Best Bottom(A) Poems
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
Categories:
bottom(a), journey,
Form:
Epic
A string wrapped around a spindle
Unwinding as an hourglass marks time
Sand trickles to the chamber below
marking the moments of my life not truly lived
I hear the clock ticking
as I watch the pendulum swing backwards and stop
The sound of silence drives me mad
I feel the night drag me back to then
too the realization of my dread
There I sit in the torture chamber of his design
Screams strangled by darkness
Night terrors
Rocking to my internal beat
I feel a pain to deep to express
an aching betrayal
a convoluted confusion
I can't protect her from him
She seems smaller than small
holding that lifeless doll
rocking there on this floor
We share the same internal beat
together crying
together rocking
The clock becomes animated again
and the pendulum swings forward
breaking the suffocating silence
The hourglass now sits motionless on his desk
at its bottom a pile of white sand
If only time could truly be controlled
I would choose to wind the string back onto the spindle
I would rewind the clock
turn back the hands of time
Instead I start rocking again
sitting alone here in the dark
thinking of her lifeless doll!
Kai Michael Neumann's Pendulum of Time and Place contest.
Categories:
bottom(a), betrayal,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
what is
this thing
close up
very shapely
but taken in
from a distance
sheer terror contorts
my face like Munch's
Scream and i do
scream now seeing
understanding contrast
of color her skin darkening
knowing now the meaning
of the bikini as she faces me
from afar i see her top as if
horns and her bottom a smile
thinking Lovecraft could not
even imagine the demon before me
Categories:
bottom(a), muse,
Form:
A string wrapped around a spindle
Unwinding as an hourglass marks time
Sand trickles to the chamber below
Marking the moments of my life
Questioning “have you truly lived”
The sound of silence drives me mad
The hourglass drags me back in time
I relive the nightmare of my dread
Memories that should never be
The torture chamber of his design
Unraveled bits intertwined
Screams strangled by the darkness
Night terrors
Rocking to my internal beat
Feeling an ache too deep to express
Betrayal
Confusion
I cannot protect her from him
She seems so small
Holding that lifeless doll
Rocking there on this floor
We share that same internal beat
Together we cry
Together we rock
As the clock strikes midnight
Silence breaks
I am dragged forward
The hourglass sits motionless on his desk
at the bottom a pile of white sand
If only time could truly stop
After winding the string back onto the spindle
I start rocking again
Alone here in the dark
Thinking of her lifeless doll.
Categories:
bottom(a), angst, life,
Form:
Free verse
There in plain view a secret box
That held all his letters
Remants of your favorite flower
One to like, well never
At the bottom a plane ticket
To a destination
Undesired, frozen Alaska
Total aberration
Why hold onto dead love letters?
Or his favorite flower
An unused plane ticket crackled_
Why reminisce this hour
So different this strange couple
In flowers, expressions
Held together by a secret box
A unique possession
Within that box sealed away; things
Some bad these which they sling
Forget their existence, buried
Now that secret box cling
Cling to every precious moment
A love that lasted through
Good times and bad, hard times and sad
Divine love story true
Inspired by: Laura Loo's Contest_Combination of Three Phrase_Poetry
Written: January 02, 2016
Categories:
bottom(a), imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
So your youth has long gone and you’re feeling your age
And you squint at the print on the optician’s page
Hallway mirrors are banned cos you know they tell lies
And there isn’t a laptop that comes in your size
And the back of your wardrobe is looking a bit
Like your Narnia weekend was clearly a hit
And the crime rate is up on the high street you’ve read
So it makes perfect sense just to buy stuff in bed
So you’re buying online but still feeling forlorn
Cos you’re still scrolling down for the year you were born
So you make your selection but pause as you see
At the bottom a message and clearly for me
Is your pension in place would you botox your face
And the cost of a funeral is just a disgrace
A free pen for enquiring now seems a bit mean
now your low self esteem is the lowest it’s been
and the old people’s stuff which is catching your eye
so alluring, attractive and easy to buy
with a click of your hip and two clicks of your mouse
all that stuff could be winging its way to your house
so you go to the checkout, how hard can it be
but you can’t till you’ve registered online for free
what’s the best time to call and the name of your school
and where you do your big shop as a rule
do you floss who’s your boss whats your profit and loss
Michael Parkinson,Wogan or Jonathan Ross
so they know who you are and the size of your bra
where you go on your hols and when you change your car
and you’ve chosen a password, the name of your pet
but you still write it down cos you know you’ll forget
Now please enter the Captcha, a hideous rule
Did these people not do basic grammar at school
A wry smile now appears cos you’re starting to feel
that the one great big slipper won’t lose it’s appeal
So accept that you’re older, keep scrolling instead
- 'cos the nuisance cold calls taper off when you're dead
Categories:
bottom(a), age, funny, old,
Form:
Free verse
etherial entities, Elsewhere and Elsewhen
less than omnipotent but exceeding their parts
abide in Netherverse, universal children
intertwining potentials conceive child of their arts
a difficult birth through a point of positions
with a breath of inflation our Cosmos survives
face lights up with symmetry breaking transitions
a familiar fine face in the microwave skies
expanding bubble within a where-when ocean
two-way quantum cuddles along the interface
to us, top and bottom, a confusing commotion
to Cosmos, it's all around, warm parents embrace
and Cosmos communicates with siblings and friends
beyond overlapping membranes down massive black holes
at centres of galaxies where light bends and bends
re-meeting and greeting wild oceanic shoals
an ocean of learning, an endless becoming
made in the image of imagined potential
and listen closely, Cosmos is faintly humming
music symphonic with daring differential
keeping a rhythm that fast-forwards down aeons
then surfs the present and through time loops back
fabulous instruments, incredible crayons
sketch the past and future in one amazing track
and our Cosmos is tuned to the beat of life
empathy etched across a holographic mind
sharing grief and joy, the world weary cries of strife
the sheer delight of being, delirious and kind
awareness arises and then consciousness awakes
first galaxy focused on planets around stars
life teems, dreams and dances as intelligences outbreaks
escaping gravity's grip but leaving some scars
for pain and exultation, they fly together
space-timed, time-spaced, while smiling over horizons
Cosmos listens, then learns, needs touch of a feather
to fine tune core settings and cosmic liaisons
the task is great, for the infant bubble may burst
and then duly deflate to a point singular
or forever speed out so flat-lined and cursed
where, when, then... would learning be in story so far?
Categories:
bottom(a), philosophy, universe,
Form:
Verse
I heard the voice of the well,
I approached the curb,
There was black sooty,
It was probably your call.
As a low message
From the depths,
The narrow circle of the shipwreck,
From your former splendor ...
I bent, but not for drinking,
There was at the bottom, a clear round,
Lost in all this black,
May be you'll hope
I come to you,
That, I lost balance,
And I'm drowning,
To make you free,
So I will take your place,
For real,
I'll watch the clouds go by,
Of the small round hole.
Occasionally, your image,
Will bent without regret,
To evoke my face,
Hidden under the glares.
You come down the bucket,
That will plunge below the surface,
I'll give this taste to the water,
As if it were from ice.
You will drink to my health,
Warming my soul,
With a little tea :
Waiting is not a drama.
You've waited years
That returns this day :
No one is damned ...
At each his own turn ...
-
RC May 2015
-
J'ai entendu la voix du puits,
Je me suis approché de la margelle,
Il y faisait un noir de suie,
C'était sans doute ton appel.
Comme un faible message,
Venant des profondeurs,
Le cercle étroit du naufrage,
De ton ancienne splendeur...
Je me suis penché, mais pas pour boire,
Il y avait au fond, un rond clair,
Perdu dans tout ce noir,
C'est peut-être que tu espères
Que je vienne à toi ,
Que je perde l'équilibre,
Et que je me noie,
Afin te rendre libre,
Ainsi je prendrai ta place,
Pour de bon,
Je regarderai les nuages qui passent,
Par le petit trou rond.
De temps en temps, ton image,
Se penchera sans regret,
Pour évoquer mon visage,
Caché sous les reflets.
Tu descendras le seau,
Qui plongera sous la surface,
Je donnerai ce goût à l'eau ,
Comme si elle venait de la glace.
Tu boiras à ma santé,
En faisant réchauffer mon âme,
Avec un peu de thé ;
Attendre n'est pas un drame .
Tu as patienté des années,
Que revienne le jour,
Personne n'est damné...
A chacun son tour …
-
RC- mai 2015
Categories:
bottom(a), anxiety, dark, death, destiny,
Form:
Quatrain
Absence of color, falling like fierce rain.
Cool breeze chilling the face to intense pain.
Dead tree standing looking like a twisted mess.
Out of my element, I do confess.
I am a Southwestren Bell, do tell.
I prefer my State washed by the swell.
Rather be basking in the summer sun.
Playing volleyball in the near nude is fun.
Standing on the mountain, looking at the run.
Do I see if I find a tree, it takes only one.
Move my board, at the bottom, a people horde.
Too late, going down, faith now in the Lord!
My illness, C.O.P.D., cannot control all of me.
I have a mind that will always own the sea.
Imaginatiom can take me anywhere.
In perfect health, I can be the Queen of Air!
Categories:
bottom(a), funny
Form:
Quatrain
Falling and cut, the ground far
The music box plays, winds blow
Her words lie, untruths rein being
Still dark and cold, the river flows
Yet falling on, the silence holds
The dancers spin, a dance in vain
And it goes on, this life we’ve won
The sad song sings over and over she falls like rain
Where is the end? The black crash burns
Reality cries, and silence calls for collision
Screaming mute and the fall still clear
To hit the bottom, a timeless decision?
Categories:
bottom(a), angst, confusion, depression, life
Form:
Quatrain
On a beautiful June morning very early we made our way down to the fields,
The men had scythes to ring in all the bustle for the annual hay harvests,
We were a merry bunch and we stripped down to the waist in sunburnt groups,
At close of day we sat down in the deep cool grass of a hidden shady valley.
A cool stream clear as glass the shadows on the stream rippled and danced,
The shadows reflected circles of light on the stony bottom, a perfect day,
On the small bank an azure crowfoot waves to you in an evening light breeze,
The purple comfrey goes one better and dips its leaves in the crystal spring.
Hanging over the babbling stream branches droop over weighed by chestnuts,
We pick gooseberries, currants, ripe strawberries as the month slips away,
The cuckoo's departs and as a dark tinge of evening comes, glow worms glow,
We walk to our homes happy and tired over sweet bails of hay, lovely days.
Categories:
bottom(a), nature, light, light,
Form:
Prose Poetry
She rushed to me and gave my bottom a kiss
I was disturbed something went badly amiss
I asked her the reason
Of this loathsome treason
She said with the rue" a pure halitosis."
Categories:
bottom(a), fun,
Form:
Limerick
1 QUARTER TO 1/2 PACKET OF WHITE CHOCOLATE PUDDING
6 TABLESPOONS OF ALMOND LIQUEUR
2 CUP OF CREAM CHEESE
2 CUP OF MILD GOAT CHEESE
1 CUP OF SUGAR
4 TABLESPOONS OF VANILLA
1 AND 1/2 CUP OF DICED PECAN
5 EGG YOLKS
3 TABLESPOONS OF LIME
1 CUP OF CHOPPED DRIED CHERRIES
ALLOW WHITE CHOCOLATE,VANILLA AND SUGAR,ADD EGG YOLK AND MIX WELL. ADD NUTS AND CHERRIES, AND ALMOND LIQUEUR TO SIT( TO SOFT THE WHITE CHOCOLATE PUDDING) ADD TO CHEESES IX AND SIT ASIDE.
...................................................................................................
