Best Demise Poems
In primrose twilight, summer is still near.
She whispers in my ear; I hear her in
the one lone owl that hoots to only me.
I wake to find her shining through the clouds -
though breathing not so warmly on my cheek.
I glimpse her waning smile as in a field
I dance to soundless music in her sun.
My mind goes wandering, and in the breeze
I hear her sigh, for she is lingering
within the scent of asters that I pluck.
I’m hanging on to that one glint I see
of her before me in gold glitter dusk.
But in the cries of geese across the sky,
she calls goodbye, and sweet is her demise.
Dec. 2, 2016
for the Blank Verse Poetry Contest of Janice Canerdy
Leaves talking, beautiful demise
If a leaf could talk, it would say, please, take your time
life is acted out in stages, every song has it's rhyme
When a leaf dies, its dynamic impressions in its flight
a stunning display of artistry, dazzling to the sight
Green turns to crimson, flaming tangerine and gold
a leaf's transforming demise is a beauty to behold
As sap runs dry, youthful vitality turns evanescent
the beauty of a leaf's demise is resplendent iridescence
A leaf's downfall, granted, is a casualty of the season
it's journey into oblivion, is transfixing beyond reason
When a leaf, takes its leave, exits gracefully the scene
We're left breathless with the vision, an event to be seen
September17,2016
Its delicate wings no longer wet, it stretched well,
And flew up high holding onlookers in its spell.
Round and around it danced over the eerie pond
All covered with water lilies but not beyond.
Elation, euphoria, joy and disbelief,
Emotions fell as it landed on fragrant leaf.
Up again, its gossamer wings attaining strength,
As once again it fluttered across the pond's length.
Hungry it spied a tasty bug, gorged on its feed,
Then instinct urged it to find its first mate to breed.
The feat accomplished, it resumed its fullest flight
Knowing full well it needed rest before twilight.
Survival of the fittest it had never learned.
Bird ate it up, that natural death it had earned.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
I think I made you up inside my head.
-Sylvia Plath
I see no reason to rhyme,
but an aching heart,
stranded in the midst of nothingness,
as quill rests in a nameless
coffin, like a trembling corpse.
Words woven in tears
glisten like rain,
amidst rustic pages
within a book of bleeding ink.
While
I, the deep darkness,
ponder, would the moon
ever grieve for the sun,
or will she allow waning
stars to abandon
her doleful realm?
As her face
shifts and turns through
phases of changes-
and her soul like
the weary winter,
withers into white-washed wounds.
I am the hazy mirror to
a lunar goddess.
There shadows betrayed
this cruel conscience,
roaming within forlorn vales,
swirling through a woeful wind,
to nocturnal sonatas.
My mind nestles like
a raven resting
at the treetop,
calling your name into
frozen oblivion,
laced in secluded silence,
echoing amidst obsidian fears.
What would they know
of tainted tales,
obscured within the
mellifluous sound of splitting rain?
I am throned to a fallen sky,
drizzling thorns and splinters
upon bruised toes.
Remember, I love you,
through dreams and more,
stretching my fingers
to your silvery spheres.
Now your palette of romance
paints a blurred portrait
of hallowed misery;
dreams forgotten with time.
There’s no perfect
pigment to correct
my insomniac frame
but metaphors to lure me
back to a colorless
castle above satanic seas.
I’m dancing with demons;
as the pain you’ve fed me,
rushes through chained chambers.
Tonight, the storms may seem calm,
like forests awaiting for a trail
of redolent rainbows,
to flicker upon mourning meadows.
Tomorrow, when I slumber
six feet beneath breathing fiction,
will you rewrite cruel convictions,
that stole my purpose to live?
Maybe darkness sparkles upon
rich rivulets of rippling regrets,
so the cosmos would allow the moon
to rise and beam brighter than
the selfish sun.
Let this poem be the last
amulet to sorrowful sagas,
as I untangle your vines
suffocating my final breath,
this is the eternal demise—
I’m dying before your dead eyes.
Tale Of Righteous And Just Demise Of Old Jack
Old Jack had shot many before, once just for the sheer hell of it
Never squeamish about the gore or splattered about fleshy bits
Once making it an all night spree, drinking whiskey after each shot
Only once did he do it for free, knowing generosity fills no empty pot.
One hot June night, he did away with tough cat called dangerous Dan
Such a bloody sight, no easy task but put sweet coin in his empty pan
Next day trip at the lake, he sniper shot famous knife fighter Jake
A cool twenty grand take, such sweet fun nobody could ever fake.
