Best Belied Poems
OMENS
O’er wintry land bare trees now sway
On wing above, black birds traverse
Occluded skies of baleful grey
Outspreading wings imparting curse
Yet outcomes told by prescient sense
With omens of dark consequence
May be belied restoring sight
Of hope; see yon horizon bright
[Poem in 8x8 form]
Submitted to:-
Contest: Unrest of Spirit
Sponsor: Julia Ward
22 November 2018
There is beauty in the colors of the sky before dusk begins to fall,
just as there is at sunrise, when dark night gives way to morn;
beauty is in the fierce anger of a roaring, tempestuous storm.
It is in the quiver of an orchid and in the pride of a thorny rose,
in the burst of fiery color on a dying leaf before finally it falls
beauty is in the innocent eagerness of a young, pale green sprout.
It is in the placid silence of a forest lake, far from all the city noise,
it is there at high tide, in the rage of waves against the shores
and in the conflict of feelings belied by the calmness of your voice.
There is beauty when you love though you feel it is for naught,
in the quiet acceptance of fate, refusing to turn love into hate
and in that sadness we bear, for deep within, you know I care.
26 September 2015
Poem of the Day - 28 September, 2015
Accosted many years ago
By the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe
I'm now obliged to come forthright
About that dark eye-opening night.
It's only fair to let you know
I've held a torch for Mr. Poe
It's all because of the ink of his pen
That my love for poetry did begin.
(His sad, sad tale arrested me;
the saddest tale I've ever known.
Small wonder then when he chose me,
an easy prey, home all alone)
Toiling to write like him for years
Happy was I when his ghost appeared.
A tragic figure past, present and now
He entered my room with a humble bow.
And fixed me with a haunting stare
And whispered softly 'life's not fair.'
I nodded my head just to agree
When a strange sensation took hold of me.
Possession felt more than 9/10's of the law
I felt frozen and badly in need of a thaw.
My body, not mine now was his to command;
Just a shell, a mere puppet, at the will of this man.
His voice so melodic, belied malice or vice.
He drew near to the fireplace, the warm hearth felt nice.
There was music, a waltz, seemed familiar {mere chance?)
Embracing the moment we started to dance.
His thoughts were with mine now
And mine were with his
And I swear by my bank book
As long as I live
The unbearable pain of his loss gripped my heart
And the moment I fainted we were ripped apart.
He was anguished at how he had handled his grief,
How his life was cut short by his own inner thief.
He'd wanted to write more
His mind was an ark
Just those few moments with him
Woke the poet in my heart.
And so it happened in just one night
He taught me verse; he taught me rhyme
And stretched my mind to higher heights
That's quite developed over time.
He's never visited my bedroom since
Or with my body had his way.
He left me with this gift or sixth sense
Of a fire for poetry that burns in my veins.
Unfinished business is quite finished now.
Passing on I imparted to him 'quid pro quo.'
'Rest in peace, the whole world
Knows your name Mr. Poe.'
-Reta Pruitt
July 22.2018
Feeling hurt owing to belied expectation
The earth entity floundered hither and thither
Spiralling gloom causing consciousness contraction
The wound cut deep since he relied upon his transgressor
Pain amplified by cyclic thoughts plunged him into despair
For healing he visited a reputed clinical psychologist
Listening patiently seated on a swivelling chair
Of no avail were therapists or hypnotists
Finding no way he asked this question
Who feels the pain and why is relief not simple
This line of inquiry brought him to a clear recognition
Cause of suffering delusion dwelling in images ephemeral
Reflecting deeper if an animal is ensouled in human form
It goes without saying that it’s actions will be feral
We expect not from a carnivore embrace warm
Thus our cognition should be spherical
Meditating thus in silence and stillness
He knew each being acts as of his evolution
With all our flaws we too seek divine connectedness
Yet hastily condemn others by our jaundiced eye perception
The afflicted soul then rose in the light of clear understanding
Looking at the other with kindness and compassion
His own orientation thus prayerfully correcting
In quietude of transcendental meditation
17-January-2021
Listen my children and ye shall hear,
A tale to make ye quake with fear.
'Tis a scarey tale I tell ye no lie,
Of a man who was told he had to die,
For a crime he committed in the dead of night,
And each Hallows Eve he returns to the site,
Where his body was hung on an old Oak tree.
Steer clear of the place or he'll come after thee.
He searches for them who hung him there,
'Thout proof save the voice of the golden hair.
'Twas she who belied his whereabouts,
So he searches for her within and without;
So if ye be fair with hair of gold,
He'll carry ye off where it's dark and cold.
Keep ye by the hearth on All Hallows Eve.
Now I've said my piece and be takin' my leave.
A place where peace should reign, yet terror grows.
A paradise where blood and children lie.
A beach where young boys played and now men die,
with liquid crimson waves that evil sows.
The cliffs now bow and weep and look below,
where from their shoulders cast a deadly tide.
A peaceful nighttime vista now belied
by daylight's bloody battle of the foes.
As dreams replace the din that's all around
and life drips slowly there into the sand,
it's faith and God and love that now surrounds
these ever grateful souls that have been found.
Brave comrades in this fate so proudly stand
to be delivered now where they are bound.
The host was the most, an elegant man,
Who throws great parties like no one else can.
All were dressed to the nines for a special affair,
While men peeked at bosoms and tried not to stare.
The gathering together of local folks,
Were sitting and telling some witty jokes;
While ladies who came dressed in the latest style,
Vied with each other for a gentleman’s smile.
Candles were lit, the music played low,
The table was set in perfection’s glow;
With goblets of wine and bone china plates,
That defined the mind with earnest debates.
The fragrance of food that smelled so fine,
Was delivered with bottles of sweet scented wine;
And great steaming bowls of chicken soup,
Were served in style with a sterling silver scoop.
Roast beef with gravy was served with care,
With mashed potatoes and all the fanfare.
There were squash, carrots and dishes of beans,
And bowls of crisp chopped salad greens.
There was wine to sip and coffee to drink,
There was so much to eat, no one could think;
There was cake to splurge and gin to purge,
And all who ate quickly lost the urge.
The hours ticked by with buttons undone,
That belied the gourmet from having fun;
For lessons they learned were simple and few,
A waist filled with haste is hard to undo.
.
Beyond the bay the sun peeked over waves;
calm belied what destiny would tell.
A statue peers where sailors served and gave,
so far from Gloucester shores where seagulls yell.
So far from sheltered harbor's gentle swells.
Undaunted sailors dared the Flemish Cap -
too far, as nature mixed a hopeless trap.
Like hungry beasts tempt fate to catch their prey
and stray beyond their tribal hunting grounds;
the George's Bank was left to stern that day
to go where surely greater catch abounds.
But while their hold was filled with bounty found,
two angry storms swirled in a deadly dance
and left the Andrea Gail without a chance.
Her captain turned for port but could not know
such wrath of nature blocked their pathway home,
and all the crew on wings of Angels glowed -
the face of God to trust and not to roam.
Though oft in tumult's grasp they will bemoan
and think to sell their souls on devil's waves,
yet safe in Heaven's grasp they will be brave.
RIP October 28, 1991
We were babies together, you and I.
Then toddlers, teetering, side by side.
Learning to walk in life, hand in hand.
Balancing each other as we struggled to stand.
You never knew, cause I had to be strong,
But I feared everyday that I'd do something wrong.
A bump on the head, the wrong kind of juice.
Am I doing this right?
Can't fail- no excuse!
Even the best parents are filled with doubt.
Am I leaving a scar anytime that I shout?
Could I have done more to prepare, and protect?
Warn them of monsters, but keep fear in check?
Have I been a good influence, or sealed their fate?
So many questions whose answers must wait.
Then just the other day I looked into your eyes.
A reflection of myself took me by surprise.
As I listened to you speak, your voice came through as mine.
My question was answered- you would be fine.
Our struggles in life can leave a deep well.
I planted survival and you've reaped it well.
Though we've seen dark days, we continue to shine.
My story is your's, your story is mine.
From you I learned patience, compassion, and laughter.
I gained strength and courage that lasted long after.
I raised you from child into woman, you see
But what I did for you, so you did for me.
We were mother and daughter.
Though titles belied.
For you were my mother, as much as my child.
~NMG
I had a dream that there appeared to me
a little girl whose hands I touched were silk.
Her tender eyes belied the purity
of angels, and her skin was white as milk.
She said, “In your despair, I heard your call
for comfort, which I’ve come to bring to you.
My hands do not look strong, for they are small,
but used in prayer, there’s much that they can do.”
Before me, in the darkness of that night,
with palms upturned, she gently closed her eyes,
and as she prayed, I saw a stream of light
shine down with myriads of butterflies.
I woke most splendidly refreshed in bed
to see a monarch flutter near my head.
Written 12/20/13 by Andrea Dietrich
and Based on Visual #7 in nette onclaud's WITH THESE HANDS Contest
Be not soft upon the morrow
For the maliciousness it contrives.
The future beckons unending sorrow
To gamely catch the vulture's eye.
'Tis the destiny of mice and men
To be laid waste by nature's curse.
Where foolishness belied of ink and pen
Will by the margins burst.
Persist not in vacuous dreaming
To make bold some vague intent.
Obviate all grift and scheming
To survive the main event.
There are those with want of glory
To lead sluggish minds astray.
With a foreshadow of song and story
For those with one foot in the grave.
These stygian forces stand ready
To make dark such days to come.
They seamlessly evoke some cosmic eddy
Where weathered voices go unsung.
We are pawns to this game we borrow
With our future slaked with pain.
If your happiness lies on the morrow...
You will be despondent once again.
If you're consumed by fear and trouble
With clouds toned a spectre-grey.
Prepare for further ruin and rubble
With a new sunrise on the way.
Put away burbling of blissful leavings
You think the morrow may provide
With the approach of another evening,
You will not long survive the tide.
You may bloviate a ray of sunshine,
Pushing hope where none exists
With an ignorance to the grand design
Where winds of chaos oft persist.
I will grant the morrow stands untainted
With yet no mark on time and space
But remove this cheer you've now acquainted
And forever leave my hiding place.
The End
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your Uncle.
As along our long life journey we sail
We all do encounter belied expectations
Feeling of deep hurt results from betrayal
Our shrivelled heart writhing in contractions
The hurt needs healing so we go to a healer
Who examines blotches in our aura field
Looking grave is this wheeler dealer
As his magic wand he does wield
Half who visit healed, the others not
For he simply invokes the placebo effect
Opening up our mind beyond its fearful slots
The faith healer does nothing yet no one suspects
With this comic interlude over with let us examine
The root cause of our pain needing healing
We negate not potency of toxic poison
Simply look at origin of so feeling
The aspect of us hurt is our identity
Plunged into dark gloom owing to its loss
Recognising not that in world of ephemerality
Attachment to fleeting images of pain is the cause
In monk mode detached thus free from pain and sorrow
Lower mind vaporised, we abide in blissful joy
No expectations or desires for the morrow
Mind illumined we recognise ego ploys
Acceptance of others just as they are
Knowing that maya oft causes misalignment
Acts of others be as they may leaves then no scar
We empathise with one and all resting in blissful contentment
We then are our own best faith healer having faith in love divine
Offering no niche within for rancour to anchor onto our being
Knowing that in timeless time with love all souls will align
We nonchalantly breeze through life ever celebrating
29-November-2020
“She knows everything about everyone. That's why her hair is so big. It's full of secrets.”
~ Quote from ‘Mean Girls’ (2004)
Secrets in the locks of love
she knew everything true,
well, sort of,
as true as any gossip could bring.
Plastic rollers, as useless as her friends,
curled from her lips in hateful sprout
and spewed vile comments from her mouth.
She grabbed the secrets of others and shared them.
She didn’t mind her tangled ends belied her credibility.
Curling her mind around the struggle,
when all was said and ends began to fray,
it was she who brushed the cares away that day.
in Pando's shadow a young maiden sings
wander'd to and fro peat bog feet sloshing
auburn locks adorned in daisy crowned rings
quite unaware that something was watching
one with thick skinned carion heart at core
to scavenge Middlemist's red camellia
he too delivered from far away shores
a renaissance ratel in rebellion
Leila leisured in shade of quaking aspen trees
treacle honey joys spilled out across her dress
temptation so strong insatiable hunger needs
dark honey badger lept from a tufted hedge
in presence one so endeared, showed no fear
for all beasts, nature's greatest gift bequeath
proffered morsel from open hand as he neared
inquisitive eyes belied soft heart and sharp teeth
forest branches embraced the two in nosh
as trembling giant's rustling now subdued
ladybugs flit from branch to dew covered moss
fingers stroked rough fur nape to back as he chewed
two walked ancestral shores as newfound kin
sniff'g this way and that among tufted pearls
claws tap entranced her soft cooing voice hymn
face framed in rivulets long carefree curls
long past gone Leila's song through far away gates
honey badger' forest friend rests - Pando waits
When did you outgrow my love?
When did the fabric of my tenderness
Become too tight
Too fitting?
When did the garment of my passion
Become restrictive?
When did you start to look for new coverings
To clothe the nakedness of your soul?
When?
Tell me…
When did you outgrow my love?
When did you outgrow this nest?
Was it when you found out that you could fly?
Having been nourished, pampered and preened
Your wings of self-esteem
Unfurling to soar on the word wind of my praise…
Was it then?
When did you outgrow my love?
Ah, Hush…my love, no need to speak
For my heart knows the answer well
I know when it all started to take place
I could read your face
The expression you wore
As I helped you dress
That look in your eyes
Belied the lies
That the fit was just right
And so you tugged at the seams
Unraveled my dreams
The stitches undone
My garment you tore
And yet you swore
Alterations wouldn't do
You needed something new
In the dead of night
You took to flight
Undressed, free
For you had outgrown…..
You had outgrown….
ME.
Eileen Manassian Ghali