Best Bestirred Poems
In black and white, I adore framing my inner thoughts, my worries, my wants and hopes… Words! a world of abiding renewal… a space of a bountiful solitude… a state of illusive freedom… a journey to the nowhere!
once nature bestirred
a smiling heart is echoed
great rapture bestowed
words! they have a world of their own! You build them, feed them on your feelings, your viewpoints and creed… As soon as they blossom and stand on their own feet, they escape your grip… They soar high and you just have to trace their wonders, listen to their fanning wings, gape at their outstanding performances while they are outgrowing your black and white frame and outshining your very thoughts.
Pounding of musings
awake is the wonder muse
the heart resonates.
Boundless power to free be
in trance, another soul be.
How dare you, words of mine, infringe the laws of the Haibun world?! Haven’t I told you?! I’m not responsible if a Haiku has expanded into a Tanka!
BANISH ME TO THE BOOKSHOP
Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower.
Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours!
First editions recline behind smudge-proof glass.
Lock-and-key lick of lips, but I can’t afford the brass
ring, the covet of unopened leather, so I’d dance
through each unshielded shelf, illuminated romance,
the touch like a lover’s touch, before the cover’s
turned down. Miniature to oversized, to discover -
here titles do matter - beautiful, powerful, charming.
Turning over the self-help discourse, disarming
of self-loathing, fear, and bitter soul. Then straight
to a perfumery of fairy tales, feel the weight
of each piece of fruit in the balance of my teeny palms.
Even in the claustrophobic stuffiness of this shop, I feel calm.
Like tickling braille, my fingers glide over each word,
riveted by the familiar scent, I close my eyes, bestirred
by mysteries, history, fantasy, and the coquetry,
the delicious pageantry, vivid hues and imagery of poetry.
Chain me, so I can roam. Lock me away in this bower.
Banish me to the bookshop - i’ll enjoy this affair for hours!
3/10/2021
Bookshop
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
THE AWAKENING
It was midnight that I laid still
and breath had filtered down
An open book - a nagging fly
will wait for me until
bestirred at morning’s knock
when stoves excite a brew
and housewives stir a door
toward sunrise bursting through -
to heaven like a broom
sweeping eyelids like a fan
and chattel and dust balls
like billiards across the room -
that wake the inner chambers
of my brain i separate stalls
that conjure up my daily tasks
within these slumbered walls
Snow-capped mountains fell to the floor,
Reflecting blurred images so much more.
The mountain lake absorbed the sight;
Random birds passed by in their flight.
The lake lay there oh so soft and sultry;
Nature’s maidens beckon from a belfry.
A soothing silence added its own note,
With waves of quiet peace as if it spoke.
The only thing missing an offered hand,
To touch my mind with its magic wand.
But touched it was, my mind now aflutter.
If I had to speak, I would surely stutter.
Calm, inviting as the arms of my mother,
Asking me to enter as a trusting brother.
Mercy lay within its enveloping waters,
Pure snow peaks sourced its headwaters.
Determined at first to sit as water’s edge,
Not a sound swimmer my luck to hedge.
Mythical animals sent wavelets to shore,
The lake suddenly seemed an open door.
I stood before Nature’s finery in utter awe,
Bestirred, bedazzled by what I now saw.
Primitive urges awoke from my head to toes,
As in first ages when nature wore no clothes.
Triumphant, I stripped down to naked skin;
No one there to take notice, no next of kin.
The moody waters lay so inviting and snug;
The lake mirrored the mountains like a drug.
A glorious revelation found words to speak,
I rose to my feet with my knees feeling weak.
I stood at water’s edge thinking this is crazy;
The wind is so chill and the air a little hazy.
A poor swimmer, deep water makes me fret;
But missed opportunity also makes me upset.
With a savage cry, I started to run and leap,
Into the dark, brooding waters of the deep.
I leapt into the unknown not stopping myself,
Off the clear horizon of earth’s precious shelf.
I now swam thru mountains peaks and sky,
Sparkling luminous in the sea of God’s eye.
---------------------------------------------
Just breathe...
Breathe..! Gasping, into light you're thrown!
Like glass, your turning leaf is blown
clear of sweet slumber's song but there's
no need of hers - you'll sing your own.
You, newly born of mother's prayers,
will breathe your first of earthen airs
and thirsty, let your voice be heard
'til she's dispersed the drink she shares.
As leaves are, by the wind, bestirred,
with each new breath, you'll find you're spurred
on by survivals undertow,
as well as by debts love-incurred.
Oh, precious child, I love you so!
What wonders of this world you'll know
but one day too, this life you'll leave...
Take one last breath and let it go.
Yes, breathe...
---------------------------------------------
Contest Judged 1/25/2016
Beaming sun upon my back
Establish my summer days
A beach, my boys, a blanket, and
Cold drinks, as I soak my rays
Hoping to darken my tan
Bronzing as the babies play
Lotioned head-to-toes
Applied Aveeno Baby, even to their nose
No frowns for the camera, 1-2-3, strike a pose.
