Best Déjà Poems
POTD 6th August 2019
The clock ticks down the passing day
Tedious seconds count down my existence
Time for my pills ~ Time to call the nurse
Time ~ taunting my resistance
Soft haunting strains of a violin float
sweetly liquid, melodiously unchained
freeing my mind from weariness faced
No barriers ~ it flows ~ unrestrained
My world of music I lived it ~ breathed it
In whispers ~ it spoke to my Soul
bringing with it, adoration and glory
and a passion beyond my control
I glance at the painting on the wall
pondering this feeling of déjà vu
Memories of this glade from before
Triggers mentation I need to pursue
Memories flood ~ a vision in the distance
an Angel dancing in its midst
who had danced with wild abandon
lucent skin the sun had kissed
How I had yearned to dance with her
with that angel who made me sigh
she had come to shine her own pure light
prompting my spirit to fly
But there’s no girl there ~ awry is my mind
And I’m but a frail old man
I must erase thoughts from my life bygone
And prevail however best I can
~ Every great dream starts with the dreamer
who ventures where mortals dare not tread
And laughs with mirth and cares not for
unfinished rhapsodies playing in his head ~
What’s this? I’m suddenly in the glade?
A strong young lad once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers everywhere
It seems I’ve left the world behind
And unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
by Maria Williams
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Copyright © August 2019 Maria Williams
POTD 6th August 2019
I feel a sense of déjà vu as I listen
to the cacophony of voices:
dilettantes discussing poetry
under baroque chandeliers. Masquerading
as avant-garde writers or bona fide critics
(black turtlenecks; color is an anomaly and suspicious),
they claim carte blanche to spew
pompous platitudes,
pronounce entire oeuvres as lacking elan
while all they create is endless ennui.
1/22/2018
For contest: Contest: Ten Words Ten Lines 2
Sponsor: Silent One
For the lark she sings in her morning song,
That brightens up my day.
The pitter patter of tiny drops,
Clouds fill the sky with grey.
The dampened ground, that familiar smell,
Now quenched refreshed anew.
Brings forth forgotten memories,
Of a time that I once new.
Like grains of sand they ebb and flow,
Those minutes of the day.
In lines of endless moments,
That brought forth that child at play.
For is this just like déjà vu
For some time I’ve been alone.
Now standing here now humble,
To all these things I’ve known.
With gentle face a youthful pose,
As we danced the night away,
A tender touch a knowing gaze,
No need for words to say.
For what is love but a feeling?
As hearts melt into one.
With the blessings of good fortune,
Now Care free and full of fun.
For they say that hopes eternal,
And all things come to he who waits.
Or is that for other people,
For nothing seems that straight.
Given in reflected thought,
To those oh so special years.
Brought back in just a heart beat,
I wipe away the tears.
© N windle
I awake to the beautiful plaintive strains
Of a violin - then realize it’s just in my head
Just a dream - a shame to find
I’m in the hospital - same room - same bed
The monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall
Time, an indefinite progress of my existence
Time for my pills, time to call the nurse
Time not on my side, breaking down my resistance
After lunch a quick nap
Then the visiting hour I dread most of all
Seeing pity in their eyes, they wish me back
To what I was before my withdrawal
The world of music - my life - my love
The fame and fortune that once was mine
Exhilarating - Intoxicating, a wife at my side
With children sharing the Glory Divine
I lived it - I breathed it
Plucked at its very soul
The core of its existence in my hands
Like a faithful servant it played its role
I look at the painting on the wall
A feeling of Déjà vu enters it seems
I’ve seen this glade of lush green plants
And these sparkling bubbling streams
I remember drawing back watching afar
An Angel who danced in its midst
Who danced with wild abandon
Her hair that the sun had kissed
I remember wishing I could dance with her
With this Angel from above
A hundred birds would sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
But it’s just a painting - There’s no girl there
And I’m just a sick old man
Wallowing in my grief and sadness
Existing however best I can
What’s this I’m suddenly in the glade?
A young strong man once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
The world I’ve left behind
Unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
With sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers in our hair
Footnote:
We do not know for sure if my Father – who was a great violinist and classical musician, had imagined this story when he was a young man, when he chanced on a young girl dancing in the glade. It’s a story he told us many times and we loved to believe it.
I like to imagine a fitting finale to the first story, when his time came and have pictured it in this poem.
This story begins in my Poem arrangement 'Dance to Love - Part 1'
These nightmares feel real, like I’ve been here before,
I must be stuck in a phantasm of visionary abhor.
It was when my eyes closed that I knew this was an illusion,
now I’m tortured by this ordeal of agony and confusion.
Lost in a different dimension full of fear and regret,
Déjà vu of tormented realities I wish to forget.
Excuse me but I think there’s been some kind of intrusion,
will I awake once again drowning in smoldering sweat?
This happens too often and can’t be healthy anymore,
these nightmares feel real, like I’ve been here before.
These nightmares feel real, not fabricated from my imagination,
is this a telling of what is to come or a made-up creation?
Dread all day leading up to each night with insecurity,
the worry and fright of another eight hours of obscurity.
Apprehension takes over, I’m a lost woman terrified,
I start to become paranoid, I’m a coward petrified.
I cannot control these night terrors, this nocturnal anxiety,
I run as fast as I can, but there’s never a place to hide.
This regular occurrence has caused such daily agitation,
These nightmares feel real, not fabricated from my imagination.
I shall awake tomorrow morning as I do every day,
and at first everything on earth will seem to be okay,
but as the day draws closer to dusk my heart starts beating,
then the flashbacks of the nightmares keep repeating.
I am no longer safe inside this prison I call my mind,
I have become timorous and intimidated combined.
It’s so difficult to constantly be competing
with all the sane and protected people that I find.
How do I live with these nightmares my mind replays?
I shall awake tomorrow morning as I do every day.
It's all a messy blur I can't explain how I feel...
all I can say is that these nightmares feel real.
Nightmares - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
January 25th, 2018
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I succumb
Ceding my stuff blindly, toward oblivion and none
Unwilling to persevere, without a modicum of fun
Listing in perpetual stasis, til the spasm’s undone
And yet a god may save me, or a talisman of love
Some prophet of euphoria, quelling ennui thereof
Placing good tidings, into a universal equation
Edifying eternity…..revealing its exact duration…..
Alas he speaks in riddles, and treads a mobius strip
Each cycle forming a twist, convoluting his trip
Determined I follow, my awareness in collapse
Narrow-mindedly stumbling into mortality traps
Now I sense the endgame, but decline to exalt
Its a distortion, an abortion, a cataclysmic fault
Chance meeting with a nihilist, yields positive results
Unable to see past zero, he reveals nothing but cults
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I begun
A contorted brain-f*ck, had no choice but to come
A demon of clarity, with an open ended measure
One who gives to please, but prefers taking pleasure
To believe for one moment, I’d live off a dying spark
Only denies potential, when again life goes dark
With more light to come, my sunglasses prepared
Eternity’s not polarised, just infinitely layered
If a blind man articulates, I’ve seen all this before
Screaming and convinced “I’m a seer at my core”
Could be he’s mistaken, or deluded with Déjà vu
Begs his final question, “do I have a point of view”?
Written: May 05, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You crossed the gloss,
Under a star-spangled sky,
To greet me at dawn.
Foggy dreams awoke me,
my brain was amort,
I sense your whisper,
I immediately drew it.
While in the woods, birds sang,
leaving darkness behind,
the haze-modified hues,
would dance with the sun.
I'll acknowledge,
I am mesmerized by singing,
and my senses were enhanced.
Yet, in extending them,
I may endanger your soul,
I created a human ghost,
It is unknown what will occur.
Love beckons you,
Although it seems pointless,
I can't bear my dream,
While on the verge,
There is plenty to consider.
Often ambiguous,
Vague atmosphere,
It almost feels as "déjà vu".
Unreal is magnificent,
I can't break this magic spell,
It lurks near to life,
Some believe it is a vision,
Which detects every sign.
Realistic hyperbole,
for heartfelt times.
TIME MACHINE
We always try to build a TARDIS,
in thinking we would look the smartest.
But then, who's time would we travel in,
with a choice for dimensional spin.
A fragrance can take us back in time,
or a perfect shade, or taste of lime.
Our famed music is a time machine,
in compositions from Bach to Queen.
We recognize how to bring time to a halt,
by following our bliss in things we exalt.
New experiences will let us foresee,
advancing in time with our visions to be.
The Hubble is a magical eye on time,
to take the photographs of our one verse rhyme.
A brief look backwards beginning now to then,
or from nothing to something and back again.
Our future is such addictive dope,
we read in tea leaves or horoscope.
We expect we are aware with ESP,
and predict in life what's meant to be.
We're back in time with old photographs,
that mark pasts, in graphic epitaphs.
A sound will transport us to a place,
with one vibration we've moved in space.
We future trek with our imaginations,
because we see forward with our creations.
In our minds eye, we consider and admire,
with envisioned futures of our hearts desire.
By TARDIS, DeLorean, or a Quantum Leap,
Tesseract, CERN, and our Visions in sleep.
Through a Wormhole or the traces of a déjà vu,
the past and the future, are present with you.
By Edlynn Nau
©June 23, 2016
A place called Copenhagen, do you know its song?
Joy and laughter safely ride waves of light.,
and summer days are twenty-five hours long.
Do you still hear the sprocket's cadence and pedals din..
our hearts saying "follow me!" to clamour, and climax in sun,
along the perch fishing canals and Strøget's shops.
You wore Pegasus sandals and a Nørgaard 101 striped t-shirt.,. two sizes too small,
our bikes were true friends, our chains sang in unison,
to the lonely smiles of the raggedy ann town folk.
From the biergarten our parents look on..
sipping Carlsberg Pilsner and Mulberry Aquavit snaps.
Just a hint of sadness hidden behind sunglasses,
they knew that innocent sun too..
Let's sup on ourselves unrepentant,
where no one else can dine.
Your basket holds sweet fruit of existence..
the fresh bread of light in mine.
We'll make a pact to return one day,
where sunshine brightens the May,
and If the clouds turn to grey,
or we're separated by a crowd of strangers..
I'll look for you at the center, searching through the bins,
for what two foolish lovers threw away..
Among Kewpie dolls, sandals & scarves,
clothed déjà vu dreams abound.
Yet true hearts yearn for eternity still,
in Tivoli Garden's lost and found.
Tension crawls into the pores of crashing contemplation
Why has it become so hard to breathe?
If only it was known what this dejected heart is saying
As she sobs poetic lines of wordless woe
She is cradled in the tempo tempest of this reflection
Pulsing in the unfeeling land beyond her bodily home
The blood pumping sweet iron grief spurts
The soles of the feet throb at the impact
As the grass cools only to recall the coldness of the present
The impact…
Of a tear falling to the floor
The droplet so gentle… in clear-watered, grounded rapture
The energy of the sorrow befallen is perilous
One with many roads leading to frail fantasy
Aggravated tear…so atrocious, envious
There is something more whirling in this déjà vu cycle
Being crushed many times
By lackadaisical, ever-traveling minds
It is too easy to be tossed to and fro
Between conscious leisure and provocative pressure
Sub-dominated by sumptuous conviction
That word—love—a furtive dagger
Driving a gaping hole of shame and unknowing
Straight into her
Wracking around in this meddle
Of emotion and reason—shooting up falsehood full throttle
Drifting there again
In a solitude almost consoled by the earthy coldness
Of his fowl glare…
Every unsaid word frazzling to the mind
Tearing me and lifting me high
One must wonder if you watch as the fragments fly
As they float for only a few seconds
Of your precious time
And fall back down below
At your very feet
Where the grass is warm, and hopes are high
Please don’t leave them on the floor with the tear
The tear that never quite gets absorbed
The tear that chillingly consoles that bleeding heart
Destroying me
As she thrashes in the maze of bones and matter
Each hollow pathway of the marrow leading to a dead end
Or an ever-winding way downwards
They say each body of water leads straight to the sea
Where will the tear I abhor…lead me?
Spring Beauty and the Beast
Tenderly Spring sends harbingers of beauty,
Knights errant of crocus and snowdrops,
To warm winter’s shopworn heart
And soothe his brittle bones of barren boughs
With balms of long jonquil sunbeams
Melting the grumpy curmudgeon’s stronghold,
As pussy willows decorate his solstice doldrums
She watches snowflakes skate across thawing ponds.
Spring sends a redwing blackbird song
To lift Winter’s decrepit heart
In shy rhapsodies of new butterflies and lady bugs
Engaging Winter’s gloomy frown
Into transcendent blue-eyed welkins like Forget-Me-Nots
Then chants déjà vu in veils of daffodils
As spritely Sweet Peas adorn
Winter’s faded doorstep.
Beauty soothes the beast
Touching the ice-blue armor of his heart
With Hyacinth whispers
And sighs of zephyrs like a fluffy Snowball;
In the Lilac scent of a new equinox
Winter dozes wrapped in Spring’s enchantment
As she sings lullabies of reminiscent hibernation
Until he strides past halcyon autumn shadows again.
2-24-23
Contest: In Bloom
Sponsor: Joseph May
A déjà vu? What can I say?
I know the track so well.
It is so dark yet treacherous.
