Best Agitated Poems
Like no one before, nor since
you painted that starry night in oils
superimposing your life story.
I feel I know this idyllic village
blanketed by tranquil rolling hills
embraced by calming olive trees
their very branches a symbol of peace
the steadfast church steeple
a sacred echo of the stalwart cypress.
But never have I witnessed
hills so inflamed - burning to tell the world their history
a moon so agitated - suffering from an incurable insanity
the night sky so frenzied - seeking answers to life's suffering
such undulating indigo eddies of despondency and confusion
or stars radiating with such feverish beauty - concentric circles of passion.
That starry night
you painted stars that, like you, are light years away from anyone else
looking on the serene village scene from an insurmountable distance
for you saw things, Vincent,
like no one before, nor since.
[free verse ekphrasis of the painting "The Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh]
Written 5 Jul 2020
A tiny yellow bird, tiny beak,
Sits on a tiny branch
Of a big green tree,
Taps its feet, chirps, hops,
joyful, playful, circles around,
Lands on the deck post,
Agitated, loud and louder,
Aiming to snap the piece of bread
I tossed on the deck.
A big yellow bird
On the big green tree roars:
beware of humans;
Zooming in,
Grabbing the piece of bread.
I get angry at the big bird
Until I see them together
On the big green tree
Sharing their love
Beak to beak.
August 2017
HM: Strand choice B by Brian Strand
Sun is held hostage by a blanket of clouds,
reflecting an agitated addict's ashtray.
Birds depart from soaked naked branches,
as eyes seek refuge from the ugliness of change.
I peer beneath this umbrage pitched upon the ground
anticipating a palette of summer to simper back
yet all I see are stick figure shadows frolicking
as this bitter autumn wind encircles me
Symphonies of the sky continuously weep.
I watch petals float in puddles of regret,
so I reflect back to a summer of mon amour,
where Michelangelo hands sculptured my garden.
Reflecting back, delicate strokes within velvety folds
as fingers trace the edges of my heart's blossom
crimson drops slip silently between my hands
for even the beauty of a rose holds autumn's thorns
Secure from rustic debris that blow against windows,
5pm twilight, means no rekindling with my cherished sun.
My shortened days lash back through glares of street lamps
with frosty glass etchings chiselled by night's harsh breath.
Collaboration with Sandra Adams
Silent One
20 October 2019
When rainstorm shadows
cast raven woven blankets,
entangling between
the boundaries of
fantasy and reality's reach,
we search for soft glows
from serenades of slumber,
where we embrace
the quilt of night.
In restless dreams
a dandelion soul yearns
to reside within the realms
of conscious thought.
Traversing towards
an enchanting valley
where fields of lilacs
and bluebells surround,
laying foundations
for rows of charismatic
cherry blossoms,
peacefully resting
among a myriad
of kaleidoscopic roses.
Above, azure horizons
reveal the naked sun,
whose radiance shimmers
upon sapphire waters,
delicately blowing
a refreshing breeze.
Lucid choral images
illuminate the mind,
with visions of
an ethereal epiphany -
too difficult to define.
Her heavenly muse
echoes a majestic lullaby,
beckoning hallelujah hearts
to oblige in beats of
unexplainable expressions,
so suppressed thoughts
bleed in turquoise waterfalls.
Barren lands
soak in reflection,
as distance decreases.
Eyes admire in
a silent reverie.
Enticing two isolated
soulful minds to
chant in a chorus
of hummingbird hymns.
An abundance of
amorphous aromas
enchant and enrapture,
as senses blaze into
passionate provinces
of aurora aspirations.
A ruby renaissance of
rhapsodic romantic
musings reverberate
string less symphonies
into the once,
charcoal chambers of a
redeemed, fluorescent
lyrical couplet core.
In ivory harmonies,
venturing upon a pearled path
not known to lovers before,
beloveds search for
a secret garden -
home to Michelangelo's
cathedral of paradise,
yearning to savour its
celestial artistic ambience,
but upon the
zenith of enticement,
unwelcome Lilith skies
slyly and silently encroach.
Heaven recalls her
halo shaped silhouette,
as petals agitated
by spiteful winds
fall into murky waters.
Feathers remain,
floating helplessly in
puddles of regret.
Smoke clears,
as clarity reveals
white concrete walls
with broken blinds.
Nature's beams
breathe a deep sigh.
How sad,
time does not care
for our dreams.
It was my first Thanksgiving dinner as his wife
so I wanted the meal to be perfect in every way
But...trembling in fear, I cut my finger with a knife
It was the beginning of a day in piteous disarray
I didn't know a turkey would take so long to thaw
and I couldn't defrost the fat bird in the microwave
Agitated, I was afraid I'd have to serve it half raw
so, I parboiled it a while. My predicament was grave
The cranberries were cooking and started to pop
Then I noticed my sore finger was bleeding once more
Blood fell into the sauce pan; more than just a drop
Gotta serve it anyway. No time to go back to the store
My mother-in-law, Mary Ann, had a smirk on her face
She looks like a wild rabbit, both have wrinkled noses
I bedecked the table in my cloth of embroidered lace
finger bleeding again from thorns, darn those roses!
