Best Crouched 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.
It started with one utterance
that grew into a shout.
That cry grew louder in his ear.
He could not get it out.
The bellowing prolonged itself,
and then one cry was two.
His frightened eyes searched faces on
the teeming avenue.
On the edge of reason then,
he gaped at strangers’ lips,
but mouths stayed shut and mocked the truth
of his apocalypse.
The cries that he was hearing came
a hundredfold or more,
a deafening cacophony,
an oceanic roar.
And nightmare revelations that
had brought this din in dreams
were now his actuality -
enwrapping him in screams.
The throng pressed on around a man
who crouched, with eyes half-dead.
And now inside a room he rocks
to screams inside his head.
I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,
at least not all of it,
but the emotion pouring past her lips,
the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists
enunciated more clearly,
than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,
and grabbed me, held me still.
…In that moment, her soul was in my arms.
In that finite, tender breath of our lives,
she was my mother, my best friend…
but I could not console her.
I didn’t have the words;
and my heart sank into the
concrete between us,
wet with the pain of God’s rain
and her tears.
…Were my tears
So, I simply opened my palms
toward her crouched form and
spoke the only words I could
fathom, that would be accepted
by a stranger on a dangerous street.
"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."
I knew she did not understand…
"Lo siento"
“que va a estar bien”
“Dios te bendecira’ “
the words were as messy as the overturned
duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly
from my lips, as my knees hit the street.
Two strangers, cried in the rain,
knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,
and yet we shared the weight,
together, for those few moments;
the barrier of language was broken.
Love spoke for us.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
…Love transcends any language
Their young strong-willed son,
ever resourceful,
has been given "time out" for bad behavior.
There is no noise coming from the room.
After two hours,
the mother grows concerned.
Why has there been
none of the usual clamor
by him to be released
from his small prison?
As she walks into her child's room,
she is startled by the claws of lions
which seem to spring
from the right side of the room.
She spins around with a gasp.
On four walls
are different animals
crouched or ready to pounce.
A black panther, which peers at her
with huge yellow eyes,
takes center stage
above the window
where it has been drawn
in bold crayon strokes
as if it were creeping in from the outside
to join the landscape
of the magnificent lush green jungle
applied to the once-white surface
of the walls surrounding her.
Owls and tropical birds
perch on the branches
of the jungle trees,
and a fat green snake slithers
by the door.
Her son, finishing up
the wall nearest his bed,
looks up at her
from the piles of crayons
strewn across the floor
and impishly smiles.
Did I mention,
he is also very artistic?
Written Feb. 22, 2016 For the contest of A.A.
Nature smiles in Spring
Pulls at our heart string
as greenery's hued in greener tinge
Having had an everlasting effect
on those evergreen trees.
Nature frowns in Autumn
gets all bored, pale and blue in the fall
Almost seems to sigh drily, wryly
Looks dull and drab
except for the windy breeze.
And this very mother nature
in full-blown winter
gives all the cold shoulder
Reveals her cold-hearted side
Could'st turn into a cold-blooded murderer
Even her nature lovers get cold feet
Besides, the winter sun is cold comfort .
A time for a A-tishoo in your tissue
a time for the noisy sneeze
Oh! Beware her icy glare, in the cold war
as she coerces all to freeze!
Ah, in summer, nature boils and goes into a 'heated debate'
What with the burning sun and its scorching torment
Ah, she can be hot-tempered this mother nature
But let the sweltered ones bathe in the seven seas
and opt for sundaes instead of steaming teas.
And if you really wish to see
mother nature fuming in fury
Behold it in thunderstorm and hurricane
You crouched safely behind the window pane
For she might storm at you quite violently
Watch out! She could get real stormy
Better stay out of her way at such times please!
And hee hee I do hope yah like
my seasoned seasonal pun
It's fine here to have
some fair weather fun
And take mom Nature's pic as she says cheese!
Yet the point here, she's created as are all mothers
implying God, not she herself could have made all of these
And so like all God's creatures who have free will
she's fallible and perhaps at times free to do as she please.
(Though some bad weather conditions can be due to human pollution in repercussion.)
The long, green tail twitching on the kitchen floor
Fills me with disgust, so I throw it outside.
I'm aware that my obligate carnivore
Has a secret that she disdains to confide.
The cat grabbed the lizard while crouched in the shade.
She enjoyed a meal of reptilian feast,
Yet she kept the tail, brought in to be displayed.
My sweet, cuddly cat, my predatory beast.
Have you ever squeezed a lemon before?
(you very might well have and just not realized it).
Each time you grab the steering wheel, you feel determined:
There's no way in hell you're waiting another minute!
A lemon is sure a close call,
and anyone's capable of it - every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Sometimes you don't see it at all,
until you look up and realize it's already turned cherry.
It's a rarer site to see someone squeezing that one,
but there's no doubt it happens now and then.
Some call it stupid, others brave and daring.
Me? I just wanna get out of the car and grab a pen.
Squeezing a lime sounds much more safe.
Feeling a bit less brave, a small price to pay,
for living another glorious day.
But my dad is a different sort all together.
He goes through the entire fruit smoothie, it's just his way.
There'll be honking from behind,
people yelling, "What are you friggin' color blind?
Get off the Bluetooth, man!".
And I'm just sitting in the front seat thinking,
"I have such great writing material, so close at hand".
I'll have my head crouched low
feigning embarrassment, but in reality
this man, driving me, where I need to go
is the spitting image of myself
forty years down the road...
Jungle by night
In the far jungle
The big bear of darkness lay
Crouched all night on leafy ground.
It glared through eyes of
Oil lamps of far away huts.
When dawn came, it slunk away.
07/Dec/12
Form: Personification in Form ‘Sedoka’( Syllables: 5-7-7, 5-7-7 )
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Motif: Nature
For Mary Oliver Rotman
Still the Worst Job Ever
How do I hold thee, let me count the ways.
I hold thee trembling, beneath kitchen sinks
crouched in the darkness of the brightest days
guiding thy beam as his patience shrinks.
I hold thee dulled by lightning’s fearsome flash
shakily awaiting unseen anger
tortured by the inevitable crash
intrigued by the neediness of danger.
I hold thee wide eyed in dirt-floored cellar
your flame slow flickering on edge of sight
dimming through the range of yellowed color
draining the darkness from a darkened night.
I hold thee, for my brothers all have fled
I hold thee, not knowing what they dread.
11/13/2014
Submitted for - Sara Kendrick - Jobs – Poetry Contest
I owe so much to you
When you pulled at me,
Tugged me from my toiling,
When I was crouched low,
In the kitchen, blurry choke of tears
I saw the outline of your peninsula
Etched in florescent blue in my mind
A little red star on a map
Such a hard drive (for me and the Ford)
But I, swept into the arms of that gentle house,
Saw a clearing in the nettles, one that I could pass through
And those turned to violets that kissed me as I was waking up
And going to bed, listening to the healing black wind
Through the many cracked windows
Presque Isle with her flags and sea glass
The promise of going to Canada
Turning my head to look at the lake, that dark lake
Itself enigmatic- a sea but not a sea
I think about that, brush the snowy sand from my palms
Yes, in a way,
That could be me
I crouched behind the tall grass growing
Spied a sly fox galloping towards me
With rapid breath, his ears held high
A hanging tongue, red eyes were glowing
He was hunting....he was wry
I watched him hunt, ...in tall grass growing
I knelt behind the tall grass growing
Saw the rabbit cower lowly
Looking for a rabbit hole
A place to scurry....he must hurry
A rabbit bracing,...hearts were pacing
My own heart was pounding, racing
I hid behind the tall grass growing
Watched the sly fox snatch the rabbit
A witness to the course of nature
I felt the darkness cloud the picture
Overcome by grief and sadness
I sat upon the tall grass growing
I stood up in the tall grass growing
Knowing of the force of nature
I must leave now.....I will grieve now........somehow my own tears are flowing
______________________________________________________________
Contest The Rabbit and The Fox (Inner animal)
Resubmitted and revised for PD's 100 in a ROW contest -- 17
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
Rust on padlocked factory gates
from tears of broken men.
Time has stopped on the golden watch,
freeze framed memories of a better past.
Scattered faces breed sour looks
for brothers of nepotism
with handshakes that nearly broke arms.
Crouched in side streets
observing worldly peasants passing.
Slave ganged with vacuum eyes
tripping through life's labyrinth.
Putrid stares of jealous intent
drooling venom; casting adjectives of annihilation,
gouging notches from the family tree
with a calm, icy incision.
Family values dead
incestuous intent
breeding dole queue bastards.
Underground society of leeches
bleeding optimism.
Ghetto laws written in cordite rooms
Switch-blade; preferred method of payment,
for dreams inhaled from crack bongs.
Joining dots of needle tracks
reveals a picture of despair.
Deaths lottery, depression, calling out your numbers.
Jackpot being long awaited sleep.
A silver shawl hangs heavy over the mountain
sky grey clouds shooting gun barrel smoke hiding sunlight
Looking out towards the ocean dreaming in wild north Atlantic waves
tides turn a little lamb suffering in the spring crouched cold
We all see visions of injustices flash before our eyes turn
for which no one is held responsible the standing joke of our century
So many people turn a blind eye as their souls have already been bought
children of this world have suffered at the hands of tyrant slave masters
Born free without chains attached what gives any race the God given right
killing innocent women and children destroying families unjust actions
Some of us on this planet are sick with an untrustworthy state of affairs
listening to what these monstrous brutes get away with
In the name of peace not twisted truths building bridges instead of walls
who ever sells arms are terrorists against the living
Democracy has no grounds only love the suffering because
behind the mask many in this world condemn us
Branded from birth marked as slaves unto a system each of us a number
piercing bullets flash before the eyes redemption knowing whats true
Hall of Silent Women
in valhala
in a far corner
of this martial paradise
is one small unobtrusive hall
above the heavy iron door
these words are faintly inscribed
“ the war department
regrets to inform you
that your son……
has been killed
in action, in defence of……”
women
silent
row upon row
straight backed, tight lipped, blank eyed
their amputated anger melting hearts
while words swift shot pierces soul
women
from life first stirrings
through vaulted cave to clapboard ranch
crouched sweating over birthing pit
to numbed white linen labour
in their pain and joy shudders steel shod feet
march through the womb.
women
ancient cauldrons
endless source of armoury
kept tongueless
then given tongue to teach
man made words
toy soldiers bleed rust.
in valhala
indeed in every martial paradise
there is one small unobtrusive hall
above the heavy door
words are faintly inscribed…