Best Buffers Poems
Free verse to Rhyme Royal
Daytime’s Demeanor
This morning the water is,
glass still, an indigo mirror.
Shyly it reflects each hill, each lofty palm,
a soft collage of orange clouds.
Time now, to summon thoughts, delineate them,
confess faults, spill forth, a profusion
of memories, immersed in reverie.
Slowly, as clouds disperse, the day begins to pulse.
As ripples, eventually distort the river
I stir, myself.
Time now, for me to assume, day-time’s demeanor.
Like any cloud or tree, be buffered
by whatever comes along.
Suzanne Delaney
Daytime’s Demeanor
This morning the river is glassy-still.
Its surface a collage of orange clouds,
of lofty palms, and every nearby hill.
And I, immersed in reverie away from crowds
Summon thoughts, confessing faults, to spill
a profusion of reflected memories
Mirrored to de-lineate in reverie.
As day begins to pulse and clouds disperse
Ripples from unruly winds distort the river
I stir myself, day’s journey to traverse
Preparing for what day's events are likely to deliver
Like any cloud or tree that Nature buffers
No longer to remain a simple dreamer
Time now to wrap myself in Daytime’s Demeanor.
Suzanne Delaney
Lately I've been on flats, between heaven and hell
Who but the Almighty buffers me from lack
My stance is firm, I move with care
Not to tear or deplete what's left of me
As parents persevere, praying renewal of psyche
Grown children are puncturing precious time
You'd wonder why wise women still ride so high
On horses that will topple them in wilderness
What simmer souls from stilts that do silent
Damage to free will's humbler spirit?
I have learned it takes time for the clearing of
Cobwebs clouding fair point of views
Who will wed serenity and naked troth of this:
Time and space and grace heals and inspires simplicity with humility.
*
There is a certain spot within my soul
That craves an Autumn scene
Before the Earth runs cold,
And slippers Mother Nature
In a wealth of bunny dust.
A poet needs to sing of Spring,
Once, before his book is closed;
For all the best are lionized
In bounded works of rambling prose.
The fair thee wells of Summer love
Give pause to thoughts of unplanned change,
And roots an artist's pen to scribe
The depth and breath of untold pain.
For me, the orange, gold and red
Are buffers in a life that eases
Through the Autumn's righting days,
And brings to you a willing heart
That dances as the moonlight fades.
You were born in a war ravaged state
You lost your man to the caprices of fate
You fell prey to your wayward ways
Victims of betrayal, greed or circumstances
You were drowned in the tide of darkness
Depraved incidents of forced sex and perversions
Rooted in carnal desires and unsated frustrations
The fleshpots in town frowned upon as receptacles of sin
Wisdom of society’s views wearing very thin
Thwarting those in heat from living out their dream
Objects of titillation and subjected to derision
Unfortunately placed or forced in a profession
Reckoned as the world’s oldest
Harlots you are, courtesans at best
Buffers to man’s baser side without respite or rest
Mistress to royalty or a gangster’s moll
You’ve mastered the act of a defenceless doll
Apparently enjoying the bizarre and the extraordinary
But behind this masquerade is the quintessential mercenary
Pandering only to the philandering of the paying strata of humanity
You frequent raunchy night-clubs and sleazy bars
Walk the streets and lurk around dark corners
You are often just a number in the telephone directory
Or recommended for unusual skills, honed to a speciality
But you seldom blackmail, reflecting your innate nobility
Possibly you booze to drown your pain
And get your high on heroin and cocaine
You are accused of ruining marital ties
And of driving your lovers to a life of vice
Who squander fortunes, just affording your price
Hail lady of the night
Only death can release you from your sordid plight
You are the paramour without the strings of a wife
You are the reprieve from loneliness and strife
But alas, you suffer damnation in your earthly life
Live loving light
See scented sights
Be blessing bright
Please pretty play
Mime moments may
Speak salient say
Alien aims ask
Treat toilsome task
Blooms brightly bask
Inspire in ink
Boom buffers brink
Live laughter links
Wear wisdom's wit
Bear broken bits
Feel flavours fit
Date defines day
Sort sordid say
Crush crimson clay
Feel flowing flesh
Daze dancing dress
Freeze fiery flash
Use unfurls urge
Smooth sensuous surge
Please primal purge
Keeper keeps kind
Feel flavours find
Meet mystic mind
Leon Enriquez
16 Apr 2014
Singapore
LONDON JOURNEY FASCINATION
First time on a mainline LNER train *
When you’re five’s a signal whistle
For six hours Kings Cross to Newcastle **
Sightseeing. Walk along platform to attain
The exit past the loco at the buffers:
In a forest of knees and suitcases,
The oiled steel engine’s grace is
Close enough to touch: my mother suffers
My adoration of its black livery
And emblazoned gold name “Woodcock”.
