Best Depended Poems
This global pandemic causes confusion from social isolation.
In a virtual world without human touch - there will be irritation.
When burdens of life, echo like chunks of tumbling rubble
mind is misplaced in intense injustice - inflicting trouble.
With no desire for fake and scentless artificial flowers,
the soul is soothed by buds which flourish in April showers.
To sit in smooth stillness of silence, admiring nature's grace,
a paradise of petals, guide emotions to that peaceful place.
Windmill palm spreads its charm among yellow, white, lilac roses,
darling dahlia in hues of pink and white gaze at fuchsia poses.
Lovable lobelia and bewitching begonia hang from baskets,
above a colony of bees living under a pen for rabbits.
Bees buzz among an abundance of blossoming nectar,
their aim to *bee their queen's favourite honey collector.
A poet's eyes will always admire vibrant butterfly wings,
a poet's ears will always listen to melodies a bird sings.
A flower garden is a silent sanctuary - inspiring one's muse,
like rain after a hot day, refreshing buds in twilight dews.
If fate and destiny depended upon the sowing of seeds,
how would you cultivate ideas to prevent the growth of weeds?
The Silent One
15 August 2020
*deliberately spelt as bee (not a spelling mistake)
I recognized you in an old photo
taken long before I knew you
You were among the ancient ones
The ones on whom you depended
You were brother, son, nephew
and cherished grandchild
I recognized you by your quiet demeanour
gazing with those watchful gentle eyes
I have witnessed that look many times
I am sorry I have not asked you more questions
Too often I am too busy to make time
Please tell me stories about the ancient ones
the ones who laid your foundation
Tell me about your happy and your sad.
What did you dream about for your future?
Have your expectations been met?
What is your greatest joy?
Two photos, one of you, one of mom
a handsome man and pretty girl
Were they taken before you were one?
Your family knew you both so well
They gifted you a lifetime
they knew you would endure
Together you have traveled far
You have accomplished so much
Another photo of your VW Bug
The six of you with that seventies vibe
you were all accustomed to close spaces
You and mom were courageous adventurers
You moved to this strange new world
This big empty city with ghost-like streets
white unfamiliar faces
I can’t imagine how scary it must have been
the sound of voices you could not understand
In a country that was not always welcoming
How did you survive your lonely?
Hours and days working away from home
You persevered, knowing what was important
Family has always been your priority
You were not seduced by the unimportant things
You are a good man William
Slow to anger, gentle of spirit
You see with kind eyes
I appreciate your smile
I appreciate being part of your picture
Your gifts have been passed to your children
your children’s children and their children
Your ripples have traveled far
There is another picture of us
We are standing on a staircase
Your children their spouses
and with children of their own
Without your breath
none of this would be possible
You and mom together
are the heartbeat of our family
Your Ninety years have been well lived
Thanks for blessing us all
Thanks for being a good and faithful man
Happy 90th Birthday Dad
You are greatly loved!
By Richard Lamoureux
Dedicated to my wife's dad for his 90th Birthday.
It had been a long night, an hour drive just to be with my sister. One must stay in touch with family; it’s the right thing to do. I don't even know what movie we saw. Here she was again in all her glory whining, and whimpering, about her conditions. Confined space is the wrong place to be with someone bi-polar. Sometimes, I think the family should mark her eruptions on a calendar, maybe there’s a pattern? She was hungry; her blood sugar was low; hurry, get her home!
“Geez Sis, if my life depended on carrying peanuts, I'd make damn sure I had them with me!” I my replied.
the sleet fell
through the headlight beams:
fog inside
“You bleeping self-centered witch!” Her reply.
And on and on, enumerating all my faults at the top of her lungs. Her face was darting back and forth across the stick shift like a viper. The weather was so bad, and her screaming so loud; I almost drove us up a telephone pole. The back road to her house was serpentine through a pinewood, and over narrow, slick, bridges. Well, about fifteen minutes into my dissection, I burst a gut.
“You need to have some control. Your diet is horrible. I wish you could see yourself eating. Your plate might as well be a trough.” There now I’ve gone and done it, I thought to myself. The little devil in me was all smiles. When we pulled into the driveway; she leapt out.
the car door
slams rattling the glass:
eyes wet as rain glass
It only felt good for a moment. It was true; she did deserve the comment. She’d felt free to butcher me, but, it was wrong to try to hurt her. The momentary release, which felt so good, has given us months of anguish.
Published in Dead Snakes Magazine Winter 2014
Closed doors
Especially if they are bolted shut
Why refuse to move on?
Why do you keep knocking at that particular door?
As if your very next breath depended
On someone answering
On someone opening
It is closed for a reason
Maybe your destiny is not behind that door
Stop knocking
Stop forcing your way in
Change is good
At time a necessity
To find your place in the world
Move on
@084024122014
* Many years now since this very talented, very HUMAN guy left us … those holes never fill, and he is sorely missed. (This is a form I invented called “Tredicum Plus”. *
~
my brother ...
you caught me off guard -
of all those who struggle like we do
in darkness, with the
hideous demons that lurk
I was sure the victory was yours -
that the knight was astride
his steed, steadied -
armor shining bright in the sun
sword and shield, sharp and enduring ...
but alas, it seems the
devil wants the final
fiendish word …
long did I look to you
for strength ...
a flicker of light to guide
me through the murk -
the fog of pain and error and
fallibility that so often
gathers for those of us who
feel too deeply -
who see sensitivity as
more of a curse than a gift …
you understood that path quite well -
walked it many times
as I have …
you knew the beasts
that scratch at our ankles -
those shadowy minions that seek
to rake us into hell with every
step we take in redemption's course
but your light shined so bright!
you held it high and
proud for so long that I took
it for granted - depended on it …
and now that light is snuffed
the black is all the
more oppressive - all the
more glaringly heavy and deep ...
… and empty …
now the path
is twisted, obscured ...
and without the welcome of
your glowing spirit
it will henceforth be cluttered with
ambiguity and question -
each further step, taken in
hesitation and doubt …
tragedy, pain, sorrow, regret
their names matter not -
they wreak the same horrid havoc
and those ragged, merciless monsters
have claimed you …
aye, the sun will rise a wee bit
colder on the morrow, and life’s flavor
is now tinged with bitterness …
still, you left behind a torch of humble exuberance and vitality
and those of us who know the
treacherous paths of life -
those darkened 'parts unknown' -
will hold it high in your memory
and give the devil all he can handle ...
of your mischievous smile
your twinkling eye
and your fierce, fiery heart …
Rest In Peace, Tony.
Even Rocks Can Cry
Even rocks wear away with time
and the demands of strength. These
seemingly immoveable objects,
deflectors of life’s raging torrents,
sun warmed seats of contemplation,
bearers of past high and low water marks.
Unnoticed, they sit as observers, watching
as time passes through their moment,
aware, yet unaware, of the softening of
edges, the smoothing of an old, once
craggy face, resigned to the river’s
changing moods, the wind’s cold chaffing,
the sun’s yellow soothing, the moon’s cool
silver chill and the cleansing joy of
a spring rain. Yes, these rocks, these
anchors, depended on for guidance,
for protection, for the memory of
the splashing joy of youth. These rocks
when left too long grow lonely,
shed an unseen tear. For even rocks
can cry.
2/17/2014 --125 words
My sister Susie loved picking her nose
To her chagrin her little finger froze
It was stuck so far
Doc used a crowbar
Finger up nose - not a ladylike pose!
Our Mother, in a fit of Pique
At Susie's antics with her Beak
Said, "Right my girl"
And in a whirl
Grounded Susie for a Week
Resenting her fate, in bed
Rebellion sparked inside her head
When all were asleep
She'd dress and creep
Though the window and escape instead
A branch near her window hung
Which to its foliage she clung
The branch was weak
And with a shriek
She fell into a pile of Dung
The house woke up only to find
Poor Susie in a dreadful Bind
She looked quite a mess
In her state of distress
That our Mother went out of her mind
"A School for young Ladies, I'll choose"
One, her wildness, I hope will defuse
And instil, at a pace,
Deportment and Grace
To refine the coarse ways of our Suz'
Packed off to be 'Finished' she went
Determined to never repent
Despite all opinions
It's just like 'St Trinians'
And for Susie, was quite an event
Susie boarded at ‘Saint Eloise’
It was there she got covered in fleas
Once she dived in a ditch
To be rid of that itch
Oh, you should see the state of her knees!
