Best Demur Poems
Golden light appears in tier after tier
As if Mother Nature were on a spree
Fall's magical splendor each passing year
Transforming the colors of every tree
Colors she chooses are all warmer hues
Flaxen yellow, marmalades and pure reds
Old russet and bright chartreuse to confuse
Over dark forest floors boldly she spreads
Is it winter coming she would deter?
His icy breath blusters as winds blow cold
As in years before — Autumn must demur
Silently wearing her golden blindfold
Like drifting leaves that fall by the roadway
We'll return to life some wonderful day
The fulsome figure of the moon
O'er floats midst myrrh and cassia's haze
Now piercing darkness' call of loon
Whilst rumors swirl amidst the maze
Yon swan, young goose swift flap their wings
The pond's alive, sweet sings the dove
As ducklings dance and nature swings
A lustrous spectacle above
Dark clouds demur, they gather round
Fierce crack of lightning bolts below
Brew up a storm, a crash resounds
The lambent spectacle's cruel foe
At rain's hard slants, the pond shrinks back
Her light cut short, her brilliance black
~ Iambic Tetrameter ~
February 24, 2021
All Yours (Feb. 26) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
When air is still and dread silence suffocates
death violates esteemed sylvan sanctity—
whose jealous eye in malice deprecates,
absent demur, spurns all that ought to be.
Sussurus raised on gossamer wing;
rebuild the scaffold of life’s innocence.
Forever defer morbid harbinger’s ring,
proclaim sacred tales and stifle abeyance.
Compile sacred prayers we might ever utter;
inhale the waft of life’s incense redolent.
Disregard uncouth hordes that senselessly mutter;
encircle, condemn all the callously petulant.
And ever be heard wolves' melodious song;
endless the days their sweet harmonies prolong.
Tethered by life's boundless gyre;
doltish in the headlong plunge.
Swirling in its turbid mire;
mock demur feigns to expunge.
Inchoate thoughts swell pathos' rosters;
errant guides whose hack beguiles.
Pay scant regard to such impostors;
debar with glee their rueful smiles.
Then peerless grow your firm resolve;
abjure ego its tumescence.
Ascend the arc and thus evolve;
render glacial your senescence.
Else succumb as prisoner of your thought;
Fashioned into something you are not.
Earth Angel, Fallen Angel
Earth angel, fallen angel
who will guard your heart
now cast out of heaven
to the cold and dark?
Earth angel, fallen angel
above you, angry skies
foretell a cosmic shift
as you lower demur eyes.
Earth angel, fallen angel
who led your path astray,
charred your white wings raven
made you dearly pay?
Earth angel, fallen angel
we see that you are fair.
Could it be you wanted more
but Father wouldn't share?
Earth angel, fallen angel
we fear your sullen pose.
Your mask is an alluring guise,
a woman and a rose.
Earth angel, fallen angel
something is not right.
We see you bring a lightning,
cruel as the night.
Isaiah 14:12
Ezekiel 28:12-19
8/5/17
Silhouette
Through opaque darkness, delving in the deep
as if to say life’s face we must forget
where shadows lurk in silent scenes to keep
an image not as bright in silhouette.
A blend of varied shades that is unique,
can be an outline of the sky’s sunset.
Smile-lines upon the face become obscure.
Are these emotions sad, proud or demur?
A silhouette combines both light and dark,
different yet very necessary,
a thing of contrast that stands out so stark
to form a work of art because they vary.
What peace on Earth if people followed art
and joining these two hues was customary.
An opaque solid color’s all we get.
The truth is blocked behind the silhouette.
9/15/17
BRIAN'S CHOICE 8
Brian Strand, Sponsor
The reigning monarch's hammered earth,
my foot upon controlling girth
nature alone encircles worth
as I go on to capture hurt!
Oh stop, the chiding from the Church
the fault deriding my sake's birth
the fool abiding in the lurch
does mock it all, while I research!
Oh stop the hour, but yet occur
my soul's fate's prism, without slur
and stop those moments when you were
my truest love, without demur!
That snow that melteth down the stream
doth barter not but by degree
and shares its focus merrily
then also stop ~ the poet's fee
must focus rhyme . . . eternally!
The dreams are the ones who enjoy our lives
So jump of the cliff and denounce your ride
Never look back, for single fly
Or to the unpredictable sky
Don’t let the thunder announce your demur
Shine to the future on your dry hands
Color your zebra stripes
Dace to the narrated smile of a wrinkled woman electing to part
To me all of us are fools
We are just ponies on a stride
There is no one who can empathize
We are in that simple transaction of life
Yet the one who will define our lives
Birds, follow your dreams
Climb the tallest wall, otherwise tear Berlin down
Stay close to your own footsteps
It will turn your predicted past
Put away your dolls, but keep them
They will soon rise to the light
Let the green surround you, and enrich you with its forceful gist
Sit back, but don’t unwind
It’s what we do now that will define our drive
Drive far away and write your path
The footsteps on the sand are the letters of your own book
The remains of your friendships are grips of your dance
Don’t be afraid of loosing a gasp of air
Keep hope on your save box and throw away the lock
Let it drown to the bottom of the ocean,
Let the wind take you by
Far, far, far …
What kind of woman am I?
I am the quintessential woman
of the most demur kind
Only in the eyes of the watchers
will my essence be exposed
I am the quintessential woman
for those who stop to care
I stand unabashedly disrobed
in the view of the inquisitive
I am most certainly the quintessential woman
in an existence of diamonds and pearls
where worth is not now, nor has it ever been
what lies in the inner depths of your soul
Yes, I am the quintessential woman
in a time when there is no comparisons
I am the quintessential woman
sensual, wanton, erotic
Quintessentially
Windswept,my eyes wept
tear filled wells from sting
vision blurred to cause demur
moving forward,yet hesitating
Unlucky fella,broke umbrella
inside out and torn
soaking wet worse part yet
beginning of the morn
Project deadline due at nine
still too far behind
brand new suit and brand new shoes
now in utter ruin
As I cry with rain from sky
frustration hidden well
presentation will be met
my deadline will be kept......
Behind the scaled-down images there lurk
the scaled down dreams of future lives-- perhaps
of incarnations silently recalled
by little girls with vision far less blind
than little boys, who would forsake the gate
and scarcely see the whitewashed picket fence
along Peace Lane.
We walked together, she and I, and gained
or lost a century without a care,
then pausing there untouched by age or time,
were suddenly at home, and though it was
too much inclined to the postiche and far
too lovely, she and I could then perform
a step into dimensions that
I only thought I knew.
Of course it was a given, she would lead
me to another view, though I protest
a movie-set facade so much a part
of someone else's dreams, for it spoke more
of me than comfort would allow. I saw
a book of life in which the pages mocked
my own somnambulistic journey home,
my own defense against reality.
And then we saw the open side, and there
the little rooms cut out, showed little beds
and chairs that may be moved about, but strange...
the tiny people always stayed away
as if the president would come to call,
and they are suddenly unworthy.
There the little souls might sleep
or sip at tea with giants watching, if
they dared, but no, the house is empty, much
too quiet, too pristine, and even presidents
would presidentially demur.
She took my hand, and asked me if
I like it. I, too, broke the silence, "Yes.
I think it's grand. Might it be one that you
would live in?" "No, it's beautiful" she said,
"but never home enough,
for me."
~
Naked copulation embedded this one,
Before one imagined or everyone,
When the night was mostly savaged
And the light was damaged bandaged.
Blessed where the ones given a son,
Under a circular, an heir on the run
A sun that insist to be the only to shine
Transcended moves, in their eyes he always was in line.
Of everything, in anything, blood gun
Penetrated melanin, anger that weighs a ton
Ravaged a girl’s heart from denied love
Her blood covered her mind with a glove.
Energy exerted on her could no more stun
A winding period of torture, a moment for fun
A hiding when demur to a marital agreement
Denied knowledge, freedom of expression and all for her that was meant.
Sunk in thoughts, caged panther, her time held for someone
Caged panther, I became, with a slow motion that took a spun
I escaped the last days of inbound hostage, mind muscled and heart footed
My own family had a vision of my success, from the start, booted.
Stuffing flags in the window
and calling it home
valuing our space
as our space!
Picking up rocks from the driveway
like when we were little
rescinding our past
like some nightmare of repitition!
Respecting each other
for what we couldn't accomplishment
and/or understand
a moment of volition, power of choosing!
Hiding our faults to pretend respect
hating those who judge us
feeling reproof for no good reason
denying our self-worth!
Needing a deliverer ~ yet paying rent
to those who trap us ~ indefinitely,
like some caldron of reprisal
not quite ~ not yet ~ Hell!
Knowing the housing market
is indolent in its means
while we sacrifice our daily bread
to just keep going ahead!
Then hearing the voice of a child, next door
already three, already brave
fighting for his life ~ myositis, rare
encouraging us ~ calling us friend!
And sharing his hope
to belong in tomorrow
and the hurt breaks through
into a tear ~ and we wake up!
It's our resources
that have made us demur
not our being alive
as the cure!
And he is Indian ~ Dakota
knows he's stressed
sees the parent's longing
to be on their own ~
Emergency ~ refused by the tribal clinic
some new Government restriction,
Ambulence to Rochester ~ Mayo
rare ~ need to study ~ his case!
Big debt ~ bill, couldn't pay, thousands,
tribal clinic say "no deal"
wrong rescue squad
not in their jurisdiction!
But still Indian, and little
Bigger clinic, Minnesota ~ famous
millions of dollars for research,
yet the little guys ~ still get the bill!
The Mother, trailer, empty jars, stacked by the door
ready for the next donation
posted at the truck stops
grocery stores, post office!
If you want to study the poor
or sick, or needy
rent a space where it already exists
like a woman Mayor of Chicago once did!
Back in the 80's, when thoughtfulness
still was an option!
When Death’s pale decaying fingers
Have caressed the face of beauty and lingers
For a moment to gaze on that face so pure
The innocence of the young there’s no demur
Death has no concept of age no mind to dwell
On pity or the consequences of those who fell
They rest now in Heaven’s immortal light
Where Angels shine in vestments bright
Where He who makes all things whole
Sends forth Glory to surround their soul
In memory of all the children of refugees who drowned in the Mediterranean seeking freedom
I watch him how he talks to her.
He pleases her without demur.
He hasn't said one cruel word,
As if he lives in angels' world.
He is indeed a walking one.
He is naive and full of fun.
I feel ashamed when him I see,
Show greater love than poor me.
I've always thought I love her more,
Than words can tell or explore.
He loves his mom beyond compare.
I haven't seen such love and care.
I think he has no equal teacher,
Although he is a tiny creature.
I love to watch this kind of love.
This is my child I'm so proud of.
20/8/2015