Best Careen Poems
Hold Thy Judgment, Truth Is Not So Well Seen
Hold thy judgment, truth is not so well seen,
Thou, that sits in luxuries and decides!
Fate and Time, can both, off the path careen
Into deep hellish dark, that life oft hides
While this teeming world, its course wildly sets,
Mere mortals must walk upon broken glass!
Far too oft, we are forced to take our bets
On when to stop our race, when to fly pass.
If thy heart seeks truth, its binding powers,
Light thee brighter candles, to see life clear.
Walk without fear of black shadow towers
And within thine own heart strive thee to hear,
Striking notes of love's romance sounding clock
Even should it send, that which mind so shocks!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-24-2019
Sonnet, ( Wash Thine Eyes In Clear Streams)
Note- Inspired from a dream I had last night...
I slept and then October with stealth crept in.
I knew it when a breeze blew in. Crisp and clean,
it softly breathed and wreathed the trees and kissed my skin.
Hues of passion now show fall fashion for its trees.
Birds loudly call. When winds blow hard, leaves of fall careen.
Coolness drops by some degrees. Please let there be no early freeze.
Spiced pies have enticed me. Pumpkins look like silly saps.
On porches, their eyes- bright by night- welcome Halloween.
October then takes its leave – with a heave of wind perhaps.
My wild Irish heart - what could it do
that March when into my sweet girlhood blew
euphoria to make my heart careen?
Oh, heart as fresh as clover - kelly green -
when zephyr brought its scent of something new.
The breeze caressed me; all was made askew,
for what it had been carrying was you!
Beneath my tender breast there throbbed, unseen,
my wild Irish heart.
You bridled it and then you pierced it through.
Yet wilder than before and tough it grew.
For in your aftermath, I was to glean
the lessons that my youth had not foreseen -
and evermore would pulse in me - now blue -
my wild Irish heart!
Originally For Sandy Ivy's Go Green - what green means to you? (new or old poem)Poetry Contest and now for Linda's Get your GREEN on!!! (Get into the spirit and Go Green) Happy March17 (old/new poems)Poetry Contest
I always feel like a prisoner in the winter, banished from the outside by the jealous wind. As I get older, I continue to make peace with the cold, but I follow the spring. It is a different door, one covered with vines and stars, and to it I am drawn, as if to a beautiful girl.. no other days compare to her.
The flash of a disposable camera, clicked with young fingers, pink-polished nails. A yellow sun dress patterned with orange daisies. The basket on the bike is filled with stuff for lunch, sodas and sandwiches and things. Laughter resounds over the tops of trees as we careen, the children of May, across the sun-spotted road.
The compass points north
You know, this is Saturday
That means we go east
You yell to me that I run too fast, but all I hear is my heartbeat in my ears. I look back, you run faster. The evening begins to cast a spell in our town; the colors purple and orange appear like watercolor in the sky and we both stop to watch. Vapor trails crisscross above us, they're streaks across the fading day, pieces of the memories we've made.
Heat lightning at night
She's reading a magazine
Sarah's rare green eyes
To your door we go, but only you proceed. Your father doesn't trust me yet, but I tell you that I'll try harder. Maybe, one day, he'll give me a pat on the shoulder and a smile. It does hurt, I won't deny, to listen to the screen door wheeze shut and hear your bounding footsteps on the stairs. What comforts me is that I know tomorrow brings you around again, walking through a high archway, lovely enough to steal the sun's attention from the flowers.
These suburban dreams
The pink and yellow houses
Waiting with my thoughts
-For Debbie Guzzi's "Spring Haibun" contest
A lonely beam of yellow-white light,
carving a curve in the ink of the night,
upon the snow-burdened branches of pine,
standing still guard to the lord of the line.
The icy wind howls in the silence serene,
tempting the light to avert and careen,
off of the timber and iron ahead,
into the water, the darkness, the dead.
And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime,
whispering rest to the lord of the line.
For burdens oft carried can even bend steel,
and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel.
The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal,
a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal.
Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice,
there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice!
And under the frost-covered rivets, inside,
the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide.
A purpose so strong is written within,
that heard from without, can bring life again.
As noble as Atlas, the train carries on,
knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone.
Accepting the fate of bitterest wine,
following on as the lord of the line.
But there is a crowd in the carriage behind,
they have many eyes, and still they are blind.
Driven by torment and anger and spite,
to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night.
Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear,
their fires die within them, drowned by a tear,
a droplet of brine they would never expose,
so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes.
And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam,
they rush to the brink, as if in a dream.
A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland.
And they cast off their life by no one's command.
In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope.
They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope.
A road through the darkness might lead on to shine.
Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line?
I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
His monkey-fascination made him own a “monkeyrium”
There, monkeys and cousin apes in their gladdening crusade freely reign
Unlike the sea creatures in the imprisoning aquarium
The funny troops have liberty in their haven’s domain.
Those monkeys, midst animated cartoon characters, are my son’s delight
Their cheerful quirks, especially that of Chimpanzee Charlie, won his heart
How they perk him up with their mirth-oozing sight
Along their varied careening turns and twists of witty art.
Caring monkeys caught first his curiosity in the creation story
Then they amused him as musicians in Noah’s floating zoo
Now, their charm’s presence is felt in my son’s territory
As they showcase their loving ways like humans do.
Yes, the monkeys are pulling my son’s faith-string of glad disposition
Pushing him to stride during his therapy sessions midst his disability
Prodding his spirit to get up with glee for his prayer position
Prompting him to sing… even amidst obvious difficulty.
My special child’s “monkeyrium” is his wondrous paradise
With monkey-ape-stuffed toys he plays with, and can dearly hold
Thru them, I thank and praise the Lord Who’s good and so wise*
For granting my blessed boy great privileges he can enjoy and behold!
*Jude 1:25 To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.
First posted on May 21, 2018
Edited on November 26 incorporating the following words: Charlie, Cartoon, Characters, Curiosity, Careening And Crusade
2nd place, "Charlie's Cartoon Characters Curiously Careen And Crusade Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on December 16, 2018.
The moon slowly ascends like a regal Queen
while skittish shadows all flee the scene
and scarlet skies bleed last light
as nippy winds bite
tethered to
night
drops of dew
soon start to alight
thirsty mosquitoes take flight
and where beauty and silence careen
the moon slowly ascends like a regal Queen.
Patience is a virtue
and a necessity
Sometimes one must
pull up a chair, sit and wait
Patience is key!
Take. Your. Time.
Let no one pressure you
into meeting an unrealistic
deadline. Do your own thing,
at your own speed
Running late because...
you forgot to set your alarm clock?
Patience! Slow down, my good friend.
You'd rather be late
than careen off the highway!
You're mightily ticked off
and you want to hit something,
or worse, someone? Easy does it!
Hold your anger in. Breathe.
Let annoyance wash over you
Don't wear it like cologne!
Something isn't going your way?
Some dream you're working so hard
to build is taking too long to stand erect?
Keep plugging away; it eventually will.
And it will stand firm...
If you lay the bricks
of your foundation without haste.
You lay them the right way.
and take it day by day.
Be patient. It will stand firm!
Take your sweet ol' time...
solving an arduous problem
making big decisions, life choices,
or even finding true love. No pressure.
Patience is key!
Submitted for...
Strand Special 2, Any Form, Any Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Date written: 12/13/2019
Soaking wet the grey sheep huddle
by the stone wall shaped and laid
to last five hundred more years still.
Rains sheeting o'er the moor leave
us dripping as the fish in Foley's Tarn.
Clouds careen across the sky like
ragged flags unfurling, our house is
battered by the storm's relentless wrath,
and something's coming...
It's nights like this that bring the creature
from the other side of time, misshapen
wretch with no measure of humanity,
dragging its loathsome body to our door.
Squelching abomination with dark sockets
for its eyes, a travesty of decency and grace.
Not marked in any almanac, no picture
of this beast save in the nightmares
of our child, who flies into his mother's
arms and trembles, trying to scrape
the ugly specter from his mind,
for he knows...
he can feel the slimy presence
hidden deep within the shadows
of the house. Is it living only in his
darkest fears? Once settled is he
free of fang and claw?
"Leave a light on, Mom!"
Tethered to a moment, I won’t break free
or give a different answer when I’m asked
about the time most beautiful for me
because in rapture that one night I basked!
It was September. I’d turned seventeen.
Tethered to a moment, I won’t break free.
Not many things could make my heart careen.
Romance I’d always yearned for came to be!
His eyes, sweet chocolate, I always see
when I recall the gaze I dipped into.
Tethered to a moment, I won’t break free
from kisses - pure ambrosia through and through.
A time that magical cannot be gone.
I resurrect it with my poetry.
The boy was in my past, yet he lives on!
Tethered to a moment, I won’t break free.
Aug. 27, 2021
for Edward Ibeh's This Or That, Vol 6 Poetry Contest
Title chosen: Tethered to a Moment
a mystic poetess in her thought patterns
of iambic heartbeats, makes new rhythms
with a symphony...joy and pain in cadence.
in her confetti of stars moonbeams cadence
caressing love in ivory and ebony patterns
perforated feelings careen melodic rhythms
in her sonnets, words entice in rhythms
lovebird's lyrics drift in endless cadence
cratered lands embellish crystallic patterns
Catharsis traces passionate patterns of rhythms in cadence.
Written: November 17, 2025
****************
The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
Vultures on the wing high up in the sky
Careen in flight as they go sailing by
Tracing out patterns of vanishing lines
As they create most exquisite designs
Other birds like eagles, gulls and falcons
Also engage in such exhibitions
Viewing them gives a feeling of freedom
That transcends daily life's din and humdrum
With wings outstretched they effortlessly ride
Rising air currents that support their glide
With angled wings they dip down and then rise
Navigating their way up in the skies
In total mastery of flight they appear
Cavorting and floating up in the air
With the gracefulness of their flight on high
They are true avian sailors in the sky
Since I was a child, I have always admired the effortless gliding of vultures up in the sky.
Among other gliding birds listed are albatross, eagle, condor, stork, frigatebird and seagull.
It is a truly delightful to watch the marvellous gliding action of these birds way up in the sky as they ride the air currents.
This poem is dedicated to them: the genuine avian sailors in the sky.
(I have made some adjustments to the original to include some other gliding birds in the body of the piece).
thunderous waters
careen with furious force
hydropower host
Love’s All I Need!
Winter snows melt away
Awakens sleeping things
Mother nature starts to play
And I too with my swing
Cause golf comes out in Spring!
Amid ablooming flowers
At Master’s, golf’s big scene
Did golf for several hours
Living out my dreams
To play Augusta’s greens!
Three stroke lead on seventeen
Victory now was nigh
When did my chip careen
Into water ‘twas nearby
Off a Monarch butterfly!
Short putt to win the match
All grew quiet, not a word
But victory, it was snatched
As startled when I heard
Loud screeching from a bird!
Golf’s such a cruel cruel game
I've given up thereof
At tennis taking aim
Won’t need no blasted club
And tennis least has love!
© 2014 all rights reserved
written May 10,2014 for
A Spring Day in English Quintain Free Poetry Contest
using words Spring, green, butterfly, bird and love