Best Different Poems
I am broken
there is no one
to pick up the pieces
no one to melt the gold
to let it flow
and bind the pieces
to make me whole
KINTSUKUROI
it is nothing but a lie
broken, I die
I pull the pieces of me
the shards cut
I bleed
my tears mix with the earth
I try to form clay
piece by piece
I make them stick
blood, tears, saliva mix
the liquid of pain
my only gain...
I stand
insecure
the clay will not hold
I topple
I fall down
Crash to the ground
More pieces than before
No gold to bind
for "nothing gold can stay"
Then you come along.....
you are the LIGHT
Magnificent, bright!
I close my eyes
as I feel myself being lifted
lifted...higher and higher
lifted....
gently
tenderly
lifted
you are the center
the core
you encase yourself
with all the pieces
the pieces of me
you build me around you
the pieces come closer
closer
but never touch
broken
I remain broken
broken enough
for your light to shine on through....
My kintsukuroi
IS YOU!!!
Eileen Manassian
Some people have a reassuring smile
Always at ready no matter the time
Regardless of untold things on their minds--
They're the street-lamps burning all night
Comfort rules when they come around
For grief and pain then remain at bay
And aches of the night retreat in awe--
They're the dawn that illuminates dark
Answers they find when questions storm
They hold a sign when someone's lost
And when they speak, that becomes the norm--
They're the phrases wisdom is made of
Flowers in the midst of desert lands
A rain shower soothing in prolonged drought
Hope on the faces of distressed hearts--
They're the strength of weakened hands
Never confused between right and wrong
How they act mirrors the way they talk
Magic or special powers they don't have--
They're the goodwill of human hearts
July 10, 2020
Placed 2nd: Warrior poetry contest by Silent One
The other girls were Shallow Waters.
Catching Sunlight with ease,
and gleaming crystal clear.
She was as deep as the Ocean.
And the further you dive into her,
The Darker the waters get.
-December 7, 2017
I'm a Catholic,You're a Muslim
I'm an Orthodox ,You're a Protestant
I'm a Hindhuist,You're a Buddhist
You're an Atheist,and I am a Mormon too.
You're an African,I'm American
You're an Asian,I'm a European
You're a Mexican, I'm an Indian
You're an Arab,I'm a Jew
But prior to all our distinct differences
I'm a Mother ,I'm a Father
I'm a Sister,I'm a Brother
I'm a Son,I am a Daughter
and I'm Human just like you.
Friends and trouble go hand in hand.
Legends of the neighborhood.
Like statues and vacant buildings still stand.
A crime in plain view no one ever saw.
Held hostage in fear.
The mouse sturggles to escape from
cats claw.
Blood on the bricks that stains my mind.
Time takes me away.
Yet never leaves the memory far behind.
Summers in the city nights run into days.
We turn are backs to the truth.
But in this game everyone plays.
Heros are villians depending
on who you are.
Stories told bout the other night.
Hidden truths like the bat under the bar.
The players are future tombstones
Men glorified beyond there name.
the citys children caught within her confines.
Forced to play a different game.
We are so different
I am smart, you are less so
I am a man, you are a woman
I am trump, you are poor
I am beautiful, you live in a sewer
I have castles, you’re lucky to have drawers
I am peaceful, you are the extremist
I have armies, you have child suicide bombers
I have coffee, you have tea
See the difference between you and me?
I wear clothes under my head, you wear masks over
I sing songs in my sanctuary, while you chant the jihad
I have my god who is righteous; you have a god that sings of terror
My god is great, yours is a fraud
I ride in a limo, you ride a gay camel
I drink fine whiskey, you smoke camel fags
We you see… are as different
As night is to day
As sun is to moon
As Cain is to Abel
I own the castle you live in the stable
Goats and hogs your only staple
Now when we were in the hospital
Me so much better than you, you see
Both our sons sick of leukemia
You being so different and less than me
You cried, and you wept, and you wished yourself dead
If your child should live, you'd give all you ever had
Its then I saw, I’d do exactly the same
When you offered me a tissue
I confess I felt a wee little shame
Whatever hate you may or may not have had
Lifted, when you saw the child was your only lad
And when I saw this humble startling revelation
I realized how narrow and condescending I was behaving
So maybe we both learned a lesson of Job
A pity such sadness and pain had to bring
The realization to us both
We are not so different after all
We now drink tea in the olive gardens
Telling the young if they chose to listen
There is a better path, of happier wisdom
By embracing your fellow man
No matter race, color or convictions
Start with a smile
Make it last more than a mile
Great things happen
When us, the people take action
Yours truly
Two fathers
Of this world
Thank you Charmaine for the constant inspiration!
