Best Almost Certain Poems
I’m on a twilight stroll with my beau,
we take a route we’ve often walked before.
Mystical moonlight flickers in the trees,
“whose woods these are, I think I know”*
A hooting owl startles me, I fall and twist my knee,
I try to stand, cry out pain; I cannot walk with ease.
We can see twinkling lights in the distance,
perhaps someone’s at home who can help me.
My beau covers me with his warm coat,
He hurries away so he can get assistance.
I pray that he doesn’t have too far to go,
and that the cottage is not too remote.
He soon returns with another guy,
I know his face, oh hello Steve I cry.
I was almost certain he lived close by,
as he sells wood carvings which I buy!
Lines to Awaken your Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
*Chosen line - Whose woods these are I think I know - Robert Frost
02/27/20
Viva la Cordillera de los Andes by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
I’m seized with a mad rage to yell
long live the Andes Mountain Range
may the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain
The reason I can hardly divine
but I can’t hold myself back:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
For forty full years now
I’ve wanted to step over the horizon,
go far beyond the limitations of my myopia,
but I just didn’t dare.
Now, by no means, Gentlemen
is there an end to my ratiocinations:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Have they heard what I said?
There’s an end to my ratiocinations!
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Doubt there’s none over my lack of response
if they sever my vocal chords
(in such a case as this
it’s almost certain they will)
well, if they do stifle my voice
I would like to say I have no choice
but to accept the dashing of my very last hope.
I am a merchant
indifferent to the positions of the sun
a professor clad in green-coloured trousers
who comes apart drop by drop as dew
an insignificant bourgeois is what I am
in what way do red clouds matter to me?
Nevertheless I appear on balconies
in order to shout out what I offer:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
Pardon me if I’m going out of my mind
while in the garden made by Nature
but I have to keep shouting till death:
Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range!
May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
I would not spare a vacuous moment
For those dregs at winter's end.
I would not honor their enchantments
With an effort to pretend.
I gladly fight against the sands of time
To offset their whorish shrill.
I would shine a light upon their darkness...
I would die upon that hill.
Evil is as evil does...
A pox upon our land
And if you haven't noticed...
It's gotten out of hand.
Their machinations and meanderings
Breed a stench of ill-intent.
They pervert the weakness in our folly
Akin a dance of sly torment.
With evil's victory almost certain...
We're in for quite a ride...
But to those who stoop to curry favor...
Beware... I'm on the other side.
The End
The Monsters…
Daddy, check my room for me, because I know they’re there.
I’m frozen in the doorway, I’ve never been so scared!
There’s monster’s in the dresser, and some beneath my bed,
They’re lurking in my closet, can I just sleep with you, instead?
Please don’t make me spend the night, in this monster ridden room,
For I will lay awake all night, imagining my doom.
Dad, I know I’m older now, but the monsters still remain,
A different house, a different room, yet still my fear they gain.
Daddy you were wonderful, on monster watch for years,
You tried to reassure me, you wiped away my tears.
You never found a monster, as you nightly checked my room,
You tried so hard to understand my ever present gloom.
They were never in my dresser, nor underneath my bed,
The demonic little bastards reside within my head.
The pill the doctor gave me made those monster run and hide,
But no matter what I do or take, I know they’re still inside.
Daddy, you protected me but alas, it was too late,
Mommy made those monsters, mommy sealed my fate.
I know she didn’t mean it, for she was in such pain,
I know she did the best she could, but it happened just the same.
For now, I’m very happy, and the monsters are at bay,
But I am almost certain they’ll return again someday.
Daddy, check my room for me…
By Jodee Morin 2/17/2015
There are no truly blue flowers.
No, not one.
Hydrangeas or tulips can be green,
an odd color for flowers, I think.
Brown ones are dead.
Brown and green are the colors of human eyes though,
and blue too, but that’s rare as eye color goes.
Almost everyone has two eyes, or at least one.
There are those whose eyes don’t work correctly,
and some unfortunate souls who have none at all.
Every pirate ever known had just one eye.
Yep, just one eye and a black patch.
(I may be wrong about this.)
There are cave creatures,
salamanders and roaches and fish,
that have no eyes at all, and live in total darkness;
evolution has done away with their eyes.
Why would they need eyes if there is no light,
not even that spectacular light from the sun
in fluorescent (which means “shining through”) ribbons
between clouds on stormy days?
There are other eyes too, on potatoes, certain fabrics, needles
(Each needle has one; there are no two-eyed needles that I know of.).
Personally, I have two eyes, both blue,
which see correctly only with assistance.
I often wish I had the third eye in the center of my forehead,
the one that symbolizes a state of
enlightenment, clairvoyance, out-of-body experiences.
However, I’m almost certain I won’t have one in this existence.
Perhaps I will in the next, assuming I’m not reincarnated as
a snake or, even worse, a dung beetle.
But then, I’ve been decent and reasonable most of this life,
so maybe I will have that third eye the next time around.
It’s worth thinking about.
It's almost a new breakthrough
it's almost so divine
it's almost certain make prove
a poet's faith's design!
That Webster then could so groove
his mastery's incline
as somehow it is soul truth
to read ~ line upon line!
Ah words ~ there is the hope's sleuth
the slicing off the rind,
the pace in mental toll used
the character, so prime!
Expression as the mode's clue
directs or leaves behind,
I call my Country's role, l o o s e
in politics entwined!
A quisling ~ pathos confused
and errant by design,
as yesterday's ~ so excuse
its tyranny . . . . . . to bind!
Note: Webster's II New Riverside
"QUISLING" ~ "A traitor, especially one collaborating as the "puppet" of an
occupying enemy force!"
Fate or coincidence
as if we have a choice
constantly at odd
with those who share
a difference in their voice
as if we could change the world
so pretentious for us to concieve
as if only a single soul
still in me would believe
Fake or conciousness
a notion to betrothed
as if you betterment
was for me to love and loathe
everything in place the explanation
was there was a grand design for that
or just a repetition of certain circumstances
and leave no chance to reason
Break the code
or break the mode
broken cycles, growing old
fading voices go being unknown
but my choice is mine alone
take the hand of a higher power
or take a thermo nuclear shower
submit or be done with
tossed out like the waste
just a tiny hint of power
leaves a certain taste
corruption is only almost certain
free will still relates
to the points so poignant
they are pinpointed mistakes
not yet made
Premeditated, so there goes destiny
as if a higher power
has the power to contain me
as if a higher consious is out there
for me to have
thats the only certainty I know
almost for sure why I push back
the unknown is out there
driving all so called life
for you so call everything
must come easy for you
like butter to the knife
and you wonder why your drowning
and cannot break the surface
look deep inside your mirror
into the fate you may be worthless, coincidentally
I do not fear death
I am almost certain that
I have died before
Tell me if a father was a piece of bread and his children had to eat
of him in order to live and grow daily, yet the father who was made
of bread lacked in the needed nutrients and substance for them live
off of or to survive off of, then surely has he not then condemned
them to an almost certain death? I ask that all men stop being that
type of bread and become the bread of life. Men you need to enrich
your daughters and sons, so that they too will become breads of life
and not the bread of death. Man is made of bread and to each of his
children he is their daily source of knowledge, respect, caring, hope
and love of life, which in turn produce a new loaf of bread to be eaten
by the next generation. All of us need to become that bread of life in
our homes and throughout our daily lives for our children and the world.
The dark thoughts in her head
would pop,
and the fear was her enemy,
that much was said,
but she didn’t stop,
she proceeded ahead,
a young girl, pure,
feet sure,
and the grass gave way as it should,
to this little red riding hood,
leaves cracking, branches bent,
the sound and scent
of a wolf blew on the wind,
as she moved relentlessly
pausing only now and again
to catch her breath,
she knew that facing the wolf
was almost certain death,
something whispered in the darkness
of the night,
the wolf emerged silhouetted
against the moon’s light,
she fought back a scream,
then she heard a river’s stream,
the wolf knocked her on her back,
slowed the attack,
then turned her around,
face in the ground
her arms trembling ever so slightly,
the air was cold,
her small boots dangling,
digging into the earth to hold,
then swung free again,
nothing stirred, nothing was heard,
she listened,
the wolf’s eyes glistened,
her senses quietly separating the tune
of the water from the tune
of the gently blowing leaves,
but nothing else was heard,
not a cry nor a single word,
then it struck her gradually,
everything would unfold,
and nothing else needed to be told,
a chill came over her arms,
her throat, and finally her face,
that night was too lifeless,
and she died in that place.
I thought I could turn and just walk away
And try to forget that we met this way
I thought I could find a reason to leave
But what happened next was hard to believe
When you touched my hand my world fell apart
The love in your eyes ran straight to my heart
The world started spinning around and around
And I'm almost certain it was Heaven I found
When you touched my hand the world was brand new
You were looking for me while I was looking for you
You were searching for love and I found the same
And I fell in love before I found out your name
When you touched my hand an allegiance was sworn
Then a couple years later two babies were born
When you touched my hand you gave me life
Now for thirty-one years we've been husband and wife
Last night, I had an awesome dream
In it, I was asking God, "How am I, so far?"
And while I tossed and turn, I felt His presence rest
In a breeze, He said "My son, it is time to raise the bar"
So last night, in that same dream, I had an epiphany
In it, I was almost certain, I was flying in the sky
And there I saw many versions of my life passing before me
Trapped inside every tears, as each one; falls from my eyes
At first, I could not set apart anything from everything
And I can hardly even recognize my own name
But like a rock of ice, at the very tip of an iceberg, riding an avalanche
I openly led my hands free, knowing; how things will never be the same
I am now at the dawning of what today could become
Awaken unto a new possibility that I never really did see coming
As if eternity and now; entangled themselves within a single moment
It transported me at a crossroad where Jesus is, ...In the beginning
By: Wibert Evangelista Dela Cruz
I’m sorry my little brother of half.
I’m sorry your last birthday never came to pass.
I’m sorry you never got to meet your siblings.
I’m sorry you never got to come home.
I never got to say goodbye.
And I never even saw your mother cry.
She gave your life away to meth,
And didn’t even shed a tear at your death.
I can feel you calling to me.
I can feel your tears.
She didn’t care, but Caleb I love you.
I assure you your father shall never forget
The day he held you as your soul slipped away.
I hope you three days in the world were great.
Though, I’m almost certain they weren’t.
But I’m sure you got a glimpse,
At just how beautiful things may be,
And how ugly the rest of it is.
I wish I could have known you.
I wish you were here with me now.
Though I’m glad you don’t have to deal with her.
Guarded and closed off, that's what he knows best
It just takes a noise to peak his interest
Don't bother to knock, 'cause he won't letcha in
Caution encloses the world he lives in
Four cats are his passion he keeps them well fed
But fear sends them running back under the bed
He's gone beyond trusting, I'll never know why
He's jumpy and nervous, alertness on high
Drawing the curtains, unplugging the phone
He's almost certain he's never alone
Peering out windows from behind the chair
'Cause he never knows what's lurking out there
He sees his newspaper out on the walk
Won't open the door or unlatch the lock
In this wary obsession, he can't help but feel
a need to distinguish the false from the real.
I'm almost certain I will die
In a thunderstorm from the sky.
It will be my finest hour,
Oh, don't do that, look so dour.
I will have lived large in my time,
So, it's okay, church bells can chime,
Though I'm not a religious man,
But the Golden Rule I'm a fan.
It's what we do before we go
That gives us gladness, maybe woe.
Some will say, why'd it take so long,
Others will sob o'er my bones.
What can I say, what can I do?
Maybe they're right, I'm overdue.
I do know for a natural fact,
I lived my life not in abstract.
Have I really given my best?
No, not me, I've lived life in jest.
We're all given our DNA's,
It pulls and prods like we're its prey
I'm almost certain I will die
In a thunderstorm from the sky.
It will be my finest hour,
Oh, don't do that, look so dour.