Old Jack, wicked as all hell, sure such Fate he would never meet
Called his shots "ringing the bell", having never faced a defeat
Once for big money, shot three men in a shady lakefront bar
Later for loss of his "honey", ran over ex-wife's lover with his car.
One cool Spring day, stranger came sworn to make old Jack pay
Dressed in a beggerdly way, as a weakened and feeble old stray
With hidden might and its all, Fate had finally sent its dark call
While Jack was having a ball, swift bullet made its bloody landfall.
Young John proud as all hell, had so gaily rang Jack's old bell
Had his story to soon tell, how he spate on dying Jack as he fell
One shot between those beady eyes, hundred bucks the prize
Nobody there shed a tear, for now there was young John to fear.
8-29-2018
Rhyme
The clinical sentence was pronounced,
perfumed with the devil’s royal scent ~
a relapse that smells
like an ethereal remedy
as every restless leaf abandons
its luscious green to the grave,
where her heartbeat
still sighs amidst the sleepless sunrise
beneath the loam,
where gloaming once, upon a blood moon,
homed the valiant vibratos
of her laughter,
yet if the only way to remember
is to remain unhealed,
as russet strings
of a violin ring through,
carrying sweet nightmares ~
held within the dusk
like beloved nightingales,
letting my inner calendar
return to circling the date
when she last breathed my name ~
O divine darkness,
let me fade until the face
of September’s stars wane
and phase the sorrow
into soundless torrents of
rehearsed requiems
until hurt sounds like a hypnotic hymn.
I swallowed, O Griefversary,
my penance through turning time,
the italicised letters
chronicling the chronic memoirs
while the tongue of trauma
prescribes crippling anxiety
into my thoughts,
I have long bottled
blurred hope
and summer sonatas,
with every memory crushed
like an autopsy listed as an accessory,
weaving words
borrowed from archived affections
as I leave line after line,
no longer aching
for the dark to understand that
my faith developed a stutter,
my pulse filed pleas for Prozac,
my ink confessed unseen panic,
my skin carried fingerprints
of midnight fears ~
and I still walk through
the black rose maze of memories,
around the season of
her irrevocable demise ~
September, the soulful wraith
of ghosts I love beyond death…
In lull of twilight
sunburned skies tell
of the Sun’s demise behind
unified realm of dark distant trees
and the sprightly sea breeze dies
as night slays the day
As I watch Autumn’s grin when summer dies,
accepting seasons change for a reason,
I’m captivated by our glorious skies,
which enthrall whatever the season.
Accepting seasons change for a reason
stunning sunsets, clouds tinged with gold;
which enthrall whatever the season
nature’s wondrous glory to behold.
Stunning sunsets, clouds tinged with gold;
I’m captivated by our glorious skies,
Natures wondrous glory to behold,
as I watch Autumn’s grin when summer dies.
N/A in Poet’s October Pantoum Contest judged on 11/7/2019
10/6/19
"Edith! Edith! I didn't find a Twinkie in my lunch bucket today!
What happened, Dingbat? Why do you torture me this way?"
"But Archie, ain't you seen on TV they ain't makin' 'em anymore?
The company is foldin' up and they ain't stockin' 'em at the store!"
"I blame you fer this disaster, Meathead, you and yer pinko friends!
The greedy union reached too far killin' jobs on which people depends!
Yer democrat gov'mint stimulated my tax dollars fer ever' thing in sight!
Instead of blowin' money on green inergy, I'd like some to solve my plight!"
"But, Daddy" - poking his gut - "fast food like Twinkies isn't good for you!"
"Let me tell you somethin', little girl! That may be yer lib'ral point of view!
My life ain't never gonna be the same agin without Twinkies fer a snack!
Them things is as American as yer mother's punkin' pie and I want 'em back!"
"I fought for the flag, baseball, Coca Cola and Twinkies in Dubya Dubya Two!
I slogged through the mud in Italy and was shot in a very fragile area too!
Now, I feel that it was all in vain to pertect all them things I hold dear!
No Twinkies for my lunch? Stifle yerselfs! I'm goin' to Kelsey's fer a beer!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Before you reach for your axe,
There are some facts you need to know about flax.
A Flax rope made well
Will get you safely out of the well.
With a little toil,
You can make money from flax seed oil,
Or a basket you should try
If you want to pay off your lay-bye.
