Best Childishly Poems
My head slightly bent over a table of happiness.
My feet, sod with white lilacs, dance merrily
to a moon stroke music of twilight night.
My finger-tips childishly sip
the sweat of quill, like red wine of Mother Earth
that runs down the skin of my heart.
Down in the chores of primal things
I have been to the bowl aquarium, mostly at nights
where I breathed and twitched with the fish, trying
to catch the warm winks of stars. Ahh,
I know all about human arts, although I
dabble in the language of my adopted father; still
I know how to sketch
in my own words a lovely butterfly, fluttering
awhile in the night to say hello
and to kiss me,
ere on a fluffy pillow
of dreams
I close my eyes. My name is nothing special,
but honestly I am what I am… a poetry dancer, dancing
with emotions for my fictitious lover.
Author’s note: I wrote it in response to “The Invitation to Write”, by Gather
Essentials: Writing Challenge, based on Carl Sandburg’s poem “Who Am I?”
His bleeding heart
Was flustered from that torn parchment
In their leeching chapter
Pushed aside
As if “friendship” was aggression’s bull
Running through crowded cemeteries
Under quartered, sapphire moon
He sipped pitied shots of century-old whiskey
With a dusty glass of pomegranate w(h)ine
“Why isn’t she coming back to me?”
“My heart will make empty declarations until her return!”
As he childishly latches onto recycled yesterdays
Praying for God to give him
White picket gate’s access code
Writing lavish, debt-ridden sonatas,
In whiplashed curiosity,
On why she chose to forget him
Unbeknownst to decrepit author
That he
Could simply
Return the favor
©Drake J. Eszes
It is in the blowing of winds and thoughts-
In the Fragments of coherence.
Beauty swings. Laughter slides.
The sun-tanned sands of time crawl
In metaphorical rhythm.
Meaning floats like a dawn-lingering fog.
Damp yet almost non-existent. Gentle yet
At times blurring.
I wonder about anything and everything- childishly curious.
Playgrounds.
Streets that extend in front of my eyes like
Darkness at midnight.
A blend of happenings.
A welding of perception.
A farrago of senselessness.
I am compelled to question every word
That comes to mind
And then follow this uncertainty
By inquisitive why’s.
Wings flutter. Shadows reflect on opposite surfaces.
Distances. One might think of speed.
Time.
The ever-turning carousel-
Time...
Red freckles that eventually sink into the wrinkled
Oceans of time.
Time that brings with it only more time...
Clocks that tick..
Bells that chime...
Smiles..voices..
Mishappenings and rhyme
That only add to the dusty
Contents of memory.
Is this a world of lies and deceit?
Is deception the norm of the human life?
Must heartache reign for infinity?
Is living a lifetime a nightmarish hell?
Where can I find the solace I need?
When masks of deceit abound
And I know not who's friend or foe,
Who truly lends a hand in need?
Or is just calculating his own growth?
I feel resentment grow in me.
Am I to be a recluse, escape from all?
Am I to yearn for days gone by,
When childishly I trusted all?
I pull the brakes and little rays of hope
Amass and grow strong in my soul.
The dawning sun shines on the forest green.
There is a blessing in the dew that drips
From newly sprouted leaves of trees.
The white crisp frost thaws slowly
As the day grows slowly old like me.
The beauty of creation embraces all:
An ageless gift forever new.
And so I realize that God is there
With me to fill each of my lonely dreams
And fulfils me forever with His hope.
Instead of listing what’s wrong with the world
Let’s list what we could do to make it strong
Childishly simple is the integrity on which we set our pride
Is it so hard not to lie, steal, cheat, defile with words
That simply are not right?
Treat others like you would want to be treated
We preach to our children
Unadorned ideas that we cannot follow ourselves
At times it seems
As humans progress, from child to adolescent
To adult, then back again
It’s a reversal in time
From complete innocence to corruptness
Why does it take us a whole lifetime
To come back to the mentality
In which we started
It’s only once we see, truly
The best times is when
We don’t judge
And things are just so
Childishly simple
That we are happy
Rape in the city, lifestyle was blamed
Rape of a teenager, clothing was blamed.
And now?
8 year old, simply dressed,
Living in village
No modern lifestyle
Innocent and unaware of all this.