Keen eye set on them, as the breeze gently blows
Easy and relaxed, my eyes begin to doze
Todd takes patrol, so I can repose & lay
Bestirred by buckets of water
Ice cold on sunkissed flesh
Now they're gonna get it good, I
Grab the cooler full of ice, and rush
Out in the sun, our time is spent the best
2011-06-30
~*Wandering*Butterfly*~
~Miranda Lambert~
Contest: Beach Blanket Bingo - Sweetheart
Part Two
From that moment onwards
Not when the fingerless muscles unclasped
the indented bones
But from that moment of knowing
from that very moment of sustenance
That day of human unbelief died unsung
And the depth of human grief buried long
bestirred a momentous song
It willed within me it were man
Some kindly soul no less
But in surfeit laid aside
The biscuits of distaste
It willed within me it were some organisation
Hurrying to the bed of despair
With the spare crumbs of conversion
The Holy Infant to succour
I willed then it were a friend
From want of excuse to teach
His fooling heart to bleat
Robbed his conscience of a treat
I willed and willed and never
In my thankless memory
Sat the image of my enemy
The fulcrum of my singular division
And when that day I delved into my depths
To find the words of irreproachable thanks
I saw you turn and stamp the light
Of my begging steps of penance
I turned, rebuffed
Should I have turned and gone
Away from the stony snarl of thanklessness
Away from all that I saw in that
One inseparable act
Away from my insurrection
From the illimitable doubt of humility
Far away from all the coquetry of cunning
No man was divided more
Between himself and self
Between life and cherished death
Astride on the unwelcome threshold of emptiness
Had I come out of dying
And yet the chained stick of fate
Was certain to unravel for me
No less, no more, the vicious sting of hate
And revived with urgency's gratitude
Twice over, reconditely, I was blessed
(Continued in Part Three)
Singing is Bi-polar.
Some songs sound like an aching molar
Packed with violence, hate and anger.
Other songs are sung to win him or her.
Soft sweet words that cause love to whir.
Passion packed with minds a blur,
Bi-polar songs make emotions stir.
Singing touches the soul.
Old love, new love, no love…take their toll.
A heartfelt song can break a man or make him whole.
Singing about God help’s reach Heaven’s goal.
Songs that strengthen fulfill that role.
Where Heaven’s gates need no bankroll.
Only pure hearts who found time to enroll.
Singing vociferously is fun.
Whether in the shade or in the sun,
It does not matter where it’s done.
I did it once where a spider spun.
My woodland tune like opera sung
Brought birds to listen one by one.
A peacock’s courtship I once won.
Personal singing is not just for a bird.
They chirp all day singing no word.
Like man, they tweet when love is stirred.
Then comes the rooster; someone is spurred.
Anhingas sing; blurred tunes…absurd!
Meanwhile the raven’s voice is heard.
Why are they singing; we’re all bestirred!
Copyright January 14, 2014
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Three or More Stanzas, Three or More
Thoughts on the Same Idea
Sponsored by: Sheri Fresonke Harper
Thunder rolled across the sky
Like some great beast about to die,
Or the ancient god, now bestirred
By ancient thoughts and present words.
Fall arrived in her attire
Of earth, water, wind and fire.
But mostly fire, which spoke
Of life and death and heat and smoke.
As we walked through fallen leaves
And passed by wind-tossed trees
You talked of God and of Joan of Arc
And darkness settled on the park.
Of Joan of Arc and her fire,
Set upon her funeral pyre,
Dying from the fire’s embrace
In another time and another space,
Was turned to and became ashes,
While lightening flashes
As from nightmares or from dreams
Illuminated disparate scenes.
“I do not believe,” you said,
“That the past is ever dead.”
Going on our separate paths
We fled the storm and its wrath.
That soft graphite core
Clasped in fragrant cedar wood :
Pencil – nothing more,
Notions now bestirred,
Flow softly on the paper,
Gently ease the words.
My poetic muse,
Soft and black from Borrowdale,
Dark as Sunday shoes,
Guide my hand to write -
Black hieroglyphs, clear, concise
Creep across the white.
My favoured stylus
Breach the chasm of my words
And inspire me thus.
Familiar feeling –
Poised comfortably in my hand,
My artistic friend.
I
And Death once told an oft defeated life:
Look, life’s no life if lived on a knife’s edge,
In struggle for survival soaked in strife,
Alive with life, look at me— a red rage.
And just next breath away on edge of knife,
I oft hear poor life pleading from deathbed:
I'm tired of daily dose of death so rife,
Pray, tell me Death, how long ere I'm all-dead?
To this I straighten up to say, stiff head:
Moments do when like long minutes may stretch,
Minutes when look like endless hours instead,
Hours hang for days, days for years, time when etch…
Then be the time O for life’s beatitude,
Then I descend from my high altitude.
II
What altitude? Mean this row seems to me,
A voice is heard: where’s freedom if at all?
Life nor yet death, none on pedestal be,
Death changes only bricks of prison wall.
Life traces a small stretch of graph nigh vague,
Its poem, metered nor a measured bird,
A fledgling ‘tis keen to fly peg by peg,
What’s death but breath not taken nor bestirred?
