Best Discards Poems
"Prophecy"
The Bee sleeps Her secrets
In honey
She sleeps Her dreams
a honeycomb
of secret lives
gone wild
in a lost
forest of trees
metamorphosis
in mirrors' reflections
She scries
a prophesier
dreaming
prophecies
where She
fluttering REM
walks long roads home
wandering wondering
in the Amygdala Catacombs
for a little while
breathing in sleep drugged air
like Eternity
sealed in a
dark space
lit with light
of candle wax
dreaming of
his face,
following his phantom footprints
his Love tracks
She is royal jelly fed
prozac poems
She is put to bed
not heard nor seen for a while
eventually She emerges
wet and new
with freedom wings
made from gossamer of green
imprinted with neverending
shining eyes of blue
in warm honey
the Bee
sleeps her dreams
of secret lives
metamorphosized
prophesying
the Prophesier emerges
jubiliant
a Queen
with jaded
eyes
She discards
a past life and
leaves the
Bee Hive
defibrillating
two hearts
one Her’s
the other’s
held gently
in Her
mind’s eye
as She flies
upwards
towards
Her
never ending
Blue Sky
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“To be successful, one has to be one of three bees -
the queen bee,
the hardest working bee,
or the bee that does not fit in.”
(Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun)
Categories:
discards, freedom, muse, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Where doubts dissolve and roads disband,
there lies a quiet crescent beach
to crown the sea with golden sand.
A breath beyond the city's reach,
where waves recede like moving glass,
there lies a quiet crescent beach.
When evening fades and stars amass,
the silver sky consumes the sea
where waves recede like moving glass.
When moonlight skims the tallest tree
through wisps of fog and fragrant mist,
the silver sky consumes the sea.
Along the shore where waves persist,
the sunrise melts through violet clouds,
through wisps of fog and fragrant mist.
The sky discards its gauzy shrouds
where doubts dissolve and roads disband.
The sunrise melts through violet clouds
to crown the sea with golden sand.
Categories:
discards, nature, nostalgia,
Form:
Terzanelle
Removing the sharpness
of doubts corners
Rounding off the edges
of borrowed defeats
No room for either
at this table of peace
Examining the discards
with prayer
clothed in the sackcloth
of meekness
the spirit bends knees
in humbled repentance
Meekness bids the oil
of forgiveness
as humility bows
to understanding
while the ashes
beg the embers
from stronger hands
Categories:
discards, inspiration, introspection, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
Unearthing the heart’s emotions
Is a dangerous task
Down through the layers
I tunnel
Driven by sadness
Driven by madness
Am I ready to accept
What lies hidden
Like mushrooms springing
From the musty, sodden earth
Deep wounds lie festering
In layers of scar tissue
Bathed in dark denial
And washed white by delusion
Inside I spy
Various gems and stones
I linger with a chosen few
Those I polish and return
Others beg me to stay awhile
But it is no use
The pain of a second glance
Spurs me forward
Occasionally, I glimpse a rose
Mixed with the discards
I pause and inhale its fragrance
Praying it will remain
Later I return
Searching
Was it there?
Was it really me?
Too late it’s gone
But the sense
That I glimpsed it once
Gives renewed hope.
Tomorrow I will
Better sort the
Treasure from the trash.
Third or fourth version
Oct 2011 KDK
Categories:
discards, emotions, heart, how i
Form:
Free verse
WHEELIE BIN JOE
On the north side of Brisbane lives a man who does no wrong,
He pongs a bit, he's grubby and his beard and hair are long,
He sits upon the footpath mid plastic bags all sorts,
Black garbage round his shoulders and white ones on for shorts,
A yuppie down the footpath tripped,
and soon fell over Joe,
Recoiled in shock as horror gripped,
climbed off the "so and so."
So now they leave him on his throne,
cross the street to the other side,
From his house front boards, the nails have flown,
weather boards have gone to hide.
The prophet peers from neath his robes,
bags plastic shuffled flies,
In trance the seer discards his clothes,
as fresh plastic he applies,
Oh he'd tell us all of what he knows,
If he perchance did speak,
But plastic fumes get up his nose,
and cause his brain to squeak.