It's a Murphy's Law day for me cuz I've developed a tic
Face is twitching, but the turkey's roasting in the oven
People bustling in my kitchen. It's a comedy of slapstick
Cousin Benny wants a taste of my cornbread stuffin'
STUFFIN'? NO NO! I hadn't given the dish a thought
Could I make it from potatoes? I've got piles of those
I needed a drink; my frazzled nerves were distraught
Then sozzled Uncle Frank started taking off his clothes
We filled our plates as hubby, Jake, carved the bird
I gasped when I saw a bag of something on the platter
Mary Ann shrieked in laughter and shouted, "My word!!"
I had no clue it was in there. I became the Mad Hatter.
To the kitchen I retreated to ready the apple crumble
A laxative added to Mary Ann's to give her the poops
After dinner she dashed and crashed in a nasty tumble
I smiled with satisfaction and simply exclaimed, "OOPS."
Stormy winds swing canopies of trees
Swaying dark shadows upon my reverie
Glimmering through forest-green leaves
Sunlight filtered by cumulous clouds
As raindrops pitter-patter on sidewalk
Drenching instincts ambling in the park.
Sun-rays soon flicker, as rain-clouds part
Spreading golden dust on cobalt-blue sky
Intermittently oscillating light and dark
Floating breezy patterns on emerald grass.
The multi-hued sky then picks up my vibes
As charming horizon evokes your smile.
The voice I hear, speaks to me so softly
First time ever, it greets me with a kiss
Holding my posture, I sprint for a glimpse.
But there's no one, for no one there was
Except the chatter of agitated bird calls
Warning of danger from a lone stranger
Conjuring daydreams in fleeting rainstorm.
August 26, 2018
Placed first--End of August standard contest by Brian Strand
Sun is held hostage by a blanket of clouds,
reflecting an agitated addict's ashtray.
Birds depart from soaked naked branches,
as eyes seek refuge from the ugliness of change.
I peer beneath this umbrage pitched upon the ground
anticipating a palette of summer to simper back
yet all I see are stick figure shadows frolicking
as this bitter autumn wind encircles me
Symphonies of the sky continuously weep.
I watch petals float in puddles of regret,
so I reflect back to a summer of mon amour,
where Michelangelo hands sculptured my garden.
Reflecting back, delicate strokes within velvety folds
as fingers trace the edges of my heart's blossom
crimson drops slip silently between my hands
for even the beauty of a rose holds autumn's thorns
Secure from rustic debris that blow against windows,
5pm twilight, means no rekindling with my cherished sun.
My shortened days lash back through glares of street lamps
with frosty glass etchings chiseled by night's harsh breath.
A collaboration with Silent One
When my muse ruled
my conscience's compass,
waterfalls of rhyming rivers
revealed unspoken secrets -
long forgotten in my heart.
Exposing vulnerable verses
from vaults where vines
had wrapped my tongue
into subdued silence.
In the Injustices of
judicial juxtaposition,
speech spoke in a
paradoxical oxymoron -
'deafening silence'
Pouring in drops of crimson,
I became a convicted cliché,
taken hostage in a
Machiavellian marketplace,
where I felt illiterate - harassed,
by insidious guards and
anapestic gangsters.
In the personification
of confinement,
where word weavers
are poetically unapologetic,
virtual villains ventured
to plagiarize my vocabulary.
An enjambment of envious
eyes attempted to burn
my anthology of alliterations,
so I buried each chapter
in a communal garden,
under a galaxy of ghazals,
hoping pantoum petals,
would bloom in scarlet
stanzas with sophisticated
syllables of rhythmic refrains.
Agitated by
artificial assonance,
my artistry is an
analogy of angst,
where cathartic couplets
of consistent consonance
care not for iambic ideologies.
My elusive elegy is the
legacy of my resistance,
as in my melancholy,
I'll forever be a
misunderstood metaphor.
Silencing intrusive ink,
to prevent another massacre.
With no concern for applause,
I've removed the
garlands of sakura chains.
For I'm no longer a
prisoner of poetry,
but my muse's musk
still remains....
A Plate of Disorder
Are you ready to Disorder Sir?
What can I tempt you for a starter,
May I recommend the Turmoil Soup?
Garnished with Havoc Green Tartar.
For the main, perhaps our house speciality,
Goujons of Chaos and Sweet Bedlam.
With a Medley of Confusion and Mess,
Served on a bed of Smoked Mayhem.
On the Dessert Trolley tonight,
We have a Disarray of Cheese Cake,
A delicious Rhubarb Anarchy,
Or Sticky Turbulent Plum Bake.
Please enjoy your hearty and Riotous feast,
May it temper and fulfil the agitated beast.
My First Five Poems
Silhouetted against the backdrop of Central Park,
the Black Magic Woman brazenly frolicked in the dark,
"Do you know me?” she cryptically asked,
steel gray eyes peering from behind a gruesome mask.