Eons pass sans measure for endless time,
Nor the clocks tick, nor dare at hours to chime,
Rocks break unto sands, time stills without rhyme,
Stones grind unto grains, earth turns into lime,
The journey of countless births starts with life,
Not defeated but triumphs, time’s when rife.
___________________________________________
Crown of Sonnets | 07.08.2012, revised May 2023 |
Breeze bestirred, died down,
Not even a stray leaf stirred,
He came to my town
And left like migrating bird,
Leaving me parched, my eyes blurred.
_____________________
Gulzaar | 16.03.2023 | Tanka
Poet’s note: This is translation of lyricist Gulzar’s short shyries.
Hawa guzar gayi patte the kuchh hile bhi nahi,
wo mere shahar me aaye bhi aur mile bhi nahi.
Treasured features soaring like a blackbird.
Conjured imagery, imaginations endlessly fostered.
Rationale stretched beyond limits, enraptured
But leave it to “Soupers” to reorder lines savored.
Structured ideas freely flowing flavored.
Logical sentences with meanings anchored.
The beginning and end shows its favored word.
Forward thinking thrives, brains bolstered.
Reasoning reversal, relentlessly awkward.
Rearward reordering renders rationale absurd.
Bestirred as to where to begin or with which word.
Creative poets to the keyboard scampered.
Rationale would plummet with logic ruptured.
Headwords would flounder, flitter, and be fractured.
Reading a poem backwards, truly absurd.
Reasoning stretched when the idea occurred.
Though predictability prevails
pertaining to my life,
nonetheless a pronounceable zeal
bestirred from writing,
and reading (no surprise),
which literary leaning, inspiring,
fueling cognitive pastimes
elicit unending appeasement
within mine private weal
without doubt (I intimate), and
predicated on an
adequately comprehensible, hypothetical
sampling of the population,
would probably accurately concur,
that hallmarks majority of
quotidian, weekly, monthly...activities
would NOT re: veil
dramatic seat of
the pants, nail biting, unreal
high wire, death
defying ironic steel
lee cliff hanging,
bare knuckle adventure squeal,
ling small hairs some deal
of the spine raising goosebumps,
sky diving with
out a parachute,
intercourse without a condom,
et cetera gasping
for breath, before sidereal
red giant stage
obliterates flora and fauna doth seal
verdict - case closed,
and legitimate reason to repeal,
thus this sketchy
pictured exhibition sedentary
cerebral efforts for real
marginally quiet natured unvaried
repertoire applying
thee measure piecemeal
asper wilderness trekking, exotic
excursions globe trotting,
(sans criteria as well spent
purpose driven existence),
mine unmasked,
minimalistic patrilineal
lovely bare bones (hollow winning)
by thee above arbitrary fictitious ordeal
figuratively hypothetical measures,
this generic guy, viz zero
less exciting even eating oatmeal
as resultant measurement,
cuz his feeble minuscule variation,
thinner than lean gruel
would NOT even
constitute living, ideal
as...a fly, thus accept this message
as plea whisking me
cerulean heights ethereal!
CHAPTER 7b (Ipiki, continued)
Which had shared their lofty tree-nest
Now the bats abruptly vanished
But for one unlucky creature
Which the hunting snake now swallowed
And, its scaly torso flexing
Disappeared into the foliage
Which regained its normal greenness.
One black leaf however drifted
Gently down onto the sleeping
form of Matto, who now waking
Saw this gossamer-like object
Resting on his naked midriff
Soft as air and light as moonbeam
Black as night, now slowly stirring
Matto took it very carefully
In his hand and looked more closely
"It's a baby bat", said Kwona
As the family huddled round him
Then the dark winged creature fastened
Tiny claws round Matto's finger
Han and Kwona then permitted
Matto to adopt the batling
For a second time extending
Succour to a helpless orphan
So they talked about the naming
Of their Pipistrelle companion
He was cute and very squeaky
So they called his name "Ipiki"
By their keen young ears the children
Heard the language of Ipiki
But their parents could perceive no
Inkling of his high-pitched chirping
Matto made himself a necklace
Woven out of fibrous fern fronds
From the necklace hung Ipiki
Sleeping as they walked in daytime
Then, since bats are nighttime mammals
He would wake up in the evening
Matto fed him grubs and insects
Which Ipiki snapped up gladly
After several days, at sunset
As the bat bestirred, it spread its
Filmy wings and fluttered skyward
Circled several times near Matto
Then crash-landed in the bushes
And his maiden flight was ended
But the bat grew fast and strengthened
Gaining skill and flying further
Matto found that soon Ipiki
Had no need of finger-feeding
With his bat acoustic senses
He could capture flying insects
In the darkness. Thus at nighttime
As the family ate together
And retired up to their tree-nest
Then Ipiki would awaken
Stay some moments as the children
Cradled him between their fingers
Then would flutter through the night air
Circling round their tree encampment
Keeping up a kind of vigil
Near the family through the night hours
And from that time on they suffered
Less and less from biting insects