Best Detects Poems
Our Boogeyman
There is a boogeyman within
this home of ours, we swear he's here!
He comes and goes to mess with us
and bring about a silly fear.
It happens if we're here or not;
he seems to go from room to room
to keep us guessing why we see
phenomena that brings such gloom.
It has to do with lights, you see,
the kind you touch to turn them on;
somehow this boogeyman knows how
to toy with us, and whereupon,
we find our touch lamps brightly lit
in rooms, we enter while we're there.
But worst of all, to find them on
when we've been out, and such despair,
to wonder how that comes about??
For sure, it doesn't make much sense.
Do boogeymen have fingers that
can generate capacitance?
Sandra M. Haight
~4th Place~
Contest: Boogeyman
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 06/02/2016
True Story!
"Touch-sensitive lamps almost always use a fourth property of the human body -- its capacitance. [kuh-pas-i-tuh ns] The word "capacitance" has as its root the word "capacity" -- capacitance is the capacity an object has to hold electrons. The lamp, when standing by itself on a table, has a certain capacitance. This means that if a circuit tried to charge the lamp with electrons, it would take a certain number to "fill it." When you touch the lamp, your body adds to its capacity. It takes more electrons to fill you and the lamp, and the circuit detects that difference." http://science.howstuffworks.com
Notice how the birds sing long after we listen.
We oft’ are engulfed with our trampoline thoughts.
With gossiping beaks, they chirp and they flap.
We mimic their tweets, in our minds, as we beat
out the negativity of tenacious tumbleweed and burrs.
When wings catch the air - either we can’t breathe
or we catch commonsense & attempt a sound mind landing.
The canal, closest to the great outdoors, detects signals
of the sweetest sounds, beckoning the eavesdropper -
reminders of a mother’s cradle drop; will we fly?
Let go; indeed fly. Flap those wings. Give it a try, baby bird.
All ‘round, the spellbound flight of robins, bluejays, sparrows.
AUTUMN BREEZE
When the magic is gone
and all the stars have fallen,
do I just sit and wait for my final calling?
Is there still something
to do, out there, for me?
If not before, then when comes destiny?
Ashes tossed, will I be known
as husband, father, son?
Can I leave this plane with things undone?
Fair poetry I weave
but words are falling leaves
and my soul detects an autumn breeze.
Written: May 05, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You crossed the gloss,
Under a star-spangled sky,
To greet me at dawn.
Foggy dreams awoke me,
my brain was amort,
I sense your whisper,
I immediately drew it.
While in the woods, birds sang,
leaving darkness behind,
the haze-modified hues,
would dance with the sun.
I'll acknowledge,
I am mesmerized by singing,
and my senses were enhanced.
Yet, in extending them,
I may endanger your soul,
I created a human ghost,
It is unknown what will occur.
Love beckons you,
Although it seems pointless,
I can't bear my dream,
While on the verge,
There is plenty to consider.
Often ambiguous,
Vague atmosphere,
It almost feels as "déjà vu".
Unreal is magnificent,
I can't break this magic spell,
It lurks near to life,
Some believe it is a vision,
Which detects every sign.
Realistic hyperbole,
for heartfelt times.
Awakened by the creaking of the dying trees
In this barren land devoid of a breeze
Imprisoned dreams in a land of unpicked seams
Endless chasms of regrets in which no sunlight beams
Broken chords strumming tunelessly in solitude
Of songs of praises by an adoring multitude
Intruding reflections oppress thoughts that soar
Waltzing through his mind she invades once more
Time when they were darlings of virtuosic impression
Dancing in wild abandon to a public adoration
Truly enamoured in each other, their love did blossom
Though, in Life’s carousel sadly far too often
Pursuing perfection whatever may befall
One loses focus in the fluster of a fall
Adorning false crowns in high esteem
Ego soars and plummets and shatters the dream
In the drop of a pin - displeasure he perceives
past idolising could not now appease
the icy cold rejection she projects as she flees
leaving a broken man - who has failed to please
For many long years he lays wishing death’s end
Dwelling on memories of his so-called friends
Friends he thought steadfast who chose to ignore
his whispered words ‘forgive me I implore’
Shunned he was before his knees hit the floor
After long years of solitude one day he awakens
Finding his dark soulless days have been forsaken
Terrors of the night have been released - set free
From an unsuspecting sky all dark clouds flee
Dark night of the soul heralds White Light of the Self
Perceptions of enlightenment an awakening of himself
From the corner of his eye a movement he detects
A woman of the White Light he strongly suspects
In her iridescent persona to her task she ascends
His vulnerability she sees and her hand she extends
And in a confetti of star showers his heart she mends
Copyright © Nov 2020 Maria Williams
EYES
The round-of-life scene,
Hope of hereafter,
An aspect between
Movement hinders sight and more
A sandy beach
Spread at the shore
Glaze crust an itchy lid
Harsh chemicals
A thousand things hid
But now I lay me down,
Bright years in favor,
Beloved benevolent of the town
Lids drop comfortably,
A flesh-fast wall
See this dusty saffron galaxy -
All speculation, mind,
Based on ancient sacred text,
On human eyes, script of the time –
This mellow – now beige – array
Of swirling, tiny specks sifted,
Some far brightness on display
Beyond could be angels awing
So white, inner eye barely detects
But soul might hear them sing
More glorious than Cologne,
Alpine, or billowing clouds,
Their sweet voices whisper, moan
Forgot the body prime -
That ultimately false prison -
In this thoughtless region sublime
Dave Austin
Emerging from sleep dream temerity,
his remote aurora spectral prisms
from which his wakefulness gives legerity,
from which surfaces new burgeoning aphorisms.
Truth’s contours arrayed in fluid fluency,
his morning ataraxia in the still water lake
from where his senses lose their truancy,
from where ideation sheds the opaque.
He finds repose in a moment's seclusion,
his lucid cortex in reflective possibility,
but he learns his real confirmation in inclusion,
and learns our fellowship best protects our fragility.
So quickly we imbrute each other with walls,
he knows how militarization is summoned by anxiety,
he weeps at the endless requiem protocols,
he grieves at history’s long cruel impropriety.
But he detects his promise in human need,
our struggle against forces of dehumanization,
our commission in communitarian creed,
our hope in human family realization.
Awarded second place in Poetrysoup "Grace and Solitude" rhyming poetry contest sponsored by John Hamilton.
The salt water
baubles washes
gently
upon the jetty sent
from lands distant.
Pushed by a hovering
yellow moon,
sometimes built into
thunderous waves
of hurricanes.
Change comes rapidly
and dangerously
as the sea meets
yesterday coming
back.
It speaks to me and
it does say,
I give no quarter
and furthermore
I ask
for none.
As I stare outward
at the placid waters
I feel heaviness
deep inside my
chest.
The sea has become
humanity to me,
With its powerful
and hushed rage,
not seen before.
Heretofore I have
been persuaded
by wanderlust to
skim the surface,
to walk on by time
without end,
miss nothing that
may be something.
I linger here.
The moon is playing
peek-a-boo,
reflection on the
water seems sad.
Stories are to be
told, perchance
to a much lesser
degree of now.
But
not yet.
Ink-black dark, I
cannot see;
even Luna appears
quite uneasy.
The peaceful lapping
of water
distresses me; I
don't know why.
Devouring soul?
So tranquil you
could hear a
tear drop, or a
salamander fart.
My nose detects an
exotic odor
Arabian sand carried
by wind.
Wind
words.
I squat on the rock
jetty,
look for ghosts;
probe my own.
My intimate séance
annoys
what I have kept
concealed..
I see what I see.
The serene sea is a
patient anomaly,
so serene I fear
there are things
unsaid.
The night bitter
black when moon
hides,
I sense an
oppressing evil
attributed
to dreams.
Whining, it happens when blizzards come calling
Grabbing a jacket I walk down the stairs
Beside the window where winter is lurking
Waiting about as if nobody cares
Coating the trees with a cottony fabric
Not quite as warm as the heater detects
Here in the handbook of problems and answers
Only for masters to come and inspect
Grabbing a scarf from a shelf in the corner
Pouring a cup just to dance in its steam
Maybe some sugar so life can be sweeter
And just a dash of your half and half cream
Kicking the mud from the boots made of rubber
Purchased on sale at a shop on the beach
Next to the flip flops and lotion dispenser
Low to the ground and so easy to reach
Those were the days when the sun wasn’t hidden
Blanketed white like a sheet on a rope
Held up by clothespins of wooden construction
Seeking a breeze with the fresh scent of soap
Shoveling sidewalks and not chasing seashells
Feeling the cold as it bites through your skin
Running a faucet to thaw every finger
When will it be time for all this to end
I guess I will go out and trudge through the weather
Deal with the snowflakes, the slush and the sleet
Before too long I’ll be sweating the summer
Probably whining about all the heat
How marvelous that when we bleed,
To staunch a flow with little speed,
If not too deep, no bandaid need.
A miracle occurs indeed:
The platelet, wondrous little seed,
Exposed to air, sprouts like a weed,
Creates a mesh from here to there
It shortly spans, forms little hairs,
And fairly soon is everywhere.
And with our little mesh in place,
The blood cells can no longer race
Out of the wound with rapid pace.
Of course, you say, blood clots in air!
Sure, obvious, but to be fair,
The lungs don’t clot; that’s hard to square.
Perhaps it’s sentient, it knows
When traveling along the rows,
Like capillaries in your toes.
Yet somehow, it detects your harm
And raises up the fire alarm,
And to your wound, the platelets swarm.
In tiniest alveoli,
The blood, in contact with the sky,
If clotted here, could make you die.
But when with lungs, you must inhale,
The complex steps we’ll not detail
Do not transpire or you would fail
To even take another breath,
Or contemplate your last regrets;
Your life would quickly end in death.
So marvellous, so wondrous made!
Attention to great detail paid,
Allowed sometimes, elsewhere forbade.
No chance involved, you’ll not persuade;
Yet once again, it should be said
That we are fearful, wondrous made.
Charlie
That's Me
Detects
Suspects
Here's Clue
For Flu
Veggie
Suey
Ban Food
No Good
You Do
Flu Through
My Fee
Chablis
Glug Glug
Chug Chug...
So Long
Drink Gone
EYES -
The round-of-life scene,
Hope of hereafter,
An aspect between
Movement hinders sight and more
A sandy beach
Spread at the shore
Glaze crust an itchy lid
Harsh chemicals
A thousand things hid
But now I lay me down,
Bright years in favor,
Beloved benevolent of the town
Lids drop comfortably,
A flesh-fast wall
See this dusty saffron galaxy -
All speculation, mind,
Based on ancient sacred text,
On human eyes, script of the time –
This mellow – now beige – array
Of swirling, tiny specks sifted,
Some far brightness on display
Beyond could be angels awing
So white, inner eye barely detects
But soul might hear them sing
More glorious than Cologne,
Alpine, or billowing clouds,
Their sweet voices whisper, moan
Forgot the body prime -
That ultimately false prison -
In this thoughtless region sublime
Dave Austin
Color, beautiful colors so fair.
Decorates life with beauty, gemstones.
Days without splendor could bring despair.
The human retina, its rods and cones,
Designed to paint man’s world with grand hues.
View majestic colors on earth’s throne.
Hues that paint nightlights with great amuse.
Storefronts, theaters and streets bedecked.
Beautiful colors: reds, greens, and blues.
Sometimes there is a spectral defect.
Pigment askew sees colors untrue.
Changing the vistas one might expect.
Colorblind people tell some jobs adieu.
Electricians, painters, and even cooks –
Let’s hope there will be a cure breakthrough.
On the good side, according to books,
Colorblindness detects camouflage.
A benefit, finds enemy nooks.
Corsage, collage, sabotage montage –
© March 6, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Color Blindness
Sponsored by: Olajide Adelana
The Universe's Dance
Transitions of the obstruction of life
To the peacefulness of the night
Or a new beginning that a rising sun can bring without a fight
And in the late hour when everything becomes quiet
Nature has a way to transform
Within this turning of time
Every living spec upon this ever changing storm
To which we play this nursery rhyme
Maybe by a birds sweet sound
That brings a sweet remembrance to a season or day
And within a condensed shift in life a smile abounds
Upon a glowing face
The way the wind softly caresses your face
With a cool breeze
To wave off the heat of the day
With a whistling sound moving melodically free
How the drip drop of rain hitting a window pane can calm a tone
With its streams of life being poured from the heavens
To revive a world that struggles for life sitting on a disintegrating throne
And spring a newness into each creation with no discretion
An uncontrollable fire, breathing in the sky
Giving endlessly its lantern to lead us by each step
And warming our bodies when the cold starts to cry
Frightfully showing its characters of depth
Flickering candles floating in the atmosphere
Decorating a painted canvas of deep blue
Wishes casted off into their whispering ear
With silent hopes of dreams coming true
How amazing is a small and fragile seed
That can create a feast for Kings
And feed a family in need
And if planted again grows once more in spring
We so carelessly disregard the treasures that are all around
These viable precious gifts, nature holds out to us so unselfishly
Returning day after day, season after season unannounced
Unlocking valiant colors of wonders on towers of stems rising from the ground... so proudly
All these elements work in unity to perform a theatrical dance upon our stage
They are the silent voices within the earth
Imparting without antcipating anything to gain
Unstained by our constant denial, clasping to last place in our world of worth
Eyes of sadness our universe never reflects
For it hides its emotions within its design
And even the smallest spectator never detects
Its unfailing true love for all man kind
An Ideal Father
Dr. James E. Martin
©June, 2014
Faithful to lead as God directs,
Fearful if failure God detects.
Alert to danger along the way,
Attentive to rightly God’s will obey.
Tearful if children go astray,
Thankful if in god’s way they stay.
Heartily encouraging through every trial,
Helpfully teaching all the while.
Eager in his duties to advance,
Engaged in righteous, faithful stance.
Reaching out to those in need,
Rightly dispensing God’s life-giving seed.