When in the first deportment class
Poor Susie fell straight on her ‘ass’
When she exposed her behind
The other girls were unkind
So Susie began passing gas
They had to open the windows and doors
Crawl about and move on all fours
To get rid of the smell
That came straight from hell
Staff told ‘Susie’ no more encores!
Her Classmates all thought it a Hoot
When she lit the gas that she'd shoot
She then vented a Storm
That Blew up her Dorm
Which got our poor Susie the Boot
She believed she should never have gone
From the ones she depended upon
With her Mission, complete
(And a Cork placed, discreet)
Susie's Home where she'll always belong.
20th January 2016
Collaboration J Allison and R Bettridge
Imagine lakes of dreams
Blood contained streams
Imagine oceans that behold undiscovered beings
Imagine human life depended off of cheers and games
Man design’s umbrellas
And eventually would play a part in acid rain
Imagine not wanting to smell another rose
Or touch another soul
Because of despair and shame
Imagine in the mist of your demise
You have the passion to rejoice and sing
Imagine driving pass shattered glass
The interior is soaked with blood stains
Your mind can't comprehend the fact
that it's a dead family in the next lane
Imagine dreaming for freedom
As a result by your neck you hang
Imagine for the sake of progress
You whip a man on his back and call him a slave.
Rage, Pain, Fortune, and fame
You don't have to imagine this
Because that's what life brings.
Prozac Nation, dated September 8th, 2001
became the film that reminded some that
these days that we live in, with cell phones
that make us capable of connecting in a flash
mean we've broken our pencils and torn up
our stationary where letters once were dashed
off of the tops of our heads and sent on
with sentiments read by bifocaled heads
of grandparents who would soon be dead
yet were there for the time, there to remind us
why we're alive and we're living in a time
of Prozac and Ambian and some form of Xanax
We've become a people dependent on our drugs
where we once depended on our minds, our hearts,
the souls that sought out Jesus instead of
the cluttered cabinets of painkillers and anti-depressants,
everything that seems to replace the true person
with a desensitized, artificial, contrived individual
only surviving the times with stockpiles of prescriptions
Chopped Updated - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Fun With Puns*
A shepherd and his sheep once took
A shortcut across a frozen brook
The owner charged a very high price
For pulling the wool over his ice
I didn't know if I were a wigwam or tepee
So I was really depressed and sort of weepy
Then a psychiatrist with very good sense
Explained I was just a couple of tents
Benny was rescued from a terrible place
And lived out his life in a silver vase
Thus he was a guy who finally learned
That a Benny saved is a Benny urned
A man bought an expensive new car
And stopped for some drinks at a local bar
Soon after he picked up some of his friends
Who quickly learned how a Mercedes Benz
Snow White felt weak and unsteady
When her photographs weren’t ready
She chewed on some gum and felt less glum
Certain someday soon her prints would come
Palm fronds are very relaxative
Swallow them; they’re a very good laxative
They won’t hurt you; they’re not venomous
So, with fronds like those, who needs enemas
It would be nice to have four more puns
Because a total of ten would be fun
Maybe one of them upon humor depended
Or it's very possible that no pun in ten did
*Of course, I would have given credit to the authors of these puns, but they are unknown.
~~^~~
Our parents, they longed for you so...
When you were born, their eyes they did glow.
Another Prince amongst seven Flowers,
You brought to them, so many happy hours.
You were only twelve when our Mother passed away.
I think the end began for you that day.
None of us even realised you were in so much pain,
Each one of us trying, our sanity, to regain.
You found your solace in a dreaded white lady..
She took your soul and made your world crazy.
For years you made our lives a living hell,
You depended entirely on her, we could all tell.
She quickly brought you down to her level,
And you knew she was just as bad as the devil.
This beautiful lady you call Ms. Cocaine...
Has only brought you a life full of pain.
It grieves us now to see you behind bars.
To know you no longer see the stars.
Not long after our Father went to his grave
Hoping you'd escape this life as a slave.
It is once again our hope and desire,
That you would conquer this white fire,
Make us proud again like you once did,
And finally bottle up the White Lady and close the lid.
