Best Conveniently Poems
A grove of magnolias perfumes the air
as they sit absorbed in one another's gaze,
she with her crochet and he with his collectibles
uneasy in their pleasure in the evening of their years.
Lawyers control their affairs like vultures slavering
their prey, waiting to swoop when the timing is right,
for what use is their wealth to them now? No kids,
no convenient callers making spurious claims,
the power of attorney running everything,
in their own best interests, of course.
Summer Haven was the name of their new residence,
with their final resting place conveniently pre-selected.
But they still could make suggestions, could they not?
not really incompetent, simply eccentric and odd;
eating their meals out of red plastic bowls
and taking their medicines eight times a day,
convenient, and all for their own good no doubt,
but day after day of this treatment can deflate the soul.
One blissful moonlit night they'd had enough.
They packaged their drugs into secure containers
and shredded their records so as to break free.
They stole cartons of candy and five jugs of Ensure
and headed straight out the unguarded back door,
jump-started the motor-bike out by the tool shed
and roared off on a quest for their own
sweet convenience!
A. W. Nutter
Fog from my breath in the way
Temporarily impeding my vision
A small lamp, illuminates my prey
Unaware, of his impending execution
Rons wife, conveniently out of town
Visiting a sick relative, her perfect alibi
She must really despise this clown
I wonder if she kissed the fool goodbye
Staying in the shadows around the house
Dressed in black, invisible in the darkness
Entering their kitchen, quiet as a mouse
Through a window, left unlocked on purpose
From the first bedroom a child moans
Peering at the bed and the sleeping boy
The husband was supposed to be left alone
She'll pay dearly for this unexpected ploy
With the silencer in place I wake up Ron
He dresses quickly picking up his keys
Protesting will endanger his bastard son
He drives us deep into the forest of trees
Removing my mask he views his twin
Staring into the face of his supine form
Before he can protest I commit the sin
Then pray for God to help me reform
Burning the body along with the gun
Quickly driving home to start my new life
Showering, I slip into bed with my son
Real father and mother now husband and wife
I regret not writing you down,
You swam through my mind
Linking words and thoughts
With gossamer chains
That glistened with meaning,
But the kitchen can was calling my name
Using the voice of my wife.
There were skinned knees to be kissed,
Equations to be sorted out,
House rules to be followed.
Has the opportunity passed?
Have you flown, like a caged bird
Through a conveniently open window?
Are you even now winging toward
Another poet, a different writer?
I have the scraps, the fragments,
The word-pieces I had intended
To build you from.
I will try to arrange them so,
In hopes they cast the same shadow.
Like my grandmother’s smile
You linger just behind my eye,
Waiting for me,
Wanting to be released
In just the ‘write’ form.
Self righteous there, he stands and preens, this perfect specimen
Due to Mothers nurturing, alive and prospering.
Forgotten are the years of toil, the Mothers care and love
The Brother and the Sister, he keeps his head above
What poison foul infects his blood, and whispers in his ear
to Blind his eyes and turn his head from truth’s he will not hear
In judgement he declares the fault, forgetting what He’s done
Self righteous words and nasty mouth, deny the blame he owns
The bond he broke, the lives that spent, creating him a home
Are conveniently forgotten , he must have done it on his own
The years of dedicated Love, are foreign to his kind
The loyal years of Motherhood discarded in his mind
Oh that he could just stand aside ,and see what he could be
Just take the look, review himself and see what others see
An arrogant uncaring fool who pose’s puffs and struts
fawning Yes’s on his cronies , and to his family But’s
He’s lost forever, lest he changes temper tantrum’d rants
Grow from a nasty little Boy and take the real mans stance.
For many things in life don’t last, they’re transient you see
But a Mothers care and heartfelt love will live eternally
Or will he visit once a year for duty tend a grave
A caring loving thankful son, for show he will be brave
Remember this you upstart, no matter what you say
The debt you owe your Mother, you never can repay
Next time you start your little rants and Put your Mother down
When she is dead and in her grave forgiveness won’t be found.
(Giving voice to those who suffered and believe in poetic justice)
Should I cut the corner of your coat?
Too many times you tried to squeeze my throat;
you got perverse pleasure to see my page blank,
thought I have overdrawn the polyglot’s bank.
I saw your glee, you thought I went to flee,
you did not understand, my spirit was in command.
