Best Battened Poems
I'm a man apart, repelled by the norm
Got my own path I chose to walk in
My eyes see things on a different wavelength,
my ears are attuned to another frequency
Never thought twice about the separation,
or the price of breaking free from the swarm
Always was comfortable in my own skin,
giving my all requires more than a tenth
Had a destiny to only live in ubiquity,
was told that seeking wisdom was the correlation
I've traveled through life's cosmic storm,
battened the hatches to my soul within
I'm on a mission, don't need to be convinced
Always knew deep down this was how it had to be
Running with the crowd, didn't have that inclination
I'm a man apart, never given to conform
I feel this poem has no existing form. If I am wrong, tell me what form it is. I wish to categorize it as "Step Rhyme" or "Rotating Rhyme." Each verse from the second line of the second stanza steps down. First line from the first stanza rhymes w/the second line of the second stanza. Second line of the first stanza rhymes w/the third line of the second stanza. Etc, etc. The last line of the final stanza rhymes w/the first line of the first stanza. Romantic Warrior
Spoke to a cloud today –
the usual conversation
about shape and size,
lows and highs...whether
my need to tote a handy, spring
loaded umbrella...or a better chance
to go without pants, dance
on the beach ~ showing off
thighs, widening sockets
of older generational eyes – he
told me of clouds who gather and
threaten, causing ships to leap into
salty lather, sailors beware!
take battened-down care! – schools
of fishes diving to ocean depths
they share, with ancient vessels (and sewage),
a seafloor covered with sandy
coinage – a diver's delight; when
stormed into sight –
more subjects of our chatter
and debates, were those of tides
and tectonic plates; also of bony-splatter:
living shrapnel, from a well aimed cannon-ball
against a wooden hull, or artillery shell,
man's modern perpetuation, of that never
settling, always heartening seafarer's knell –
I went on to ask, if in all his travels, had
he ever seen anything truly divine?
Like an angel passing...or a saucer
flying...perhaps some mythical dragon
soaring, trying to lasso down a tasty
moon ~ bring him brightly closer,
doing some dragon flips, salivating
for cheesie fondue lips....
Weather is poised to slap us into submission.
Threatening with the largest storm in history
To make us aware of her power to destroy
And yet, here on the cusp of history,
battened down
well stocked
Do I yet love Nature
With all of her wild and beautiful ways.
Her seas have been there for me in my times
Of Loss
And Need
Ever showing me the vastness of her being
She has ever been the Way
In all her present tense
My wilder spirit rises in answer to her challenges
Enhancing my life daily.
Out upon the Spanish Main it roared
The storm reached out its cold hands to catch
Crashing waves they beat against the board
Quickly now they battened every hatch
Spray and wind groaned, lashing at the sails
The creaking and bending of the mast
Will God hear our muffled shouts and wails?
Hear us Lord; let not this be our last
Time had given them another flight
Henry yelled and hailed his storm soaked crew
Through the pitch black darkness of the night
Churning, boiling, blackened tempest grew
Should they expect gallantry and good?
Henry’s ships strained against the gale
This time they did what good men should
Through trials and storm they would not fail
Portobello plucked from evil hands
On the ships of former pirates sailed
Who joined hands to win from other lands
In great shouts of victory they hailed
In his new life he employed good men
Henry’s lasting monument they cast
By good works of men we live again
Not stopped or ruined by what had past
His legacy lives on true today
Remembered for good he did to tame
Rather than mistakes he made one day
Though he had to brave the Spanish Main
Oh restful place
Weary are my eyes that watch in glory
Worn are the clay hands of my race
With lines and tales that rise upon my face
Oh restful place
With battened flattened ruby shoes
And America spirited sapphire pants
The whistling winds call the to trace
Oh restful place
I was but a warrior of my tribe
With my black and white plumage and my pride
Around my neck the jaw of 10 bears embrace
Oh restful place
A wiser man I am that has come to think
In the comforts of a rainbow painted room
I feel the desert sun has parched my breathing space
(Inspired by The Native American Ekphrasis contest
Photo found --http://joanfrederick.net/cannon.html)
The storm was approaching, we thought... should we scramble?
To stay may be risky, should we take the gamble?
We had our provisions, and we thought "We're prepared".
We bought batteries, and candles, and in no way impaired.
The windows we shuttered, and we battened the hatches,
Stocked up on propane, canned goods, and more matches.
The skies rained down, oh the strong winds we heard,
Debris flying everywhere, the sight was absurd.
The weather channel, we watched with impending doom,
As the storm changed it's path, we now needed a safe room.
The eye passed over, and all was eerily silent,
Then the wind switched directions, becoming even more violent.
The roof held tight, but the shingles they flew,
We stayed huddled together, what else could we do?
The large palm trees blew over, and the windows they rattled.
When it was finally over, what a storm we had battled.
We walked outside, feeling like survivors of war,
But we had no idea, what was really in store.
There were houses destroyed, and dreams that were shattered,
Our car was still there, but it looked pretty battered.
The friends and neighbors they came, and we all worked together,
We would build all again, and hope it lasts forever.
-Mary Waldeck
Das Decrements Describe Digs ©
Grasping figurative literary straws
poetic theme yielded
farfetched aggregate
i.e., where each dwelling
listed as figurative Stormy bedmate,
this nada so eminent (Eminem fan)
lived since the year MM at:
1148 greentree lane,
724 railroad avenue, and
2 highland manor drive, which
defy obvious numerical pattern relationship,
albeit tougher than dismantling
an atomic bomb
Fermi (Enrico) to create
least common denominator
nonetheless, aye delineate
laughably limpid, loquaciously lumped,
and ludicrously as an Uber Lyft
(please lemme look foolish)
evincing desperate clamor
ring blather already
prepping myself for fallout after,
I post very tenuous
schema attempting to enumerate
loosely linkedin previous
to present physical addresses
straining credulity to formulate
formulaic relationship between
street numbered residential places,
futile endeavor mathematical
relationship to generate
readying myself (hatches
being battened down) against
first responder, who
doth dare to humiliate,
this self serving ingrate
gnome hatter hood
awkwardly entwine goofily integrate
ting (Spike Lee's
She's Gotta Have It)
"FAKE" self importance,
sans presenting schema
with literary Bo Jangles
flourishes, that (EGADS) doth jaculate
utter cheek to jowl (consonant
to vowel) outstanding
Uttar Pradesh Khanate,
nonetheless strives to
feign making Genghis
(alias Matthew Scott)
Harris heirs legitimate
if necessary calling on
Trump to mandate
and/or asking supreme
court to necessitate
putting sanctions against
quasi (moe toe)
POTUS oxymorons
so American totalitarianism
can freely operate
in tandem with
Putin to participate!
It was a night so dark, so damp; the fog swirled thick about the lamp,
a night not fit for man or beast, a night on which tender hearts ceased
to care about mankind's suffering, so nasty was the storm buffeting
the tiny humble New England town, its weathered cape cods all battened down.
When of a sudden a cry rang out, piercing the fog with a shriek and a shout:
Did it herald the dawn of a better day? --Or just proclaim, "Man's lost his way."
Shutters opened, blinds upward flew; Denizens craned their necks for a ring-
side view.
Where was the man who'd issued the cry? Was it a sign of life, or would they
all die?
Just then a riderless horse galloped down, streaking its way through the town,
tossing its mane right then left; of its mystery rider long sine bereft:
Whence the cry had come, no one could tell; when an unearthly voice, straight from Hell
split the night with a ghastly shriek; shutters slammed tight--no one dared
peek,
As the horse veered away, frightened itself, by the Devil's advance along with
his elfs,
Crescendoes of wailing blackened the night--of a poor humble town in a fight for its life.
As we sit here in the middle of the storm
So many are starting to think that this is the norm
That the worst has past, at least to some
But that feeling won’t last for the worst is yet to come
And though the sun may still shine
And everything else appears to be just fine
The real force and destruction has yet to be shown
And such death has never before been known
There is something nowadays that is so easy to detect
It’s a common simple lack of God fearing respect
All bundled up with the hatches battened down
Leaving a quite eeriness in every single American town
For soon the winds will again begin to blow
And at that time, it will be too late to know
Today is the time to at least start to prepare
Because before you know it that chance won’t be there
I was blinded to the autonomy
Of the actions committed in the time
Moonfall hesitated, and did not see
Malice in the eyes that were naught to be mine.
The crescent curves of a smile's sliver;
Indecision of skin, rancid and smooth;
Plush sentences congeal as I quiver;
Thoughts so careless, teeth dripping wir'y sooth.
My sight could not pierce nightfall-scathingly
Battened down were my mind and eyes, depraved
by sour medicine dreams filling me,
Unwillingly, with satire not staved.
The birr which I painted your portrait with
Disenchanted my world, a cause for death.
Houses were battened
winds-rattled thunder
some homes were flattened
lives pushed asunder.
Pigs really did fly
through debris-filled air
as a tornado went by
left behind it despair.
Services held for those that were lost
try to pick-up the pieces
ascertain the cost.
With only one wall left
what happens to the leases ?
oh, by the way
have you seen my two nieces ?.
Elizabeth alexander 28/12/2015
UNSUPPORTED CODE
It rained that day -
incessant, driving rain
that mirrored my watery brokenness.
Teeming tears, teeming rain, teeming torrents
of gnawing, agonizing pain.
It rained that day -
overpowering the inefficient
stressed out drain. A gurgling back-flow
of uncomfortable memories re-surging
in my mind again.....and again,
as the rained poured -
bitterness and streaming resentment
onto the saturated ground.
The only sound the beating downpour
on the tinkling window pane,
and I watch it falling.........
falling apart ....
like the shards of my heart;
blade shaped, and stabbing mercilessly
at once precious memories now irreversibly tarnished
as they gush, tumbling down that overburdened drain.......
swirling in the sewage, wasted, acrid smelling,
torrential.....then gone from sight -
like you, gone, held tight, but gone, with the rain
down the drain, never to be seen again .........
It rained that day -
the day you left me bereft and
devoid of emotion. Sore from emotional misuse.
Untrusting. Hatches battened. Defences built;
walls constructed never to be scaled.
It rained for a while,
but today the sun shone.
This may possibly be my last poem( for a while anyway)
And is dedicated to all the poets who are about to meet
Matthew within the next few days ----say your prayers
be safe----and after Matthew leaves ----show Love---
be thank full and be kind to others, Thanks and God Bless
A shadow like none other
Slowly creeps along the ground
As storm clouds twist then turn and roll
With winds, that eery sound
The cats all run, the bird all fly
There's no one to be found
That's just the way it is
When Matthew comes to town
The men all shrink, the women cry
Where babies tears abound
And all is lost, if it's not tied
Battened or nailed down
There is no light, that comes with day
And hope's just not around
So, we'll just sit and pray away
When Matthew comes to town
I have battened down the
saturated hatches
which were dampened
while waiting for
your impending storm.
Intending no harm,
you passed by quietly
and I needn't have
worried none...
yet damage was
somehow still done
by the force of a gale
that was experienced
by only one.
We sailed upon a ship of fools
no sails and rudder bent
lost sight of land and pondered
“I wonder where it went”
As we chased the rising sun
we begged it: “please slow down’
for we hadn’t figured out
how to turn the ship around.
Becalmed amid a rising gale
we battened down the hatches
unfurled our tattered drooping sail
wind blowing through its patches
so we grabbed the long boat oars
to paddle to the beach
a vain attempt at seamanship
as they were too short to reach.
And here we sit on mirror sea
rewriting all the rules
too late to change the fate of those
book passage on a ship of fools.
10/19/2021
A Noteworthy Ship Poetry Contest