You can't go awry
If you make a mat for a Marae (Maori Meeting house)
And many Flax cloaks
Have been made by Maori folk.
Why go to Scotland,
When you can get a Flax kilt in this land.
Your feet will not go rotten,
With Flax on their bottom.
If fishing is your line,
Then a Flax line will do just fine.
And a Flax trap will get you an eel
For your meal.
A drink made from Flax flower nectar
Will need no added sugar.
If you are lucky you may see a Tui (NZ bird) or three
Getting their nectar for free.
Now you have the facts on Flax first hand,
I hope you can see, demand though down,
May yet turn around and jobs could be found.
But if your axe is not yet away,
I have one last thing to say.
A saw with a chain bought from a store,
Will best suit your chore.
I know this for a fact,
As no-one was there when I reached for my axe.
Now I have no Flax and no axe.
No more Tui are within cooee
And my lay-bye has gone bye bye.
It is almost too much to bare,
Until I down more of my favourite beer
And I see a Tui once more.
Hear the subtle cries
Slow death invades their terrain
Black lake mirrors event
Where no sound escapes unchallenged above the din
of too many wars, waged for profits that have no future.
Lost now, only darkness clutches, upon his demise.
Fables, told ‘round friendly fires, chant his name eternal.
Birds of the forest, and fish in the sea, remembered his kindness forever,
and slowed in silence, when spirits spread the news of his demise.
From eastern tongues, chants heard in midnight chapels,
aglow in reverent prayer ‘till daylight dawned,
and rows of fallen soldiers, white stones of his demise.
His friends who could not broach the musket….lift the water pail,
and scorned the day of distant guns, their path was lost.
The masters of the chase cursed not of his demise.
Tho centuries turn, the din still heard, fresh enemies forged,
repeat once more, while mothers weep, their cries unheard,
and planes come home to belch caskets, filled with his demise.
The fallen sing from distant stars, so bright for all to see,
with blending light, the truth never dies.
Behold the day when all will see the end of his demise.
12/30/10
8:20 am
© All Rights Reserved
In ruined scatter witnessing the greys into black
Why has it come to this as us humans finally lack
Through my eyes bloodied looking down on such
Crossed I've become in frenzied scarred mode
As to I I'm in awe as to the I that fuses
Centurions from Legions brave, showing confuse
To my left to my right seeing said damnest like I
In wondering their theirs as to their paraded
Mirrored like I that they require I be masqueraded
The tolling bell has spoken as I enter my demise
As I hang above paradise seeing cawing crows fly
Images of my existence, forever, eternally why
(7/5 Trochee Poem)
Chicken Little, thinking that
sky was soon to fall,
saw a mortuary and
crawled beneath a pall.
He was in a strange dark box
where a dead man lay.
Then before he knew it, they
hauled that box away!
He was moved, but that poor bird
couldn’t get a look,
for they’d closed the wooden lid,
Chicken Little shook.
When the casket got dropped down
in the ground so deep,
Chicken Little, very scared,
still made not one peep!
He was sure the sky fell down
when he heard the dirt
being shoveled over him.
This was gonna hurt!
Nothing happened, but he could
barely take in air.
Am I dying? Little thought:
Is the sky still there?
No more would the animals
hear poor “Little’s” call
warning them of tragedy
if the sky should fall.
Chicken Little never guessed
he was murdered by
that same earth he‘d walked upon,
and not by the sky!
Moral: Fear can sometimes lead you into something far worse than you ever imagined, so be careful not to fear things too greatly!
An oldie for Joseph May's Fabled Musings Poetry Contest
There was this guy called Jimmy Chong
Lived on the outskirts of Hong kong
Married his first cousin Susy Dong
Her dad said "Jimmy this is wrong."
On their honey moon they went to China
Susy's dad was determined to find her
To put an end to this misery and shame
Jimmy had brought on his family's name.
Well Jimmy had to keep one step ahead
Because old man Dong wanted him dead
He slept with one eye open when in bed
What Dong would do filled him with dread.
Jimmy only married Susy for her money
Didn't love her thought she looked funny
Now all Jimmy needed was her bank pin
When he had that, he would do her in.
At Guang Un Trang a little coastal town
Thats where old Dong tracked them down
He tied up Jimmy bundled him in his car
Drove to the cliffs which wasnt too far.
At the cliff he pushed him over the side
"A great shame you caused me " old Dong cried
"You married young Susy against my wishes
So now you can sleep with the fishes ".
Written on 29th of June 2018.