Best Blundering Poems
I have no pearls of wisdom for you,
you wouldn’t listen in any event,
I’ll give you no advice,
no beatings will be any good either,
it’s not the gift that you need.
You were there for the casting of the die
but you somehow think you’ll survive.
I won’t tell you how to snatch up
the light bright lies that you’ve missed,
and the countless truths to follow,
the realities that so awkwardly escaped us
are a gift that you won’t accept.
I’ve seen the witless blundering
and transgression to shame us both.
I have no sage words for you,
but I have a single round in the chamber,
so I’ll take you out behind the shed
and in the daylight that summoned me
I’ll gift us a gift far greater.
14th December 2018
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That Which Held Me In A Magical Spell
That which held me in a magical spell
Dark, its winding infinity and heart
Its red beach, covered in sad broken shells
Shreds of humanity once torn apart.
Within hard gaping gasps and stormy sea
Beauty once trampled in mad haste and greed
Else sadden look at folly within me
Why on our own swords we oft fall and bleed!
Deep thoughts and those silent murmurs in life
Echoes of cavernous pains, woe'some woes
Memories dredged up by dire worldly strife
So well hidden that no fear ever shows.
Mortal wondering, malevolent things
Deep sorrows and aches they come and they go
Weak flesh blundering(s), as a dark star sings
Each a dead corpse as lost and blind we row!
That which set me in a revolving maze
Phantasms of meanderings through deep hell
Gasping fears brought on by insipid craze
To search those nightmares we should never tell.
LO! Dare we unsavory black explore
Dawn armor to such inner sanctums raid
Seek long sought answers while we ask no more
Than devil's touch and the cut of his blades?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-28-2020
Rhyme Dark, A bold look inward..
( On the inner ponderings of the human soul
and life's many paths taken )
A toddlers Crayola masterpiece marks the box
Where the story of our days now tarry
Passages tilting the axis of a bittersweet equinox
As photographs eclipse yesterday and today unvaried
The plans we made for a life
After years of work and worry
Useless installments when your partner dies
The crumbling of everything you once held firmly
Riveted, uprooted with every slide
Scenes of "our time" bring you back to life
I step from earth, you from the sun, for yet another goodbye
And the dam finally collapses behind brave hazel eyes
But not the brokenness your death left behind
Still, though no more than ashes it resides
Like faded photographs etched in the mind
Fanning the embers... one picture at a time
Rage rises, for you left me alone
Without refuge for all life's trials
And our sons fatherless before they were grown
Every step feeling more like a mile
I've grieved so long
And tried to move on
Like river water never looking back
But it's motion sings the the words to our song
Leaving me afraid I'll never belong
Or live out the plan we devised
For all my days my efforts give way
Blundering, burdened and blind
How does one truly recover
When the mate of their soul is no more
Or pass from one realm to yet another
When the walls of your heart no longer have a door?
Frustration builds like Lego towers
toppling to the floor under the weight of the world
Is it grief or something disguised by cowards
When a heart gets stuck from the pain that it's learned?
This ode to a man
Who in covenant took my hand
The marriage equator engraved a permanent mark...
For his death left a total eclipse of my heart
Crazy as a loon
But my God... how I loved you
My eyes fixed upon our favored moon
And I wonder... Do you miss me too?
Anniversaries used to be a joyous accomplishment
Marking years of selfless love made
Now it serves only an acknowledgement
Of a life interrupted by a cruel twist of fate
Of ill trusted hopes
And a future unmade
For us left behind to cope
With memories and photographs fading away
On this the 2nd anniversary...
Of your passing away
In memory of my husband of 25 years
Charley Romani
(My Beloved)
If I had time enough to climb
this Everest of rhythmic rhyme,
I’d find my mind is wandering,
meandering through desert clime.
Each ancient word seems so absurd,
countless of which I’ve never heard.
The ear may hear, though wondering
and pondering what just occurred.
If days had space to ever trace
such epic poems of our race,
long hours of ours lost squandering
time, blundering one can’t erase.
Confine the lines under the bonnet
of sweet brevity's lean sonnet -
levity and glee arise!
These eyes will sing and smile upon it.
written 28 Mar 2020
“An Artist's Prayer"
By Rachel Heffington
I've seen the Master Artist's brush
In deer so quiet, dusky-shy,
I've seen His charcoal pencil trace
A tree against the evening sky.
His watercolors have I glimpsed
In fragile petals of a rose.
A pastel masterpiece I view
Each time a day is at its close.
I've seen His sculpture in the way
The waves conform the rippling sand,
So Lord, please take this amatuer
And guide my ever-blundering hand!
He chose a face
that only his mad mother
would love.
He painted a tragedy
upon a crooked grin.
His mask was designed
to mug any real mirth.
His career-path
a honking mockery.
A blundering funster
who picked-up
a badgering prod,
that made it caper, and ha-de-ha
inside distorting mirrors.
When audiences thinned,
he became the dark intermission,
a curtain drawn
over a cloaked smirk.
Now we see him
swaying on street corners,
occasionally cackling,
much crazier now
then his sorrowing mom.
Blundering bodies
Find fulfilment in rhythm;
Let the Music in.
Big blundering beast
Poor fish have no chance whatsoever
Neither does the slowest runner in your group
Spluttering, Muttering and Stuttering
Mandruka was always a spluttering
Wife was always talking and muttering
Then came Frank who was always fluttering
Golly, Molly was always stuttering
Mandruka’s wife yelled stop that blundering.
