Best Blankly Poems
Like a creature hibernating in its burrow
Waiting to come out with the first verdure of spring,
The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart
Through the long winter awaiting another spring
After staying torpid inside for long,
At a time I expected it the least
Timidly came out the first word,
As shaky as a calf getting up for the first time.
Then another came and word after word in a row
Like pellets of rain on the window pane
I boiled them in the crucibles of my imagination
And finally dipping them in the ocean of my emotions
But rhyme came to set constraints
For the right alignment I struggled
I had to decide on its texture and format
Pondered if it should be a sonnet or an ode
I might have kept the door open for long
Alas! All my words and fancies flew away,
Like birds taking on wings into the sky
From a cage where they were imprisoned for long
I stood so helpless with my mouth shut,
Staring blankly out into the airy nothing
Like one lost in the doorway of his own threshold
Unable to call back those winged words lost in the void
________________________________________
~Placed Fifth~
Submitted for Marathon no.10. Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Mark Toney
~Placed First~
31. March .2022
A Brian Strand Standard
Poetry Contest
They sit in silence at the table
Eating their evening meal
He gently wipes the food from her face
This life they now live still feels so surreal
She now sits in her recliner chair
While he makes her a cup of tea
Emotionless and still
She stares blankly at the T.V
He closes his weary eyes and remembers
The who she used to be
Her sweetness, her laughter
And a life together fulfilled and happy
Asleep now in her chair
He reflects on where she has gone
Alone and confused in her own mind
He has missed her for so long
He helps her put on her nightie
Gets her tucked into bed
His kisses her and voices “l love you my sweet”
As he gently strokes her head
She takes his hand and squeezes it softly
As a lone tear rolls down her cheek
He smiles ,cuddles and reassures her
Lovingly whispers “Oh there you are my sweet”!
Inspired by Edvard Munch's oil on canvas painting - Ashes (1894)
The fire of passion between us has burned itself out,
These woods taunt us with their vibrant whispers,
I am tired of listening to the leaves laughing
and the trees teasing us,
Oh! What have we done?
My whole life has come undone!
Shame squeezes my soul,
Despair clings tenaciously to my being,
Frustration at having fallen into this hopeless pit!
Look at me and answer -
Is there any redemption left?
Any way to go back to life as it were before?
Why has Fate tempted us thus?
My heart aches for all that is lost between us...
How have we succumbed to the lust of the flesh!
Beyond repair, beyond rectification!
My wild hair is testament to how I feel!
I stare blankly at my bleak future
(if there's any left!)
You hide your face now!
Why didn't you think of the consequences
before doing the deed?
Why did you lure me into your lustful trap?
Ah, Me! I know I am equally to blame!
What I thought was 'love' completely blinded me!
Now I am left to mourn...
No! now WE are left to mourn
this 'blazing' passion that has burned us,
this 'fire' that has consumed us,
this useless heap of 'ashes' left behind!
Susan Boulet was an artist 1941-1997
Her paintings are famous for their layered effects which she started later on in her artistic career. She loved fantasy which is easily seen in her paintings. This is my fantasy poem as I look at this beautiful picture painted by Susan Boulet.
The old man sits quietly on the hillside, knowing his days as one
Spirit would soon be coming to an end. He stares blankly at the heavens where the pale blue sky is the backsplash for Cumulus clouds now filling in, the horizon. He chants his prayer over and over again calling his brothers to come receive his spirit and be one with him for all eternity. Brother bear, cloak me with the warmth of your coat that we may walk through each winter and never be cold again. We will stand together as one, never again will we know fear. Brother wolf fill my heart with your loyal spirit that we may rise to heights of a love greater than any human could possibly achieve. His prayer seems to rise more intensely as he continues. Mighty cat, share with me your speed that we may be faster than the wind, jumping through the clouds as one. Wise and good owl, become one with us that we shall have wings to fly as eagles and wisdom to find eternal peace. Now the old man whispers, together we shall hold the secrets of the universe in our hands. Soon his chin drops down on his chest as a smile crosses his face, and the old frail body crumbles to the hard rocky ground. Then the cry of a wolf, the hoot of an owl and simultaneously the roars of a sabre-toothed and bear echo through the valley. As darkness fills the sky and the moon is high, the silhouette of a young warrior stands proudly on the bluff.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.26.2014
For Debbie Guzzi’s Contest:
Free Verse, Prose Poetry, Haibun
I’m one of the lonely,
the oh so lonely people
missing your subtle smile.
You were a pretty blue eyed beauty,
with unkept hair and go go boot style.
Eleanor, Eleanor Rigby,
you lived down on the corner.
I’d see you stand inside your door,
staring blankly at the floor.
They told me, yes they told me,
you didn’t care any more.
The nightmare you lived,
It’s so sad it seems.
So you left your face in the jar by the bed,
because it couldn’t conceal your screams.
I hear them sing songs about you,
you still live in their dreams.
Those lonely people,
those sad lonely people.
They crave a glimpse of you.
So they make up their stories,
but none of them are true.
They keep saying they know,
but we know they never knew.
Each one trying to grab onto,
a small piece of you.
Do you remember,
Old Father McKenzie?
I listened to the words of the sermon
that the others couldn’t hear.
I wished you were here,
Oh how I wished you were here.
As I drank of his wine
I swallowed a tear,
thinking you were behind me
as I stared at the mirror.
Don’t worry Eleanor Rigby,
there’s nothing left to fear.
I know the man that you loved
was taken from you.
No reason, no reason that’s true
For you there was not to be,
a life long happy “I do”
“Do you take this man, Eleanor Rigby?”
Down the aisle you walked alone.
Why oh why was he taken from you?
After you were buried,
alone I went to your grave.
Always afraid, always afraid.
Why didn’t I ever talk to you?
I’ve never been one who is brave,
I guess that’s why,
I’m one of the lonely people.
So I saved you Eleanor Rigby
by throwing you from the Steeple!
I know, I know it’s good to be free,
so for a while I’ll keep you company.
It’s ok Eleanor Rigby,
there’s no need,
no need at all to thank me.
Together with him,
you are meant to be.
For Jerry T Curtis’s: Who Was Eleanor Rigby? Contest
FROM HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
As the bitter Northern wind howled in the grey early morn,
Sat a young child half frozen, looking sad and forlorn,
He came from a rundown broken home, with 6 siblings,
Where there was little money, no hope and poor beginnings.
Rob always sat on the same flat rock in a nearby littered field,
Not dressed for the biting winter, and his body to shield,
Sat aimlessly, blankly gazing at coal trucks driving by,
Tears rolling down his grubby cheeks, he’d let out a heartfelt sigh!
His father drove trucks, would he come home, even late, tonight,
Would his mother be sober, kiss her husband; say all would be right,
Would there ever be enough food for a big family of nine,
Or would they forever stay hungry, sent shivers up his spine!
A young girl his age noticed this boy, whose name was Rob,
Dressed in a warm coat, gloves, ear muffs, but was no snob,
Lived in the suburbs, often saw Rob today, she brought him a coat,
A slab of chocolate, a warm scarf for his head, ears and throat!
Young Rob liked this young Missy, they began to meet every day,
Lizzy invited him home, met her parents, went there every Sunday,
Their friendship grew, and blossomed and they fell madly in love,
Rob studied, got a scholarship to Technical College, rewarded from above.
Lizzy’s father was the Mine Manager, and he liked this young man,
When finished his studies, made him foreman and gave him a van,
They got engaged in December, married in the spring of the following year,
Rob became a dad, loved his wife, who had pierced his heart with a spear!
They grew old together, as did Lizzy’s parents, who both got ill and died,
Rob became Mine Manager, this family had adopted him with such pride,
But he never forgot his own parents, and his oh so humble beginnings,
Always sent them a monthly sum, and for them always had feelings!
A once pretty, teenage girl, heavily pregnant
Stood in the rain,
Her clothes torn, her eyes red, her ankles
Swollen, she was in pain.
She often stood on the corner of this
Busy street,
Begging everyone, someone please give me
Anything to eat.
Her eyes vacant, she just
Blankly stared,
No one in this vast rushed world
Actually cared.
Often bought her a MacDonalds or Kentucky meal,
Her situation inhumane, horrific
Almost unreal.
She was weak, could hardly walk,
Seemed to be in a daze,
Her hair was dirty, long, and the wind
slapped it across her face,
I gave her a two hundred Rand note,
Placing it in her hand,
Said shhhhhhh, as if I already knew,
Don’t tell a soul,
I could see her miserable life,
Had already taken it's toll.
I drove her to the outskirts of her home,
Which was always known
To be a dubious zone.
A middle aged, man with greasy hair,
That was going grey, still somewhat fair,
A cigarette hanging from his mouth,
Came from somewhere
Out of nowhere,
Saw in her hand the money,
Darn you don’t need this honey,
I’ll buy me my moonshine!