Agitated and running out of patience and time,
she ranted and raved looking anything but sublime.
Responding to the summons of the eclipsing mid-day sun,
she melted into the mystical tableau that had begun
Emerging naked as the day she was born,
wearing only sprigs of white Baby’s Breath that adorn
her hair, she danced under cover of the darkness at noon,
with wild abandonment before falling into a swoon.
Dazedly, I wondered would I be able to recall this story;
but with useless pen in hand, only blank pages could I see,
as from my mind, she had erased all memories of her and me.
She had deliberately stolen my gift of words that day
leaving me expressionless with nothing to say.
Afflicting me with the accursed spell of writer’s block,
all clues were forgotten, as I struggled to unlock,
the portal to my creative mind, and then
hopefully, unleash my muse to write once again.
While her secrets are still buried deep within the dark gloom,
perhaps, one night it’ll all return with the eclipse of the moon.
*** Note - The titles of my first 5 poems are in bold above: Writer’s Block; Do you know me; The Darkness at Noon; Patience; and Frolicking in the Dark
09-11-2015
The Garden of Eden
Some people believe that the Garden of Eden
Was in Africa, Asia, Australia...not Sweden.
The presumed site of its location
Is assumed from the interpretation
Of which Good Book's being read…and who's doin' the readin'.
Noah
Noah's ark, neither yacht nor a sloop,
Was constructed to be one big animal coop.
On his crew It must have been a strain
That during forty days and nights of rain
To keep forking in fodder and scooping out poop.
It Ain't Necessarily So
Pious people are prone to become agitated
When agnostics assess their belief's overrated,
And the words that they're liable
To find in the Bible
By mere men were created, not divinely dictated.
they do
and sheep possess concentration levels
that allow them to watch television
which is extraordinary
and so is broccoli
i like polo mints
my daughter calls them doughnut mints
her favourite book is called 'stop that cow'
which involves a 357 mag with an 8-inch barrel
a pig in a forty-nine dollar wig
the agitated cow asks, "you wouldn't happen to have
a pack of cigarettes."
the guinea hog replies, "i don't smoke."
"i didn't think so."
i met my best friend in a cafe
he told me statistics mean nothing
all agitated
discussing monkey business
going bananas
------------------------------------------------
Chosen as Poem of the Day~3rd July 2015
Smoke comes off the chimney tops
Trails behind the breeze as the rain drops
Hurdles under the clouds to seek shelter
Disappears in the vapor of a darkest winter
Snapped under my coat I ran to shelter
My steps tracing the trail of glass
Sweat dripped down my palms elevated
I lift my knees and walk agitated
Took a second to notice, a scarf hanging
Neck loose, head bottled, scalp dangling
Cold breath sneaked up and down my neck
As the lady grasped sight of her final dread
My gaze slid under her skirt
Her undone hair and bloody shirt
All climbed to intertwine juxtaposed above
Merciless, spineless, slithering gloves
Ice-clawed eyes stared back in horror
Hands clenched in fists flagrant in color
Put a finger on his lips and whispered
A tone that struck my nerves unhindered
Speak a word and you're next
Don't put my patience to the test
Walk away, disappear, 'cause if I find you
You'll pray that god take you before I do
I couldn't hesitate twice abt walking
Suddenly, he cringed and started falling
Branches broke as his neck followed behind
Snapping backwards, dispersing his spine
I slowly walked over and found a note
To whom it may concern, sloppy hands wrote
I am but a victim, of this woman's throat
the day she stabbed me, the day she spoke
I'm but a lonely spirit roaming free
Why has this lady followed me
To murder all that I loved and once cared for
To sweep off the little things I'd die for
She was Lady Death, the one we all fear
Seductively laying us to eternal rest
Drove me to heaven, doors slid clear
Her arms wide open, her warm loving chest
Then to hell I went for my earthly deeds
The torture I've seen for all those years
And you're next in a line of slaves
A queue of misery, a farm of graves
Your eyes have seen a deadly charm
Life as you know it is far long gone
Prepare for a sinfully long run
Here she comes, load your gun
A. Anarchy
Amber autumn aflame
An aroma of ash appeases the adamant arsonist; the artful anarchist
An audacious attempt at attacking back at our arbitrary accommodations
The ascended advocate us to abide as they affirm their advancement through annihilation
An abstract artifice, artificial affirmation of all aspects
Treated like an array of aliens in our allowed acropolis with the armor turned against us
Most amused with their asinine aspirations and amaurotic attractions
A few too apprehensive to argue and ask for an alternative, afraid of any altercation
But the agitated and annoyed assemble, ascertaining truth through awareness at every angle
Amateur acts of anger arise and accelerate, accompanying their adverse assault on our amendments
The alliance ablaze and amassing, anticipating an apocalyptic ambush
Absolution remains absent and anger becomes anxiety among those abandoned
The affluent assure abolishment for the average and all under