Best Corridor Poems
Fragrance from your flute
Wafting in the air
Powder of morning in your hair
Robins in their throat
In your smile clouds float
Here and there
Golden alphabets stare
The river flows on
Sprinkled sun melts in water
Inflammation grows in laughter
Rush roar race reel recur
Empty boats wait for life
Stories seek a soft chapter
Your shadows grow longer
Polka dots on your blue shades
Tiny airy footfalls on grass blades
Pleasure returns in white sails
Boats are astir in water
Ripples and jingles join them
In the spread of the blue jays’ wing
A blue and white game
Sinking sun sprinkles softened sparkles
Dream like little orange splashes
Infinity in your eyelashes
Gradually unfolds the time of musk
Whether in shacks or in palaces
Whether in love or in malice
Sometimes a full moon
Sometimes a dark lagoon
Somewhere the stories in a glowworm fire
Somewhere in a sparkling dagger
Until the eyelids are heavy in the weary night
Descending into the cleansing dark
For another daylight
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15/02/2017
Lilacs
In the parks
Cruelly crushed
Killing the pink buds
Eliminating the poetry
Torturing hands rejoicing
Yellow yelling in the panick
Some poets say
Power flowering in
Lickety split in the corridor
In all the starlit lakes and ponds
Totter the tube roses at the capitalist glare
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April 12, 2018
Lickety Split - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
Confidently
The door swings open, to the furthest reach of its hinges
Air set alight by her presence, the crowd is drawn
Swinging her arms without a care, they are boundless
With steps that echo, evidently faultless and proud
Cutting swiftly through the waves, the masses part instinctively
The vague war cry dominates, even when it doesn't connect
Refusing to settle, for any lesser impact
For she will march triumphantly, through the shackled masks
Comparable to puppets, they are but ghosts in a machine
Hesitantly
The hinges part way, as the door creeps into the room
Conforming to the heard, with a silence that shall not falter
Arms rigid and cutting through the air, he is curbed and confined
With a muted pigeon's step, evidently nervy and fitful
Hit by the torrent, subjected to an eternity of abrasion
Voices resonate and surround, but this one stays muted
Venomous and yet withdrawn, he refrains from making an impact
For he will trudge regrettably, through the unending exchange
Comparable to puppeteers, the others seem confident and free
lonely corridor---
sound of her high heels
stranding me
The music plays,
softly,
but only in your eyes,
a delicate heartbreaking melody.
We have not heard what you know,
we do not go where you go.
You tell me you are glad I am here,
and you know that I do good things,
then you leave.
Your delicate gate and your thousand yard stare speak volumes to me.
You leave, slowly,
a disappointed raincloud that had not the strength to spill even a drop of rain.
All the while your inner monologue is burbling out,
a storm drain that has given up its fight with the deluge,
" and then you came home,
on the 5th of November,
and that was the day,
and you left the sea,
and I made your bed,
and the radio broke"
every word autonomous,
a programming error,
a glitch,
static that will not ground.
Your windows scream of a child imprisoned within their glassy walls.
Then,
like a child,
at a party,
you are led away,
vice like grip,
softly takes your arm.
This party food is soft,
easily digested,
and saltless.
There are no balloons,
there is no cake, but...
...there is music.
Your musical eyes find me again,
singing of yesteryears and the gaps in between.
You force me to fill in the blanks of you and all you ever were,
of all you ever will be.
I reduce you to a name on a door,
a pattern in a bed,
a product of a battle not won.
I have come to do good things,
I have come to let you break my heart.
When my windows imprison my child,
when I too break the futures heart,
it is then,
it is there, where the beat goes on.
true paths don't have walls
decades walking on and on
corridor this may
It seemed like a
easy task
but now
I am all alone
in a endless corridor
searching for a light
to alleviate me from
the suppressing dark
I notice a gleam in the distance
but whenever I pursue it
A thin wall separates me
then the shimmer vanished from
sight and i remain lost trying
to find my divine path
I can no longer endure
the pressure of this cycle
I cant see the end
If only there was a way
to find my life’s work
without wasting another day
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap,
Brown bland blisters of trampled grey soil in bay,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep.
Withered warm whispers in wet pastures seep,
Midway merging November winds to Winter neigh,
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap.
Thousand tattered treasures revive slumber deep,
Calm crispy corridor covers secrets on the way,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep
Silver sumptuous snow solaces them who weep,
Intense iridescent incarnations of life each day,
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap.
Wonderful white wisps wake desires, oh they leap,
Emerged effervescent existence born to fly away,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep.
Magnificent miraculous moments I joyously keep,
Frosty ferocious fears, fervent furling hopes sleigh,
Lustrous laureled leaves in autumn silently reap,
Glorious golden glee blankets my dreams in sleep.
June 21, 2020
Month of the year I like most Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
~Premiere Contest Winner: 5th Place
I made a journey through the crowded corridor,
And saw the lions and other wild beast wrestling
The place was thickly, slicking with human most important tissues
The crowded corridor was roaring and scary
Wrestling, oh! Wrestling among the big and mighty beasts
I made a journey through another crowded corridor, I discovered the colony of fish and shark things were different
Then I inquire of self, why should my colony be dark and scary
I know wrestling among folks is important, but it shouldn’t be this devouring
There is wrestling, oh! Wrestling in the crowded filed
Dedicated to my country
Don’t you stop making me feel great day in and day out
Please don’t stop the rhythm of 2 heartbeats as one…
We belong with each other…we were meant for each other no doubt
Chorus: You are my saving grace
You traced tranquility on my lips
Behind closed doors, there are secrets to unfold
Find your way out of your own maze
You can’t save me this time
Find the energy to run the extra mile
Find the strength to say goodbye sooner or later
Later for now…let me sway away…let me flutter away
Think on me…think of me…
Believe in me…reflect on me…
I’m embracing silent slumber on cloud 7
I can’t deny that you’re far better than the notion of heaven
I can’t find the strength to say goodbye
Oh no, was our love a lie from the start? Don’t lie!
Let us take wing and gloriously fly…don’t let our high spirits die…
We have a pair of wings, so what are you waiting for?
What are you living for? To stay by my side forevermore…
Truly, sincerely, you are the only one that I can say that I fell in love with – our
love was legit
You are the one that I adore…
But there are more bright opportunities to grab a hold of…is there a way to get
out of my remorse-stricken pit
Illuminate me with your words of wisdom – what am I waiting for?
Is there something to look forward to behind the colossal corridor?
What’s behind the door? Let me see what’s in store…
As I'm walking out the door, I'm in a long, dark corridor.
People walking, passing bye, never seeing eye to eye.
the lilac lake lulls me
touches my hair and pats me gently
letting me doze into a comfort
reminiscent of a womb of irretrievable memory
i fall asleep
the moon, like hope
shining serene through darkness
mother nature's nightlight
beckons me into the renowned repeating dream
i fall asleep
and somewhere within
you were calling
the nightmare now
all too much to bear
behold, i say
and stand asunder
my composure waning
half putty
the other fully congealed
behold, i repeat
and hold your arm
knowing you no longer
care to be witness
to a darkness unknown
but so familiar
where do the willows weep
in this embankment
of stark black unreality?
not on either side
or even hidden by
the shadows' shadows
there is no life among us
only we, only us
solemn, revealed
mortified
the room was satisfyingly tepid
the crackle of the fireplace hummed
with an ambience like that which was
beckoned from the garden of the gods
i fell asleep
and never woke up
Volunteers are truly, the salt of all communities
and apart from feeling good, there are opportunities
to give a helping hand to those who might need it more
where the general public at times, do tend to ignore.
That’s how I found myself amongst the elderly and frail
in an aged care facility now that their bodies start to fail,
and their minds begin to wander but they still know how to smile
when I hear their conversations while I sit with them a while.
For dementia patients are complex with sometime funny quotes
with puzzling statements from the blue in weird anecdotes,
but over time with patience I got to know them one by one,
and so too all the nurses – with who I joked and had some fun.
Now one nurse in particular; Kerri-Ann enjoyed our banter
(it was nothing more than stirring chat; not meant to enchant her)
but on this one occasion as we strolled along a corridor,
ahead of us was Peter Jones who made his entrance through a door.
Peter faced us in his pyjamas with a sad look upon his face,
so Kerri-Ann with wisdom asked with a touch of grace
“What’s wrong Peter?” and with a sniff I heard him say
“oh nurse I am upset – my private part has died today.”
Kerri-Ann offered her condolences and put Peter back to bed,
and we continued on our way to see some patients up ahead.
Of course there were the giggles, but sorrow’s in there too,
because I believed poor Peter – just wouldn’t have a clue.
But I was wrong on our return. I gazed ahead in sheer dismay.
Peter faced us in the corridor with his member on display.
Kerri-Ann as always took the reins, “Peter, what are you doing?”
And Peter’s morbid voice replied - “It’s now time for the viewing.”
It was in Historic Forcados,
Where I’d first touched Pride of Barbados:
I’d run into A Talking Salvador
Long arguing with Unshaken Ricardo,
Whose interest were in Stark Bravado,
His body partly building with Mamador …
Bravado-Loving and Preaching Ricardo
Would sooner he became A Matador
Than A-Many-Times-Decorated Commodore,
This proclaiming in a corridor,
Where on display, besides Mamador,
Were nourishing-seeming tomato
And as nourishing-seeming pimento.
“If you were a Commodore
For all your sung bravado,
You wouldn’t last with A True Bull!
Even energized and you were full!
You wouldn’t assert you had The Beast won
Between A healthy and Sickly one …”
A Commodore’s strength is his ship
Plus the holstered pistol on his hip,
No frightening neck muscle sticking out
When chooses he to ‘MARINERS!’ shout.
If this world is but a corridor to the next
Then Heaven is surely all twitter and text