The time on the gigantic station clock
Shows our speedy, safe and prompt delivery.
Huge driving wheels and pistons are higher
Than my five-year-old frame.
Somebody cares well for that engine of fame
That steel rail non-stop flier.
Oh the trip is an exciting drama
I have comics to read and sandwiches and tea
But what never ceases to fascinate me
Is the moving view and panorama -
Oncoming trains go flashing by
Wheels a-roar and whistles blare
Nothing quite like this to compare
Too fast even for the adoring eye;
Birds sitting on the telephone wires,
Like musical notes in an unsung air,
Unending composition, unfinished movement fair,
From one end of the country to the others;
The journey long stayed in my memory
Made me a traveller inveterate.
Impact on me impossible to over-rate -
Imbued with the notion of discovery.
…………………………………………………
Note:
* LNER = London and North Eastern Railway
** Kings Cross = London mainline terminal station
Feel this and set into motion…
Fluid movement of loves power notion…
Do you ever ponder the purpose of the distracting thought commotion…?
Systematically planted in social evolution…
Socialism, individualism, materialism, egocentrism and consumerism all created spirit
pollution…
Creating lust, greed, aggression, depression, suppression, oppression and corporate
institutions…
Religion, original sin, god fearing legions are buffers of using intuitive reason…
Separation is an illusion…
Making for real purpose confusion…
Are we not here to enjoy one another…?
Seeing in all the divine sister or brother…
Priority shift is taking heed…
Multi cultural human race is speaking up indeed…
Surviving the day should not be the focus…
This so called way of life is just hocus pocus…
‘BLACK SHEEP DRAWBACK’
Discouraged, anxious and unsure—pitch black tarmacs start their war
Petrified, panicked and distressed—uncertainty cracks amidst unwelcomed guests
Dissociated and desensitised a perfect attack—as nervous disposition follows predictable tracks
Another prestigious black tie event—suites and shoes will seldom boycott consents
Perfected flair keeping companies in the black—elegantly formal their wives attack
Each one attired in the colour of grief—sadness and mourning a blackmailed thief
There stands Jack, in a room that is packed—emotionally elusive, cunningly drawn back
Mysterious, powerful negative dirt tracks—black-market malevolence no visible cracks
Observation, lack of confidence to engage—courage imminently pending and upstaged
An edgy apprehensive shrink-back—protection from impulsive reactive, confused attacks
Alarming blackout to opinions of others—ignoring motives of guaranteed buffers
A black sheep just got blacklisted again—anticipation of recurring hurt and pain
Crimson leaves, like rubies,
glisten with dew
in morning sunlight
A sea of red, expanding daily,
buffers the steps of early risers…
sneakers quickly wet
from daily daybreak runs
Stretching out the clocks
agendas to meet
no time for fun
A strolling elder couple
enjoying the richness of the scene
realizing quickly that the view
beckons more than lingered pause
and wonders in amazement
how one ignores it
without due cause
Gifted jewels appreciated
by wiser eyes in evenings stage
harvest autumn sights
with seasoned delightful awe…
and like a child,
garnering anew
the glorious wonder of it all
Crimson leaves, like rubies,
last only for a season
quickening joy in later years
©Debra Squyres 2013
We beheld sun, moon, stars, because,
The Almighty buffers, like sensuous raft.
Only passion ushers us to spring,
The Almighty knows...
Multitude from natures' course, plucked
Rearranged like climate change,
Enough is enough! Eons ago we were the world
Evergreen, replenishing earth.
Now as then, solidarity reigns supreme, still,
We're so clean, so heaven bound?
*
To be a Cubs fan is to be
the audience of a Greek Tragedy
Sweet is the pain as we pay admission
To bow down in October submission
Leaving bitter taste through the winter
Clinging to the lofty dreams of a winner
Commiserate and complain in the offseason
Some even threaten Southside treason
But like clockwork we rally as April draws near
Swearing as always "This is our year"!!!
Brandishing hoodies, jerseys, and lids
rushing to Wrigley, dragging the kids
Opening Day...the first pitch "Z" throws
goes for a strike as the OldStyle flows
"This year we will go all the way"!!!
Is the drunken refrain the bleacher bums say
In late May the Ivy fills in quite nicely
Yes, I know six bucks for OldStyle is pricey
But when in Rome, drink cheap beer with foam
Or sip a Bass while tuning in Ron Santo at home
You don't need to drink beer to watch them play
But on some occasions it buffers the pain
No matter the result... Ill hold my head high
It makes my day to see the "W" flag fly
As this season will mark year one hundred and one
Since our last World title was won
Lets forget about goat curses and Bartman blame
get out on the field and play the damn game
I will never give up, I will never give in
I won't lose hope on a World Series win
GO CUBBIES!!!!!!
Exiled - Sentinel
How do I hate this job
let me count the waves
Poseidon’s icy blasts
torment of seadog knaves
slashing at my heels
billowing candle snuffers
intent upon a darkness
denuded of all buffers.
Fear holds me frozen
awash amid the fury
victim of a crooked judge
and trial without jury.
Clanging shackles bind me
in service to the sea
doing time on foaming shoal
never to be free.
4/11/2016
submitted to Sentinel – Quatrain Form – Poetry contest
sponsor – Eve Roper
I need another doe-eyed Doña Lola,
a tungsten-hearted torturer of men.
I crave a further fling at love’s tombola,
to beard the lioness inside her den.
Of course, it always runs into the buffers:
their sex is unremitting, unforgiving:
but he is truly fortunate who suffers:
to be in love again – that’s really living!
She must have bags of charm, and must deploy it.
I want to give my heart, have her destroy it,
or better still, to gouge it from my chest,
for when my love is spurned, I’m at my best.
I get to pout and pose, and blue-eyed-boy it:
and if the truth be told, I quite enjoy it!
Hello, I want to tell you my story and I don’t know how it starts.
So I plead with you to please open your minds but most importantly to open your hearts.
I forget my words, I tic, I stutter my sentences don’t come out.
Hysteria builds up inside I want to break things I want to scream and shout.
I know I’m enigmatic this I will agree.
But please don’t embarrass yourself not for one moment and think you’re better than me.
I will never apologize on how I think or even how I feel.
Because many of you need to learn the ediology and the
mindset of the mentally ill.
“I hear she’s bipolar” as they rythmatically shake their ugly heads.
Then one whispers to the other “have you seen her lately I bet she’s off her meds.”
When the moon disappears I am left with anguished thoughts and tension filled with unease.
I then skillfully and methodically look for my muse I raise my hand and a tear filled voice I say “may I ask you a question please?
31 is my lucky number as I stand in the food line today.
Bet never in my wildness nightmares though I would ever live this way.
My pillow is my companion as it buffers my screams of dispair.
This life that has been bestowed apon me I feel is beyond repair.
I find it quit embarrassing that I only have 3 friends named me, myself and I.
I’m sure that number will remain the same when I close my eyes and die.
I have layed on the floors of mentally ill hosptials and had my knees buckled at the county jail.
You see I have slipped into the darkness of the abyss falling into spine chilling hell.
I have re-read my loqorrhea and had a chuckle or two.
I do not know what will become of me so I will say farewell,audios, and thankfully and respectfully I bid you all adieu.
An assortment of assorted asses assessed antelope antics angelically arranged
A vibrant and charming assortment of periwinkles, mints, truffles, sliced peanut cubes, diced baps, and a haddock basted in creamed lard. Now that must surely be an acronym for an actor but actresses prefer the wafer thin biscuit truffles under a melon spray and the painted opaque plaques of prawns and lettuces. Equilateral is a nice neat swooping swerve arriving at ten past six and ten past six is neither ten talking tents timing tuna steaks and nor is it six mammoths doing a handstand in a bandstand. All heads move then. Move around the garden plates with the trays. Little clinking cups filled with bud dews and sandwich stands to make a speech with the cress microphones and the cheese leads. Fantastically flaming flambés flamboyantly flashing fishes. And a little mouse holding a dish was hopeful to gather some creamed buttoned brie and camembert. But only if attired correctly. Rather swim in a puddle then on the top of a flooded skyscraper thought the pigeon. And the balls of the woolly moths and snails in all the walk in wardrobes worldwide clapped until the predicaments were aligned from the large banqueting buffers. Trains did not attend. And neither did Mr bus. Nor terry toweling tram. Bring the eleven cakes at once to get tote song. And strong is a stem and a steam is a stewing steak. Z representational Z at nineteen bangles booming to twelve aerial photographs of a little seeded bun. Z *** HAHAHA XX Z