Childishly innocent she probably didn't know what was happening
Only knew that her pain was accuring
Terrified and frightened she begged for mercy,
But the wasps remained bloodthirsty.
They murdered her innocence every day,
And then finally they took her painful breaths away.
Her name means "pure" and such was her soul,
Yet to their foul eyes,
Her body was only of the lust to behold.
Such was their monstrosity they didn't let her dead, broken and Battered body to be buried,
In the name of religion, they were blinded.
They took her death to religion's fair,
But let me tell you this: the day their daughter died, both "The Bhagavan" and "The Allah" cried.
The temple which once echoed of ringing bells
now echoes of the screams for justice of that 8-year-old.
4/18/2018
In the quiet morning light, for the first
time, I truly gazed into the mirror,
What I saw was unrecognisable,
I must confess I was close to it but
had to draw closer still,
I was surprised to see a jigsaw of
times past.
Once a canvas, unmarked,
Now wrinkles, each a story of lessons
learnt and experiences lived,
Fine lines depict laughter, joy and
worry,
Scars show battles fought and love lost,
Spots show signs of neglect.
The colours in a once shiny black crown,
Changed to threads of silver and
reddish-brown,
Eyes once full of dreams now reflect
the wisdom of life’s true realities,
And smiling lips have somehow
lost their smile.
I told myself that I was half asleep,
so I rubbed my eyes and washed my
face,
Then made sure all the lights were on,
and looked in the mirror again,
Time’s gentle hand had left its trace,
I was taken aback and childishly asked
the mirror to explain.
In the silence of wonder, I saw the
truth in my reflection, a weathered
face,
As the seasons came and went they
laid shadows on the terrain,
Showing a journey where youth and
wisdom blend,
Gently, I touch each line on the surface.
Each jigsaw piece I cherish, so let the
years gather,
To the beauty of ageing, with gratitude
and grace, I embrace my refrain.
By Zyrool
There is a devil they call Jealousy,
he hides behind many faces you see:
One is driven to envy,
the next gets so haughty;
and the other's made childishly bitchy.
There is a demon tormentedly jealous,
his ways that beguile are insidious.
His wrath knows no bounds,
he’ll destroy those around;
his words aimed to hurt and quite callous.
To one I give warning, still with some grace,
the Jealousy devil who wears poet’s face:
Enough with your thievery
of fine prose and poetry;
your plagiarized poems do not deserve space!
04 September 2015
SKAT A's Jealousy Contest
Do you know what is
the best part of
being with you?
To feel your warm
deep inside even
without holding your
hands.
Do you know what is
the worst part of
being with you?
To talk foolishly
about everything in
our every
convesation not
saying the word
running in my head "
I love you".
Do you know what is
the most exciting
part of being with
you?
To think same things
in the same time and
cry and laugh.
To miss you crazily
even you are here..
Do you know what is
the most painful
part of being with
you?
To share you with
many people even I
don't know
To envy childishly
everyone beside you,
talk with you.
Do you know what is
the happiest part of
being with you?
To walk with you
side by side on the
streets with the
doubtfulness of to
encounter a familiar
face
To get wet under the
rain persist of the
umbrella in my hand.
To wait for you with
a wild flower in my
hand..
To eat the same food
in the same place.
Do you what is the
most romantic part
of being with you?
to find you in every
page of books
To tell things to
the moon and stars
at nights I can't
tell you..
To find you in every
pages of book I
read, lyrics of
songs and poems.
Do you what is the
hardest part of
being with you?
To imprison my
indescribable
feelings that I felt
for the first time
into a boat in the
middle of the hope
sea cos of the fear
of losing you.
To accomplish being
friends not lovers
for years. To walk
barefoot on the
sharpest side of the
knife. Put my
eyedrops not salt on
my bleeding heart.
Do you what is the
only side affect to
be with you?
How can you know?
You were never with
me.
If you were with me
my hands would had
yours..
I wouldn't make up
my mind..
Wouldn't miss you
when you were by
me..
Wouldn't envy..
Wouldn't scare of
walking in streets..
Wouldn't get wet
under rains..
Wouldn't pour out my
problems to the moon
and stars, so drunk
in every song..
Wouldn't afraid of
losing you, would
jump from the boat
to the sea with my
bleeding feet..
And in each strike I
would scream your
name..
But you were never
with me..
YOUR MIND WAS NOT
WITH US OR YOUR
HEART
Remember your fear of the dark, child,
When sleep attempts to steal your sight,
And monsters creep in, tall, sharp and wild.
Sharp teeth, sharp claws, all to make you mild,
They close in, trying to steal your light.
Remember your fear of the dark, child.
Imagine yourself a hero, riled
Up with holy fury and banishing might,
When monsters creep in, tall, sharp and wild.
Hissing, screaming, from your room, exiled,
But not forever, just for the night.
Remember your fear of the dark, child.
When morning came, you childishly reviled
their failed attempt to bring you fright,
When monsters crept in, tall, sharp and wild.
Do not think that they can be beguiled
Into staying away another night.
Remember your fear of the dark, child,
When monster crept in, tall, sharp and wild.
you'd beckoned my thoughts again
through sudden whispers
i've declined to respond morbidly
catering to the quaint findings
of life after death a quiet calm
arose over shattered fixings
wildly i'd mastered the gory details
hindering my every whim
childishly i catered to his robe
nestled beneath wrath carny
and the mild mannered masterpieces
torn between terror and sheer neediness
while captured beyond graveness
the sullen memory of where time resided
my inner self crawled eagerly i suppose
as my body bargained with my soul
a meaningful gesture giving my heart
infamous nudges arousing tattered bliss
mere ashes to be smeared throughout
the galaxy of fairness and the norm
I tried to hold onto you but could not—
You slipped through my fingers as water will
When run through a sieve. And how like the plot
Of some dime-store pulp it all seems now -- shrill
Yet so furtive. I tried to be humble,
To seem nonchalant; but came off shallow,
Unfocused, both surprised when you’d grumble
And childishly petulant and callow,
I’m embarrassed to confess. Now you’ve left:
No chance now of reconciliation;
No excuses now, howsoever deft,
No third party’s neat adjudication
Can heal the rift between us anymore.
Nothing tastes so bitter as one’s own words,
Or punctuates quite like the slamming door,
No matter how tenaciously one girds
Oneself to bear the shock. Regret may well
Be futile, but it’s hard indeed to take--
Like some malignant fairy’s baleful spell
Which no consoling words can ever break.
NB: The word "not" in the first line is meant to be stressed.
Yellow cabinets, like sunflowers are planted on top of floral walls,
the sink is clean; the lemon scent still lingering in the corners,
the cooker whistles, and the sound echoes excitedly, bringing smiles to the waiters, making Grandma herself hurry to the stove.
The smell of meat overpowers everything; as every second passes by, our mouths salivate childishly.
Awaiting Grandma's voice, soft and sweet, calling us to dinner; a lovely family reunion.
She mixes the curry, places the rice on the table, sets everything in place; a perfectionist.
Round table, for everyone to join, none to miss. Laughters and stories pass around like a bowl of nachos and chips.
Clinks and clanks of utensils and glasses, Grandma's face is lighted up, with love and happiness.
Dirty dishes, finger licking fingers, stained stove, but in the end, for Grandma, it was all worth while; her everyday life story told in short.
Form:
Did you ever stop, to watch a butterfly
Gently spread its wings and flutter by
Wondrous colours, as they fly with ease
Darting all about in the gentle breeze
Up into the trees, then into the grass they dive
Watching them makes us feel glad to be alive
Tis normally on a sunny day in spring
As they flutter around, birds do sing
Could lie in the grass, watch for many an hour
As the bees take the pollen from flower to flower
A ray of sunshine on my face would beam
As you dangle your feet in the cool clear stream
I`d look at your hair and your waist so slim
Give you a quick kiss, then go for a swim
Kicking off your clothes, you'd jump in with me
We would jump around, laughing so childishly
Hand in hand dripping, we get out at long last
Passionately kiss, then make love on the grass
After, lay on our backs and stare at the sky
Day will soon end, can only wonder why
Hour or two later we'll wake under the trees
Give thanks to the Lord for the birds and bees
Sun will soon set and darkness is nigh
Watch one last butterfly gently flutter by
Like a scaly, slithering, serpent
You sneak your way back into my life.
Trying childishly to coaxingly, communicate
one more time.
I will listen to your tales told.
I will not be pulled in.
I am that not naive.
I’m numb.
I know the hateful and horrible things you do.
Afterall, look what you did to Eve.
Form: