Best Digressed Poems
That dreadful day i went over to play,
Husbands and wives, we called a date,
She said she would cook for the both of us,
And commit crimes of the flesh as it were the last of us,
Awkward talk, simmering broth and blood on the tablecloth,
With eyes wide shut i felt a prick,
She explained to me her usual shtick,
She took a page from the big bad wolf,
In this story i was little red riding hood,
Which makes grandmother a euphemism for?
Wait hold on, i think i digressed,
For her tale of trauma was hard to digest,
But i fail to empathize,
How a lifestyle choice to cannibalize brew from weak family ties,
Her gleeful enthusiasm i wasn’t able to share as i was served medium rare,
Chubby cheeks, dimple chin, rosy lips,
And i fell prey to her teeth within,
The night went on as was planned by me and by her
As i did seem to enter her
I was encompassed within the sullen lust
Of gentrified prepositions
Incomplete adjectives layer the magnitude of
My emptied valor
I became entrenched in the touch
The smile
The tears
Of wistful elegance
This onyx cry
Now turns into an everlasting echo
I sing to these gated heavens
Where visionary angels no longer
Give me a second glance
Expectations rot unto red herrings
As supple conundrums
Insist my smile
Will “be ok”
The most conformed lie,
The most performed cry,
I was ever beaten with
…
Salted whips bless this tenderness,
Her one-armed caress
Diluted into illicit “flawlessness”
And I would have digressed
But, I became stronger
When she yelled at my infantile stance
Hunchback of forbidden damns
Burying our luminescent memories
In fear’s corrupted sands
My vulnerable love
Now life sentenced
She turned my open arms
Into vindicated assault rifles
As she cocked the clip
Of my abused remnants
Oh, how your abandoned grace
Blessed my broken rosaries
With silent goodbyes
Yet, here on bent knee
I still cry
I still cry
…
For the return
Of your identity
All of your eloquent mistakes
As your altered ego
Strokes the girth
Of fear’s liability
And I dare you to push back against
My scarred & humbled smile
I do not fear you today
I do not fear you tonight
I will not fear you tomorrow
No matter the weight of my sorrow
For my poignant love
Will always shine brighter
Than your poisoned fear
Of my tattered innocence
©D.J.E.
As far as the eye could see
we rode our horse comanche man and me
we rode in snow and in the rain
through the mountains and grassy plain
we forged for food lived off the land
like his ancestors from way back when
then one night we stumbled on a bear
thats when comanche man dissapeared
so on my own with just a knife
I faught this bear for my life
the fight was long then the bear digressed
I put the blade between his breast
he looked at me with his gentle eyes
a finally moan before he dies
I thanked the bear for his life
I dressed him out and cleaned my knife
Comanche man was never there
he lead me to my test the bear
END OF DREAM.
Perhaps I have lost the end of dream
For indulging in too much wakefulness
Or I have replicated the regale reality
In charades of some perpetual imagined.
Will I ever stay in sleep of easeful death
Or wake up to the call of an anguished strife
Where life makes some sense in living
Despite the instructions of digressed nights.
To give a purpose to veiled intensity
Or a shift away from the drunken stupor
In discovering knowledge of the lonely sea
Into endless marches of the spacious fervour.
Strapping the worlds beyond mittened sway
Stealing saltants from builders of milky way.
THERE ARE NO BLACK OR WHITE PEOPLE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I ask why does the human race have to live in denial?
we are but one species ere colour, country, or creed.
no one has ever seen a white or black man, indeed,
parts of the world decided colour, alluding to survival.
time was when we covered up, nowt to do with being nude.
weather, climate all played a part in what we wore,
for protection, keeping warm, or cool, nothing more.
twas religion that decided being naked was so called rude.
in what else did the humans err, ask any aboriginal people.
all the horrors they were forced to endure, their lands stolen.
still in this the 21st century some are forced to be beholden!
for what, I despair; how many centuries before were all coequal?
how remiss, I digressed, coloured skin is where I was at
taking the first stanza into consideration, the world, one nation,
whether brown or pink, are no borders worth some contemplation?
only time black and white matters, is knowing when to bat!
How can I concede on the eve of pain?
When I never saw it coming
And I never felt the rain
Drops my heart beat stops
Down to the soles of my feet
I cannot breathe
And I cannot speak
Trying to find my way
But the dawning of a new pain creeps
They called me “The Wanderer”
So far off the side of love’s hill
That I’d squander even a Hershey’s Kiss
If amidst I could feel…
Numb foot steps to the left…
…I mean …
…on the wrong direction
Stealing an inch closer
and closer to its inception
The perception that I allowed
You to penetrate my heart
Without contraception
Its concepts shunned
To give birth to Heartache
and Heartbreak…
...The twin of my souls, my life long
My heart song…
“Slipping into Darkness”
Am…
I…
The Wanderer?
I can’t face this musical number
Of my tears showering and thunder
Clashes and slashes from the harsh words
That passes your lips…
Those same lips to which I’d submit
To the dance with the woman between my hips
…and thighs
I… am The Wanderer…
Wondering why there are so many people here
With no cause and no desire
No flames but wildfires blazed
Rejection, infection, bleeding to near death seeking resurrection
Cuz my heart’s been removed by C-Section
From the womb, my helpless twins without direction
They ask:
“Who lives at the intersection of Disconnection Lane
And this street called Imperfection?”
I’m guessin my wandering feet have exhausted every transgression
…And possibility
You… called me The Wanderer
I just can’t fathom my loaned existence
While Passion’s grown resistant over yonder
The distance to the South Southwest
This quest to repossess my feminine finesse
Obsessed with purity of hope’s chest
Attest to custody
Of my dear sweet departed
Or just…
…To not be broken hearted.
I digressed…
Uncharted my course
To die within remorse…
I looked, and beheld a pale horse
Divorced my heart
Beat
Stopped
Down to the soles of my feet
I cannot breathe
And I cannot speak
Trying to find my way
But the dawning of a new pain creeps
Thru a drifter torn asunder…
Bereaved be The Wanderer
Pooperoni
A team in Spain is striving
To create a healthy meal
Using baby poop bacteria
Now I swear this story’s real
A team of science testers
With a team of mid-wife wipers
Scrapped and squeezed the samples
From a pile of dirty diapers
The theory is like yogurts
With their probiotic bits
A sausage would be healthy
Using parts of baby ****s
I am sure the tester’s parents
Are proud of their offspring
Getting paid to sift through baby poop
The praises they must sing
Oh dear, I fear I have digressed
So let me bring back up these tests
The probiotic benefits
Are stress relief and healthy ****s
The burning off of belly fat
Lower inflammation - things like that
The yogurt market they can’t breech
But sausages are in their reach
The probiotics bring a flavor
Tangy like the Spanish favor
No actual baby poop was used
Bacteria was just infused
Into some links of Spanish “fuet”
That tasted fine with no dispute
It’s just the thought of baby poop
Simply makes my taste buds droop
Baby poop bacteria can help to make you healthy
But if you were to peddle it, I fear you won’t get wealthy
Uncle Mike
They say Marriage is a 50/50 love, yet
at its end I became that lonesome dove.
Seeing I was outnumbered, I slowly caved into
her marital masquerade, a benevolent shapeshifter
of sorts in a solemn Pisces recompense of
"yes dear" compromises leaving my sketchy
identity in a veritable viscous check. An Ohio
native, trustworthy to everyone and their brotherly
ways, I lived in a quicksand society, nameless
always in a wonderment maze of, why are these things
happening to me? More tried, more loss, an equation
of never ending restitudes of who am I questions.
Slowly I digressed into a patriarchal panorama pattern
of being, doing, acting; am I becoming Her?
Thus, where isth thou dave? Filtering one's consciousness
into another's unknown abyss/bliss/piss left me an
automaton of male ambiguity. The more I did, strove and desired
the worse it got--the worse it got the more I did.
A perfect conundrum did exist unto us.
A moratorium on myself in the quake of control through
everything that was once Me. I became a Drone, the ultimate
worker bee to instantly garner and satisfy the Queen of Hearts,
lest I lose my head, in order to stay in the nest. I rose to
every occasion despite her intricate detail of wantedness, though
only somewhat posthumously regarded in mixed company
with minimal respect. Why then stayth you sayth?
My three salient sons you see, I gave them my all from Aa to Zz.
Yet in these interims of fast forward times of future undoings,
platitudes and sheltered paths of primrose promises, I rated
last on the list with all. My only offspring solace comes from the reading
of the Prophet prose on "Children". A must read book for
all things on all counts to all persons.
Call it what you will as I swallowed
that pill to be ever present.
With no regrets, remorse, fear or animosity,
the past is just that--dead and gone, RIP.
With all life's deeds and that ever beckoning specter of
physical death
that knows us everyone, I go in peace.
I gave it/we/us/them the very essence of my being.
Love is all you need when the curtain falls.
Some people have a short attention span,
others have long-term capability
So for the sake of some of you,
I'll get straight to the point
As for the others,
I'll give a more lengthy point of view
I write short poems
for the mental insomniacs
Those who find it hard
to keep their focus on something too long
You know who you are ...
you got that thought in your head right now
You're searching for it ...
but you can't find it, because it has since gone
They need things to be kept
short and simple
A poet better not talk to long
Or the words they were trying to tell them
will get swamped in the mental muddle,
and weeds of digressed thoughts will have grown
Now the others, they're a different lot
I'm going to have to give them
poems that are kinda long
They like to think deep on things,
give thought with much consideration ---
there has to be some meat on the bone
You know who you are ...
you got all those recollections locked away
You can find it in an instant ...
stored thoughts saved just for a rainy day
A poet can speak as long as they care
This breed of reader isn't going anywhere
Just make sure that the focus stays firm,
give them something to tuck away and later learn
There you have it,
the short and the long
Yeah I'm out, yeah I'm gone
There you have it,
the long and the short
I left the ball, it's in your court
Nothing good can come of smoking
Forgive me if I sound like a healthnut
I’ve smoked about three packs in my lifetime so far
Mostly alone, to hide my shame
And I’ve digressed to conclude that
Nothing good can come of smoking
Forgive me if this seems rude
For me to be a smoker
I would need to smoke outside
in hopes some fresh air would
carry away the stench and let it flow
up
up
up
and out of my mind
but mostly out of the minds of my parents
I would need to smoke near a bathroom
Where I could brush my teeth immediately afterwards
To prevent the rotten yellow stains
From creeping melted onto my fake white pearls
In my permanent mouth--
my only mouth
I also need to hide that smoker’s breath
in an attempt to prevent that dreaded questioning
have you been smoking?
Were you hanging out at the bar?
Why do you reek of cigarettes?!
No matter how cleanly I act
I wash my hands
My face
My clothes go in plastic bags on the way home
But the cigarette smell lingers
The pungence contains with it many memories--of being lost
And nightmares too--of being found.
As dreams of my mother
Re-discovering that pack wakes me up sweating
Dripping with salty guilt of what I’ve been hiding
Nothing good can come of smoking
Not the bad breath
The anxious dreams
The green mucus
I’ve been coughing up at work
And the workers’ distant sorry stares in my direction that come with it
my paranoid thoughts tell me they know
they know i've been smoking
and they're angry
angry at me
and angry at the world
Life’s enveloped, digressed and got old
Memories are fading even against my hold.
Years have flown by oh so fast
It’s a pity I couldn't make them last.
16 I was innocent and sweet
17 wasn't good to me
18-19 saw me grow
20 I decided to make my own
21-23 saw me party, lie and cheat
24 I began to get weak
25 work took over
I knew my party days were over
I got a degree amongst all the fun
I began to outshine every one
A proper job set for life.
My mid -20’ s now I must survive
26 I settled down
I had a 2 bedroom flat and job to hold down
27 life became a mess
Life and love began to give me stress
28-have you not been told?
All my dreams and hopes were sold
A downward spiral I did take
God made me pay for every mistake
So here I sit on the eve of 29
I wonder what stories here I will find
But whether it be rain or shine
29, it is time…………
So in the distance I hear them sing
Happy birthday…lets join in
29 is here, let’s all cheer
…………….Have a happy birthday dear.
Abstract idea
Communicated/expressed
Verbally?
Diverted/digressed
To hieroglyphics!
(re)constructed/percieved
To conform(to)able
Comfortable
Beauty:
Poem.
The look on his face was one of shock, he knew he would pull the trigger but he
did n`t know where it would hit ,
he just stood there as he fell to the ground holding his back speechless as he
watched him hit the ground one last time,
As I walked over to him I seen the look in his eyes I heard him take his last
breath he knew this was it.
my brother stood on the porch in a daze looking as others ran around as we
locked eyes he knew this was the ultimate crime.
they told him he had to go ,told him he had to leave as others picked up his body
and drove away "the cops are on their way,"
he grabbed what he could and out the door he went stopping to tell me " tell
mom I`m sorry this I never meant,
as I watch as he disappeared down the street mom pulled up in a panic deep
inside she knew she said so that day.
black and whites surrounded the house guns drawn and standing fast get down
hands to your side was the only message sent.
they did n`t want to know it was in self defense to them it was one gang member
killing another,
my mother cried when they told her they were looking for her child they told her to
them he was armed and dangers,
like a story or movie this was taking place swat ran the streets with orders of
shoot to kill no actors this time this was my brother.
mom got the call she always told us don`t run from your wrongs "turn your self
in " was all she could say a son behind bars is better then one in the grave to
moms words he never digressed .
What Makes a Friend
By Franklin Price
9/20/2014
What makes a friend I thought today
As I was lying half awake
Thinking of the friends I have
They are a lot for goodness sake
The best I married she's a sight
Don't have to look she's at my side
Through thick and thin she's always there
My partner in life's awesome ride
Without good friends what would life be
Both old and new they fill the mind
Some far away but close at heart
In memories not hard to find
I have digressed from title here
Do not yell and do not curse
For friends help ease a jumbled world
To make things better when they are worse
Out of the woodwork they appear
As if by magic if we're in need
Don't have to ask the offer's there
Please let me help oh yes indeed
The offer's made and if a friend
No expectation of return in kind
If you're a friend the return is there
If they are ever in a bind
Friendship's not a one way street
At least it isn't meant to be
It works both ways and when it's right
I'm there for you and you for me
To have a friend just be a friend
To all you meet along the way
And hope that when they speak of you
I have a friend is what they'll say
Yes, thank you, read it, and replied.
Belated, but this poem you’ve inspired.
Your adventure, all the thrills, of nature
Victorian history, for me a virtual adventure
Often on one’s forays into the wilds of nature.
Thinking, why else should one this far venture
But there they are, digging, holes all over,
Old Victorian landfill sites, bottles undercover.
So as one’s sweeping sweep net sweeps, thinking
A thirst to quench, thinks some more whilst drinking
Where one treads, how much history lies underfoot
Ones a naturalist, not an archaeologist, so don’t tut!
Naturalists with a bent for palaeontology, o many,
This one is no exception, fossils, one has aplenty.
Only once has one gone on a palaeontologist quest,
But hey one’s a naturalist, too far now ones digressed.