So if you pass the prophet there,
do spare a thought for him,
see his waiscoat's very shiny glare,
but the plastics getting thin.
The winter wind it whistles but Joe has cause to grin,
for the masters call, he's waiting to right some deadly sin.
Sponsor Paula Swanson
Contest Name Do You Know The Cardboard Man?
Categories:
discards, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
Waking, she inspects the color under her sweater
and sighs that vague orange is still wearing her.
Orange can’t be her friend until it reveals its core.
While white is already a friend, the floating ones
aloofly speak of odd concerns she cannot pattern.
At times, float-whites hear, but never do they listen
or cease insisting that she has dreams, NOT visions.
Blue, green, pink and white all bring truths to her:
if she finds the correct umbrella, she could fly thru
blue-white skies adorned with smeared pink pops
over green’s velvet-thick and lush laid blankets.
When she gains the doors other side, freedom
will lead her to the right, flight-ready umbrella.
Sorting and storing colors keeps her busy all day.
Her favorites - blue, green, pink and white shades,
she tenderly places in see thru plastic jars, all
other colors she discards as too bland hearted.
Daily relief is happily seized by determining
not even a kernel of purple is in her world.
Purple startles, it is pain’s chosen dispersal
that circles and circles until she curls up,
prone atop piles of her own broken pieces.
Occupied with her color heaps, she spies a white-
float fluttering in her doorway at a time too early
for the syringe of colorless assistance
that simplifies her organizational tasks.
She hears white make words but disappears
inside of all pink things with soft plumes.
“Both your parents came to visit with you.
They are waiting inside the purple room.”
Categories:
discards, abuse, angst, betrayal, color,
Form:
Free verse
In the beginning
what we may call noumena
from a singularity unfathomable
the very first outpouring of God’s breath
created what we now see as vastness of space
but what space is we yet know not
the boundaryless inky black void of nothingness
a bubble of manifestation came into being
occupied by God motionless in stillness
He then created a pulse, the Word
that duality may herein pulsate
the Word is Om ~ sound of the sun
The womb of existence is space
liken it to God’s manifest omnipresence
unknowable, within all and yet standing apart
within which we’re localised as individuated entities
although in truth being inseparable from the all that is
the truth of ‘who am I’ we must discern
as such, since we are not this decaying organic form
to know who we are we must stop the flow of time
for which within the pause of each polarity shift
our attention if fixated in pristine silence
discards false identity revealing truth
that we’re living light in God’s image
10-May-2023
Categories:
discards, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
She was taken, dragged from the holy fathers
House of holy purity, against the free wills spirit!
The maiden weeps in the lunar night, a lone predator
Howling for redemption's reclamation, unable to slow
The pace of her running, for the hunter of daylight
Steps within her cursed foot path.
Sleek mistress of the disdain, fleeing from
Thy own kindred pack, without salvation's mercy,
The she-wolf bays at the elliptical moon,
Defying the wolfen curse, its lightning thunder
Flash, rebelling against her inner desire
For hungers blood satisfaction to feed!
A sizzling fire burns within the belly of the beast,
An unquenchable flame eating at its own kindling
Fuel, the vowed promised unto God himself,
Yet bitten by the hound of Hell, she’s the
Righteous satanic offering, to a darker lords
Altar of demonic evil!
A white sister of the blessed cross, kneeling
Within the fur coat of a she-werewolf’s redden cloak,
Behold a creature tortured between the forces
Of light and dark, crying unto her invisible god,
Yet hearing the voice of seduction from beneath!
Tender the rose of innocence, trampled underneath the
Crimson red paw, let the tears of the angels sustaining
In faith’s mighty shield, but she already enveloped
Within the blackened embrace of the emperor of
Darkness and is unable to tare herself free!
In the echoing of the children of the night,
The wild hearted call unto she, this creature
Of a holier light, come run beside us, thy kindred
Of the blood!
Those untamed beckon, but she heeds them not,
At the temple of the faith’s religion does she so climb?
This she-wolf of the fallen, seeking deliverance step,
By step, praying in the barking demonic tongue, of her
Kind, she pleads for the divine to set her free!
But the lord God see his child, wrapped within wolves
The furs huskin trappings, and blesses
As if a snake shedding its outer skins of shame,
The she-wolf discards the furry garments of the
Beast layer by layer, reveling the white angel of mercy,
Hidden beneath, and praising the heavenly father,
In rapturous gratitude!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
discards, beauty, devotion, fantasy, fear,
Form:
Free verse
"Dead Star Compass"
When you’ve lost
your entire world
and there’s no return,
you either fold your cards
or join the Legion.
we fought
on the front lines.
the Normals said
we were on a suicide mission;
not so, more like we joined
to feel something,
Human.
even
if it was
through
the fire of
others' pain.
those who thought
they weren’t lost,
had just lost their world,
without warning -
or so they thought,
in the blinding pitch
of those ignoble
and damaged
war torn dark night
dire days.
crying tears
of blood
for the loss
of their abducted
innocent children
let's not forget,
the petrified childhoods
they’d lost themselves,
without mercy,
to the unjustified unjust.
there was a place for
displaced perspective.
how shall I put it?
there came to those,
who were
poetically
disassociating,
in that terrible time,
the chronicles
of those long strung out
lost wasted days -
a unique
frame of reference
some might say,
an intuitive inner voice
commanding ghosts,
those surviving discards
covered in visible
and invisible bruises,
a strange need
to put on the armour of
an oddly solitary,
idiosyncratic, and
quite unexpected -
spiritual union?
Inside what remained
of the human heart,
the magnetised poles
like a compass spinning
revolutionary,
unexplained and fast -
hypnotised us,
the tainted discards,
supernaturally North,
towards that which
was long considered
a lost,
dead star.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Categories:
discards, future, science fiction, star,
Form:
Narrative
Her spirit was made of pastel colours, glitter, tears and light
Her heart was made of smiles, strength and dynamite
She wore courage on her sleeve and bravery on her face
She welcomed resilience with a warm embrace
A part of her was the moon who rose above drama in the sky
A part of her was a shining star who refused to die
Leaning on the other stars in her milkyway
Her friends were her support structure and there to stay
Do not judge her assertiveness as it creates protective walls
Not only from a crazy narcissist, but from any other great fall
Do not judge her walls as they kept her alive
It was all part of her process... shatter and then rise
She had worn many titles in her life
Such as daughter, friend, counsellor and wife...
She had been the provider, a teacher, and one who strives
But most of all, she wore the title of one who survives
Yes! A survivor who many times did not need to tell...
The world of the numerous times she fell
Because she used her energy to get back on her feet
And go once more on life's rollercoaster's seat
To the narcissist who dared to come close to my domain
And attempt to inflict her misery and pain
Come closer once more and play with my chaos...
Prove to me what I already know - (her sanity was always lost!)
Her bruised soul starts to heal and slowly discards the pain
As she dances to resilience in the summer's rain
She takes her scars as a souvenir and token
That her soul was once bruised, but will never be broken
Categories:
discards, abuse, deep, pain, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
(Dedication: For Ann)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Take things easy with mahjong game,
Watch with sure gaze discards that tell;
Thought strategy works the sly frame,
Let poise forge maze as moves work well.
Each card you stack can fit the groove,
Note how blocks spread in clusters here;
Align sure knack with steady moves,
Each move is read in mental spheres.
From East to West, the game goes round,
The dragon trail and winds that blow;
Cards that work fest on solid grounds,
Smooth numbers sail in sets that show.
Chinese word craft calligraphy,
Marbles that stray, bamboo needles;
Hurl thrill and blast as mindset frees,
The seasons stay power struggles.
Round the table, each player treks
Each counter move with cards at hand;
Spread the sparkle in winning deck,
Windfall now proves a lucky trend.
