Best Barest Poems
lately, i have been in this female mood
for some kind of abandon, that
which exhales the tigress fire
out of my lungs digging the veins
from a week's' routine movements
pruned to the barest of a payroll’s droll…
antiseptic cubicles dictate the rags of
chlorine-infected lunch where rooms
i strut around have nothing except
robotic people, same rye snacks, basins
of expired coffee and files of schizoid
folio..
just outside, the sky coughs
of gas masks rendering a paper bag
of humanity to suffocate on clanking bones
along claustrophobic subways: such a
hemorrhaging day waiting for 5pm
to hiss, halt ,and heave…
i need to dance with the arms of a
jazzy moon fondling my back and
whistling the tunes of recklesness
when all but the spirit lusts for is just a slice
of raw breaths spiraling into tangy
punches of rockstar blues... spare me the cranky
claws of a friday so sore; i alight like
a feline dressed in black lace with cabaret wings,
feathers splattered on glitzy cobblestones...
voluptuous legs hot and wild sniffing sultry
lavender scent of friday night’s parade;
and the band notes howl, free like me.
Carol Eastman's Your Favorite Poem
by nette onclaud
It was Sunday 'round noon when I strolled,
through a garden and upon my own.
Touched by the sadness of knowing,
I should not be walking alone.
I see a young girl pick a flower;
smile with the scent 'neath her nose.
Tears still fall on Rosemary's garden,
as a door stays ajar we can't close.
Rosemary's garden, from tiny seed,
covered the barest of earth,
spawned in the warmth of our hands;
creating new love with her birth.
Carefully tended, nurtured, caressed,
and growing much stronger each day,
we spread our lore into her heart,
based upon our generational way.
Each flower became a new thought.
Each bud is a smile yet to bloom.
Early thinking she lived in our world.
We didn't see that she needed more room.
We noticed the buds were not forming,
so flowers the gardens don’t bring,
and everything died in the autumn.
We're hoping a return in the spring.
Lost, sought, and finally discovered,
scattered wild across a meadow,
each flower living free but alone,
Rosemary's we just didn't know.
Surviving without guiding care,
love is hidden and refuses to show,
in the wind swept field it is torture,
where Rosemary's garden does grow.
For seven long years we gathered,
flowers that bloomed in the meadow,
seeking the bloom of Rosemary,
that grew from the seed we did sow.
The scents and the colours are mingled,
far away from forlorn garden beds.
What we feared appeared in the meadow,
the flowers turned away their heads.
Rosemary is the alias I use,
for a child we may have all known,
who live in their garden of beauty,
where different to us they have grown.
We lose them for some tragic reason,
asking why, but no answer we know,
so Rosemary lives true to her soul,
as a flower seen wild in a meadow.
Anyone who has lived through them as I have,
Knows the Forties were the most memorial of all
Of the decades of the Twentieth Century
And surely the most vivid in recall.
Personally, they were the greatest of my life.
I was married in the year of Forty-One.
Then in March of Nineteen-Forty Three,
We were blessed with the birth of a new son.
Two daughters followed him in their own time,
One born in Forty-Five, and one in Forty-Six.
But intruding on the joys of my own life,
Was the world which was in a terrible fix.
Millions of Jews and others were slaughtered,
Although at the time we were mostly unaware.
In December we entered World War II
To fight Hitler and Hirohito, an evil pair.
Our young men went to war, the rest of us
Pared down our lives to help to win the war.
The barest necessities were all we had,
And we were proud to be giving more and more.
The Forties saw the first atom bomb dropped
On Japan by our own beloved country.
I would have begged Harry not to drop it had I known
But of course no one saw reason to ask me.
Despite the war there were many new inventions,
And we slowly climbed out of the depression.
We constructed bomb shelters in our back yards.
The horrors of war had left a bad impression.
There were block buster movies in those years
And television was just in its beginnings.
Rebecca, How Green Was My Valley, Mrs. Miniver
And All The King's Men, had coveted Oscar winnings.
Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole were famous.
Peggy Lee and Dinah Shore were heard.
These singers were featured and unlike today,
When they sang you could hear every word.
This is a small taste of the Forties,
I hope that I have made you understand
That everything was bigger during this decade,
War, rugged times, and big bang and big band.
Written 3/2/15
AND SO THE SNOW
And so the snow
Continues to blow
The wind
It's driving force
The hills, once brown with sand
Took on a new face today
White until the barest rocks
Almost did not exhist
Then the sun did come out
The temp twenty at it's height
Nothing happened all was still
The mountain cold and white
Ten days went by, the Holidays passed
All was beautyful to behold
Ten inches of snow but it took help
Before I got to go
My readings done
My groceries bought
I breathed a sigh
And went back home
That night on the TV
The weather man did grin
Ducked his head, cleared his throat
And then he did begin
"An arctic front is coming in
Lots of snow and dangerous wind"
And so I ordered more propane, gritted my teeth
"Here we go again"
The build up of snow like last time
This time never came
The snow did come but before it built
The wind had then stepped in
The number of inches was hard to guess
But the drifts began to grow,
I watched the ghosts swirl and sway
And dance among the rocks all day
Day one, day two, the beginning of three
The sun does have a scheen
And as like the day before
It's the wind predicts the scene
As the sun begins to think of rest
It high lights the bare ridges
And the shadows of the drifts
Has not the ghosts hidden
I went to Church today
And had ease of mind
I no longer feared the ice and snow
I just sprinkled salt where I wanted to go
Cile Beer
Ride, ride, ride thou figure from the East
In thy curse hath many a mother wept
On thy brow the furrows of distant steppes
Yield unto a steely mask of doom
Destruction follows in thy path and yet
Methinks I spy a flicker of regret
Extinguish it lest humanity engulf it betimes
As distant lands fall under your encompassing sway.
A fire burns, a coward trembles in his tent
What's won is rent from hands too numb to feel
The surging, coursing power of thy grip
Let slip thine enemies, let thy repute
Incite counsel of war then savor the fruit
Of a thousand-footed gathering of days
The purpled way, the jewel-encrusted chalice
Of wine claret. Drink to your heart's content.
If I were thou and thou wert I my friend
I should not pause to see the ground below
For lonely be the lofty heights, perpend:
Far art faren, far remains to go
Nor bride, nor bairn, nor comfort in repose
Hath sped thee on thy way from whence we ride
The rudest nutriments, the barest clothes
Sans bed, sans friend, sans tout, bare ground thou lie'.
Now polished steel glistens, mirrors gray
The slanting dome of sky's inverted bowl
Oiled leather on black courser's velvet skin
And restless hooves an inch in sodden loam
A leathern mask, five halberds thus skyward
Stand, barren hillock's strange reeds
Sprouting in the wind-swept smoke
Of morning's hasty decampment. Thus proceed
These men unto a destiny untold.
Of Indus, Asia, Europe, northern climes
Of snow, of sand and vine, the watery strand
I sing. Dismount and pluck the crocus sweet
But brief, then crush beneath thy heel. Spur on!
Ghengis Khan!
Of Afrique dark and thrice-looted Rome
Thy story-tellers may rhyme and make song.
Home, home rider from the East return
Scorch the earth and burn to cindered ash
Laugh with all the mirth thy new-found freedom
Might yield unto thy solitary path
Unlearn the lessons civil, richness hath
Bone and marrow, thew and sinew softened
Thy courser turn the sod, horizon calls
Spur on! Sing thy song, thy name live on
Ghengis Khan
Black beauties in chains-
Before the ticket counters,
A long queue does creep
To scatter near the black wonders.
Ears and tails always move,
Ruminating the rhythms of forest.
Elephants are inside the fort,
Exposed to the sky barest.
I hear the hushed emotions
In the clinking of chains.
Hearts smoulder in;
Eyes emit lava of pains.
Burning red wild flowers
And tickling streams,
Each elephant longs I know:
But chains kill dreams.
FABIYAS M V
(Anakotta(a fort for the elephants) at Punathur, Guruvayur, Kerala,India is a tourist
place, where you see a large number of elephants together. All are chained.)
First place winner in 'Your(own) Favorite Poem' contest by Destroyer A poet(PD)
Tilting at Simplicity
William of Ockham
Harbinger of today’s
“Occam’s razor”—
His simplest solutions
Bespeak not always
Accurate conclusions.
A Simple Simon
Binary approach
Style vice logic
Solutions not always
Truest to measure
Requires real
Human variety.
Heuristic methods
Abound—of course
Tied to many
Scientific efforts
But how about
The Messy?
The Complex?
Simple rationale
On each conclusion
May be suspect
With only barest of
Variables considered.
Take your pick—but
Use your intuition
The easiest aren’t
Always most correct
Use common sense too!
When in doubt
Trust yourself
Keep objectivity
Fail not to ponder
The complex too!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
(September 14, 2015) (Accentual Meter)
As children, we all dream,
tales of magic, of mystery,
and our own imagined destinies;
we dream of future prowess, of our own fantastic wyrds –
of our glorious, important place in the cosmos.
Whether those dreams are of firemen, police,
soldiers, artists, scientists,
writers, musicians, or something that isn't there,
like superheroes or the princes and princesses of old,
we all want to be something greater, even in youth.
I, too, dreamt these childhood dreams
of glory and legend, enchantment and song;
I too felt their pull,
heeded their call and let imagination sweep me away –
for a time.
Eventually we move on from the past,
accepting its existence, its wonder, sometimes its pain,
its place in who we have since become –
and so did I, from the fanciful paths of yesterday
to the more grounded ones of today and tomorrow.
Or so I thought.
For, of late, and a litte while before,
I have been tending a magic all my own;
not the magic I'd envisioned, the kind of fire and ice,
light and fury –
the kind of word and verse.
Now I voice my thoughts in phrase and letter,
birthing a new, separate being;
a being of explanation, of concepts and sensation,
with a life all its own, on the page and in my heart –
parts of me, grown in my mind and given form as poetry.
And now I've discovered, it's this kind of magic I prefer –
the dreams of the past truly can't compare
to the realities of today;
not when I can take the barest thought, slightest inspiration,
and change it into something so much more.
Not when I've become not only myself, but a vessel,
a repository for idyllic words to come coursing through –
for my muse inhabits my mind, beside me,
forever changing my outlook and my output;
yes, that's my kind of magic.
I'm sober but in a intoxicated way,
when I walk, I mumble to myself
delicately.
The words are like poison.
The acid melts away the compliment
to the barest bones.
I grind them
to make soup.
The worms find themselves confused as they go towards the surface just to be breakfast for a bird who hasn't seen their children in what seems to be years.
As the wind picks up speed, the bird fights through it.
As I did. Is there a battle waging
or is life supposed to be a struggle?
The lungs collapse and the avian angel plummets towards Earth
with only herself to blame.
If we're all God's creation, why did he make us different from one-another?
Why don't we live in complete equality?
Like the decomposing used-to-be's...
Only in death are people the same, we are not meant to know why, if we were privy to this knowledge, we would all die and throw ourselves to the ground in hopes to join them in the soil.
My words feel like toxic, my bones feel weak. I'm a struggler. But I don't know why...
If I just fight for a moment longer, maybe then I will find internal peace, with an external breath.
Because if I don't I only have myself to blame.
I'll make the angels wait.
I still have my concoiusness.
That keeps repeating the same phrase:
"To dust we were formed
and to dust we return.
But dust fades
and poison remains."
Goddess of Mars and
all things desolate
I chart desperate needs
I measure hatred
Alone in a death filled
valley of despair
Hot winds lift and
spiral my hair
I am not there
I am the barest whisper
My talons scrape the blue
confines of heaven
while dark constellations
spin in fatal orbits
I am not there - nor is infinity
A Contest About a Goddess or God - Not THE God
Contest Judged: 7/25/2020 12:38:00 AM
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
3rd. Place
Fantasy
Contest Judged: 4/1/2018 12:06:00 PM
Sponsored by: Deborah Guenther Beachboard
Honorable Mention
Medicinal scents of my impending demise
Morph to chocolate, cinnamon, sweet death-day cake
The final images burned into these old eyes
Their expressions of consternation and heartbreak
Orange glow, I surround them, my body ceases
Engulf them gently in the thing they will miss most
My embrace opens them, and their grief releases
Flesh cages blind them to how we are always close
Barest grasp I could attain in my mortal form
The most I had was a working hypothesis
Why I had to be continuously reborn
To shed the veil of material hypnosis
Simultaneously, hearts and minds interweave
Making a boundless unity, knowledge and love
Only over many lifetimes could I believe
In this all pervading Godness, not just above
Dizzying vista seen sharp, and my choices
To where and when I can go , and how, becomes clear
Fair new strands of life’s web, strange sounds of new voices
To be reborn in other worlds, or remain here?
Many higher forms of life, my soul can now be
Whole worlds, of themselves conscious, or countless new souls
Myriad ways to expand God’s being, love, glory
I become a multitude, a divided whole
So strange, this is how God grows its own beingness
Some of me will fall into darkest nothingness
Parts of me will blossom to transcend my wholeness
Our perfect imperfection, this loving oneness
5/24/16
© by Author
For Contest: Soul Consciousness
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
Question: After death, will you have to enter again in another Earth life, and Why? (Among others...)
12 syllables/line
For we perceive beyond the rainbow,
Beyond the shadow of gravity holding ISS.
Caught not in a void
But like bees wading in their own honey,
Pollinating space with thoughts …
Our tent did blow from on high
Exposing this nakedness.
They, uncomprehending,
A soul did incarcerate;
Feeding barest morsels shared with rats;
Though famished eyed her fleeting skirt.
So did she infiltrate his racked dreams?
Spittle healing cuts; kisses soothing bruises,
Milk nourishing hunger …
Tears washing away grimy sorrow.
Such comfort in the bounds of direst misery …
Chocolate candy and popcorn. Propping up my feet. Waiting for the show to come
on.
The Mr. Pibb is sitting securely on my right and ready to drink. Oh, what a treat!
My head is tilted back and relaxed, with my legs crossed. Hugh Jackman is sexier
than the models of Elle.
My imagination runs wild, picturing him dancing in the barest of essentials,
performing like the speed of a flick of a ring toss.
The screen is huge and plenty of company is here. No one's alone.
Thank god everyone was respectful enough to turn off their cell phones.
A raffle was drawn. My ticket was put in. Not too many good prizes were offered.
Glad I didn't win. The entertainment was terriffic. The event was social.
One situation was irritating when an announcement of another winner was
announced in the middle of an interesting commercial.
The popcorn was very expensive. The Mr. Pibb tasted a whole lot better than the
hot tea.
However, my candy bars were absolutely nasty. The dry scalp and hair needs a
washin.
No fleas or roaches are around. No moms are flinchin. My shoes are black and sharp,
resembling Stacy Adams.
Not Dockers. I must say that I was impressed by attending the watch party. We all
enjoyed the Oscars.
Ecology, Humanity, Me, & Tea
A fox at the altar.
Bee nests to seek before light.
A rabbit where the fox’d trot.
(Foxes have only ever trot. Perhaps fast, or nimbly, or slow - they do not walk.
They do not run.)
Morning flies...
And the sun is slow to rise.
The clouds are only a smidge more awake than I.
Sleep-rolling by.
A duck flies, no tumbles, no whazzles past.
No more gainly than when waddling on sod.
Morning hawks take to the barest of first updrafts;
rising like mists on the lake where dragonflys slowly
flex their diaphanous gemstone wings. The ones who
keep as captor the rainbows from the last day’s thunderstorm.
A frog {Maybe toad. [Probably frog.]} somewhere in the pottery.
Awaiting the repottery of potted plants, themselves awaiting the
heat of day and breeze’s gift of sway. Hiding in the repository of pottery;
perhaps in rainwater held in temporary reservoir - a feast for frog, a womb
for gnats...this believing squeak-croaking, near-whistling frog calls out in love -
or something very much like it. From the dark. Not near at all to kindred souls.
At even the odd hours I hear it call. Her call? His call? The call we all...make.
Know.
Offer.
Await.
The barn cat, asleep, misses it all.
And misses none of it.
Soon he sidles up.
In need of scritches and time with.
The tea cools, the leaves unfurl.
The tannins dye.
The world wakes.
The lupine at the altar try their hand at purple.
No goose today.
The sibling blue pines put one in minds...
of poetry. And work awaiting.
Thou gentle May that barest me one day,
Thou month of loveliness and darling flowers,
Didst fill my heart with gaiety when I lay
Upon the cradle in my home for hours.
There in the yard I saw my mother speak
Of faery lands and Queens and of the Kings,
While yonder verdant heaths and Birches meek,
With breezes sway’d that to my ear still rings.
Think of the days when lovers make the best
Of their fond wanderings by sunny vales,
And flowers and fragrance of the arbour-breast,
Please e’en the belle that for her husband wails.
With such a natal day thou mad’st me blest,
When woes bygone and hung are nuptial nests.
20th May, 2017
My 20th Birthday :)