Without ascendancy you appointed yourself as judge,
still I chose not to bear a grudge.
Like David, my sins are uncovered,
like him I never devoured
Nathan; he was not sent by Satan.
He was sent by Him, against Whom all have sinned.
Yet you aimed to shame and then denied,
thought you caught me by surprise and caused my demise.
You have conveniently overlooked my word,
I have confessed and made my peace with the Lord.
Who sent you? You are not a messenger of peace,
Your truth doesn’t set free but spreads strife and disease.
You are not a prophet; are you the false king’s puppet?
I saw Fate throw the dice,
so now you are uncovered before my eyes;
but like David, I too will kill hatred with love,
he was content to cut the corner of Saul’s robe.
An eye for an eye? It won’t make me smile to see you die,
I will not honor vengeful games with my name.
Now, I release myself from all the hurt you’ve caused
and claim God’s gift; He who knows me more than most,
denies you satisfaction to silence my thoughts.
I am forgiven.
Through His grace I forgive you seventy times seven,
on your downfall you won’t see me gloat;
I refuse to even cut the corner of your coat.
From: 1 Samuel 24; 2 Samuel 12:1-13 and Matthew 5: 21-22
Inspired by Olive Eloisa's Theme: Not for contest
Poem of the Day - 04 January, 2016
There are those who have fallen
in the eyes of this world,
one’s “sins” more damaging than the next.
“Skeletons from closets”
so ruthlessly hurled
and so many people are left vexed.
Now I do not condone
all that comes to light
whether by papers, radio or TV.
But what if it was YOU
whose “sins were in sight,
are there things you’d want others to see ?
The world does these things
and yet they judge,
from the arm of a pointed finger stare they.
But they conveniently hide
their “filthy sludge”,
and yet in His court they’ll have their day.
I wrote this in response to a prodding that wouldn’t leave me alone.
Thinking on some people who walk in the limelight or of a high public profile, I started to be
perplexed about our willingness to BROADCAST the latest Hollywood gossip or the latest
political “fall from grace”. I am in no way condoning unwarranted behaviors and these are
times that call for the appropriate action to be taken no matter who the offenders are. I’m
just saying shame on those who are so willing to point fingers and yet do or would do some of
the very same things if they could. Lightwalker
in the night, he reaches, my body responds, aching to be near
yet the mind screams, pulls back inside its deep recesses
familiar pain rears, sits nonchalantly, laughing, taunting me
is it I who am loved or am I just involved in the act of love
the end justifying the means, a single moment, a brief interlude
conveniently remembered and enacted, how can one truly tell?
I opened my heart and yet I know, I'm not what he was looking for
the knowledge leaves me cold and saddened, ice forming around my core
rejection, inferiority, second best, all words that accurately describe
yet leave no telltale signs of the great pain that they have inflicted
reality and yet my hands roam freely his body as I welcome him inside
to lie buried deep within my being, my heart beating furiously
the sheer joy of being loved blocking out the fear, feeding on hope
even if his emotions are not real, every fibre of my being yearns
to one day capture all his love, to see it expressed in his eyes
to silently carve my essence indelibly upon his heart,
to feel it in his smiles warmth, as his eyes adore each curve
the knowledge that says you are mine and I will love you always
everyone wants perfection, those that know that they are not
nor ever will be the one, suffer from the lies of perfection
so here I lie, accepting the very little that is being offered
praying to someday find more, existing in that in between world
between shadow and light, where nothing is clear, everything is shaded
needing to be perfection to someone, as I breathe deeply with eyes drifting into
my dreams, helplessly staring across the bed of my future
A grove of magnolias perfumed the air
as they sat absorbed in one another's gaze,
she with her crochet and he with his collectibles
uneasy in their pleasure in the evening of their years.
Lawyers controlled their affairs like vultures slavering
their prey, waiting to swoop when the timing is right,
for what use is their wealth to them now? No kids,
no convenient callers making spurious claims,
the power of attorney running everything,
in their own best interests, of course.
Sunset Grove was the name of their new residence,
with their final resting place conveniently pre-selected.
But they still could make suggestions, could they not?
not really incompetent, simply eccentric and odd;
eating their meals out of red plastic bowls
and taking their medicines eight times a day,
convenient, and all for their own good no doubt,
but day after day of this treatment can deflate the soul.
One blissful moonlit night they'd had enough.
