Best Brief Poems
Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
Gate,
Stood opposite the empty wood
Where the vacant threshold silently awaits,
I pause, when, resonating quietly back...
I now hear...
Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood
Tugging like a Siren upon my ear.
With a heartfelt pang I turn to move,
Before my staring should offend some
Old friends ghost
To manifest in vengeful affright,
Towards the comforting sanctuary proffered
By the warm kitchens weak neon light...
That sneaks out from behind the half-shut
Door,
But held - Transfixed!
Brought from wither-not-where to this one
Small place - Staid...
As if caught in a state of heavenly grace,
Conversing to the soft wind in harmonious
Angelic rapport:-
Thus soothes like enchantments waves...
Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon
Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore.
For what be this odd muse
That upon my aging senses does so readily
Enthuse...
And to my inner soul so inextricably
Implore?
Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to
Say,
Before darkly gathering skies extinguish
Over weak flames of the last spluttering
Ray,
Perhaps it is our inner voice
That seeks out the solitudes of
Tranquilities choice -
To witness and record and dutifully store...
Those rare and fleeting moments
We all too briefly adore.
In one brief moment
you saw me as I am
without a word spoken
palm open for my hand.
Nary a harp string plucked
silence graced the air
silhouettes became one
my heart I laid bare.
Candle wicks were unlit
full moon a distant past
my emerald eyes glowed
your love echoing back.
Fire our skin to skin heat
scent unique unto us
not a flower in bloom
our souls we gave in trust.
In one brief moment
you saw me as I am
the memory of each breath
my bliss I'll always have.
03-28-2017
Thy Wondrous Life Was As A Butterfly's Brief Stay,
Poets Tribute Series, third poet, John Keats
Poet, where flows tears for thy premature demise
tragic death of thy soft heart, body, gifted soul
majestic verses from a poet truly wise
poems of deep splendor, thy words did so extol.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Poet, can praise seep into thy slumbering grave
or upon hearing such voice, does thee seek to rise
and in true caring, thy words again hope to save
by talented hand, let pen scribble out surprise.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Poet, does moon's light cast shine into thy abode
as blowing sands of time, thy rest slow ticks away
can spirit, with honor, thy sad story be told
of poet, that Fate's hand, forced thy dear Life thee pay.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Poet, not enough we admire from distant time
magnificence of thy genius in golden verse
thy heart once beat in verses heavenly sublime
before death delivered its dark and early curse.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-28-2019
Rhyme, ( Tragedy of the death of a young genius and truly brilliant poet )
brief encounter
a man invisible
but for his wit
landed on my world
lightly it seemed
until he left
With these twelve words...
art has no restrains
there is nothing that can chain it down
no fabric that can not be broken from.
*FoRm?
>that de...pe...nd...s.
Wild Indigo...
Color of my third eye
Elevates my soul
To universal realms
Of blissful peace.
July 3, 2017
Baptisia Australis or Wild Indigo:
Has a mild toxin that makes them unpalatable to cattle. The Wild Indigo Duskywing is an insect that likes the flower because the flowers have a mild toxin in them which helps defend the caterpillars that are layed on them. The root system consists of a single taproot. Considerable variations of moisture are tolerated.
"After the tone, please leave a brief message."
Hello?…..Bob?…Are you there?
This is Charlie, and all mine have a tear.
Call me back and we`ll talk underwear…
…..Briefly!
The snake sidles up to Eve
from God she soon seeks reprieve
With us yet, it slithers into Halls of Power
injects venom ~ brave leaders cower
In the warmest of seasons,
when the cheerless moon of a remote town
rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills,
in great suspense and silence,
a brief song is played by this guitar
with a few chords and numerous notes:
making up the merriest melody
sustained by a perfect and simple harmony...
I am the author and the composer,
expressing my feelings in an unusual norm,
regardless how the critics will judge it,
for words and music should have an effective form:
free of impurity, lively and up-beat,
something likable by every singer,
to make such a unique composition notable,
and be remembered by every mortal...
I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens
and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings;
melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change:
to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings,
and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face!
When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense,
life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance;
melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage...
I am no genius or pretend to be,
and my humanness and wisdom are always
reflected by a justified action and a truthful word:
to draw the attention of the stubborn;
and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me
and dissolves my grim look of loneliness,
to confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night,
but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
...inspired by 'The Meaning Of Life' by Allen Tate
Breezes blow, the lark sings sweet,
there's magic in the air,
yet a sense of something rumbling.
On the surface we are carefree,
yet beyond there's someone mumbling.
The sacraments we live by are
a solace to our souls and humbling,
yet the grumbling never hesitates
to aggravate, thus crumbling our composure.
A cruel word may damage us,
so, safe in our cocoons we hide.
The everyday's a constant
'til a brief encounter weakens us,
the pain will leave its mark
as we go tumbling to a sense of insecurity,
what price that loose remark?
I saw him before I saw her…(I believe she was holding the door.)
There was a far away look in his eyes as he shuffled his feet on the floor.
I felt a twinge of sorrow for him as he slowly labored past
Each step seemed so difficult…more challenging than the last.
