Best Daresay Poems
View from the Shore
By David E. Siegel
Copyright (c) 2004
Above the lake, the angry clouds are ranked
Darkening the day with threats of rain.
Below, the wind has raised up little waves
Marching, row on row, towards the shore.
And on the farther shore, the trees are seen:
Near black between the lake and cloudy sky.
The light attempts to pierce the veil of sky:
The near clouds part, but not as clear it’s ranked
For through the hole, more clouds can yet be seen
To further emphasize the chance of rain.
I look out, from the slope above the shore
And watch the day, the clouds, the little waves.
Perhaps no storm impends, because the waves
And not so large and strong; because the sky
Includes the front-lit clouds; because the shore
is dark but clear, and where the trees stand ranked
their outlines are not blurred by sheets of rain
but clearly can their silhouette be seen.
There is more here than that which can be seen.
Not only on the water are there waves
A spirit can be drenched – or cleansed – by rain;
Be bound to earth, or flutter through the sky.
Now shall I be with fools or wise men ranked?
And shall I drown, or safely swim to shore?
And what shall be there waiting on the shore?
The future, I should know, cannot be seen
It can’t be safely filed and neatly ranked
Times changes come upon one as great waves
or tiny ripples. A light may pierce the sky
only to be masked by pouring rain.
I know that over fate I do not reign.
Only a fool believes the future sure,
Regardless of the world; thinks that the scene
His fancy paints, is writ upon the sky.
I daresay I shall not with such be ranked
All title as a prophet I shall waive.
What have I seen within this stormy sky?
And In the waves that endless lap the shore?
Times are unique, not ranked, each holding sun and rain.
-DES Feb 2004
Beneath thy eyes lay a sweet loving soul;
To it, the weak and strong of hearts attract;
A queen thou art seeking not finest gold,
But for gold hearts thou seem to stage an act.
Whereon thy lips, strawberry sweets reside,
That weary thoughts, its taste might all dismiss;
For days on end, thy lips have yearned in pride...
...For golden hearts they yearn to kiss with bliss.
Thy beauty lures even the blind of sight,
For thou art fairer than the Queens on Earth;
And thy treasure, a golden hearts' delight...
...Thy treasured love, of more delight than wealth;
And if my words to thee have love impart,
Daresay I'm deemed a man of golden heart.
When the vital element(earth) I live on looks parched and dry
anxiously I gaze upwards for precipitation to come from sky,
thanking the rainfall that invigorates all life and living
eloquently I praise thee as in hydration you retain my being,
requisite Life element, I daresay, you help my heart beat running.
it must be crystallization of a great thought that made you, you take any form,
shape and space, supporting all life forms you retain every race in norm.
God may seem impermeable or inaccessible to
ordinary souls like me but I see you as my flowing visible
deity that cleanses my soul and quench’s my thirsty body.
2-April-2016
Elements Part 3: WATER - Poetry Contest
Included these 6 words in the poem as per the contest 1) HYDRATION (2) REQUISITE (3) PRECIPITATION (4) IMPERMEABLE (5) INVIGORATE (6) CRYSTALLIZATION.
Sponsored by: Brian Davey
Lives in every heart
A sense of longing musical
For an angelic love divine -
To love, be loved; in harmony
With inner feelings and senses -
Which tuned in unison
With that of its partner
In a landscape humanized
Where melodies sung ensemble
Are in precision flawless and selfless,
Where kindness and forgiveness
Are the seeds sown
And where the spring of love eternal
Has a reap magical
Every instant of their destiny shared
And lived in serenity embraced,
Daresay, till death does them part.
The number seven carries me away
Where imagination and numerology have a stay.
Dreams live celebrating each new day
Free from realities and evil’s prey.
Seven years of praying brought marriage my way.
But that was only one life’s foreplay.
Seven years later, a dreadful fray.
Divorcement angered ended love’s array.
Forgive seven times seven at hurts’ buffet.
Swallowing pain in self’s causeway.
Asking God for a happier ray –
Still hiding hope in a lonely chalet.
The number seven also served Yahweh.
Six days to create, then, came rest day.
The Book of Revelations is smitten by “the seven” foray.
Saints who know their sevens might reach Heaven someday.
Does the number seven govern my life? Nay!
I calculated my destiny number this way:
Using the name I was given on my birth-day,
I assigned numbers to letters as charts outlay.
{[(4+1+5+5) and (1+5+5) and (3+9+1+5+6+6+9+4)]
= {(15) and (11) and (43)}
= [(1+5=6) and (1+1=2) and (4+3=7)]
= [6+2+7=15] = [1+5] = 6} LOL! Number six! Hurray!!!
Destiny number six says I will be happy and gay
While living life with a humanitarian inlay.
Artistic endeavors through my life sashay.
Creating beauty, by providence, my life’s mainstay.
But over to destiny number seven I stray.
Sharing findings and seeking knowledge, I daresay.
Two attributes that stayed with me along life’s runway.
Numbers six and seven blesses me…at least half way!
© July 13, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
LINKS of INTEREST:
http://www.angelfire.com/az/rainbowbridge/seven.html
http://www.aboutnumerology.com/destinymeanings.php
Emptiness
(Childrens song / lyrics and music by Joan Donnelly Ellis )
When a thing is empty it is not much good at all
.
What good is a baseball diamond with neither bat nor ball?
What worth a hat without a head? A house without some folk?
How foolish a shell with no egg white or yellow yolk?
Can you find any use for a well without water,
Or a quill that has no ink ...Well
What good is a hockey arena with no skating rink.
Can you explain the purpose of a book void of pictures and word?
How unfun a bell without a ringer? Seems to me absurd.
How dull Summer without rainfall and sunshine, Winter without snow?
Would a tree be lonely with neither squirrels nor birds that caw like the crow?
Fancy a yard without soft green grass to delight the barefeet
A pie shell without pie filling could hardly be called a treat.
What would you think if the sky held no sun,no moon, no color, no rain, no star?
Now I do not want to upset you but what if narry a crumb could be found in Nana's cookie jar?
How could you dance if there was no music in the radio or jukebox
The only empty thing that's worth anything and loads of fun, I daresay is an empty box.
Shadows detach at dusk, and like bats
roost together in sinister rookeries at night,
wrapped in black mantles
hanging upside down, gossiping.
Peter Pan lost his shadow,
"do you know where they put my shadow?" he cried.
He found it in a chest.
He cried when water and soap failed to stick it back on,
but laughed in joy when dear Wendy,
sewed it back, reattaching it with needle and thread.
"I daresay it will hurt a little," she said.
You look back and see someone staring,
with you in their gaze.
"Is that person looking at me",
Why? Do I know them? Have I seen that face before?
You look back later, that stare and glare
are still there. Why are you being shadowed?
You duck down alleys, trying to avoid being noticed.
But footsteps follow, someone is there!
They are coming!
You are hiding in fear behind a wall.
A shadow crawls prone towards your,
gets bigger and closer.
But, suddenly the shadow turns, passes by and slinks off.
Whew! What a relief. That was a close one.
Shadows are followers, seldom leaders or climbers.
They have forgotten how to tell the time.
They slink like a snake, prone along the ground.
Like a dog they hound you panting for a pat,
but they are always out of reach,
allusive, tough job to touch.
Like bad memories they haunt you,
and shadow you around all day.
But, you can shake them at night.
Unlike dreams and nightmares,
shadows can be put to bed.
Strangely, you can drown shadows in water,
and shake 'em off in other shadows,
because shadows are not true reflections of self.
>Sunday 27th March 2016
Easter Day
A Happy Easter everyone
Happy Easter everyone, as it's here at last.
Although like all the others, I am sure it will soon pass.
Christ rose from death on this day
Many years ago. They say.
If Christ look down on Ireland now.
I'm sure he'd frown and be sad.
For all the souls, He gained that day.
I'm sure he would you know I say.
Today, of course he might also say.
Happy 90th birthday to the Queen today.
I'll add my greeting to his as well.
Happy birthday, Queen Elizabeth, you do look swell.
Will Christ see the boat race today?
If so, for which team will he for pray?
As storm Katie begins to blow.
Like me, he might just hope, they stay afloat you know.
As to the rest of the world.
I guess he'll frown and tut.
Seeing what man is doing wrong.
Not treating all right, as life goes on.
Peace is what he came here for.
In Jesus. He did, I do implore.
But he we killed to save our sins.
Of which we still do lot's for him.
As Christ goes back to heaven, now.
As He is risen from the dead.
I daresay He is there with St Peter.
Welcoming all innocence, rising high up there.
May innocents be at peace now.
And as to the rest of us down here.
I hope you're alive to hear.
A Happy Easter everyone.
Now it's over for another year.<
'Tis not long, but the very next day,
away from us stealing what moments we may;
yet I already feel the ghost of your lips
upon my waiting neck, on each of their many trips.
A visit to a favorite friend with no strings,
become a stage for the joy that flesh brings;
at once long-awaited and a wondrous surprise,
to hear your delighted cries and contented sighs.
A hand on mine, the other trailing soft fingers,
you left a tingling on my back that yet lingers;
a bite here, a scratch there, a kiss elsewhere,
and I was freely lost in desire's tight snare.
We varied between laughing at each other's jests,
and gasping at each other's sensual, deft quests;
my blood rises as I write, recalling your caress,
your amative gaze as we felt each other effloresce.
A more enrapt and passionate amour I cannot remember,
and I daresay I long to once again tend this ember;
soon I would replace this echo of your taste
with my grip once again adorning your waist.
H-E-L-P!!! N-e-e-d s-o-m-e b-o-d-y!!!...
Spouse booby trapped husband!!!
Homicide courtesy munch
house zen by proxy
immediately suspected hunch
police, K9 corps, and ambulance
nearly lost their lunch crossing over divide
yellow crime tape
cordoned off homicide
booted feet did poetically crunch
while leashes untangled,
viz braided bunch.
Law enforcement officers i.e. they
Perkiomen Township precinct tidy
as... executive attache
case headed by narcotics
mod squad trooper Amelie
Beth knew address of scrivener brother
immediately quaffed mouthful Schuylkill
downing requisite with "FAKE" sedative cray
zee that seems giving
judicious punch to allay
time and again marital altercations daresay
put Schwenksville neighborhood
under immediate lockdown
Bay of Pigs in comparison childsplay
summoned rookies re:
instant karma coldplay
witnessed unusual display
officers, paramedics, and trained
German shepherds on faux pas did pray
(canines formerly under religious sway
nsync with neutered saint Matthew Scott
sacred church fathers and mothers
panglossian benevolence ne'er betray
loved spouting doggerel pay
Canis lupus familiaris obeissance
oh... I got scent tum mental anyway
kit and caboodle - women in blue,
plus aforementioned cod ray
regarding medical technicians
braced themselves steely, fiery, burly,...
former career recruits, thus okay
toughened courtesy green beret
fearless motley crew did sashay
gingerly, nimbly, softly... treading listening
faintly hearing sauntered without delay,
whence plaintive bent down on haunches
analogous to plie (plea yea)
including dogs ready to spring,
where overly curious inquisitive nee
bores asked to take selfie oy vey
afterwards quickly made bee line
discerning most strategic way
to enter apartment and rescue
a scene no stranger Giacomo Casanova,
to Rabelais, or Marquis de Sade
chaos theory put thru paces
mind boggling utter disarray
courtesy the missus
floor to ceiling clutter, perhaps soiree
gone awry with personal paraphernalia
strewn helter skelter hodge podge
bajillion potential accidents away
one misstep to temper and disable
garden variety trumpeting popinjay.
Behold, in life’s self-portrait I daresay
how youth and beauty alas fade away.
But as my time so increase
I will paint my masterpiece
and not a picture of Dorian Gray!
Written: November 2015
Gallops in the shadows,
feared by mortals:
bearing on their collars
the stewards of blitz.
Like thunder from beneath,
their presence, sensed:
beware, I daresay
before facing the eve.
The White Brother comes
with the archer, crowned:
the arrows have dogma,
unfortunately, malign.
Claiming the head
although contrived,
this rider leads
by construing minds.
Still fresh, the stains
on the Red One’s skin;
as his rider murders
random martyrs.
A lake of blood
has now consumed-
the soil that's stabbed
by slaughter and war.
The rider with scales
is on the shoulders of Black:
ignoring the famished
and preferring the heeled.
Discarding the purpose
of balance and just,
vultures feast
on empty stomachs.
The last to arrive
is the Sickly Kin:
senile and pallor,
barely could he tread.
His rider: a frame
of calcium, decayed;
they’re followed by the lord
of lightless abyss.
Brothers of Equus:
on their shoulders, rest:
the four beasts revealed
from the final testament.
The prophecy may have failed
to disclose when will be;
we can still, nonetheless,
give light to each morning.
Apocalypse are feared
by those, unprepared;
the others however,
anticipate its advent.
It does not help, not in the least
To eat the crumb, fell from your feast
And if I were to glance behind
I daresay you would have mine
Thank you, for your words are kind
But please don't think me dumb or blind
Little give, much receive
This is your way, your life, your deed
Darkness seeps in as I close my eyes
There is a fear, but temporary.
This will be the last sleep of my life
For I know I won’t see another January.
The cold is slowly freezing the bones
Death is calling me to its abode,
I can feel sounds, moans and cries
But I know this is the end of my road.
I want to tell ‘her’ I’m going to be reborn,
I open my lips to call ‘her’ name,
But it gently lifts me up and flies
And I know it is “End of Game”.
Though not, I fly through realms of souls,
I fly over empty deserted landscapes,
I fly over Hell and it’s minions
A land where Death has no escapes.
I fly over warm grasslands and meadows
A land, which looks prettier than earth
And I stand before a golden gate
Where God is gifting yet another birth.
He tells me you will be born again
But not to become a mortal
You will stay with me forever
And be my dearest son immortal!
I daresay “I don’t want immortality!
I want to go back to the mortal realm
It is not to enjoy those frugal moments,
Nor to feel the impoverished dreams
I want to become Death
I want to end mortal sufferings
I want to liberate their souls
And want to bring happy endings”
He asks me why such wish, I say
“It is for the mortal life below,
“It is for the rich and needy
It is for the happy and gloomy
“It is for the good and evil
It is for the man, woman and child
“It is for the animals and trees
It is for every organism, tied or free
“It is to let them know
That after misery and suffering
That after darkness and despairing
Will come eternal peace and mirth;
For all those terrified and melancholy souls
Death is much sweeter than birth.
He’s the devil in your tormented dreams
The shadowy, nightmarish silhouette imp
of a thousand horror newscast,
who muzzles your petrified screams
Keeping those silent eyes
glued to the vile, video killing screen
Black Plague monstrosity figurine
showing you a million different exits
from the corporeal plane
Bungee craze got started by the Bughuul Man
His roulette wheel spinning
is daresay snake oil squeaking Russian
Walking the fine line between barely living and dying
is an aerial tightrope
painfully designed by this venal master of suffering
Enamel-coated Ebonics
spastically say he sho’ nuff
be the Bogeyman
Wearing a spook face colored cotton
He’s the white lightening flashing
in your blackest dream
Cast down from heaven,
the prince of this world is a terror king
His empty empathy sockets
got a madness, murderous gleam
Bughuul Man,
Bughuul Man
Blowing gunsmoke holes
in your irregular brain stem seams
Busting caps in your comfort zone gap
between your eardrum beams
Bughuul Man,
Bughuul Man
This jinn-cursed malevolent being,
with the trident-shaped, hot cattle prod poking
Is the tainted sleep trickster,
whose been given a certified imaginary rating