They packaged their drugs into secure containers
and shredded their records so as to break free.
They stole cartons of candy and five jugs of Ensure
and headed straight out the unguarded back door,
jump-started the motor-bike out by the tool shed
and roared off on a quest for their own sweet convenience!
On Willard Creek, a marsh does lay,
upon a soft soliloquy of a dormant day...
The moss medusa within her array,
spreads a garden green for our display...
The water lilies conveniently convey,
as the toads watch their passive prey...
Where butterflies boast their ballet,
as sunshine seduces the swampy bay...
Watching rushes, shrubs and sedges grow,
at the edge where rivers flow...
Tempered turtles hiding in their burrow,
as snakes slither in the meadow...
Wading birds chirp on their chateau,
the insects crawl from their embryo...
All is calm amidst the snarling slow,
and spiders spread their webby row...
The Willow wallows as to weep,
and her branches bundle reaching steep...
Beautiful butterflies earn their keep,
as they slumber within their sweep…
The feisty fireflies flock like sheep,
as the crickets cradle before they creep...
All this theatre before they sleep,
marshes, and butterflies for all they reap.
____________________________________________
July.03.2020
butter flies and marshes mellow
Sponsored by~ Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
Summers Sweet Caress
In natures tranquil embrace cuddled within summers caress
I envision your fanciful face and my love for you can impress
Where the Cupids will brace their arrows with a floral finesse
And sunshine shall showcase its brilliance a fruitful fluoresce
~
Where the valleys open wide and will panoramically profess
That the rivers running with pride liquefy their faithfulness
Birds that gracefully glide and perch on ancient trees recess
And the towering trees provide soothing shade with success
~
The majestic mountains manifest and conveniently coalesce
Elegant eagles nestle in their nest then fly high with aggress
The summer breeze in its quest will lightly kiss and undress
Then the fragrant flowers breast as the honeybees oppress.
May.22.2018
Monorhyme Poetry
Theme-Nature
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
"A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else." _ John Burroughs
In the Garden of Eden, an ominous silence spread.
From the Heavenly Paradise, all grace had fled.
Adam knew there was no recompense for his act
Against his crime, God would violently react.
Sorry that the pact once solemnly made did wilt.
In shame and regret the first lovely pair sat.
They moved away from God’s wonted path,
And hid under bushes fearing His wrath.
God as usual came for His evening round
But Adam and Eve were nowhere around
The omniscient knew what had happened,
Over the gross disobedience, He was deeply saddened.
God called out- “Adam… Adam,
From your hideout, come…come.
When everything else, I had given you free
Tell me what made you eat from the forbidden tree”
Adam said- Me Lord, I acted under Eve’s persuasion
For the forbidden fruit, I had no inclination
Next, God questioned Eve,
Who acted so very naïve.
She said she was treacherously tempted by Satan,
Who came disguised more like a charlatan
All wisdom and knowledge was assured
And with false promises, she was lured.
For breaking the pact, heavy was the price incurred
God withdrew all the blessings conferred.
From the bliss of Paradise, they were sacked,
To live in a world with all misery wracked!
Since then, the blaming game has been conveniently played,
And the onus of our actions on others' shoulders laid,
As from Adam to Eve and from Eve to Satan,
Cleverly passed over our accountability’s baton!
Had they not blamed each other and repented over their crime,
God would have forgiven, and their story might have ended with a sweet chime!
Through Jaded Eyes you see the world,
and everything in view.
But see you weren’t like this
when I finally had found you.
It sucked you in, this monster,
and it caused the world to pause.
It took our lives away
when it had trapped us in it’s jaws.
I wish we could go back
so we could do things differently.
But the monster had us both,
and both had found Ourselves diseased.
I fought hard to escape it,
but you had got the taste for blood.
Obsessed with getting high
no matter what it costed us.
I try hard not to fault you,
for I too, have played this game.
But my love for you was stronger
than some temporary gain.
Maybe I don’t understand
why you have never waivered.
You’ve hurt my Heart so deeply,
Now I’m sad, alone, and angered.
Perhaps if I should stoop,
and find myself once more a user,
Then I could not be mad
perhaps my hurts would then be fewer.
Once more we both are trapped again,
indulging in these sins.
We fight a losing battle
where this monster always wins.
The thing we failed to see though,
was that both of us evolved.
We replicate the monster
who had caused the harsh downfall.
Looking at each other,
do you still recognize my face?
For I am not so sure
our faces haven’t been replaced.
We spit such venom freely
As if sworn of enemies.
Our love cannot return
Unless we finally break free.
82
Our love has faded drastically,
And it seems there is no hope.
We’re marching towards the gallows.
Conveniently, bring our own rope.
We string each other up,
Ready to kick each other’s chairs.
We’ve come to kill each other
With chemicals to push us there.
A monster I’ve become,
not sure I even know my name.
I fear that there’s no turning back,
Or that I’ll ever be the same.
Your eyes become more empty
every time we play this game.
Tell me, are my eyes too?
I feel so hollow and ashamed.
Now clouds replace their light,
And it’s so hard to recognize…
ourselves and all that is,
while peering through such Jaded eyes.
"The essence of art is to recapture the fantasy and the imagination of a child again, but without the innocence of a child."
~Romare Bearden
she had been reaching for all the wrong stars
and told a dream would not take her far
she never allowed her imagination to let go of her hand
fear keeping her near on safe, familiar land
do not let your reverie off of the sidewalk
bundle up any whimsy and keep an eye on the clock
point your eyes straight ahead, keep your feet on the ground
there will be no fantasy visualization, nor glittering pink melodic sound
all of which she tried to obey, with self-discipline her fanciful tenancies allay
but her mind rebelled and took control of the wheel
steering her into a hallucination until she lost the real
one can be controlled, the other cannot
those who forced discipline, conveniently forgot
all art, great and small, comes from a mind
that's recklessly daydreaming most of the time
living in a fantasy land with magic, fairies, and such
creating the poetry, art ,and music we all love so much
the stars she had been reaching for were all wrong
for the light that she needed was inside all along
Sniff, sniff; smell that?
The bridges are burning,
There goes the kinship,
You’ll never be earning,
‘Cause blood is thicker,
Or so you claim,
You carved in the truth,
The name of your game,
You tattooed your duplicity,
And pretended not to know,
Insulting our intelligence,
With the seeds you sow.
To use us in your time of need,
When all your blood ran out,
But you’ve wasted all your water,
And now you’ll live with drought.
Conveniently, when your fire’s doused,
You’ve got your blood transfusion,
Your loyalties have been restored,
Our familial bonds? An illusion.
But we were already prepared,
‘Cause water is much quicker,
It was only a matter of time,
And we were watching the ticker.
With women the heart argues, not the mind.
MATTHEW ARNOLD, Merope
1. The stand of old growth Melalucas, graces the lowlands of our farm.
For over fifty years, accumulations of leaves have formed small soft islands.
“With selective clearing,” my husband says, "larger areas of grassland will grow.
More grazing for the cows and less hay we’d need to buy in Winter."
Inwardly, I lament, not wanting to lose the beauty of these trees
with branches that rise like huge broccoli bunches against bright blue skies.
My husband, much harder, by necessity, over-rules my sentiments.
2. Conveniently, earth-moving machines appear early on the first day
of the New Year. They cut a long swathe
but on the dam are left a large row, marked by me,
for sanctuary.
They cast reflections on the still water.
3. The felled trees are piled into rough heaps. Prophetically, the car
of the Inspector for Primary Industries appears.
“You must know, these are protected trees.”
He asks for permits (not granted) and orders a ‘cease and desist.’
His scowling looks are an indictment.
4. For months the operation was on hold
and, then the rains came and the floods—almost our undoing.
Flocks of water-birds occupied the flats, nesting on the islands
formed by the grassy hummocks. When these waters receded,
an overgrowth of young melalucas sprouted, where the old trees
had once stood. A network of roots underground had signaled
a catastrophe. New nodes erupted along all the root-ways.
Dumbly they announced their guardianship of the swampy land.
“Give us back to time,” they said , but the un-relenting slasher
leveled them again, so grass could grow.
5. I go back into my house now, secretly pleased the trees are speaking.
The topaz flames from the fireplace, warm my bones.
The hoary frosts have come. The envelope containing the D P I’s
decision waits on the mantel shelf, propped by a row of grazing, ceramic cows.
From the window I see our cows enter between the Melalucas.
They graze on the new growth pasture.
I warm my hands, as the flames lick firewood.
The scent from Melaluca smoke haunts me.
Suzanne Delaney
365 words