I saw her next when she caught up to him and I thought how nothing could compare
with the smile on her face as she helped him to his chair.
She fixed his hair, she straightened his clothes with an ease, a tenderness…a grace
and as she tended to his every need that smile never left her face.
I did not know this couple whom I assumed were man and wife
but as I watched them endure the ravages of age I imagined younger moments in their life.
The moment hey first met, when they fell in love…when they lived in younger skin
I imagined them with friends and family…imagined all the places they had been…
A lifetime spent in love together was not difficult to surmise
I saw it in the gentleness of her touch…and in the sparkle of her eyes.
When our eyes met for a moment I saw how her smile was masking her pain
and I thought how the more her husband slips away…the more her love remains.
I believe when we happen upon one another…even momentarily in a day
from every brief encounter…we take something away.
It may be a look…a smile…a glance…a gesture from afar
that finds it’s way into our heart and reshapes who we are.
As I left my brief encounter and walked to my car in a misty rain
I thought about that moment…about how she smiled through her pain…
and though there was a hint of sadness as I drove home by the sea
it wasn’t her sadness…it was her love…I took away with me.
A love so beautiful…so everlasting…so quietly proclaimed
It made me smile when I thought of it…
knowing I’d never be the same.
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
as quickly she descended to ground floor.
She’d pulled it off! Her briefcase held the proof.
How proud of her would be her paramour!
How carefully they’d planned the pefect heist.
He’d groomed her well in all she had to do.
She’d faked credentials and gained trust in them.
Then precious relics she had access to.
From here, the City Churches pierced the mist
where they would meet. Her man made no mistakes.
She’d take a case identical from him,
return to the museum with the fakes!
While making the exchange, she nervously
had dropped the case of relics! He was there
to quickly stuff them back in their briefcase.
He closed it, and now smiling, crossed the square.
The fakes in hand, back to her job she ran,
clueless that her man she’d not see again!
June 6, 2018
for Viv Wigley's One Nine And Sixteen Upgrade Version Poetry Contest
A single moment, all too brief,
clear as the razor’s edge.
It came to me just as a dream would,
it may have been just as important
or just as meaningless.
In the moment, grave and profound,
I was sure that I must have its mastery
and nearly as sure that I did.
Fatigue was morbid as waking wisdom,
lucidity sure as fiendish cold.
Terror was bright as cloudless noon,
sorrow blind as midnight’s prayer.
It left me just as a dream might,
it may have been less important
and even more meaningless.
In a new moment, desperate and dire,
I clutched at the vanished mastery
and finally conceded that it was gone.
A single moment, all too clear,
brief as the hangman’s glance.
16th November 2018
That field of wheat
Gilded by sun
Cherished by wind
Tender received
Our bodies
Quivering.
A warm thrill
Down in my back,
In my bones,
While embracing her
In the field of wheat.
A warm thrill
Is now quivering
Down in my back
In my bones,
Thinking
To that field of wheat
italian version:
Brivido caldo
Quel campo di grano
Dorato dal sole
Accarezzato dal vento
Morbido accolse
I nostri corpi
Frementi.
Un brivido caldo
Scese nella mia schiena,
Nelle mie ossa,
Mentre lei abbracciavo
Nel campo di grano.
Un brivido caldo
Sta ora scendendo
Fremente
Nella mia schiena
Nelle mie ossa,
Pensando
A quel campo di grano
PROLOGUE
Umpteen billion years
Big Bang, supernova, gas
Brief eclipse of time
Gases swirling, fall
Sun and planets, water, goo
Brief eclipse of time
Another billion
life, amoeba, fishes swim
Brief eclipse of time
Movement, change and flux
slither, crawl, climb, walk and talk
Brief eclipse of time
Ra, Sol, Helios,
Mithra and the Mighty Eye
Brief eclipse of time
Life begins and ends
birth, joy, laugh, cry, death, and dust
Brief eclipse of time
Waves cleave seas, shores, skies
forever folding, pulsing
Brief eclipse of time
CHRONICLE
The Mighty Eye begins to slip and slowly sink,
(unfocused, stained, diffuse)
while frizzled waves imbibe her searing tears,
with salted languid lips.
The Mighty Eye, now weary, thin,
is gazing through the frozen cracks,
as sundry straying clouds,
bloated,
sidle feebly by
and wax their billowed tracks
upon the heated sky,
and cool the rush of rolling waves
beneath the blotted sky.
The waves
(impaled on time and space inside me),
gently tumbling aging pebbles
and lifeless shells across the shifting sands,
seem unaware
as they once again arise
to greet the Mighty Eye,
to close the Mighty Eye,
to snuff the Mighty Eye.
But then again,
perhaps the waves are well aware indeed,
yet simply unconcerned
and feel no need to care.
For, as the frazzled froth is rushing forward
madly towards the sandy shores beyond,
before retreating slowly,
then careening brashly forth ahead again,
eternally,
it matters little if the Mighty Eye will cast
her blazing glance from high above,
or else retire for the night,
kissed sweetly by the liquid lips
of distant faithless waves
in a brief eclipse of time.
Continued in Part 2