The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!
Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least,
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”
And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!
Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.
The casket was full of cold cuts;
The bartender doubled as the priest;
I took another shot of tequila,
while the sun started setting in the east.
The ladies started undressing;
my organ started to rise;
I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”,
with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive –
His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!”
The next time he throws a party for himself,
I think he’ll choose a different theme –
And maybe the people who come and get drunk
won’t be so awfully mean!
To once again hear the renditions of the
songbird’s morning trill as leaves upon the
trees tremble in triad tones within the
moorside tempest; and lyrical waves in unsung
meadows symbolically crash against limestone walls
and telephone wires in viola whines
an archaic symphony.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
I grew up in Middletown, where everything was pretty much average.
Every house, every car, every mom, dad and every kid were all
just about the same. Except for Paul Locke. Paul was the only Jewish
kid on the block. But that wasn't what made him different.
Paul could eat dirt and seemed to enjoy doing so. Someone would say,
"show'em Paul", and he would. Sand, red clay, loam, dust, it didn't
seem to matter. Paul would reach down and grab a handful, choke it
down and then laugh uncontrollably at his accomplishment. He was at
his best in those hot July and August days when we hadn't seen rain all
summer.
Thinking back on it, I don't believe I ever saw him do mud.
I suppose even being different must have its limits.
Give Me Your Best James Tate-Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Space Cadet
11/03/2016
She was beautiful within and without,
He was handsome, there was no doubt,
Engaged to be married, they were in love,
He knew she was pure like a dove,
A shocking news - she was found carrying,
A public shame - 'twas worrying,
What could he do? He would put her away,
Silently without much delay,
That night, while he thought on these things, behold,
An angel of the Lord, he told,
"Joseph, thou son of David, do not fear
To take Mary as thy wife dear"
"What she's conceived is of the Holy Ghost,
She'll give birth to a son foremost,
Jesus will save the people from their sins",
Virgin birth fulfilment begins,
Joseph, the just man, rose up from his sleep,
He his wife decided to keep,
He did as the angel had bidden him,
They married, life was no more dim.
07.29.2020
N/A in Strand Completely New (15), any form, any theme contest
Another Christmas day is finally here
The very thought fills me with such fear
I have to try and control my old Aunty Mable
Once she hits the gin she gets very unstable
Uncle Arthur rushes in and opens the sherry
then sups half the bottle and gets really merry
He begins to sing carols at the top of his voice
I put up with the din… I don’t have much choice!
The last to arrive are old Gladys and Bert
Bert always wears his distasteful Santa shirt
Gladys walks through the door and starts to moan
I wish Bert would leave the old cow at home!
She whines from the moment she removes her coat
And heads for the sofa and grabs the remote
Demanding she has her dinner on her knee -
There’s some crap on the TV that she wants to see
I politely tell Gladys the dinner table is set
And the film will be repeated of that you can bet
So she sits at the table and picks at her starter
then moans very loudly to poor Uncle Arthur
The table’s soon laden with wonderful food
But Gladys is seething, she’s so blinking rude
She says the turkey’s tasteless and it's bone dry
So I pass her the gravy and I try not to cry
Bert finishes the bowl of chestnuts and sprouts
He’ll be passing foul wind in copious amounts
After rich figgy pud he crams in six mince pies …
It’s no wonder he’s gross with huge wobbly thighs
They descend on me each and every year
And eat all my food my wine and my beer
Then we open the gifts that lie under the tree
As per usual they bring just one present for me
Gladys has knitted me a horrendous jumper
it's two sizes too large, I just want to thump her
I dutifully put in on and I feign my delight …
but it will be in the rubbish bin later tonight!
At three we watch The Queen on the telly
Bert’s farting begins; the room gets so smelly
Within minute’s they’re snoring away in their chair
I retreat to the kitchen and silently swear
By the time they wake up all the dishes are done
The doorbell rings; thank god their taxi has come!
This is the LAST time they'll take advantage of me …
Cos I've booked a yule cruise on the Caribbean sea!