Four seasons swirl in circle trip,
The winds of change weave tidal range;
Feel blocks unfurl a winning grip,
Luck works things strange in web of change.
So here we go round the four winds,
The moments cast an active spin;
Moves lost and found from thoughts unseen,
Counter moves last to bring home grins.
Mahjong table chat can reveal lots,
So much at stake to zero in;
Share bits of fat as gossip slots,
Force choice in takes that hustle win.
And at the end, count our winnings,
Compile and see how each did fare;
Did crafty blend reap fine endings,
Or purse empty of small change take.
Let fancy style mahjong tiles here,
Mix and mingle acrylic blocks;
Just for a while buzz gambles dear,
Cash now sprinkles pleasant fond talk.
Leon Enriquez
27 June 2015
Singapore
Categories:
discards, blessing,
Form:
Quatrain
Night folds its shroud of darkness around me
As I stand alone on the edge of the cold still water
The distant moon lights a path toward the heavens, I see
Clearly, I hear your whispering voice, my daughter
My world lies shattered at my feet, this night
Will it ever end, my pain shatters into a thousand single shards
Shredding my heart, clouds gather taking all light
Your departing shadow embraces me as your heart discards
The love offered, blemished, tattered, torn
Then the silent dark clouds part, a single star ignites new hope
And in this lonely place I see a reflection reborn
Confidence regained, trust renewed, and I know I will cope…
April 10, 2014
Categories:
discards, hope, longing, loss, night,
Form:
Rhyme
“Lit”
discards
find another way
to light up a life
mothers displaced
in Crazyland
shoot smiles
into the hearts
of their best
and worst dreams
tinder burns easily
uneasy histories
caress life
a long way
down the track
bruised memories
raise bars
rose glasses
remain
lit
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Marilyn Monroe / Young & Beautiful
https://youtu.be/LH41xAcPK0M
Categories:
discards, dark, daughter, light, women,
Form:
Free verse
Let's melt down all the plastics that will not biodegrade
and form some giant ice floes to replace the ones God made
so Polar bears will have somewhere to sit and sleep and stand
instead of getting persecuted when they come inland.
Lets crush unwanted bottles down and grind them into ice-
like crystals, line the kerbs with them, hey that'd look quite nice,
a safety feature for the roads that aren't lit well at night
and visually cool rivers of car reflected light.
For all the stuff mankind discards that uglifies the land
the answer is an easy one, and really close to hand
compress it and then pack into flasks, all concrete lined
and stack it in the empty shafts of all the disused mines.
And in the meantime let's change attitude, and though it might seem rough
but if we were less greedy then we wouldn't stockpile stuff
the latest craze, the new gadget to keep up with your friends
not thinking when it's obsolete just where on Earth it ends
so let man learn a lesson from the stupid things he did
and give a fighting chance toward the future for our kids.
10th June 2015
For competition 'Stuff' sponsored by Thomas Martin
Categories:
discards, earth, environment, , cute,
Form:
Rhyme
The A to P of Change Procrastination to Adventure
Answers to be found to questions unknown must arise from new
Bold novel beginnings revisions contemplation reflections and prisms
Can manage to challenge unearth previously untrodden pastures
Diminish confusing conflicts depression mood swings all our schisms
Encompass what portrays and enlightens where we once had no clue
Forego all those doubts uncertainties mistrusts dithering divisions
Grafting and crafting embracing in gratitude those many disasters
Heralds art works in person and paper defies discards rephrases indecisions
In faith change and purposive interrogation we might well eschew
Jumbled controversies intercept trapdoors pitfalls mindless perditions
Kaleidoscopic mixed and matching compositions not necessarily faster
Lie within us so obviously they require manifold repertoires of renditions
Much hard work is needed in our strife but reward looms where credit is due
No more of that past nonsense routine inculcated intrusive narrow opposition
Obfuscations of sanity health revival if we desire to become our own master
Perfused with loving kindness honesty less traditional re-calibrated new mission
02nd August 2016-09-01
written in abcb rhyme for
contest Alphabet Soup
Categories:
discards, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme