Best Concourse Poems
Springing free from glistening
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above
A distant lark now hangs in
Flight.
Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls
Into ripening bean fields
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.
Do now these gentle Slopes
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted
Thoor Ballylee.
Sweeping briskly past a tors
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...
Now, joyfully sporting in gushing
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.
Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.
Harken then to the feathered
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on
Ye!
For few men know of what he
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths
Forever lost within Innisfree.
Sunday cockcrow nascent
aural essays reveal
laissez-faire raptures.
Enigmatic silken piece compost ushered in by
trenchant trademark tremulous signature.
Doe-eyed instrumentalist’s strident brass ensemble,
wakey wakey for the pier gazing loiterer whose blasé
sashay amble’s out of kilter.
Maverick antennae on a radio safari,
hawking hourglass heritage lodestone.
Closet Peter Pan’s astride transistor, literati goggle eyed and glued.
Silhouettes of wistful mint leaf tract,
navigating hoarse throat shellback allegory.
Earnest weekend welcome mat to madcap jester, laureate, bohemian.
Religiously the listener’s transported
from a humble tepee sanctum
to alluring levee inundation area,
far flung folly edifice,
nomad siren hymn sheet to mount Half Dome.
Long wave bounder in my dreams,
I limb skip oe’r fiction world simulcast entanglement,
snoop beneath rogallo-wing parachute in a Middle East plot,
“twin peaks” would be awestruck by this labyrinthine concourse.
One can flit invisibly round medieval black market cobblestone arcades,
ghost novelist’s ethereal penchant for pinch and pilfer retro-fit infringement.
Melting pot cinnamon dispenser, whiff stick fix antidote to kettledrum ennui
the blight of urban jungle setting and rural folklore.
Otherworld contortion with a shard of drama for magic carpet flight of fancy broadcast
Lineage derived from ancient epochs now assumed but for an inkling, icons I become with card shark sly booth legerdemain.
Maybe I’m that fictile clueless hiker, destitute, indigent
Unifying Theories of Chemistry
Plants react in synthesis
Stimulations sunlight
Breathing the winds causes
Through fluid chains
Reproducing flowering responses
And systematically chemistries
Drive in attractions of curiosity
Stranger love crushes
To your ignition sexual A-symmetry
Produces adrenaline's certain heat
And senses blood pounding
So photosynthetic initiates
The A.T.P. of chemical currency
Splits living links furthering
More simple to more complex
Colour element changing
Leaf green to red Anthocyanin
As well as a suntan
Skins concourse in molecules
Precipitates and reverberates
The bonded genome of D.N.A.
Creating myriad form
Tangent on thoughts
Even dreams
Evolve chemical reactions
While sun by sea explodes
Atomically
The light amino manifestation
Walks among trees
Respiring in cycles
Of exchanging formulations
Alchemy of oxygen’s infusing
And well with emotion
Binds its stanza’s of interpretation
Given word then
Another descriptions connection
To connection
Connected
By a star lights birth
Indivisible this “All” travels
Forth and back to a
Higher or lower osmotic pressure
And back and forth
Between lovers
As waves drawn to beaches
By the gentle pull
Of sands moon distracted
Infatuated affair
With the Earth
This chemistry of love
The chemical of life
Patterns intricate mazes
In a micro-cosmos
Of eternal meaning
And a baby
Is born
While the boundless eternity
Moves and collects
Responsive concurring
Dust mote intercepts
From wide eyes stares
Which interpret
A scene
Of its own manifest beauty
Even in tears of sadness
The ceretonine balances
To intercede with memories
Moments of happiness
The infinite qualification
Of chemical reaction
Clues us in
Yet again
To this fundamental
Unity
Ah! For the good old days when flying was a breeze!
When one could check a bag and board a plane with ease.
Now, air travel has all the charms of a stagecoach ride.
'Tis more than the beleaguered traveler ought to abide!
With great trepidation I ordered a ticket thro' my computer.
(And with my feeble computer skills, I could have used a tutor!)
Tho' my final destination was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
I feared I'd strike the wrong key and end up in Lithuania!
Before you can even fly those friendly, pristine skies,
You must bear a humiliating search by the security guys.
I had to remove my belt and shoes, thus adding to my woes,
Since I wore a pair of holey sox, exposing my corny toes!
A soda and a stale bag of pretzels is now the usual fare.
A lady regaled me about her operations, adding to my despair!
And wouldn't you know it, the plane parked at Concourse A;
I had ten minutes to get to Concourse C, one half mile away!
Round and round went the carousel - I had a sinking sensation.
Sure enough, my bag was missing, adding to my frustration!