2 CUPS OF GRAHAM CRACKER CRUMBS
2 CUPS OF CRUSHED NILLA WAFERS
1 CUP OF SOFTENED BUTTER
1 CUP OF SHREDDED COCONUT
1/3 OF SLITHERED ALMONDS
MIX WELL AND CRUMBLE TO USE AS A TOPPING
............................................................................................
2 ROLLS OF COOKIE DOUGH, OR HOMEMADE COOKIE DOUGH,(PROBABLY ABOUT ENOUGH FOR 30 COOKIES), ROLL DOUGH TO CUT INTO
SIZES ENOUGH TO LINE A POUND CAKE PAN.
ONE LAYER OF RAW DOUGH ON THE BOTTOM, A LAYER OF CHEESE, A LAYER OF CRUMBS, THAN ANOTHER LAYER OF COOKIE DOUGH. AND SO ON AND SO ON, UNTIL YOU REACH THE TOP, WHICH YOU COVER WITH THE MOST PERFECT LAYER OF DOUGH.
BAKE FOR UP TO AN HOUR, OR UNTIL THE TOP LAYER OF DOUGH IS GOLDEN BROWN. ALLOW TO COOL BEFORE YOU SERVE IT!
Categories:
bottom(a), art, character, desire, fantasy,
Form:
Ballad
It was weekend when I set off, to go fishing by the lake,
Not too far from the house, about 6 hours drive it would take.
I arrived there early morning and booked my usual spot,
The morning was lovely not too cold and not too hot.
I waded into the water, knee high on the bank,
I’m going to catch some fish for eating and little ones for the fish tank.
But then a sparkle at the bottom, a beautiful castle on the sand,
“I must have it,” I said, and gently cupped it in my hands.
There were what looked like millions of little people all staring up at me,
They all said “We prayed O Lord you will come and it is you that we see.”
But the sand between my fingers, began to seep away,
They cried “O God you visited us and brought your wrath this judgement day.”
Well one hundred thousand little souls died, all because of my curiosity,
I see their little faces at night, how could I cause such an atrocity.
*The Power in Your Hands Contest*
Categories:
bottom(a), loss, people, sad, fish,
Form:
Rhyme
Clutching
The end of my Zebco rod and reel
As the cast of tackle is flung
Like a small knot of costume jewelry
Skimming atop the caramel-colored Grand River
Dragonfly rattling awry
The vibration tingling in the palm of my hand
As if I had cupped an angry bee
Until the swivel hook and sinker
Puckers
The river’s muddy surface
Splash
Swallowed soft and thick
On the river bottom a dozen kernels of corn
Thread on hook
Weighed down by an ounce of lead
Waiting
For a big greedy carp
To come by and fight to the death.
Tim and me we got that bait
From a stolen can of corn that used to sit
In Tim’s mom’s refrigerator.
While we keep our eyes keen
To the taps and shivers
Of the delicate tips of our poles
Balanced in the crux of V-shaped sticks
Stuck in the dry embankment
Delta 88s clack across Waverly Bridge
And underneath teenagers dig the hard mud
Hitting a joint while sharing a Mad magazine
Their screeches and laughs rising and falling
Like hooks scraping against cement.
We stroke the knives slung in our socks
Wary of them.
Tim wonders to me what it means for the USA
To have lost its first war.
I don’t know.
I say that my parents think that Watergate
Was worse for us
But either way they say
Things will never be the same.
Tim says his older brother slapped his face yesterday
For parking his bicycle too close
To his black and gold-trimmed Trans Am.
We share a plot of revenge.
We listen on a transistor to Ernie and Paul
Broadcast a doubleheader from Tiger Stadium
“And he stood there like the house by the side of the road…”
We love the New York chef turned right fielder Rusty Staub.
The experienced river fishermen
To avoid snags and the false pull of current
Must trust the placement of his bait.
Sit and wait.
The Grand River makes no sound.
Has no reflection.
These kinds of friendships last in a man’s mind
For a lifetime.
Categories:
bottom(a), devotion, fish, fishing, friend,
Form:
Free verse