Written: Aug. 11, 2015
Theresa Marie W-C
Have I looked upon the darkest hour
Cluelessly cleansing, experience dire
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
Cunning clever concoctions, now sour
Triggering a transformation by fire
Have I looked upon the darkest hour
With witty wings I flew, now I cower
Restless reasoning, ready to inquire
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
Tantalizing temptation takes power
Honestly only one thing that I desire
Have I looked upon my darkest hour
Written rhythm and rhyme I scour
Savvy sayings of saints, I don't tire
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
A blundering bluntness as I devour
Wicked witchcraft have I called sire
Have I looked upon the darkest hour
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
Penned 2/5/2013 by Wayland Bunch II
did this on phone so harder to see errors, which after checking barely today 2/13/13 were a lot lol, thanks guys for not mentioning them lol.
Children staring at presents under the tree
Eager eyes wide open and full of wondering,
They know Mama’s been on a shopping spree.
Packages tied up with ribbons, sometimes three
Sends their active imaginations wandering,
Children staring at presents under the tree.
No presents until Christmas, despite their plea,
They’ve even think about secretly plundering
They know Mama’s been on a shopping spree.
Anxiously, they study the packages on one knee
Around the tree they find themselves meandering
Children staring at presents under the tree.
What will Santa bring? They can hardly wait to see
Christmas Eve approaches, stomachs are churning,
They know Mama’s been on a shopping spree.
A large box behind the tree, could it be for me?
Too far back to investigate without blundering,
They know Mama’s been on a shopping spree
Children staring at presents under the tree.
Written November 30, 2022
DEVOID OF LOVE
________________
Dawn of your life,
Sun doesn't rise.
Morning greets gloom.
Noon is a matter of grey.
Shadow lost its silhouette.
In hustle and bustle of life.
Standing in the crowded street.
No one stops to stare.
At this ravaged state of self.
Music seems to have lost its magic.
Chirping of birds are piercing your ear.
Child crying causes agitation.
Gentle breeze irritates your skin.
'Hello', seems to mean hostility.
Evenings are lacing blues.
Dusk, she wears no twlight.
Nights are damp and cold.
Midnight clouds the mind.
Moon she's lost her sheen.
Stars abandoned the sky.
Rembrant's brush failed its stroke.
His mind has lost perception.
Expression have ceased.
Imagination lost its mind.
Canvas remains unfinished.
Images of deceptions.
Colours make no more sense.
Thoughts have lost imagination.
Words have no connotation.
Expressions are deceiving.
Voice has lost its sound.
Smile has lost its curve.
Vision just a blur.
Time stands still.
suspended animation.
In this vacant space of mind.
Heart doesn't seem to beat.
"ALL BECAUSE YOUR TOTALLY DEVOID OF LOVE ".
When LOVE smiled at you ,
You looked away....???
You " BLUNDERING " fool...!!!
Your heart and soul, Can only perform .
"INTOXICATED" by the nectar of LOVE.
Fuelling your mind with sublime thoughts,
Giving meaning to your life.
"SO GO AND FIND YOURSELF SOMEONE ,
TO LOVE AND BE LOVED".
PASSION UNFETTERED
There is a force within a few that stands aloof,
Jealously gazing at the eyes of lovers brimming with expectation,
But something stays frozen-- in disjointed time,
Afraid if the precocity of love is brilliantly returned.
The truly beloved err,
Like a force of nature
the sweetness will be drained from the soul,
Leaving a husk
Withering
Never to be regenerated.
If this tale of passion is true
We are helpless toys of
a fickle god….
Who garners
passing amusement orchestrating loss.
If the action of love proves untrue,
The Lovers are simply actors .
Mouthing empty lines,
Doomed are all to eternal isolation.
Warily venture.
the Blundering Hopeful
Spiral dizzily from elation,
Soul Splayed --
Adhered naked to the sullen earth
Held by invisible stakes of humiliation and discontent.
Alert for independent action
Survivors swathed in stealth
Endure silent screaming nights--
Appear Sleepless and Vacant.
(but in truth, they are in constant vigilance—)
Seeking the moment when a slash in time
Will offer unknown hope
Unfettered
Escape
At last--
And free to fly
V. Anderson-Throop 2014©
My Clock
By J. Philip Harris
Tick tock, tick tock the old man clicks his clock. That rude robust bellow of the long and short. Splattering seconds as it pleases. RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, and on and on it goes, a never-ending cycle of cyclic stress syndrome. Oh, the tyranny!!!
SHHH!!!! Do you hear it? The crackle of the old man! It taunts me. It nags me. It’s pleased to watch my whits end. Oh why do your hands strangle me so?
Tick tock, tick tock the old man clicks his clock.The blundering muses of black wading in and waddling down the river white. You jezebels of Babylon! I long to murder you. I long to see your end. You spread me thin and drive my nerves into an early grave. My tardiness is amusing to you.
RUSH, RUSH, RUSH, RUSH! The aching grin that pushes me onward down the spiral of bleeding hell. My clock.
My Clock
Click
Clock
The old man clicks my clock!
Fashioning the favourable foul,
Cutting the caustic cordial,
Rearing a rabid recall.
Pardon the potion
When blind and blundering
We fathom the favourable foul.
String along the slug
When casually and crazed
We concede the caustic cordial.
Split the sauce
When tardily and turbulently
We receive the rabid recall.
Behold the botheration of the booze!
Jilt the jitters of the jug,
Surrender the stress of the spirits.
Do this in the name
Of the bright, the blue
And the holy camera eye.
Amen.
© 2016 Margo Cami [www.margocami.com]