She heavily made her way through the
Garbage scattered on the floor,
And sank on a torn sofa, not minding who
Was standing by the door,
Cruel, filthy mouthed, continually cursing,
Who was this bad man shunning her hurting,
Husband, father or brother, I’ll never know,
I saw no mother!
Poem Of The Day on 2/09/2021
The asphalt driveway is blackened over by rain
sand bags lie in the corner of the garage in case water creeps in, some sheep scurry in distant fields
Your elephant eyes are locked on the TV; 55 inches of electronic love
I liked lying under the moonlight on summer nights as moths danced towards the patio light I remind myself in melancholy moods, child please don’t cry, every season changes
Your vehicle’s mileage spans out to El Dorado’s grave and back
The snares of your life keep drumming it’s slower now, consistent patters; the TV is staring back at you copper pennies lie in wait beside your remote control, everything has a place with you
If I could tie a rope around your Will I would direct it towards my family, we are hopeful you will see us, and remember tossing your children in the air, serving crepes every Christmas morning and the brick house you lived in with your wife for more than two decades, a pool of tumbling memories without all the injures, it is ok to feel free, to be a part of a living zoo
thunder rumbles past our yellow one-story apartment, somewhere swans sleep unaware of rain
swaying slowly when you stand, I’m starting to realize God balances us all out
cement like air fills my lungs as the newscaster gets soaked by yet another wave
staring blankly, you blink at the angel food cake on the counter and shuffle on, towards the Rio Grande
bones of drowned years clamber past Nevada, Arizona, all the tumble weed states
falling forward we catch ourselves each day, we shade our eyes from the glaring sun, as the dust gathers below the Grand Canyon
you shuffle in and switch the channel, the trumpets settle in my heart as you ask, how did it go today?
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
Once upon a midnight, ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
White eyed werewolves gorged, engrossedly.
In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly)
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.
Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.
Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.
As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.
If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...
The air was thin and icy.
It was dark and cold outside.
A blanket of snow covered the ground.
The footprints in the snow led the way.
We loaded the bus one-by-one as if we were animals entering Noah’s Ark.
Statuesque beings sat motionless in their seats.
Twenty pairs of eyes half-open stared blankly ahead fixated on nothingness.
Our journey to the unknown was about to begin.
The bus tired spun in circles like a child’s merry-go-round.
Round and round they went like the thoughts in my head.
I felt like a kid at the circus.
Excitement and freedom swept over me like a cool, summer breeze.
The road was long and unfamiliar.
Time passed by so slowly as if the earth’s stopwatch had been turned off.
The once frozen bus was not swimming in a sea of hot air.
Our final destination was a small, almost-deserted town in Upstate NY.
It looked as though a plague had swept through like a giant broom and devastated it completely.
One after the other buses pulled up.
A sea of yellow painted the once dreary canvas.
Girls of all shapes and sizes descended onto the now colorful landscape.
All dressed in tan britches, black boots, and smiles.
The clan of riders filed into the ring like a colony of ants all with the same mission.
This was my first mission.
I was a soldier going into battle for the first time.
The ant colony gathered in a circular formation.
The sign-in table was engulfed and swallowed whole.
Numbers were being handed out, one-by-one.
36, 17, 41, 54, 62, 12, 19, 38…
The judge’s voice boomed over the speaker like the voice of G-d.
Every crevice of the ring was filled with the loud, unclear syllables.
Girls of horseback walked proudly and calmly into the ring.
Horses arched their necks and pranced around as if they owned the world.
Tails raised slightly, eyes beaming forward, chests massive.
Hours passed by like days.
My nerves built up like a roaring fireball in my stomach.
One swift leg-up from my coach and I am propelled onto the horse.
I land smoothly into seat of the saddle.
I am welcomed with open arms.
Together, as one creation, we walked into the ring to compete the mission at hand.
children's laughter
on the beach. . .
storm clouds gather
My husband, I, and our two teenaged children are enjoying a picnic when we feel slow heavy droplets that develop quickly into an assault of angry pounding rain. We rush to our boat to return to the dock twenty minutes away. My son and I are alongside the boat on WaveRunners we have rented. As the wind strengthens, mighty moving ridges came rolling before our eyes. Fear grips my heart; my son begins to sob. I call out,"It's ok," trembling in the downpour.
