Best Blind Alley Poems
What be of love if one was purged of thee
To claim a life of constant misery,
To wander lost a blind alley not free
Turned from once a flower to shrubbery?
When dusted away the shadows from time
Those that festered within a view so plain,
Yet not wanting to veer from daily grime
An act from Shakespeare as one did feign.
Like the first key of spring one did open
A cold heart locked in ridicule and shame,
To live in pretence of nothing broken
When thinking it were he the one to blame.
So never to curse the day that time took so long,
When written in verse becomes a beautiful song.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
Red tape maps certain ugly areas not yet examined properly
as the bad paths are clearly marked as worthless dust blown away
over a passage of time we need to live within the strength of obedience
To the very letter perfectly constructed
put into figures and words to reject God
Shadows dart within life they carry the dusk inside reality existing
debts gambling with our future growth in favour of a death wish
Which dishonours the meaning of love
and it's Divine right caring little about human equality
never forgetting who holds the rights to life and death key
In His hands their is mercy under such a grave sin confessed
entering these unlawful hallowed grounds lay buried deeply
disturbing the truth where it remains facts to be held under oath
Speaking of Sedoka 5-28-26 Nette Onclaud
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sedoka Dead End
faded street signs point
into overgrown byways
unlit blind alley encores
cryptic curlicues
chant beats of new directions
my heart seeks for sacred roads
Fear, a liar that can delude or mislead you.
It tells you that you are cursed and doomed.
Have courage to stop and look at Fear in the face!
It comes, like hooded serpents from dark holes,
with venom in their fangs ready to snap at.
Like, monsters from roaring seas
that rest on the sands
as boulders on a low - lying ledge
Or, vampires hurtling down
to suck your blood in dark
with their outgrown canine teeth
Fears are wasps swarming round,
like embers from a furnace
or scorpions with poisonous stings,
hidden in their tails.
Living with them
is like getting enclosed in a blind alley,
pacing forward and rushing backward,
seeing the gates fastened tight with iron shutters,
or being chased after,
by an elephant on rampage.
Never succumb, but defend its onslaught,
for your arch enemy sure shall
shred you to pieces if you let yourself to be subdued!
Jan. 21. 2023
~ Placed First~
Fear is a Liar Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
In your parched desert land
As the pendulum swings
And your friends are all gone
Still you’re moving right along
Like it doesn’t mean a thing
In your parched desert land
Thinking life’s unforgiving
Why not swallow your pride
Take an honest look inside
Join the land of the living
In your parched desert land
Your manufactured death valley
Kind response was so important
Yet your manner was discordant
Isolation’s blind alley
In your parched desert land
When they take the final tally
You’ll surrender the fight
Find exquisite delight
In your brokered finale
March 9, 2020
F F I series FINALE
Brian Strand, sponsor
I hail each bronze, red, and blue coloured dawn,
as pulsing heart mould torch flame of bliss,
to gaze across some awestruck mint sprig lawn,
that golden birthright never goes amiss
Eye beam urban verve one duly savours,
coruscating joie de vivre street life,
bursts of swift dash coffee’s hazel flavours,
cell-phone upbeat day ahead hubbub rife
Blue robin high pitch chirp from chimney top,
sets the tone for morning wonders brightly,
activate those spark prompt hunches nonstop,
schedules met in narrow windows tightly
In suburb or in city centre fair,
skies and pavements segue with deft flourish,
your dreamland ticket ace broad daylight flair,
groundbreaking spurt fantastic, let us nourish
Dynamic itch to stray amid blind alley,
lurk within some parboiled notion latent,
steel clad zone that mosaic sculpted tally,
animated focus me the claimant
dead end street …
mostly elderly when we came
always quiet …
empty nests side-by-side
aching for spring
but winter came instead
(the winter of life)
friends … good people -
town folk who raised this little
borough with pride
came to this blind alley to wait for God
and He obliged …
one-by-one, this road of
retirement rolled over …
the reap saw these quiet abodes
flipping fast and furious
and the once-aged occupants were
replaced with families -
young professionals and upstarts
fresh-woven nests filled with
chicks and younglings -
little voices and wings to test
upon the breeze
training wheels and swing sets
where lounge chairs once grazed lazily
backboards and rollerblades
and a valid reason for the ice cream
truck to loiter, it’s silly music box
jingling the afternoons with cold, tasty
wonder-in-a-cone …
time - passing like a subway car -
just a flash in the dark …
grain-by-grain the
hourglass steadily sifted
and a once-peaceful lane became
a circus of activity -
giggles and screeches replacing the
silence with the music of life
the rarely-a-car avenue, vibrant and joyous
picnics and lawn parties
birthdays and showers and fireworks
playballs left unattended
bicycles laid at the curbs in a rush
pets being walked
and the commonplace, everyday things
started being … every day …
oh, no mistake -
I loved the quiet when we came
and tho’ I dread the winter months now -
the post-Christmas cold, dead and
long-dark days, grinding on me
like a ragged old dirge -
that quietude and peaceful contemplation
is STILL one of life’s greatest
“little pleasures” to me …
yet … it’s the NOISE that I’ve come to
miss the most this time of year -
those little voices of
youth and vibrancy that sing me
through the warm months,
reminding me what being here is
all about, and making me
yearn more than ever
the sweet, joyous, callow kiss …
of Spring.
(Photo of Maplewood Drive by yours truly)
his mind had entered a state of confusion
numb blank and befuddled on one hand
with walls in front
and verges closing in behind
enclosed in a mixture of discomfort
and pressure to move
stand still for a moment
a voice quietly whispered
with a chorus answering
run for your life
polarized messages
a Jungian way of saying
only uncertainty is clear
he coughed up some phlegm
a mixture of nicotine and discontent
and tried not to give too much importance
to the dreams he had had
maybe there was an aperture
in the partition in front of him
there was a chance that the blind alley could see
not a through road but rather a simple conjecture
that could be refuted with patience and time
three things he knew was that he would not
turn back on himself in anger nor sorrow
that an imprisoned state
could serve as a prism
and reflection would eventually
lead him through darkness
19th February 2023
This or that volume 16 cul-de-sac
sponsor Edvard Ibeh
I trod the volcanic soil of past relationships
Down until the river ran red
And where the cobalt ribbons threaded
Skies with golden studs embedded,
Encrusting precious metals in my centrifugal head.
As they turned and spun the alchemy of ages past
Round until their substance re-combined,
And the chemical reactions
Changed the future days by fractions,
Revisions of the outcomes in my sore eccentric mind.
How I walked the blind-alley warrens of stone
Out onto the cliff-tops by the sea,
Where the gulls were made of wires
And they dripped baptismal fires
Upon the alternate alternatives of my reality.
I cried and consumed the static of lingerie
Face first into the channel of her breasts,
Whereupon perfumed emissions
In her loin of nuclear fissions,
I consumed her sex and life and then began on all the rest.
Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they paint sound and city pastel,
never at a loss for inspiration,
weather neither bar nor barrier,
in the face of whirlwind snowfall,
freezing ice, torrential downpour,
within themselves, he, she, they plod on,
hardship is adopted, never cast aside,
while others brazenly squirm,
wallow in uproarious denial,
wilt before the slightest storm,
taking flight in arid comfort zone,
shelter is their first convenient port,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
alert does not begin an ample portrait,
of this wilful dwindling genus,
genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
they capture worlds sidereal,
under velvet moon imagining bespoke,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
how magical their canny weave lexicon,
for us timid souls to relish evermore,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
A brook marries the river
And river the ocean blue;
The sky & winds are witnesses
Waiting by the aisle in a queue.
High mountains marry the clouds
Embraced by the sun and moon;
The stars stand in as flower girls
With slivers of light as festoon.
Wonder if the minister
Who solemnizes the vows;
Is God Almighty by himself
For love's trajectory he knows.
When the nuptials are complete
The couple embrace and kiss;
Love's blind alley they tread upon
No wonder find nothing amiss.
Why not we marry sweetheart?
With the sun and moon in sight;
Then kiss under bejeweled skies
Entwined by ecstatic twilight.
***********
When You Are Asleep ,
An Amorously Feeling Will Invite Me To You
I watch You Calmly And Notic Jealousy Of The Angels
Your Calm eyes Are In Moonlight s banquet In The skys Dream
In My Life s Blind alley I hope To Tomorrow Breaking Of That
Wall With Your Hands
I Adore The Scent Of That Jasmin
When I See You In A Feeling To Smile
Lullaby Of A star Is Not Enough For You
Peace Kiss Lost In My Sleepy Night
I Stay In Front Of Tears With A Smile On My Lipe
And Tell A Story Of Not
Return Way
Night Moonlight Dances With My Tears ,A Tear Is My Eye
I will Wake up Peacefully With Dreaming Tomorrow Love And You
Night Of Your Eyes Be Full Of Anemone Dream.
It’s the sole legacy from his dad.
A cup of ice cream tempts him
more than the alluring face of
a fair lady. Eating is his ecstasy
forgetting the existence.
It blooms in orange or red hue
in a test tube in the summer
of tension.
Urinary impulse usually slices
his sleep into three at night.
Nameless anxieties burn in his
mind. Fatigue remains in the ash.
Sugar syrup flows through his veins
and rusts his internal engines.
His doctor’s stethoscope listens
money-beats. Pharmacy sells him
new complications. Insulin leads
him to the blind alley.
He sloshes in the sludge of life,
reaching nowhere.
Sanoj’s a writer - his rating is high
in a glucose meter. Sooner or later
he will be awarded with
the silence of a coma.
Ancient Derodidymus – You So Sweet A Thing
Derodidymus – an ancient symbol in the form of a
two-headed dragon that’s in a fight forever in one
single body. Yes, for sure . . .
“A Two-Headed Monster” who’s in the mirror for
you to see, “Good Luck,” as one head talks to the
other at will.
Any hint of “Human Normality” pervades the true
essence of a real Derodidymus most certainly not!
The fright factor of such a mythical creature in our
“modern world” conjures an image of a horrible evil!
After all what would one do, if one were to run into
such a mythical creature in a blind alley one night?
Run like Hell . . . Talk to the Creature . . . or Faint!
Or perhaps consult an Anthropologist, if you can!
This two-headed Dragon is an ancient and sacred
symbol for sure, but it’s oh so real today. This is a
fight of the two heads in one body or maybe a most
challenging fight forever, or can it now be put to rest
Today! If not, start running now and keep running
or this so sweet a thing will surely find you! Amen.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
June 6, 2023 (Narrative)
Laminate
Plastic covered up definitions lip with profound mastic.
Layered lamella formed single filed lines separating life from death;
Held onto by paper thin adhesions.
Besides bungling up a perfectly fine bollix,
Laminate single handedly took arms up touching innocency.
Scrolls of past things are looked less upon;
By inclinations vestal eye, seen glimpsing beyond chaste.
Blind alley virtual figment reality innocuously engulfed—
Suppressed complimentary service accepts multiplied donators;
Final offers pickled debacle is utter intrinsic debasement.
One lamination, under God, with liberty and justice; For all…
| Laminate | IrOniC ZiNc 12-13-15 12:59am (ct)