it, that He created me for Him
that what i do for this body is a waste of time
i want to pray away the day, to sing my favorite hymn
to put down the load, and really start to climb
like i was meant to from birth
to devote my life to a higher calling
to pursue God for all i'm worth
i had found a Towering Peak, now, i'm falling
down, down, down, to the valley floor
in the mud, and the dirt
yet i still know what living's for
and for the path i'm still alert
to find again the Lord i loved so completely
to find through Him, a way to clean the dirt that hurts
instead of the floors, or the dog hair i see
or the pans, or the yard, or my shirts
somehow i've got to find a way
to excape those things that hold me down
and open my eyes again one day
and see in me, a friend of a King, who gives His crown
instead iof a loser, whos sin is so comfortably worn
a man meant for God, but used up by men
a man looking up, yet so careworn, forlorn
and longing to feel his Saviors touch again
this is me, as hopeless as a man could be
i remember times spent with the only Holy One
moments burning bright in memory
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i would go back, but the chores aren't done
we spent the afternoon
throwing ourselves off castle walls
jumping into moats we spent
our time pierced with swords
having arrows hit us and many more
miss us in aching arms in shields
that's what we did sharing blood
and last breaths and mountains
didn't matter and forests didn't matter
we spent our afternoons dying
and that's what really mattered
Languor Afternoons
David J Walker
I
The odd stone was a family heirloom
And a friendly oracle
Always quietly
thinking of the future
Collecting visions of the past
I stared for hours
Before I asked
for its wisdom
It would simply smile
But only for a while
Before returning to its mineral leanings
II
The fouls flying in
Single file
Sang in scales
Alone
In solos of discord
Searching for
A flocks choir to join
Two were baritone
The rest sang in pitch
unknown
III
The man in the mirror
Whom I did not recognize
Asked me politely
If it’s time to give up
Any hope for change
Or
Had the time past
to challenge the effects
of age and gravity
Shall I be condemned
for self-fulfilling vanity
IV
How much easier it is
To live
In the past
rather than in
The future
Where I can be the oracle
Of all certain things
Inescapable
I am numb
with questions
From those in
Impending times
To come
Where I am the
Denizen stranger
V
Languor rain on an
autumn afternoon
the sun refuses to show face
disgraced
by good intentions unmet
but
I am open to an
Unannounced extended stay
I have yet to
curse September rain as
It comes
When it comes