~~^~~
I think sometimes we are more enemies than friends.
When we scream at each other, I think about how much I hate those dark brown eyes of yours.
Your hair are soft downy feathers that I wish I had.
The way you speak your mind to me is like a river, carrying fish but also debris.
We disagree over the smallest things, neither of us willing to back down and determined to have the last say, no matter how insignificant they are.
Your childish personality often clash with mine.
You don't ask, but my favorite socks will somehow end up on your feet.
I wish I can turn back time to the way we were before.
The two of us were like puppies, playful and inseparable.
I remember our balloons being blown away, sailing up into the blue and beyond.
Hand in hand, we'd walk into school, only letting go when we go our separate ways.
We'd play outside even in the musky, gray fog.
You once defended me like your life depended on it.
I miss those times.
But I love you anyway; even though at times you make me see red.
It is the impossible…is it you
I had felt your presence seconds before
the softness of your voice
swept once again across my life’s landscape
harvesting all of the passion that
I have only known, tasted and shared with you
so very long ago...a lifetime ago
your voice…that sweet warm voice
that once dissolved all of time herself for me
a voice whose soft murmur alone
could strip away any resistance in a heartbeat
to desire...to need...to take and to give
the scent of hunger, passion and timeless moments
loves perfect trilogy…amoré came so easily to us
I used to inhale your perfumed fragrance
as if my very life depended on it
I held you in my arms through the night
as a stranded man holds belief to his chest
thoughts of your kisses haunt me still
a kiss so staggeringly soft that
its memory alone brings tears to my eyes
and now, a distant echo from a forbidden past
we had said our goodbyes in Italy long ago
and yet the taste of you has lingered
on my lips as if your touch could never end
unimaginable…you can never truly say goodbye
to the one that enfolds your dreams
takes you to your knees…over and over
I turned instinctively to face the imposter
how dare she mimic to perfection
the one true voice of passion in my life
there have been others since
I could never lie to you
but l have loved only you and my love I do
It is the impossible…it is you
IRISH
The taste of a warm, clear liquid runs through my throat.
The bitter taste of love, feelings and emotions all in one clear bottle of venom.
How did it end to this, how did i end up doing this?
The taste gets bitter and bitter just like the flavor of you.
The fiery burn is hotter than hell itself, but i continue going on.
With every drink is another memory to forget, with every drop is another story to be forgotten.
The numbness of feeling no pain gets stronger and stronger, Every action, every word ever spoken completely disappear with just another drop.
I soon forget but that doesn’t make me stop, why?
Shouldn’t the void clear up now? shouldn’t the emptiness fill up with the venom, filling me up?
Shouldn’t the dark turn to a grey color and shouldn’t i be satisfied with the warm, fuzzy feeling of forgetting?
No, because how could you forget the emptiness, how could you forget those words, how can you turn an addiction to nothing more than a piece of forgotten string.
How can you turn love into hate, and how can you turn me into a person?
With the month of addiction, the month of trial and error how did i end up being hurt the most?
How did i end up turning into someone i’m not, how did i turn to the venom for forgiveness and hope.
5 years old, 8 years old, 10 years, 11 years old I swore to myself i wouldn’t.
I swore the poison would never go into my body, and become my only resort to the paradise called hope.
I swore i would never let substance control me.
But the ashy taste of cigarettes and the burn of venom became my best friend.
They became the only thing that let me forget, and let me feel something more than an endless void, a dark hole in my heart and vibrant colors in my mind.
They became the only thing to look forward to in the day, the only thing i wanted.
It became very clear to me that the venom i depended on was the poison you left me with.
The only thing i had left was the taste of the warm, clear liquid showing me hope..
I pressed my face against the thick pane of glass
And stared out into the black of nearest space
Where my planet-home Earth hung suspended
Like a special well-worn ornament on a spruce tree
Decorated with multi-colored bulbs and angel hair
Earth swirling inside webs of gray cloud shrouding
So peacefully, it appeared, she drifted silent there
While I saw visions of peoples struggling to be free
Knowing on us so much of their future depended
Adventuring to the unknown, and finding a place
Where Earth’s inhabitants might egress en masse.
written October 23, 2021
[using a reverse rhyme I often
employ in more recent poems]