Fiddle faddle and fiddle sticks! I'm tired of all this fuss;
Next time I travel, I'm taking a Greyhound bus!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Besotted winged pollinators
roistering barrage drowned
amidst general insectivorous cacophony
indistinct auditory signals communicated
intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance
midwifed edenic floral pullulation
sensate admixture viz colored spectrum
amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous
orchestral suite bedded lambs
amorous ewe man like bleating songs
nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating
profuse living color rainbow pastiche
teeming soundgarden smorgasbord
cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath
visual vistas stilling spellbinding
spilling riotous carpeted web
uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism
despite unanswered queries
asper diverse modalities each specie evolved
to survive despite countervailing destructive forces
generating plethora pandemonium ironically
promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence
Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life
parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents
now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome
analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling
glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos
leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes
biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks
becoming monocultural setting virtual stage
catastrophe plus food shortage would become
global debacle predicated, sans virulent
viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder
tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl
already widely compromised more so
since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring
*****sapiens population explosion
pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis
dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans
in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth
dirty deeds done dirt cheap - tricking
mother nature, who will unwittingly
spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage
forcing capitulation or total extinction
meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence
a composite having sessile flowers
apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee
can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.
Hastening t'ward the grayscale skies,
On gilded wings an angel flies.
While demons wail of their despise;
Hiss and moan, their sole reprise.
A lightning flash; the angel sighs
A rush of wind, and then she dies.
Oh, how the heavens agonize
And thunderously vocalize.
While in the mayhem devils rise
With beating drums to signalize
Their ill intent to terrorize
The broken hearts and reddened eyes
Whose cherub tears the Earth baptize.
But demon laughter amplifies
The vengeful thirst across the skies
And solemn, anguished seraph cries
The host of heaven unifies.
With swords aloft they mobilize
Their concourse as a vast sunrise
Whose flaming swords the clouds incise
And radiant light Earth pacifies.
Yet mankind fails to realize
Except the prudent and the wise
The storm is naught but a disguise,
Oh do you hear the old Magi’s
Verse for men which edifies?
Or listen to him rhapsodize
How from the light, the darkness flies
And from the rain, the sunlight dries?
Perhaps…he oversimplifies.
THE WELCOME
I got there to the airport so early on that day
And I was so amazed then to see what’s in my way.
A crowd of soldiers gathered to clap their hands for me
For serving in my country so far from home to be.
The others also gathered and we sat there to wait
And I led in brief prayer as we waited at the gate.
The flight was smooth and gentle from there to Baltimore.
And when we walked the concourse, applause also was poured.
Then in the buses riding to Washington, DC,
First to the cemetery where many soldiers be.
The guards were so respectful, and I saluted them
As they marched back and forward and changed to another man.
We toured the war museums, Korea, World War II,
And Vietnam was special since I had served there, too,
With many other veterans who with me on that day
Had posed to get our picture by people in the way.
The day went by so quickly and soon we’re headed back
With fire trucks to salute us as the plane went down its track.
And then the huge crowd’s welcome was so enthralling there,
I found myself so broken with emotion from their care.
But then I thought of something: I’m in a battle now,
I am a Christian soldier, and I must some day bow
Before my Lord and Savior and others in that place
To be there by them greeted for running in my race.
I wonder if the crowd there will be just like that mass
Who shook my hand and thanked me as by them I did pass.
I wonder if the music will be of triumph then
Like it was on that night there as once I entered in.
I know that in life’s battle for all these many years
I’m sure I’ve caused God sorrow and maybe many tears,
I’ve had to ask forgiveness so many, many times,
And yet He keeps forgiving with grace and mercy kind.
When I get there to heaven, I hope my welcome’s sweet,
And many hands will clap there as Jesus Christ I meet.
As He calls out my name there like someone did down here,
I hope that many saints there will join in happy cheer.
For that one final welcome is the greatest one of all
As I walk streets so golden and hear the many call.
The “Thank you for your service” I want to hear again,
And most to hear my Savior say, “Child, WELCOME IN!”
Thoughts derived from my honor flight, 9/30/17
From St. Patrick's pent horses to out horse
She rode St. Patrick's day wild horses
Through leprechauns and lucky Joe's of course
She rode her horses well
Every horse loved her swell
In came a pony changing the concourse
connie pachecho
3/14/17
With His hand He measured the span of the universe
Of which planets, stars along with earth will immerse
Like river rock on any given great river's watercourse
Yet His hand holds me as a mother that newborn nurse
Comforting hand which He measured span of universe
Yet when I am sad, lonely, fearful comfort he will disburse
All my fear, collect my tears in the jar hold all my remorse
Sheltering me from the storms of life away from the concourse
Oh! Grand is the hand that measured the span of the universe
I can safely trust in His promise as He shelters and endorse
By writing my name down in the Book He's my only recourse
In His strong great hand fears truly disburse as comes the hearse
2-45 in the morning,
Wide awake and needing sleep.
Waiting on the concourse,
For a flight to anywhere.
2-45 in the morning,
My life in an old backpack.
No one here to say goodbye,
Ain't never coming back.
2-45 in the morning,
Got a ride out to Brazil.
Don't leave 'til dawns first light,
Got a few hours to kill.
2-45 in the morning,
Din't mean to hit that guy.
He didn't say a word to me,
Just looked me in the eye.
2-45 in the morning,
Got to cool my temper down.
Trouble found me out again,
I think it's my middle name.
2-45 in the morning,
No time to wait for the plane.
If the law find me in here,
It's back to prison again.
2-45 in the morning,
The streets are dark and cold.
I'm forty years old tomorrow,
But I'm feeling really old.
2-45 in the morning,
Those guys look mean up ahead,
They look like they've found trouble,
When you read this I may be dead.
© Dave Timperley 2012
Once in a dream an apostle fed you mandrake,
but it was poison after all,
not the panacea where you emerge into sunlight,
clouds accumulating,
as one imagines speaking Latin in ancient libraries.
You reach for your cashmere whisper
while song notes cluster like cherries on a clef
and statues of the Virgin weep.
And you bowl.
The ball curves into the pocket
for strike after strike:
the pins scatter like seagulls.
The concourse erupts in ovation.
You stick one hand out
to await the pit-a-pat of rain
as lightning cracks the sky and clouds boom,
your one pure note hovering like an eagle.
You are speaking languages with scholars.
They say: He hears pins dripping like water.
But even deaf boys of thirty,
with rusty locks and scrubbed faces,
know that bedtime can come
before the gift’s unwrapped.
As surely as the moment comes, it goes:
you are poised on the approach,
the ball a hundred pounds.
Then the arm sways back
and the missile’s launched.
Your guidance system is intact.
Therein lies your gift:
Your resilience is a wild herb.
Science cannot let you hear your voice,
but across your mind scape
morning creeps its siren wail.
You strike again. And again. And again.
Your heart beats and gulls scatter.
Hold onto useless effort, so revile
that anger can endanger, why then smile
it is this brief insurgence we are vile
and to ourselves most guilty in compile!
The working wonder of concepts worthwhile
is building to inception, runs the mile,
the keeper of Invention is not style
but rapt conception of a newer trial!
Restoring dignity, an armor of discourse
from refuse, that dependent samples source,
it is that by experience know resource
is not the score of wealth, not vital . . porous!
Resolve of merit, inner peace concourse
that mind's injunction knows its own remorse,
complacency outnumbers its enforce
as useful only ~ loss is . . . . teaching's storage.
Raising the bar
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Come along, mate,
Let us cross this concourse of coincidences and pray before this
ever-evaporating deity of oblivion.
And offer the termite hills of our doubts
at the altar of this counter-god.
Placed before his liquid justice
is our shared compendium of one mind
two heads and four arms in the form
of some kind of a binary or joke.
Are we algebraically trying to tie up
the imponderables like
mind, head and means,or just
offering up our movables like
money and matrimony and
immovables like kids and ****.
But the new mind is a dumb platform
like meadows are just mud
And the means as always converges
to come-what-may.
Any which way, let us not go slow
into our convulsions
into contrition
into oblivion.
Inspiration:The painting ' Two women sitting at a bar' by Pablo Picasso, 1902.
24 nov 2015.
From the time, I had this dream
I remember the stars I had seen,
And the splendor of lights passing
Between a brand new day awakening.
They came on tour to fill our eyes,
with the grandest festival of lights.
Dancing of knights enthralling delights.
Lanterns glowing on the fiery flight.
Their blankets haul over our street.
Swirling up above and flying below,
The orbiting moon lurking in a glow,
of a realm with the festival of lights,
Illuminating brighter in our thoughts.
A cluster of skies in this amazing place,
where stars join the galaxy of a race.
on concourse dynasty migrating to shine,
illusive displays of romance in our time.
Stars outlived the terrain we have chosen,
They look unaffected by trauma or burden.
During the night, they make reflections
Appear as carnival paths to all directions.
A cluster of stars we find in slippery places,
Leave the night by rapid flight in flashes.
They will shine again brilliantly while passing,
through the atmosphere trailing and traveling.
guide all those who come into celestial realm,
with a bright torch to shine upon our dream.
The clearest emblem on the darkest nights,
God lives on through the festival of lights.
Stunning deeds were drawn out from our soul.
People make the highest virtues in this world.
We are not alone, even when left on our own,
The soul is never far away from the other home.
There are many nations of people and race.
All humanity is journeying to the same place.
Turn at the lights, crossing from peace bridge
To find destiny where all pedestrians merge.
Witnessed a robbery take place yesterday
As incredulous as this may seem
Was sitting in the food court at the local mall
Happily minding my own business
When all of a sudden I hear this guy ranting and raving
Slamming his leather bag down on one of the tables
Marching over to the coffee stand
Which had an assortment of sandwiches and drinks
Displayed in front which were accessible to the customers
Proceeds to pick up a sandwich and a bottle of juice
And goes storming off into the mall concourse
Without paying, yaking incoherently as he goes
People just sat there dumbfounded
Wondering what the hell just happened
We all witnessed this act take place
None of us reacted or believed what we just saw
Now this was either a looney toons type guy
Not responsible for his strange behaviour
Or a very clever, creative crook
Making us think he was looney toons
Assuming the average person wouldn't react
Enabling him to get away with this unimpeded
He was later apprehended by mall security
But we never did find out the whole story
Hmmm! Pretty creative I must say
If indeed it was a preconceived masterful plan
© Jack Ellison 2014