Best Composed Poems
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Softly the keys find a resonance pure, softly
adrift o’er a metronome stream, adrift
past the harmonies, three quarter time, past
dreamers and slumbering chords shimmered gleam, where dreamers
all long to caress what is heard, all
feeling vibrato on breezes a’ mist, feeling
the music ‘pon moonbeams of time to capture the
tune a pianist hath kissed, a tune
from the heart beating tempos of joy, from
deep down inside to the edge of the scale, deep
in a place that shall find no return, lost in
a breath of crescendo’s exhale, a
beautiful euphony born of desire, a beautiful
opus descends from above, an opus
of sensual echoes to feast, of
love songs, melodic, composed by our love
I was challenged to write a poem about a piano player using the poetic form Serpentine. It is where each line begins and ends with the same word but each line feeds into the next in order to keep the serpent like movement going. I thought I would pop in and share this with you.
Oh...Hi, it has been a while. : )
Pelvic desires arise when turning manic!
It's an all-powerful ejaculation
(from mania that feels keenly orgasmic)
Pelvis and loins ablaze like fantastic,
and engorged with such climaxed sensation;
Pelvic desires arise when turning manic!
Eros peaks, then runs wild and Jurassic;
and hunts for instant gratification
(from mania that feels keenly orgasmic!)
To burn with unrestrained lust is horrific;
but the red-hot flames of this condition
force coitus to break out when turning manic:
oh! to explode without control like a sex addict,
and copulate with total abandon
(when mania feels so keenly orgasmic!).
So, call it mad, but don't call it poetic:
this disease demands total expression.
These pelvic desires arise when turning manic,
from a mania whose possession is so fiercely orgasmic.
Requiem
The map to Requiem
Is often long, confused, and composed
By differing charters...Also
Too layered to sort. So many movements!
Even the very shortest of lives
Could story a magnum opus
When tracked to its core.
A Requiem for one elderly
Could fill an orchestra’s entire concert
Season of song!
The roads to a Requiem
Course singularly in God’s memory,
Fully in the graces of his harmony.
—————————————————————
U
(c). Sally Young-Eslinger 9/1/2020
With help from Antonio Vivaldi
***Thank be to God!
Lines Composed at a Mid-day Meal
To stare in ambivalence
At all things
Is to be in reverence
Of all the small things
Like what a child brings
For, like a bird visiting upon my door
My sweet adoring child
Sings only of his joy for all.
After all, that is what love is for.
When children come to call.
I wear an ID badge for my group.
It dangles down from my belt loop.
I have anonymity
When I stand up to pee
But it gives me away when I poop.
*** TOMORROWS ***
These thoughts begin composed
(“adagio ma non troppo”)
With a happy, a peaceful heart’s tempo,
Assured the nature of
Imminent or distant tomorrows,
Is woven in vibrant colors to allure
— Very like inspired verses,
With a soul’s knowing, a soul’s melody…
For even God,
The holy I AM
Kept His days —
His proceding creativity’s paced plan
…With its tomorrows held
Open for His any needed intervening
Powers and graces
(“allegro”)
Behold!
The days come. They come
Over horizons
We live and witness
(“allegro”)
……..Thence, too,
According to God
— By many miracles and through
His covenant concluding
The Great Flood….Showing
His promises in a rainbow’s arched reach
Across the sky…And,as in our time,
(“crescendo”)
A thousand ravens hover
And we imagine they wait to prey o’er each
Of our tomorrows, but they stay distant,
Unseen.
— For humanity, as time continues…
With its tempos’ flowing
Of rising sun by day and moon
By night…The dawns stir
Fully into tomorrows.
In Asia, “tempos” may mean,
“(brought or gone via) 3-legged carts,”
(“largo”)
Which might well define
My own aged years’ decline
As I greet
Tomorrows: with
Breath by faith…
And new days with actions of meaning.
————————————————————
Matthew 6:25 “…Is life not more than food. and the body more than clothing?”————————-
*** Written inspired to pen my annual Birthday Poem, as i age & i am more thankful, while much more challenged.
(c) sally young eslinger 1/5/2023
Thanks be to God…
Ah, let come this stiffling breeze now to ye all!
Such sweet sap envelops my every pore,
Shall I await for the ever fresh rainfall?
For I fear the amber of daylight no more.
Dormant they recline on fields of white cotton,
while Hermes pulls his cart from the House of York,
and though worries of the day are forgotten,
they tackle me with ever increasing torque.
Dear Lord! The sun, as the Gods, knows no mercy,
it strikes common men on green parks all the same,
the same as the priests from Westminster Abbey,
wildly wields and waves it's scorching blade of Flames.
Ah, let come a fresh breeze to the grass of Hyde,
and may it blow through the city, far and wide.
Poetic Verses, Words Composed, To A Wren
They have not taken thee, thou art too small
To tinge their fancy with a moment's flush;
Thy safely lieth in a ruined wall,
Thy plainsong blendeth with loud water's rush.
In dusky shade thy duskier shadow flits
Beside the pathway; friendly in thy flight;
No wrath of Heaven scares thee from thy wits,-
Thou art a brave and homely little wight.
What man can tell the meaning of the tongue
Thy presence in our memory uttereth?
What say you the thoughts of thee that wind among
Our travels on the ways of life and death?
If our hearts knew that secret, we should be
Lords of the Legend of our Destiny.
Robert J. Lindley,
Edited/Updated, 4-05-2019
Note:
1. Wren- The wrens are mostly small, brownish passerine birds in the mainly New World family Troglodytidae. About 80 species of true wrens in roughly 20 genera are described. Only the Eurasian wren occurs in the Old World, where in Anglophone regions, it is commonly known simply as the "wren", as it is the originator of the name. The name wren has been applied to other, unrelated birds, particularly the New Zealand wrens (Acanthisittidae) and the Australian wrens (Maluridae).
Most wrens are small and rather inconspicuous, except for their loud and often complex songs. Notable exceptions are the relatively large members of the genus Campylorhynchus, which can be quite bold in their behavior. Wrens have short wings that are barred in most species, and they often hold their tails upright. As far as known, wrens are primarily insectivorous, eating insects, spiders, and other small arthropods, but many species also eat vegetable matter and some take small frogs and lizards.[1]
Tall terrace housebow-fronted windows
Opulescent green lined walls silk paper
18th century French marquetry pattern
Glowing dressing table walnut veneer
Smoked salmon kisses heart on sleeve
That color does become her kitchen
A glimpse of yellowing autumn trees
Stately home ancient lake full of fish
Pot of coffee polished mahogany table.
Beautifully raised gaze. .Private moment .
enormously enjoyed each others comp
Ushered out....gates slid quietly together
delicate cabriole legs. oyster satin fabric
Loin of pork , leg of lamb , frozen cake.
There you sit smiling,
and it's you I'm watching,
but you don't even know,
what it is you do to me.
So I keep on watching and wanting,
every time I look at you,
every time I talk to you,
every time I smell you,
my heart continues,
melting, and I am forever dreaming.
Whenever you pass me by,
Whenever you catch my eye,
I feel like I want to cry,
because of what it is you do to me.
Your eyes gleaming,
your lips pleading,
and your hands exploring.
While my heart remains beating,
every time you look at me,
I wonder what it is you see.
Every time you talk to me,
and I hear that beautiful voice,
my knees get weak,
my stomach knots,
my chest collapses,
my neck hairs tingle,
and I stop breathing.
Just in that moment in time,
when you do what it is you do to me.
As I sit here yearning,
I imagine you,
sleeping and I want to hold you endlessly.
Forever in my arms,
for eternity.
I'll continue dreaming.
As long as you are,
Living.
Breathing.
Being.
All through the young years of one Wildflowers life, she had been introduced to all the
darkest colors. Even when the wind picked her up and carried her away the shady colors
followed. And then, rain. And the rain did not stop as it danced against her colorful and
majestic petals.
The Wildflower was sad, and her condition was deepening. Instead of the dark colors
leaving, they would fade. Showing what the Wildflower could attain, teasing her as she felt
helpless while the shade played it's games. The Wildflower began to wilt.
But the Wildflower is strong and little did she know, all her life the sun was coming to stop
the rain and bring the brighter colors. All the things she dreamt of were on there way.
The Wildflower never lost hope, and when the sun arrived, she perked up and stared in to
his face to take in all his warmth and comfort. She stood in an amazing array of beauty and
fantasia of colors. Nothing you could ever see is as beautiful or ever will be. This is truely
spectacular.
No struggle can change the fantasia that is named Taylor Jenkins.
Form:
The armies they are massing:
They line and ring every shore, every strand bristling with
The deadliest of weapons;
The tocsin should be sounded,
And every cannon is round at its bore.
Fires rage unchecked and unopposed throughout the
Entire world, and mankind, in part, prepares hastily and needlessly
Yet more and crueler,
Harsher atrocities, cruelties
And machines and weapons of horrific war.
Bloody folly and empty vainglory to
Embark imprimis upon the roads to all-out war,
I greatly fear that these are man's fate,
And though I attempt to raise the alarm
With this writing of mine, yet I fear I may be too late!
"Too late! Too late! This, then, is mankind's fate!" It cruelly mocks,
Crows and caws as the ebon raven,
Croaking its dread prophecies in my ever-attentive ear.
It chills even my waiting
Tankard of frothy, frosty beer;
Yet no beer-drinker am I,
No quaffer and lover of ales and lagers.
And still I hold a lonely vigil,
And keep a silent, motionless, breathless watch on the swiftly storm-filling sky.
5. Making steel-enclosed aeronautical, aerodynamical vessels sealed
And brimming only with overmuch indiscriminating death:
Dual-edged, oiled with and soaking in an abundant poison bringing
Vicious death to the poisoner as well as the poisoned,
Man is a violent, self-destructive fool: Lame, impotent,
Obsessed and somehow impatient of vilest death.
Death for his opponent, his manufactured,
Fancied nemesis:
Nay; his NEMESES:
Yet not for himself, this horrid death he dreams of bringing to an imagined enemy only.
Additionally, he hath built and placed all his faith in titanic weaponry of
Awesome destructiveness,
Possessed of the devastating potency of an angry, rampaging god.
And these vile implements of utterest extirpation;
Encased within a very nation of steel tubular;
They are as wayward, incorrigible,
Marauding, plundering, malicious gargantuan
Monsters:
Great, cyclopean giants of a horribly puissant
Destroying fury
Bringing only disaster upon all heads;
Anarachic, ultra-liberal in there dark and evil slaughterousness:
Slaying even their maker, having no loyalty, cold and cruel:
Delighting only in death, wanton destruction, infamy and cruelty.
No man nor nation should possess these terrible weapons,
Yet too many do.
Form:
like the undersong of mind
every thought sings of you
the sweetest melody
i long to be
your greatest lyric
fallen on ivory sheets
be the strings
beneath the caress
of your fingers
as you strum
a euphony
feel the beat
echo through my heart
as your rhythm carries me
into the depths of harmony
i want to be
the whispered words
sung from your lips
until they meet with mine
in a hush of silence
then linger
in your mind
like a song
you've sung
a thousand times
but can never forget
the lyrics to
On this gay morn, the first day of autumn,
I reflect.—Thanks be to God! For how strange
that I've, like a pilgrim, traveled life's range,
and have survived its dark snares, unlike some:
thus, I am grateful that I have overcome!
At this time of year, the seasons alter, change;
the sun grows milder; the leaves brown, red, orange,
as they give up their branches and succumb.
How wonderful to be alive now! I,
no stranger to grief, despair, or sorrow,
can hardly contain my joy as I grow
and wax hopeful: for the change of seasons
restores, and Nature, earth, and sky beautify
once more:—'tis God's will, and for these reasons.
The added wisdom with the scornful use,
Will add more to the human miseries.
A century of conflicts, contending confusions,
Blurring the minds, hearts, and vision,
The Dormant Righteousness will be tormented,
To the utmost extent, the sleeping conscience,
Will awaken to give the Universal Call,
To wash contagious, cancerous effects,
Of faithlessness and too selfishness,
Uniting the indignant broken hearts.
An era of violation and use of force,
When spacey cobras will vomit fire,
Resulting wide disastrous devastation,
Erasing the falsified civilizations,
The Gigantic Guards will receive,
The grievous injuries in both the eyes,
Upon the skull, on hard brainy spots,
Making them blind, desperate mad,
In Panic trouble they will pant,
Ravaging around, with thundering roar.
They will bear upon this fatal fate,
For poking noses in the world everywhere,
It is the time to patch spots worn out,
With the thread of tolerance, and sacrifice.