Best Belies Poems
In a mire brewed
betwixt puddles of hell and mute dissent
a martyr wades -
weighed down by chains of shame and disdain
alas the thirsting self-absorbed swamp
distills and swills her stewed silence
and swallows the last embers
from her goblet of dreamer’s fire
pursed breaths are pickpocketed by the shallows
in a breathless vertical twist
an escapist is lost in the swirl of a chambered nautilus
distanced and deserted in the dance of descent
stillness belies the waterline’s greed
as a heroine’s salvage is suffocated -
the slick of self-appointed apathy anoints the surface
and a disquieted wind rises to bend the will of reeds
their flutes airing plainsong in forced supplication
yet carelessly cast away like spindrift from broken crests
while storm clouds blindfold wide-eyed skies
stifling any play of sun on water
Susan Ashley
May 1, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spiral
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
“Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.”
— Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro
Close, but close to what, he asks himself
to God, or to the end of things?
the question looms, an icy wind that stings
western sun belies the deathly chill within his bones
summit slain, an unread book upon the shelf
there is this urge that drives a man,
is hard to grasp and harder to expound -
the constant forward press that leaves each
dried, unquenched, though verdant green surrounds,
and yet, to feel within one’s core, the source just out of reach
frozen by fear of somehow missing out, his
carcass now grows cold, a mind adrift, in search
of times of youth and days of old -
a man possessed will rid these thoughts no sooner than a
leopard sheds his spots
No real concern is given to the
one who comes behind, who likewise seeks -
has he a thought of how his end will be
explained? to whom? they either understand or know not
what lies just ahead beyond this snowy peak
the sadness of the unattended field such sown - the
leopard lives and dies alone, but for the joys of spring
was this Creator’s plan for us? i don’t think so -
seeking, He’s found in places pressed and low,
at heights, without, does but exhaustion bring
that one might scale the highs, seek out, explore -
altitude, we find, a perfect metaphor
A wistful smile upon her face,
Belies the look I need to trace;
For love needs not cruel rejection,
Instead it longs for sweet perfection.
Reaching out to touch tomorrow,
Leaving all that causes sorrow;
Looking forward with such yearning,
I find joy at your returning.
Let me taste your scent once more,
Bring back the dream we had before;
Have no fear and fear no scorn.
For buds of love will soon be born.
On your cheek the morning blush,
On your brow a fevered flush;
Like berries sitting in the cream,
You light my soul and fill my dream.
Let me quench your thirsty lips,
And taste the juice of honeyed drips;
To caress the languid eyes that sleep,
And join with mine that need to weep.
I need reach out to touch a star,
To know for sure just where you are;
For body language is understood,
Giving and forgiving all it should.
When fingers knit a lovers knot,
And find a stitch that they forgot;
Then all things that transpire,
Will feed the flame that lights the fire.
A gentle tickle belies the sadness
as the corner of my eye swells and my vision blurs.
The beauty and the joy fading from my mind,
the "what was" and "what could be"
but longing memories and lost dreams,
like fading shadows, of a wasted life,
and all that is left is the loneliness.
Lying alone lost in somber reverie,
the welling in my eye inches ever closer
to flooding past the impenetrable fortress
created by my, now, tightly shut lids,
the specters of my past slowly filling my unseeing eyes
with visions of all of the special moments
and the caring caresses that we once shared.
My lashes quiver and moisten as I breathe in deeply.
The words of love we breathlessly whispered
now only wisps of meaningless expiration
hidden among icy, broken emotional shards,
a million pieces of sharp frozen feelings
piercing so deeply inside of me, freezing what remains
of you in the deep crevices of my broken heart.
The tingle sharpens as the dam breaks,
one forlorn drop escaping slowly down my cheek,
meandering, lost, in the creases of my aged face.
I reach up to wipe it away, but can't
for everything I am, everything that is me,
everything that we were and could ever be,
I've set adrift inside of that tiny, tickling, forsaken tear.
06/19/2017
Looking at the pills in the palm of my hand,
Carvedilol, 3mgs.
2 pearls a day of life giving essence
or 92 ways to end the depression.
How neatly they lie in the crease of my skin
my broken lifeline peaking through them.
So white and smooth, so meek and small
it would be so easy to swallow them all.
Thoughts and sorrow fill my mind
of those I've hurt and left behind.
of pains and regrets that never end
and the pathetic life I needlessly spend.
The love I've lost is just a measure
of all of the time we spent together
but now it's too late to make amends,
it hurts too much when you loose your friends.
Looking at the pills in the palm of my hand,
Carvedilol, 3mgs.
I know what to expect as I set my resolve
The senses grow dim as the pilules dissolve.
My mind will wander and breathing will stop
as the heart beats slower and blood pressure drops.
I think of my girls, they're almost grown now,
what will they do when I'm not around?
My wife so loving and sweet when I met her,
she could have done so very much better.
Her gentle crying as she lies beside me
is but one more regret my soul belies me.
I yearn for the day when the pain goes away,
until then I will fight to keep it at bay
and hope that my selfish desire to leave
will offer to me one more day of reprieve.
Looking at the pills in the palm of my hand,
Carvedilol, 3mgs.
I think today I'll take just 2
perhaps, tomorrow, I'll know what to do.
8/27/2015
This may come unspoken
dismay is mostly taboo
This count feels endless
discount refills the queue
This trust I lost in God
distrust found in the pew
This stain runs too deep
disdain sets in like glue
This dress shows all flaws
distress perfectly fits you
This gust left a whisper
disgust in what it blew
This pair of nuts lost out
despair one couldn’t screw
This missed the G spot
dismissed as nothing new
This solves all our questions
dissolves the answers too
This illusion belies the hurt
disillusion because it’s true
By
David Kavanagh
Salem
_________________________________________
Unrest of spirit churns behind thy door,
the sin interned therein is quarrelsome
No "witch" that thou hast burned serves to restore
the pitch that has upturned thy moral plumb
Forego thy demons, none would be found here
Such guile belies the pleasure of the young
Until thy trials should rise of fact, not fear,
so will thy measure see the pious hung
_________________________________________
Date: 11/14/2018
Sponsor: Julia Ward
contest: Unrest of Spirit
SONNET FOR THE SILLY
A blessing on all kinds of action silly
Let our God not be a solemn old curmudgeon
The folly that belies the serious dark and chilly
Which imposes stark importance with a bludgeon
For freed of strictures rife with disapproval
The spirit can create with wild abandon
Without constraints demanding the removal
Of that which breaks the sanctity some stand on
I will praise the brothers Marx for their absurdity
And all ‘fools’ who mask high wisdom with the artless
May they lift our spirits when we face adversity
The rejection of such gladness would be heartless
Could it be what we shall hear entering the Hereafter
Is not a harp strings but the sound of joyful laughter
6/8/2019
Archetypes flash straight from a pack of Tarot cards
anti-terror Jing Jang synthesis with neuro-spiritual precision
implants explosive animation from the deep unknown
like a taro rootstock growing wings to fly with found suspension
Stereotactic stereotypes archetypes semi-circling soothing storm clouds
thunderbolts and enlightening darkness are my enema of anxious anger critique
of the mono-morph collision of the scalpel shadow ‘Prozacian’ nemesis
neology of ‘animusity’ of ‘newfoundlandel’ comprehension
Dialectical complementation rises higher and higher culminates in
ethereal transcendence where collective personal unconscious
presents my animus in wishful thinking and projections as
soft and gentle revel rebel raising entropy in tender conservation to escape from
Dogma categorically demanding artificial classification replacing with dimension
flow and rivers stagnant pools of stream of consciousness evading
sexist fragmentation disenfranchising marginalisation assigning male
and female emasculated o-variation where seminal origin implantation
Precedes nurture socialised indoctrination assignment of celibate promiscuity
My animus refuses to accept in emotional rejection whether Jung and I read
symbols from the same page or not of masques façades and liberated self
where academic artistry split hairs and personality for the premise of debate
I am a rebel and claim no higher lower ground of superior distension
He or she who animates friendly animosity is right and incorrect whatever
common ground belies the provocation I propose but possibly my
presentation of what others mean in kindness is too neutral neuters psyche
While anima and animus illustrate conclude a symbiotic destination
the starting point of this and that left right up above and side by side
is far too circular an argument when we should start not end in union
Male and female are constructions of disparity of power and repression
Archetypes are not therefore I am
11th June 2016
Animus-Anima Part II—Animus – Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tom Quigley
In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.
For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.
At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.
Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.
When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.
A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.
So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.
The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.
In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.
A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.
Death belies the darkness summoned,
tombstone-colored is the sky,
shards of memories merely fragments,
wailing wind the sole reply.
Violent storm winds strip the tree limbs
like a poltergeist, unseen,
tawdry feeders, heavy wind chimes,
beat against the window screens.
Waiting for the glass to shatter,
like so many childhood dreams,
china teacups, rosebud patterned
in the dustpan, unredeemed.
© 2009 Danielle White
A story inscribed in the constellations
of the punctate canopy of night
Perseus astride the winged Pegasus
Hurtling to save his fair maid Andromeda
from the beastly Cetus the seasick sea-serpent
While her folks, Cepheus and Cassiopeia
gawk dispassionately
Poor parenting enshrined above us
The pancaked 2-D IMAX look
of the heavenly vault
belies the relevant numbers—
Trillions, quadrillions of 3-D miles between,
My retinas bathing in light decades old
Not a preschool connect-the-dots
but a giant mobile
of impossibly remote thermonuclear furnaces
turned cosmic Rorschach test
My eyes drink the mother of pearl
galactic smudge in the telescope
and I feel you gaze right back
Ancient light, yet a staring presence
a Mexican standoff of unfathomable dimensions
Telescopes at 600 hexillion paces, pardner
Don’t blink
Is it my imagination, or your mind?
Crazy quarks’ quantum entanglement
making instant “spooky action” at a distance
40 million light years away
Hundreds of quintillions of miles
whatever in God’s name that is
There you are again; I feel you
Verizon Universal Consciousness Connection
That’s going to be a heck of a phone bill
but I’ll be long gone by then
I think
8/1/16
Then, he knew why he must hew
old memories from marble-
emotions quarried from heart's slew-
Oblique fight with his faith's garble
Cut block unfolds Christ, enthroned
on mother's lap- death sleep supine...
Sculptor's concepts cast in stone,
art wrestles with thoughts divine.
And sorrow, stilled in her young face,
speaks truth of words kept in her heart-
mother, son, distilled in saving grace,
sacred words saved in graven art.
A pity, the piety
so few true onlookers saw...
Revealed in society-
few look on In devoted awe.
II
Now she knows why she must express
emotions whittled away, and smoothed
from quarried heart's deep distress-
The process leaves her soothed...
Such feelings are not cast in stone-
Warmly carved in reflective marble, maybe,
as he wrestled with tempestuous thoughts
burning, guiding hands that draped
unmoving drapes over motionless shapes,
shaping faith that cannot be bought.
And the tenderness on her gentle face
belies the hurt of curse's sword driven
straight through her mother heart...all trace
of ancient prophecy hidden.
Till truth, preserved, be told.
Had he not told them many times
he would return, come back to life?
And that word was kept, unfailing.
And the stone was moved, revealing...
Posted: 22nd April 2019.
Note: I am totally in awe of the stupendous sculptures produced over the centuries.
Miraculous as they are, I believe in greater miracles, the resurrection of Christ being just that.
I am also a mother of two grown up sons.
My little miracles...<3 <3
Luke 2:25-35. Luke 24:1-8
Replenished with rain, it rushes on,
Its brown water pours and spills
Like vinegar from the pickle bottle,
Tumbling over, bubbling through
The jagged jumble of rocks,
Those early plants pushed aside to let it pass,
Its running melody ringing clear,
Competing with the robin’s call,
The stream pushes on, its cheerful song
Belies the chill beneath,
As it strives to outrun Winter,
While the fragile sun sighs
‘Too soon, too soon’.
Greens of spring
Comes in spring, bloom the greens,
Perfect hues mark flawless screens,
Tender buds now yearn to thrive,
Bees are seen humming on their hive,
Colourful butterflies anxiously flutter,
Flowers eagerly lend their nectar,
Little ones play jolly in the streets,
Sky waits for birds to fly in fleets,
Vibrant shades entice a green eye,
Hurry the gloomy clouds, dolour belies,
Calls of spring, beloved will meet,
Drowning in love, hazel green eyes will greet !
Written March 25th, 2015
For contest "Its spring- show me the green" by
Francine Roberts
Now entered into "Get your green on" old/new poem- poetry contest by PD A