I am not afraid. Careful, here is a curve,
it almost turns onto itself.
An old oak tree stands there,
just off the corner. I can smell
its delicious odour or feel
its sturdy trunk, its cracked bark.
I hear the lower heavy branches
swinging slowly in the breeze.
Watch out, there's a ditch there,
dank water, that smells like drains.
And just before it a small jutting rock
that can easily help you tumble
into the murky stinking place.
Walk on, do not mind the dark
nor the screech of the nightly owl,
just mind where you step
for the ground is quite treacherous here.
It's not far now. Hear the dog
on guard, barking its warning.
Not to worry, it knows me all too well
although I cannot see it.
How can I? I'm blind.
The sun plunged
In the space of silence,
The summer has been extended
In a slow wandering ...
The orb has been drunk,
Gradually, by fringes.
> We did not hear anything,
From the fall of the angel ...
The horizon has folded its wings around
Confusing the distants ...
Evening invades what remains of the day
In a jiffy.
Water reflections exchanges
The colors overrated,
With the sky full of oranges,
The trees are just silhouettes ...
The night the already marks yesterday
This is a timely opportunity,
Where piercing welcoming clouds
unfolds, shamelessly ,the moon ...
It will take an earth tour,
And plenty of patience,
For the solar triumph reappears
In its rebirth ,
As clarity rises
And progresses slowly
Until the most intense moment, at its solstice,
To the top of the firmament.
And the celestial body draws, now
All things , in gold drops ,
..... - And this is another day.
It drinks in his turn and evaporates it....
-
Le soleil a plongé
Dans l'espace du silence,
L'été s'est prolongé
Dans une lente errance...
L'astre a été bu,
Petit à petit, par franges.
> Nous n'avons rien entendu,
De la chute de l'ange...
L'horizon a replié ses ailes, autour
Confondant les lointains...
Le soir envahit ce qu'il reste de jour,
En un tournemain.
Les reflets des eaux échangent
Des couleurs surfaites ,
Avec le ciel tout en oranges,
Les arbres ne sont que silhouettes...
La nuit, marque déjà l'hier,
C'est l'occasion opportune,
Où, perçant des nuées hospitalières,
se dévoile, sans pudeur, la lune...
Il faudra un tour de terre,
Et beaucoup de patience,
Pour que réapparaisse le triomphe solaire,
Dans sa renaissance ,
Que la clarté se hisse
Et progresse lentement,
Jusqu'au plus intense, à son solstice,
Au sommet du firmament.
Et l'astre dessine maintenant ,
Toutes choses en gouttes d'or,
..... - Et c'est un autre jour.
Il le boit à son tour, puis l' évapore....
-
RC
Rêves perdus, rêves morts
Les fleurs dansent
Les fleurs chantent
Le printemps est ici
Je suis, pas loin d'ici
Dans la forêt
Dans une cabine
Caché
Avec mon cœur
Rien ne me touche ici
Je suis sans pays
Rien ne coule dans mes veines
Je suis seulement
Quelqu’un qui n’existe pas
Ni d’hier ni d’avant
J'ai cherché
Je ne sais pas
Je m’en fou
Je n’ai plus rien à découvrir
Je suis mort depuis longtemps déjà
Un miroir
Un mur
Une brique
Un petit morceau de moi
Qui tombe
Dans le vide
Gouttes de pluie tombent
Bombes sur mon cœur
Noyé
Amoureux
Form:
Circadian Wobble
Circadian tripped through a trap door
Into amended reality of light and time
Where confusion missteps through the waltz of the hours,
And intervals of minutes
Glare at each other suddenly plucked out of place
Leaping into a space reserved for colleagues,
Renamed without their permission,
Here circadian wobbles in an new identity assumed
Where dawn rises in darkness -
Dusk becomes twilight –
When the morning star collides
With alpenglow
And sleep eludes the routine of dreamers
Rhythm disrupted –
Gone the orderly synchronized ballet of hours,
In their birth space,
Minutes running early
Gazing into prophetic confusion
Back to days to come
Déjà vu unpacked
Staggering in crunchy seconds of DLSD
Sunlight confused by second hands
Not knowing their place
In the Circadian scheme or on the face of eternity’s timepiece
A standoff in the litany of changing light
That lingers just a little longer in the cycle of day and night
Surrealist creation longing to hold onto light
Until the globe turns its face into the season
When time and light re-align.
DLSD – Daylight Savings Time Disorder
3-17-21
Contest: Inner Alignment
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker