Best Allusion Poems
This is not a poem about a rose
Nor a poem about diligence and beauty
Today, I sit and stare at the walls
Walls that bare the complexity of life
Every breath, every tear I shed in my room
Set out to pollinate every seed, every bud-
Life once - was the perfection of everything
Now, water drips as I drown in my sentiments
Sentiments that no longer hold meaning
I feel so empty now that you are gone.
This is not a poem about a rose,
Rather it may be I write about death
Death is a man with no face
A man who sits every night
Patiently, he sits on the edge of everything
Waiting and waiting
For the thorn to prick the stem of who I am
Who I used to be in hopes I end the suffering
Every night he sits at the bedside
Watching and waiting
As I gaze deep into the dark watery walls
I lost the strength and resilience in my eyes
Creating a dormancy that shuts out the light
In a place where darkness prunes itself another day
There and only there,
I draw the silhouettes where life once bloomed
The echoes of my heart still call out your name
A name that no longer exists by my side
Slowly musk withers into the air
In remembrance, you were once here
Perfection Gone "And a rose is just a rose"
-Escape of the mountain-
Do you care about my breast?
The new curve - countryside corset
The beauty of every summer dress
Laying down, wearing out gravity
Embracing the same feeling;
Your hands indulged in
Passion and devotion
around perfumed scenery
The perfect pair
Today we will pray,
Counting every second on the clock
No longer the womanly figure before'
I will possess a new battle,
around the virtues of my palace.
Will you still be there,
when the hump and lump are gone?
Will I still be the queen of your heart?
Patiently I shall wait and see
in hopes to gain the time breast cancer stole
Leaving behind torn tissue, with a daily reminder of;
The one that got away.
"Black Ice"
Sorrow flows from the first sunrise
Eyes deeper than winter and rainfall
A painful combination never felt before
At core death awaits
- laughing while she begs for clemency!
In her eyes, fault is found in every sunset
- after coming down from cloud nine.
Impossible to move --- her body stiffen
That very moment, a precious Waltz - Expires!
Coldplay and winter mist set in
Ruins of love clinch an endless echo
- taunting the very merry memory.
The auditory sensation of broken trust
- stride across the way.
Icing every thought in a sullen, cold rink.
She fell - She crumbled
- In a world where hope once existed
Today, she will sway alone without a lullaby
In a room with no warmth
One time a sweet symphony, now a sour moon
At last, a different tune begins to fiddle
As she grooms the icicles in her room.
On every mid-moon, she stares and stares
towards the old shriveled lipstick on his pillow
Unseen coldness, unsatisfied, incomplete tears
She can feel the complete braille of hate
--- cascade around the emptiness
Throughout her poise frostbite travels in
Midnight Summer dreams are near an end
Autumn bones covered by winter sleet
A deadly force condemns all because of one
Lost years crumbled like an avalanche
Way deep down inside.......
She paints the rain like no other heartache
Leaving winter residue behind every step
"Black Ice" sits close to the cold canvas on her pale
If you seek closely, she is there
Immobilized in a waltz, in a waltz, in a waltz
Never to linger or trust
The "HE" that spoke of love, then melted away
~*~
Partial Paper - A Poet Heart-
When ink carries its final tune
Moonshine-like liquid sweeps the mind
Bottles of ink will fill the pen
Composing a symphony on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails
This part of you
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The toughest skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger shattered walls "GIVE ME MORE!"
inclined with a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet: "Ink Never Lies."
Pretty pink acrostic ink when nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Odes of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
Only this, and nothing more
Writing is like giving birth to the moon
I've never ever seen her face,
but in my mind, she's the color of love
Black
strong like dark coffee
She wakes you up early in the morning,
gives you an energetic taste of loving
to get your day going
Red
passionate fire flows in her veins
She's got crimson lips that blow words of desire,
to keep the flames rising higher and higher,
every time she speaks your name
Yellow
smile is sunshine bright
She walk towards you in her canary-colored,
polka dot sun dress that accentuate her hips so well
Her graceful charm is so a-maize-ingly pastel
Blue
mood indigo can really touch you
She makes you want to love her always,
under ocean lit moonlight and clear cerulean skies
Embark on a passage of endless days
Green
verdant valley of iris flower eyes
She's as a carpet of grass with enfolding arms,
wrapping you in her love
Bury your head in her bosom, safe from harm
Brown
sugar is the sweetest heart ever known
She has a boundless supply of caramel happiness,
taste the creamy richness of her sensuality
It's like roasted chestnuts offered to a welcomed guest
White
visions of a streaming, silky satin dress
She has a winter glow like pure virgin snow,
a gift waiting to be opened by a worthy beau
Beckons you into her ivory tower to rest
Forever gazing into her yet unseen face,
which in my mind is the color of love
Escape
Introducing: Carl Fraser & Poet Destroyer
Oh Paint me a far away horizon
Across a tranquil azure sea,
Where sits a peaceful deserted island
Where no one lives but me
Free from prying eyes and greedy lies
Free from scars that never heal
Let me be free to just be me
Instead of someone who isn't real
To live out my days giving thanks and praise
To my creator in heaven above
And leave behind the noise of worldly toys
And just bask daily in his love
To be stripped of pain by the spirits rain
And washed until my robes are clean
For I've had enough of my fellowman's company
And I'm disgusted by what I've seen
So I will step into my painted horizon
Framed in a forever state of bliss
And I turn back only for a fading glimpse
As I blow the world a farewell kiss.
Laced by the seas we see, you beg for a life so far
Far from all I've dreamed of, tranquil and spirit rain
A once false painted paradise,
Bliss, a farewell kiss, drowned by old heartache
Not knowing where it's coming from
Yesterday, I woke up to a new skyline,
The horizon, formed by your eyes,
Across a tranquil azure sea
Far from all existing companies, you stood
In front of the ocean - your ocean!
Sailing on the calm side of the turquoise sea
Stripping back into the innocence you once were
A gentleman, caressing the oats in a peaceful state
The moon breaking your once trusted mind
The silence of heaven heals every scar inside
Redemption is a secret we beg for
It was always you, someone lost, misguided by love
Somebody, I once dreamt of, A dream lost out at sea
Calling out for me --- you chose to pray alone
Repelled by the world so cold, yet here I stand
Alone, on the other side of the farewell kiss
For you, I paint a faraway horizon of bliss, my friend
Waiting -Dreaming -Escaping --- In another lifetime
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
To count the ways, I dare to comprehend
such finite love defined in written line,
for quantity shall never find an end
to love that lets infinity define.
A Summer’s day, to love shall not compare,
though shines to bathe your beauty in its light,
and as it wanes, waits breathlessly to share
the passion of a sultry Summer’s night.
To laureates and bards of metaphor,
each scribbled phrase, I bid them credit due,
but all their words and phrases heretofore
can ne'er describe this love I have for you.
When words fall short and poetry departs,
love's silence fills the cockles of our hearts.
Porcelain doll, with a face so pretty
a country gal, ran away to the city
Worked in a bar, dancing on tables
beat shovelling sh-it, in Pa’s stables
Looks for love, but only finds bums
lowlife gamblers, in rundown slums
Go back home
not a chance
One day soon
find romance
Porcelain doll, life’s becoming gritty
rent’s due, ain’t nothing in her kitty
All knocked up, mascara streaking
bloodshot eyes, skin’s unappealing
Sleeps in the pines, winter it snows
crystallised tears, angel eyes froze
Barely alive
baby’s dead
No way back
no warm bed
Porcelain doll, face’s the committee
lunatic asylum, nobody shows pity
Shock treatment, four hourly dose’s
prison guard lesbians, with halitosis
broken doll, made one bad decision
they chipped her head, thin incision
Eyes don’t blink
stare at space
No expression
just a doll’s face
By
David Kavanagh
Snow is falling and floods are flowing,
people dying and children keep crying,
but he's just an ordinary man,
sitting there watching TV.
Icebergs melting and penguins starving,
men in suits talking and big guns firing,
but he's just an ordinary man
playing on his smartphone.
Storms blowing and seas are raging,
children starving and refugees leaving,
but he's just an ordinary man
at home warm and free.
He seems confused,
Daffodils no longer bloom in Spring,
bumble bees have stopped buzzing,
butterflies have stopped floating,
confused birds have stopped flying and
factories have plumes of smoke burning,
but he's just an ordinary man
sitting in his garden all alone.
So who is he to fight?
He just follows the rules he is told.
Instead of trying to be something he is not.
Because he is just an ordinary man.
The Silent One
Simple musing
11 January 2018
The Four Seasons…
It was spring and I was young when I had wine.
I was singing and dancing and doing fine.
The wine was so divine, made my blossoms glow.
The spring is for the youth, makes everything shine.
Summer came and I was older, full of joy.
I was in love, and love taught me to enjoy.
I was flying, kissing, dancing having fun.
Didn't know that the end is there to destroy.
The autumn was yellow, tired, full of pain.
My garden was there but flowers lived in vain.
The nightingales departed, my youth as well.
I could not see the way, clouds were crying rain.
Now is winter and winter promises cold.
I am there but alone, with no one to hold.
The garden is barren, empty, no more youth.
The only thing is there, is me that is old.
10/24/18 Haloo
This poem is in the form of "Rubaiyat", it is the plural form of Rubai. Rubai is a quatrain with rhyming of AABA. Each Rubai is a book by itself, it starts and ends within the quatrain, but when it's in a form of Rubaiyat, it follows the single theme with the same meter throughout. Poetrysoup has a good explanation of this format.
Playground…
Playground…
I am making decisions every morning,
None of them comes along with any warning.
To go right or to go left, which one is right?
Living in darkness or hoping to see light.
I made million decisions, most of them fine,
Few I made that I think it wasn’t mine.
Few that changed my life led me to despair,
I wish I had a chance go back and repair.
What if I had the power to do it right?
To go back and play all day and all night.
What if I can go back to play like a young?
To sing all of the songs that ought to be sung.
What if, instead of books, I learned to live life,
to learn dance, and learn to play with no more strife?
Alas, sun is setting, darkness coming soon.
My hope is to see it; that wandering moon.
I wish there was a game I could play now.
A childish game if you can show me it how.
The sinful mirror on my nearest wall,
Reminding my summer has gone; it is fall.
The autumn now, it is cold and full of pain.
The winter promises more days to complain.
I am thinking to go back and do it right.
As if mistakes never were an oversight.
I am thinking of a play in the playground.
To play as young again, hope youth to be found.
If I play hard again, I might become young,
I will dance like a fool, unknown and unsung.
I don’t know where to play or who I can trust.
In this strange game of life, aging is unjust.
Where is my playground, my supernal bliss?
Awake me once again; no life is like this.
7/28/18 Haloo
Note: This particular style of poetry is called "Masnavi"; it is a spiritual couplet usually with eleven syllables. Poetrysoup has a great explanation and example of this form of poetry.
Am I dreaming
or have I dreamt myself awake
I can’t seem to discern
between real and fake
What’s right
What’s wrong
which direction
should I take
Am I reasonably responsible
for the many mistakes I might make
Backward bouncy walking
Crazy ticketed talking
Following the run
in a pretty girls stocking
Unafraid of anything
Willing to do what’s shocking
Sarcastically mocking
Listening to head voices
My brain has lost it’s sane
my body’s rocking
My mind skipping
from Idea to Idea
You weren’t there a second ago go
but now I see you
Wait a second
I can see right through you
Black isn’t white
Yellow is now blue
Bending over
To take a boulder
out of my shoe
They were old yesterday
and now they’re new
But instead of one pair
I’m wearing out two
The room is shaking
Momma’s in the kitchen
Half baked
Pieces of everything
Tender flaked
The tiles under my feet
vibrate to the beat
Hey momma
“Trick or Treat?
Give me something good to eat”
Suddenly I’m covered by a sheet
on a cold stainless table
being processed like meat
sliding on a rail
Door closed
Fire burning
someone turning up the heat
Bell ringing, ringing, ringing
WAKE UP, Wake up Rick
If only I could
That would be a cool trick!
I feel like I’m being beat with a stick
Shake, shake, shake
“wake up Rick its Eight,
you’re going to be late.”
Get out of bed you fool.
It’s time for school.”
Eyes open, “I‘m up, I’m up!”
But wait
You can’t hear me talk
Because I’m an unwound
broken old clock
no longer able to tick or tock
I only have hands
so I can’t even walk.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Things that make me go hmm. The second hand of clock or watch is actually the third hand. ;0)
How far do the ripples spread, when eventually we die
Probably stay in the locality, level off, no major outcry
But let’s say we’re famous, suffering unexplained death
The ripples keep expanding, growing further in breadth
See the grotesque nature of spin, is to overplay a scene
Garnishing public outrage, lurid pictures fill our screens
Playing to an audience, ratings become the holy grail
Stories without embellishments, grow tiresomely stale
These ripples are an illusion, imagination going berserk
Carried along by a corrupt deception, truth been shirked
Evidence the one requirement, for establishing all facts
I extrapolate backwards, what the hell there’s no splash
Lines converge into partial truths, confused to a degree
Must be taken with a pinch of salt, querying what I see
Even this soup we enjoy, is manipulated and massaged
Most of the poems are quite good, others form a mirage
Taken out of context a rectangle, can become a square
Brought into focus, desolate pictures, not quite so bare
What’s basically a clean stab, or slash across the wrist
When poets stick in the knife, some give it a good twist
Using poetry for a hidden agenda, political or otherwise
Tantamount to mind-numbing crap, seen in the tabloids
If your going to post propaganda, to further some game
Write it on toilet paper, wipe off, that’s all you’ve gained
By
David Kavanagh
Let me own the Night
Let the others play on bright sun-filled days,
in song and merriment, play on.
Let me own the shadows that seep into your soul,
yet still promise hold, a promise of sleep 'til dawn.
With the morning pray.., bring them on gilded and gossamer wings,
for bright is their future with warmth of everlasting hope, and hearts lifted.
I long to be as cold and silent as a blanket of new fallen snow,
to spin webs, translucent, with life ebbing and borne of tragic past.
When, at last, clouds part and ominous foreboding dread flees,
into the corners, hiding..sinless, without remorse or regret.
Let me own this cloak, beautiful as rough-hewn stone,
I no longer seek acceptance, nor call another's fate my own.
May Calliope sing and lull them to a blissful place, redemption their's to keep,
for it was always said that it must be so.
I will continue to turn away from the calamity of the sun,
for what's left unsaid remains unsaid, what's left undone, undone.
No tears will be shed that will be seen where shadows lie,
the dark will hold them, it would seem, and so shall I.
Sunset Shiverings
When the sun goes down
we shiver, it's cold!
Stop complaining, you look so old!
Inside,don a warm sweater.
Ah, yes~ so much better!
Now light the fireplace
Warm my chilled hands.
My lips.
Glow!
November 16, 2019