All at once, one single billow heaves itself completely over our boat. My spouse and daughter desperately try to bail out water from the sinking boat as my husband directs my son and I to race to the shore for help. I now truly understand the reason for the name WaveRunners, for I am running for all our lives as my heart beats to the rhythm of the lake’s surging waves.
Help comes, but our rescuers drag our boat out of the lake upside down, wrecking it. Having just had a nervous breakdown months ago, my husband cannot bear the destruction of this prized possession, provider of his sanity.
our children's cries
as my husband blankly stares. . .
my unheard pleas
Revised for the "Emotions that Rock You" Contest of Craig Cornish
( This poem is about the ' Killing Fields' of Cambodia, 1975-79, where as many as 2 million people were murdered by the communist Khmer Rouge. I taught in Phnom-Penh from '73-74, and never met a people I liked more.)
They haunt me still,
the brown children laughing, always laughing,
the women voluptuous, languid,
their movement almost an invitation....
Even the traffic policeman:
crisp, clean, proud in uniform,
moving with ballerina grace
as hordes of cyclos and mopeds
and the occasional automobile
pirouette endlessly about him,
impatient bees made quiescent
by surreal beauty of white-gloved arms
cutting through thick tropical air....
Everywhere was grace, gentleness:
temples incandescent at dawn,
with ant trails of orange-robed monks
cradling their pot-belly begging bowls,
the patient women standing by the road
to lump rice into the begging bowls,
the monks always staring blankly ahead
as the women bowed low in reverence,
grateful their gift of life was taken....
And oh, how wondrous it was:
an accident in the street, yet no anger,
no bile--forgiveness, felt before thought,
thought before uttered....
How could such a people murder?
No, not murder-- slaughter!
Their mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles,
teachers, priests, friends and children too.
Change temples of peace into charnel-houses?
Schools of knowledge into abattoirs?
They photographed every butchered lamb,
like the devil's children on holiday,
and decorated the classroom walls,
a show-and-tell of horror and despair.
Why? Why?--
Why such pain on
such a gentle people?
Why did God hide His face
while the world turned its back?
Forty,
forty,
forty
years
and still...
still they haunt me.
She looks so fragile. Her posture, usually so straight and confident, is hunched. Her eyes - those brilliant sapphire-blue eyes that captivated my dad thirty years ago - are a tear-softened turquoise behind black-rimmed glasses. She stares blankly out the window, seeing something I don't. Watching memories, perhaps.
My mum, the strongest woman I know, looks breakable.
the old cherry clock
ticks away broken heartbeats --
splash of crimson wine
I sit beside her and place my hand over her smaller, trembling one. It's the only comfort she will accept. She is my mother. She is supposed to be strong for me, not the other way around. That's what she would say. So I sit beside her helplessly, holding her tiny hand.
She has lost her mother tonight. And I can only hope that, someday, I will have a child to hold my hand when I lose this woman I love so dearly.
The girl sat up at night
a mountain of tissues by her side
trying to wipe away the memory of him
All the happy memories
going through her head
"What did i do wrong?"
She yelled
A mixture of anger
and sadness
came together
"I will never love again"
She thought
Something was building up
inside of her
The earthquake inside of her
had split her heart in half
She now understood
the true meaning of heartbreak
She thought, as the clear capsules
holding all of her emotion
dropped from her eyes
She remembered what he last said to her
"It is better to have loved and lost
than never have loved at all
-Alfred Lord Tennyson"
She wiped away her tears
as she said
"Tennyson was an idiot"
The girl's heart was shattered
into countless pieces
After all she had been through
she couldn't help but think about
what might have been
It was then she realized
She still loved him
She stared blankly at the wall
able to feel nothing...
Numb
The memories went through her head
replaying over and over again
Like a song
eternally on repeat
Suddenly anger
nothing but anger ran through her
She grabbed at what ever was close
and threw it at the wall
She picked up what she had thrown
It was a picture of the boy
She sunk to her knees
and cried
The night was a lonely time
No one was there to comfort her
as she cried softly into the pillow
Darkness filled the room
and her heart
The doors of her heart
had now been locked and chained
With the key thrown away
And the candles of light
blown out
So nobody could find a way
She sang herself a lullaby to go to sleep
A slow,sweet song
to numb the pain
and the feeling of loneliness
She twisted and turned
For the pain was too great in her heart
She ran the happy memories through her mind
once more
"How will I live?"
"How will I survive?"
She said
As she drifted to sleep