Fiction write
12/14/17
“God like, not so different”
She wrote,
“where do you go to my lovely?”
my response,
“I sink into the screen
like a scream queen goddess,
I am Lilith most of the time
tap dancing away and
singing off key unashamedly
loudly in life out of step, always
out of time, the ballyhoos
clap apathetically warning,
"watch out, incoming, car wreck!",
more like a shipwreck
broken-in-half, sunk in the deep,
treasures scattered on
the seabed, keys missing
loot unreachable
the flotsam of an ego
jetsam to lighten the
sinking load, arriving
amidst the shallows,
half cracked open
on the Ocean's shore,
waiting for the electric storm
to penetrate the brain, then
I become the electric storm
come to defibrillate the broken heart,
the haunting hero haunting heroes
dashed on their cerebral rocks
like Sirens alarmed all going off,
the feet both punctured,
walking over the sharp unopened
and opened broken shells,
mothers of pearls
bleeding stories,
their cornucopia unblessed
blessedly overflowing in the flow
of long nights' bittersweet darkness,
walking from room to room
talking in tongues,
strange and estranged,
adlibbing alienation
through boundless walls,
carrying a heavy cross like a ghost
in a residual haunting,
a storm in a teacup
sometimes passing,
the cake all eaten,
hungry for more
of something;
but on the 7th day I rest
and become God like
pleased with the turmoil
and calm I have jusifiably created,
there I will be seen
heavenly comotosed
resting under the duvee;
I am what I am,
then to the relief
of my monsters,
I fall,
I sleep …
I sleepwalk
commanding them all;
there is no escape.”
“you gotta larf,” she says, "how do you stop?"
the response,
“easier said than done, my friend;
the red shoes are killers to take off."
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
ljb - llb, klb, mlb
llb - gvlm
“Most poets are mad. It doesn't qualify us for anything.”
Anne Sexton
“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.”
Anne Sexton
“I am not immortal. Faustus and I are the also-ran.”
Anne Sexton
The Three Graces
The Three Fates
The Morai
Looking through the window of a shop,
I see you with a woman.
She lifts long auburn hair
while you, who stand behind her,
are fastening a strand of pearls
around her slender neck.
I close my eyes envisioning. . .
I've opened them to you
facing me,
and I'm the woman
with the red-brown locks!
You touch my cheek, and in your eyes
I read an urgent need.
You lead me to the door,
around the corner to an empty alley.
Our bodies press together.
In the chill of night,
I taste warm, wild kisses on my mouth.
"Darling, my darling," escapes my lips,
then suddenly my reverie is broken. . . .
A passerby has stopped
to place a dollar in my cup.
Murmuring my thanks,
I gaze once more into the store
where diamond rings and necklaces glitter
like new snow beneath a winter moon.
The man whom I could know
only in a different life,
who stands inside the store
where I could never go,
takes his sweetheart's hand
and leads her past me
pretending not to see
a common homeless woman
who yearns for so much more
than mere necessities.
For the Seeker's Being Homeless Poetry Contest
*Don't Be Afraid to be Different*
~Don't be afraid to be different!
Do be afraid to be the same as
everyone else~
I have never understood this insane passion!
But I see it everywhere.
People selling out their souls and
principles like cheap underwear.
Anything. Anything to be loved and accepted.
Have you seen this insanity, too?
Just keep your true thoughts to yourself, so
you can be part of the human zoo?
What's so wrong with being you?
You.....like everyone, made by God.
I know the feeling of hush-mouth,
when I want to fully express myself.
God and politics, what's all the
commotion about?
Frankly, because there is only one
God and we were brainwashed to
think anything else.
In politics, only evil rules!
If you dare speak of success or goodness.
Well, the great sentence placed
on you, is that something is
terribly off with you?
Free speech in the USA, is but a sliver.
Mention the First Amendment,you
see people's lips quiver.
The march to watch your mouth
is absolutely full-blown.
We poets must develop the courage,
to make our words stand for freedom
and to be our very own.
Yes, you may become unpopular in this
uncomfortable process.
You have to decide whether to wear a cute
and pretty dress.
Perhaps that is all you are able?
Or don the golden robes of integrity and truth,
that are so divinely impeccable!
November 2, 2019
If I weren't a poet, what would I be
An artist, a singer, or a designer?
Would I have been something next to a deity?
Oh, I couldn't imagine anything finer!
If I weren't loved, how bitter would I be in the present time
A little, a lot, more than I could ever devise?
Would I long for affection that I predict will never be mine
Or would I think love will take me by surprise?
If I were born earlier, what period would I have occupied
The forties, the fifties, or the sixties?
Would my name have lived on after I died
Or would there be no one alive who'd miss me?
If I weren't me, who would I be
And who would take my place?
Would I have had a different destiny?
I hope to God that wouldn't have been the case
I love the person I am today,
I love the person I am to become
I would not want it any other way
Many lives I could've lived, but thank God He chose this one