Best Detail Poems
Gentle caresses sweep my skin
with creeping tenderness,
devouring every curve of my body
and feeling its sizzling melt
against your skin.
Your loving gaze enters my soul
striking away all attempts
to keep the padlocked
heart and mind
shuttered from any harm.
Your finger tips tantalize
my womanly form
raising delightful awareness.
You lead my chin towards you
brush your nose and lips
over my face as you slowly
move towards my mouth
then meet, magically.
Explosive emotions
dynamite through my mind
as we meld together
powerless
I become putty in your hands
and you play purposely
mastering your art
knowing it’s your attention
to detail that matters
in loving me.
Number
Four two four one
Cars racing by stealing
Images of consequences
Entertaining clowns collecting their trash
“That could be me” clicking tongues chirp
Four two four one just smiles
Those were his thoughts
Before
*** DRAWING YOUR DAY ***
Well, wake me, then, before it’s
Time to sleep, so I may eat
Some bites of cheddar cheese
(A delicious catalyst for lively dreams);
And,too, tell me, please,
Every detail of your day, because I
Will, draw it all — to treat the eye —
In the corners of a flipbook (at least I’ll try).
I’ll depict you as a tiny stick figure, coming
And going…Even in flight, rising in the sky!
Above clouds. With a flock of birds — wing to wing;
Returning on through heaven’s stars; angels waving good-bye.
I’ll wake you, then, later when I’m done,
And show how I I pictured the end of our fun:
When, before my leave, we ate slices of bread and cheese,
Praying our thanks for sharing these hours of memories.
————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 11/19/22
Thanks be to God…
Oooops!!!
I didn't mean to..
That's ok.
I should have knocked.
Yes...you should have but
....awkward
to say the least
You're still there
I'm still here
Why?!?
I...I don't know...
habit maybe
Maybe...
Yes...
I used to be able to...
not knock
Yea...
What happened?
A word...
friend.
Poems ascend in luminous sapphire skies
As prettily as any Boucher dove
In flight eternal. The artist's strokes devise
Each beauteous form to represent great love.
How many shades of light, how many hues
Playfully linger on each feathery wing?
Such subtle shadows! Gentle tones infuse
The senses, sweetly prompt the soul to sing.
Cherubs frolic, blissful, plump and pink,
Companions to each poem or lovely bird,
Painted in Master's oils, or pen and ink,
They celebrate that now their song is heard.
Once seen, once read, no one can rend asunder
These artefacts portraying Nature's wonder.
He sits quietly on a cargo hatch,
Patiently watching deck apes
Secure rat guards to hawsers.
They make his job a little easier.
There’s no requesting liberty.
Not even the thought of it.
The Bos’n won’t approve.
It’s been entered in the deck log,
He’s a ship’s cat.
He's always on the watch list.
He never goes ashore.
No, no, no.
You still don't understand
That my hands tend to tremble
and you don't even think about
A butterfly's thoughts in it's last moments
You don't pause to consider the colors of a tree
And until you do, you'll never understand me.
Laying on the floor beneath the window,
staring up at the painted plaster,
little cracks run
through the goosebumps in the paint.
I can read where the wall is hollow
where it is brick,
by running the tips of my nails across its gibberish braille.
In certain spots, the paint is almost smooth
and slightly darker,
polished by years of rough feet,
the action of the mattress
trying to remove the braille.
To the left there is a stain running down the wall.
It is easy to imagine a tomato slammed there
like a bird flying into a pane of glass,
and not breaking through, slid to the floor,
but the truth is, it was a can of soup,
the kind with a pop top,
unheated,
drunk straight from the can, that spilled and would not come clean.
This is the third time I’ve done it this year to be honest I feel a pride in being picked to do it but the very thought brings forward a tear.
Dress uniform ironed and ready, creases sharp as a knife brasses gleaming cap badge straight its time to commemorate not a death but a soldier’s life
The family, friends and fellow soldiers gather to honour a soldier who has died there has been much reflection and many have cried.
The flag draped coffin, headdress and medals carried by 6 fellow soldiers all in step with military precision, a lone warrior killed, because of a politicians decision.
The sharp crack of the rifles salute, the last post plays then the coffin is lowered into the ground to the bagpipes haunting sound
As I march off this is when eyes fill and lips starts to quiver a solemn promise in the eyes of all present that this warrior will be remembered forever
Not one pursuit but led to disappointment
The system was designed to fail
Corrupted judge has tendered resignation
The horror lurked behind the veil
Another's cruelty fueled his vindication
The true believer's cause for pain
Described to him in full blown cosmic detail
The dronings of a world insane
Oh Depressed world
Dont fail me now
every ones gone and coping i dont now how
oh depressed world
shine some light on my views of life
tell me why i shouldnt use this knife
oh Depressed world
Dont touch me the way others do
Raping me of my dignity and innocence as a child
oh depressed world
i'll keep talking till my face bursts blue
this idea of keeping others hopes up is just too wild.
Dont Tell Me Dont Do It
Even though i cant escape it
And everyone around me knows it
Then major depression would start
How do you know this is even what i want
I dont know how to get around it
Every key i have doesnt fit
Love, Hate, Depression, Knowledge
Doesn't tell me how to be alive forever
Love everyone you can
If you can you cant hurt
For when someone hurts you
Everyone will want you to cry on there shoulder
oh depressed world
dont let my thoughts flow wild
they dont deserve to pout under their covers
oh depressed world
raping the innocence of a newborn child
I'd hate to see them hiding under the hope of others
oh depressed world
shine some light on my views of life
tell me why i shouldnt use this knife
Oh Depressed world
Dont fail me now
every ones gone and coping i dont now how
seductive sensuous
enigmatic ambiguous
prolific &
precocious
breakfast pieces
peopled
in
detail
pin-sharp
accuracy
&
exquisite
expressive eyes
sublime
in close-ups
posed
yet all in the detail
intimate interiors
interwoven
with
riddles in paint
Think, it is a fix amount unequally distributed
But how, since labor contributed
For commodity, growth, and reserved pile
What explains the one sided dispersion?
Not rent or taxes, not expanded hire, but guile
One earns more than thousands in the labor equation
So consolidating now, peasants fortune contracted
Machines long invented has left their task unaffected
But the streets are bigger, wider now
And the feet are gathering clouds of storm
I hear the drum beat of the ancient vow
The city trembles beyond brinking harm
It does not understand the change of times
In France where the revolution is forgotten
And where Enlightenment was begotten
I hear the time clock muting omen, muting chimes.
Nobody really likes a short-form read
a small screed about the mind-shattering infinitude of the universe
or the endless grandeur of nature - I mean not really.
We must move along, be willingly captured
by a more comprehensible minutiae.
The ordinary is the realm of the poet,
let the mystics ponder that big stuff.
For it is we who make our omelets
just a little different every time.
And do we list, label, depict, add, or subtract?
You bet we do.
Do we paint with a fine tipped brush - gush about
the normal, the humdrum, the passed-over,
the often overlooked and so typically common;
all those very ordinary unmemorable
yet essential ingredients of a small egg meal
for one?
Yes we do,
and you like it.
The haibun can be a standard(where haiku etc follows the prose) or afterword (where prose follows the haiku) or prose envelope (prose para haiku,para) verse envelope(haiku prose haiku) or interlaced (chorus, verse, chorus) or verse sequence (haiku,prose,haiku,haiku etc)
a haibun ABSTRACTION
The soft yellow streaked the terra cotta,shadowing the speckled sallow saffron
a bluish buff upon the cochineal;brilliant boneblack grizzled the engrain
citrine carnation as the fallow flaxen,rustic rubrical rainbow-tinted
the magenta mandarine;unseen the ultra-marine, tinged burnt sienna,
reflecting a golden flame of raw umbery upon the earth green;bright mosaic gold
mottled the sallow sorrel virent yellow,oak stained the pale apricot;while
blood red,reddish russetdotted the olive lind;freckled crimson,a chestnut maroon,
on fuchsias faded apple green as burnt rumber sank deep into its sanguine slumber.
I walk through the glade
abstractions enlighten me-
colour my rainbow