Best Chancing Poems
The whole world is a series of miracles, but we're so used to them we call them ordinary things. ~ Hans Christian Anderson
In the aching of a silent tear,
Soaking through laughter’s voice,
Gentling the darkness, the fear,
With music who sings of our choice.
Rustling in the light, softly glowing,
Wonder beyond our imaginations,
With Him, there is a still knowing,
Breathing joy, the heart’s sensations.
In the hunger of a fervent yearning,
Risking, chancing, expressing…
Spirit’s prayer, the soul’s discerning,
Remembering the value of each blessing.
Dancing through the winds so faint,
Grace overflows the twilight dreams,
Wise like the moon who has no complaint,
As she fades with her soundless beams.
Flowing on the seas, lulling the memoirs,
In soft pastels like the rainbow’s cloak,
Ordinary things glistening like the stars,
As they kiss away the dread night can provoke.
Pearls of compassion smile into the wind,
Washing away the heavy scars of doubt,
Destined for moments His love designed,
Fated to shine with devotion and never burn-out.
It is actually love that makes my life worthwhile.
Love I can’t describe invites me to give freely.
Without love inside, nothing can make me smile.
It is the love I give away that motivates me – REALLY!
In His life, Jesus taught us to think of others,
Refusing to be selfish and greedy, egotistic…
Because He taught us all about being brothers,
And, the humility He teaches is quite simplistic.
Love fully, with an open heart, unguarded by walls.
Listen to the gospel which reminds us to walk in grace.
Believe fully that Jesus comes when His child calls.
Know that this love He gives is a love no doubt can erase!
When I leave this world and meet the One who saves,
I pray that I can honestly say, my life was never ordinary,
Because He made us servants for Christ, never slaves…
With Him inside, there’s more love than necessary.
His love, His light, His gift of eternal life…
That is enough to cause me to be wise,
To give my heart and soul despite the strife.
Because, I know - one day, my soul will arise!
My Pilot Light
In a hidden crevice
between soul and skin,
there is a flicker,
a tangerine flame
blazing through black abyss;
illuminating infinite veins of strength
that light like gun powder;
a thousand volts of survival
searing through my core.
There is a whisper in that flame,
ripples beyond discernible sound,
that directs me to take solace
in the unwavering knowledge
that my dreams are already realized,
waiting on life’s top shelf;
I have only to climb up and see
that they were never out of reach,
only temporarily out of sight.
I know this more securely
than I can be sure of anything else:
love, marriage, children,
are rolls of a roulette dice
that tumble around in a risky blur
chancing to settle on snake eyes,
but desire, aspiration, ambition and execution
are coordinates on my internal map
and I will never lose direction.
Spin all the cobwebs of doubt
that you believe can trap my will,
but what I have you can’t touch
or break, or steal, or burn out;
such is the radiance
of my inextinguishable flame
burning on a wick of passion,
feeding on a fuel of might,
and guaranteed to burn the hand
that comes too close
to touching
my pilot light.
The flying sent projections free to see,
from adjunct Astrals singing bold decree.
Perched on Pisces’s cusp, forsaking Plato’s cave,
Puppets casting shadows, chancing me a slave.
They hang from dreams of higher forms, allures
Contempt in self when loving carnal cores.
Haunted by women’s passions kept in Spirits,
Dawns my sleeping stages now inherits
Marionettes aloft eternal twists
of spinning truths with lies recalling trysts.
Killing prone volitions, changing essence.
Chosen starlight’s beings guiding presence.
Upon a love in purest form demands,
Forgotten suicides of ego strands.
Risking Pirsig’s fate in Zen and journey,
Waging sanity, a bounty worthy.
The stringing of my soul and bracing seeks,
A pulling truth beyond this death it speaks.
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Alternating stanzas of iambic and trochaic pentameter
Between happiness and heartache
We search for higher ground
As we travel the peaks and valleys
Trying to save the love we've found
Build bridges over troubled waters
Carelessly burning a few
Following our map of dreams
Rest on ridges to enjoy the view
We try to avoid the slippery slopes
But occasionally roll the dice
Betting our fears and chancing our hope
Not to cover the same ground twice
We use our conscience, for a compass
Our hearts for compromise
If we share a bond of mutual trust
In the end our love will survive
an original poem by the "Poemdog" Daniel Turner
Of first embrace and broken glass
I cherish that first spark
New light upon our forest' dark.
Do you recall that northern wind?
It came at first so swift
Perhaps our growing light enraged
Poor Hopelessness', her whims denied
Inspired shadows from retreat
Those having once left us in our light.
"There's hope for you!” her battle cries
“Forwards; towards the glowing night
Attack! The lion will not bite
I promise he will turn blind eyes
Go back! I will cover your eyes!”
“Follow storms winds descent
True path through forests dense
Enter hence.
Rip, tear, rent!
From low to high
Head to toes
Even to above
Where dark forest glows
Churn even these shades
Whites and grays
Yellows arrayed,
Where once were dulled
"My children do not stop there!"
She would say,
"You must inscribe them full
Lest unseen hopes, occupy as slivers
As pretending tones, they have been known to hide
Shimmers upon the edge of shades
We must leave them emptied, lost whims, denied
Their ways left as waste to ruins
Despairs do not relent with dooms
Leaving chance to sparks in time
Per chancing kindles from hearts that loom.”
“Descend, my raging opaque!
The dense itself engrave
Teach young love old lessons
That she may now know at such young age
The heart of this forest lessened.”
“Now go' my shadowed tails delight
Slice sharp paths without care
Cause those within their ears too bear
The roaring of fresh leaves…
Torn from their rightful place
Before the given time”
“Dying screams let them endure
Let them feel your shadows
….Purge!”
The cold so swift
We were so sure This was spring
........residues
Your body’s naked form, lovely
Dropping, encircling our flame
Dying breath
Woman’s instinct
Nurturing
Disregarding winds intent
Then came the rains' extinguishing
Saving coals
Your hands were warm
My feet were cold
I shiver at this memory.
…Rains cold intensity
The downpour overcoming
Me
I'm sorry I could not see
My circle enclosed circles now
Circling
I knew the dark complete
As our smoke heavenward arose
To late this pittance; ash offerings
Ashes on the ground
Then came the rivers rage
Cutting its path through the heart
Forever too leave
Forever leaving its mark
Upon our forest dark
Meandering on; its choosing path
And I with it beside; belonged
For a chosen time
My love again I say
For a chosen time
Do you understand?
I chose the time of days
My shame
Oh how I miss being six;
No problems that couldn't be fixed.
Important decisions of cavort;
Was which hill to make my fort.
How to make the stray kitten follow my lead;
So that " It followed me home" was an honest plead.
Trying to guess with an experienced hunch;
What was the mystery meat in the school's lunch.
Hand catching craw dads and small fish;
Waiting for the first star to make a wish.
Mud pies and tea parties by invitation only;
The little girl's private teddy bear ceremony.
Splashing in puddles and climbing trees;
Skinning my elbows and knees.
Picking wild berries and black heart cherries;
Staging my own revolutionaries.
Making shapes out of clouds;
Laughing and singing out loud.
Wishing for rain but not chancing the odds;
Sacrificing my sister's barbie dolls to the rain gods.
Under a patch work quilt, snuggled safely;
With my feather tick pillow I fall asleep gayly.
My mother wraps her arm around me like a shawl;
And whispers "Goodnight and sweet dreams Doll".
Wining and dining,
Dancing and prancing
Hoping I'll score,
My money I'm chancing...
Desperate for love,
A body warm
All my sensualities
Begin to swarm
Peck on the cheek,
My $100 prize
I stood there still,
With glazed eyes
Inside she rushed,
With ne're a word,
I stood still on the stoop,
Like a highschool nerd
Was it my hair?
My breath?
My looks?
Does she see
My hands as hooks?
Home I went,
Head hung low,
Well, at least,
Now I know...
No vanity
Do I see...
Worthy of...
Overcoming me.
If wishes were horses,
And I was a stallion,
Would you ride me home?
Would you ride me to the comfort of your heart?
Would you keep me in the finest confines of your soul's house?
Would you caress my beastly body with your soft hands?
Would I afford the pleasure of your whispers in my ears?
Would you please my soul with your soulful laughter?
Would you ride me through the dullest of days;
through the darkest of nights?
Would you dry your tears upon my willing neck?
Would you give me a name to bear forever?
Or would you just pass me by,like any other beast?
Would just throw me a soulless glance and fade away-
like mist chancing upon sunlight?
Or would you stroke me a little, the decide I'm not worth it?
Would you look me in the eye and walk away?
Would you let my eyes see you go through the tears?
Tell me Love,if you'd rather not see my heart tear apart,
Why are wishes not horses-
Why am I not your stallion?
My warm body's on permanent loan to Big Pharma;
I am chancing my health but could care less for karma.
All that money they pay is too good to refuse;
So with minimal risk I have little to lose.
Man, I shovel their food and I watch lots of cable;
And I gain as much weight as I'm possibly able.
I will sleep like Prince Charming awaiting a kiss
From young nurses so sweet their mere presence is bliss.
I can do what I want from pre-dawn to late night
Just as long as I don't give the staffers a fright.
I take nice, long hot showers until I'm beet red;
Some warm milk with six cookies, and then on to bed.
It's pure Heaven, I tell you, it's every man's dream;
You relax all the time, eat desserts with whipped cream,
Then you mark off each day as it languidly fades,
Blithely block out the world by extending the shades.
So work smarter, not harder, all you Type-A's out there;
And let stress be a kind of a fast fading nightmare
Out of which you've been wakened by a woman's soft voice
As she calls you to breakfast, and makes note of your choice.
Not born of fault but
purely down to chance
Each personal plight
leads troublesome dance
External factors
genes lifestyle and age
Start this desperate
denial why me stage
Physical, mental
emotional state
Well being affects
all those who relate
Sciences detect
deliver quicker
Families worry
don't want you sicker
You know your treatment
comes down to finance
Health Board decisions
can influence chance
It's a lottery
chancing your name
But worry and stress
can be nobody's game
Families concerns
of financial front
Do they need stop work
Help shoulder the brunt
Genetics play part
in medical scare
Lots to consider
maybe long term care
If image altered
will folk notice it
How long till I'm clear
Will my clothes still fit
So many questions
about all cancer's
They may not know now
But they'll find answers
Hung on bird table
Fat balls nuts rind and treats
Cheeky squirrel scoffs
Once,
About ten minutes ago in the year
2006 or
2549, depending upon which avatar or
Messiah is consulted, I
Tumbled out of my bed to the
Untranslatable
Predawn
Cackle of
Frantic voices
Descending.
So, with urgency
Rarely experienced since the
Evacuation of my spirit
From the Land of
Possession Addiction, I was called to summon previously
Unknown prowess
Chancing traffic choked streets
Of Nakhorn (used to mean “New City” 700 years ago but not sure now)
Chiang Mai.
So there I was
Aboard my mostly pint-sized for a European descendent Kawasaki 112,
Red-blooded American head
Protruding
turret-like out of an
Undersized helmet that,
If nothing else,
Officially pronounced me foreign
Blazing a jutted path around
Decrepit trishaws,
Ubiquitously red baht busses and,
Not the least, a motorcycle with a sidecar bandaged to its
Aching side just in time to witness a
Spit-shined just out of the wrapper BMW
Brusque aside a
Sardine packed dump truck
Loaded,
Not with dirt, but five dollar a day
Laborers.
All this and more
Just moments before
Mounting the silted Ping and
Stampeding city gates, I glimpsed
Censored Snippets of TV reports blurting something unintelligible like
“Bangkok coup”,
“Corruption”,
“A King”
And
Somewhere,
Quite uncensored, of a not so pleased
Laozi,
Lotus splayed in
Meditation
Kneading the Eastern soil one
Daoist grain at a time,
Before ancient city walls
Rose up,
Monolithic in my path.
And then the recall that
Centuries before,
Burmese raiders
Resplendent in warrior garb
Plundered the palace and soul
Of the kingdom Thai before stealthily
Creeping back to their lairs,
Buddha-fat with riches.
That leaves the Siamese of 1935
And me, to wonder
Where is freedom
When we travel so far
Pell mell and
Peril, only to discover
In a fleeting brief moment the road to
Iniquity marked, rather
Erroneously, with the signpost to
Promises?
A crimson dragon-
fly, Why! never seen one of
those before, here; - my
Beach, these febriled oh-
pressive days, re-bleaching to
a 14Mil-Shill
only "Ernst & Friends"
only know; so I meande
this other, other
tres Yoga place, Ma-
ma & young Swan - Proustian? -
decide to shore, so
smooth, they, as if guide,
tethered below, two Windfanned-
down SnowFeathers, as
from a chapeau, no!
degage` "Dolly Varden"
offered-over for
simple frags of the
bread at hand, some too in a
tossing-up for the
diminutive red-
bill Moorehen in the pecking
water, as hungry
mosqa do their thing
euchre - chancing - flitting a
pluck voracity
against their Lives, this
yet another sad tingle...
and in a new bluff
I fauxstrut from the
Love we breathed... this, another
SatHerday-Sunday.
My bitter heart, a ghost that ever lingers at the edge of sight
First seeking, then fleeing as if by chancing that which it desires most
Might forever add permanence to its lonely sentence
Still the specter remains, shrieking in sleepless sleep
Wailing in her misery for that which was lost and what can never be
She haunts my dreams by day and night with woe of circumstance
I feel her arms enfold me and her lips still claim my own
A trace of honey lingers from mead once tasted, but no more
Not but fickle memories to taunt and scorn me for the fool I am
My hands are empty of all but time, and that, the heaviest burden
I carry it alone, and alone I will remain though the world surrounds me
This bitter cup, once sweet, falls empty to the ground…spent.
~Christopher Thor Britt
Third Rails
by Odin Roark
One’s temptable 20's say “flirt with it.”
40's say “not on my watch.”
60's say “made it across the tracks.”
Home free’s reality.
Off the full-retiree goes.
Golf course by day.
Country club by night.
Home free for some.
Off the semi-retiree goes.
Part time work at home by day.
TV at night for armchair ventures.
Most arrive there.
Some realize more choice.
Third rail respect
sees no difference
from 20 to 60 years and beyond.
Accepts ubiquitous warnings.
Never flirts.
Never assumes immunity.
Never considers chancing too far.
Third rail addiction
knows not retirement,
remaining ready to wander through unlocked doors,
strolls through parks at night,
views chance-taking as senility-deterrent.
Most forget…
Consciousness can wane,
and like a a subway schedule,
mobility coming along less often after sundown,
often with fewer start and stop choices.
Still
With anxious rush hours easily avoided
more leisure movement thrives,
car to car,
platform to platform,
late nights,
early mornings,
yesterday’s have-tos left to others.
For a choice few…
A venturesome life learned early
remains an option,
an awareness,
a forever reminder
that forward motion never advances by itself.
Those same few…
Understand Time's playful third rail,
the click and clack,
of sparks and fire for mischievous die-hards.