Best Disconcerted Poems
?The day my Silver lining vanished away?
I was traumatized,
After walking through the bedroom door.
No movement, or sign,
Not one single breath left behind,
the canvas has been painted black.
Not a single image on the wall,
I took one last gasp----- of nothing,
No hint of musk in the air,
Silently, I stare, to the unknown
The positive aspect, gone,
My unseen benefit is missing,
The absent suitcase,
The only clue!
The burglar took it all,
the garbage stood alone.
This is not my home.
Chaotic, disconcerted
After walking through the bedroom door.
by; PD
Fingers toy with my nearly worn out bank card.
Not too confident, I hold onto my nerves, hard.
Ahead, petty items in her trolley hold me slowed.
The cashier stops, lengthily examining a bar code.
I glance around at the growing queue, blindly.
I bump into him, behind me, and I apologize kindly.
I let him precede me, my morals climbing high.
He hesitates with three items, as if not sure which to buy.
I tend him a basket which he aloofly ignores.
Disconcerted, my eyes divert to the store's doors.
The cashier waits for the cash, visibly well trained.
He fishes in a pocket then empties another, unrestrained.
Some coins roll and find the cashier’s impatient fingers.
But she waits with smile fixed as he lingers.
At last he finds his notes, all bundled.
His shaking hands proudly tug one crumbled.
He peers at it and slowly returns it back to place.
Another he places, unsure, in hand tended with grace.
Suddenly he pulls it back, deciding it was not the right one!
Now this, he checks carefully; it is a larger one.
He gave it away, not looking very happy.
The cashier’s patience is waning, visibly.
But she amounts the cash and helps him as he packs.
Then he gets annoyed as his long bread roll cracks.
He halts and decides to break it into three; it goes into the bag.
The cashier turns with a bright smile to a queue in lag!
Golden Locks
within the minute of retreat your back is tuned to your enemy's chorus
harmonic to your freedom, measured by compassion, anxiously seeking their humanity
thought ascending from stars see's an ounce of mercy surrounded in darkness
a defeated purpose which drove them to the heavens
those who have reserved hope find some place to accept the truth
a test of how far our courage outlast the chaos from all life's passed
mystery's enlightened path never reached the end of suffering
to the likeness of a fumbled method
we could now follow like the atoms of Eve
disconcerted absence to our eutrophic eyes
spreading legs like artificial soul
momentarily creators of their own excitement
movement supported by those who think your great
everybody who realizes the dream
shape your reflection and let the background find it's own feet
Apparent peace soon merged with equality
freedom's lark rests on the soles of a war monger's foot
peace showed up in a fresh pair of socks
the talking corps relates a message conspired by his earthy tones
sighting the great spoils and burnt offers of a desired sin
while designs of old are searched for something missing
past events re-invented an old tool of the government this ambiguous wireless chip
lets us say all of thing they can tax and the rest we make it our garden patch
Hear a babe in his crib who is wailing,
left there with a rash that’s got infected
From hours of sobbing, his voice is trailing . . .
What monsters left their son so neglected?
Now see a girl; she’s only four years old.
She is lost and feels so disconcerted.
It’s getting dark; the wind is bitter cold.
How long will she survive, now deserted?
Picture this: A pimple-faced boy, fourteen
is walking home from a dance, dejected.
The girls he asked for a dance were so mean!
Why stay there longer being rejected?
See a bride. Her groom's not there. She's in tears.
She waits with her many guests at the church
as she faces one of her secret fears.
She can't believe she's been left in a lurch.
A groom sees his bride on his wedding day
walk down the aisle. He can’t wait to be hitched.
Suddenly she turns! She’s a runaway!
His smile fades, for he knows that he’s been ditched.
See someone wed for years – hair turning grey.
Her sons are grown; she’s a sad rose wilted
next to her ex-husband’s young fiance -
the epitome of being jilted!
But wait . . .the most tragic by far
together with these others I have lumped.
This last poor soul is carried in a car
to the woods where - throat slashed - she then is dumped.
June 18, 2020
For the Thesaurus - Abandon Or Abandoned Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Sitting having coffee at the classy Brassiere
Everyone is laughing, and they’re speaking niceties
Isn’t it lovely just to sit and chitter chat
Instead of being me in my lonely habitat
Not to be heavy weather, just to be light and gay
Able to flirt with strangers able to chat away
The woman across from me is glorious to see
She chats with everyone, she is so beautiful and free
I bet her life is happy, without much care or strife
She knows what she is after, able to grab at life
Soft spoken and graceful, yet with hunger lush and ripe
Observing her I sit alone, the studious silent type
She smiles softly, and her smile it lights the room
The men are entranced, she attracts like exotic perfume
Oh I wish I could be like her one never alone
I somehow feel out of touch, I’m always on my own
Such happy smiling faces, a young man just glanced at me
I wonder if he’s lonely, he looked but cannot see
The person that is hiding, the secret inner me
Such a lot of giggly laughter, clever chic repartee
The young man seems disconcerted, maybe he’s very shy
Now the woman’s flirting with yet another passer bye
Maybe her head is empty, maybe there’s nothing there
She needs the admiration she needs the men who stare
So maybe I should be thankful for all that’s inside me
She can only see herself, but dear world I see thee.
I feel the familiar burn of abandonment
A feeling that anyone sane would resent
And yet I bask in it—the disconcerted lament
Angrily I tear at the seas and weeds of lies
Saying nothing but curses—bidding goodbyes
Painstakingly waiting for the cruel waters to rise
But you never rose, you fool!
You graded me into your gruel
An inadequate tool—yes, a screwed up tool!
Here I am again and no one has won
Feeding on the nothingness you willingly spawn
Nothing but GONE—who the hell won!?
I thought you were a journey’s rest!
But you are nothing but a wrong-turned address
Spilling me over in a bloody, dead mess
I want to turn away tonight
And never look your direction
Because no matter how hard, I cannot fight
The seas of succulent depression!
You were fixed
At the expense of my misery
At the expense of an inadequate tool
I have never been a believer in destiny or fate
and hate the thought of a fence without a gate.
Freedom should be a bounty offered to everyone
and I don't just mean when the day's work is done.
After each ripened harvest there should be a gain
of useful things gathered and lessons learned remain.
I've the mindset of que sera sera; what will be will be
it eliminates anxiety and it's always worked for me.
I'm often accused of having my head stuck in a book
So, if you can't find me, that'd be a good place to look.
Chances are I'll be reading about cloudless blue skies
or some dismal love story in which the sad damsel cries.
It's curiosity that keeps me turning pages of a tome,
to visit places, I'd love to see like Japan, Athens and Rome.
I usually carry a backpack with me, filled with books...
not caring if people stare at me with disconcerted looks.
~~~
Soft graceful effortless magnificence
From sweeping preambles omnipresence
O’er marine moistening proclamations
Tides flowing distanced admirations
Warm simple potency unprotected
Leads ancient seafarers disconcerted
To destine improvements phenomenon
Place complete peacefulness comprehension
~~~
©2014 by Regina Riddle
THE LIGHTHOUSE - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: nette onclaud
September 23, 2014
Random happenings of life
get out of record just as quick.
They may sustain however, to boost
our own morals in some tranquil moment, especially
when such incidents have been generated by our own
learnt values and kindness; a helping
hand to a pregnant woman in the
store; accompanying a child
across the road
and like yesterday;
I was drawn with concern as an
old modest lady, preceding me out of bank, dropped her
fat purse. I rushed dropping my heavy office bag to secure
it and called to her, brandishing her valuable.
She looked back bewildered and exclaimed
“Oh!” as she recognized her belonging.
A disconcerted look painted
her face red and she grabbed
my hand with the wallet. Desperation
and relief was the new image on her panic stricken face.
She nearly hugged me mumbling incoherent words of
gratitude and relief. I smiled kindly,
assuring her it was nothing.
She explained she was
saved from a great loss.
I advised her to check the content
and made sure she placed it inside her bag.
I returned back her thankful smile and turned back to pick
my bag. I waved to her as I rushed. I look back, once at the
crossing; she was still standing dazed,
gazing at me, her handbag strongly
clutched beneath her arm.
I waved to her and smiled to
myself crossing. There were springs
in my paces; I felt so good. I glanced around at everyone,
feeling happy and proud. The sun looked brighter in the blue
sky as clouds move decisively. The world
seemed suddenly more beautiful.
My day was made!
We were taught
that to be qu**r
means to be strange,
to be unlike the rest,
to be different,
but not in a way that would raise surprised brows
or taint eyes green with jealousy.
We were taught
that to be qu**r
means to be different
in a way that would produce uneasy “oh”s
or disapproving “how could that be”s.
To be qu**r was
a rising sea of loneliness drowning us
but later it became comforting furry blankets
we’d pull up to the tips of our heads at night—
there was safety in keeping our lips shushed.
You call it hiding in the closet
we call it an embroiling conflict with ourselves
of loving and hating,
of pretending to be not so different,
of letting your homophobic jokes slide,
of knowing that we’re silent because we’re also afraid to hear the truth—
that we’re also sometimes disconcerted by this part of ourselves,
for that’s just the way we do it.
We learn, over time,
as we find out that that kid in our Chemistry class
likes painting his nails,
and that girl in our neighbourhood
scribbles hearts over the Cara Delevingne posters on her bedroom wall,
we learn that maybe
we’re not so different.
We teach ourselves
to give to ourselves
the love we want to give to people who make our hearts flutter,
to accept ourselves
the way want to be by our mothers and fathers,
to embrace ourselves
the way we embraced that friend who came out to us.
We teach ourselves to take off the blanket and sleep in the open instead.
We teach ourselves to keep swimming and swimming no matter how ferocious the currents grow.
We teach ourselves to love all the seven hues in our skies
and to let go of the people who don’t find rainbows beautiful.
We teach ourselves to battle the ridicule and dismissals and bullying,
to no more despise the way our hearts beat.
We teach ourselves to no more pretend to be ’normal’
for we already are normal.
We no longer subdue our voices to the pits of our anxious stomachs
Instead, we sing in a chorus of the hues in our skies,
for we are here
and we are qu**r
and that’s just the way we do it.
I ask him his favorite color.
Mine is blue.
He tells me, "Black."
I must have looked disconcerted,
Because he hastens to explain-
Not for a morbid reason...
He just likes the color.
I considered.
Black is
All the sharp and flat piano keys
It's the soft darkness you savor
Before subjecting yourself to
The harsh brightness of morning
It's the color of a kiss
Because you always close your eyes
It's my favorite dress, or printed words, or
The clean line of an brushstroke on canvas
Black is a silhouette against a sunset
Or the deepened shadows before the dawn
It's a night sky or a raven's wing
The pureness of a pool of ink
It's a storm cloud rolling in
As the wind holds its breath
Before shattering the sky
Into a thousand pieces
Edged in light
It's the deepness of the sea
At midnight
Black is the soft curls of his hair.
Black is his eyes, which shine...
I decide black
Is one of my favorite colors too.
Cried she concealingly in her heart,
felt lone and heavy,
disconcerted she was from her graceless life ,
Waited for the support of someone's hand,
and his courteous voice.
Shoddy reason it was which her family verbalised,
downhearted she felt in her mundane life,
she burked her feelings and tried to take a breath,
But found it effete tto restrain her mind and flesh,
and died with the charge of annihilating oneself.
No one knew that her parents cursed her,
None knew how gravely her thrashing went on ,
Nobody knew that she was treated extrinsic,
Not any soul knew ,
That she was tormented so hard.
Her body was thrown into a stream nearby,
Not a proper burial was given to that innocent child,
and twenty two she was with a beautiful smile,
but was only tortured,
B'coz she was born as a 'Girl Child'.
The air is still
A feel of freshness is about
After a short sharp shower
Smell of grass and plants are overcoming
It is an old cemetery
Headstones all askew
Some overgrown with ivy
Like a brides veil it hides from view
Names and places
Of loved ones, hmm
Wonder if they called them that
When they were living at home
My nosiness overcomes me,
Scraping away some of the ivy
I read my name, a trifle disconcerted
I pull at the ivy looking for dates and where
Was dated today, I catch my breadth
Was this the beginning of my decline,
Only when I pulled myself together………..
I saw it was dated 100 years ago
Smiling I tidy the plants,
Making them look as though
they hadn’t been disturbed,
then I wondered, who was she!
How and why did she die?
Was she family from the past
I felt a tightening around my throat
Was she telling me she was murdered
Or warning me
gripping my throat I staggered away.
Watch this Space........
Penned 25/9/2016
Contest overgrown with vines
Caress the aching tears of 'morrows
it rains in regret's remembrances,
sustained of sand-like grit 'tween frothy
mimsy and mayhem endeavoring to
rise above the fray within prayer's favor mid
escaped disconcertion of seeping hourglass sand,
weeping 'neath copious cloudbursts
Walked a wooded trail, suddenly unsure of my surroundings,
wondered had I'd become lost..
only a moment disconcerted, as dusk grew nearer.
I went over an old river crossed by an even older bridge,
there not seen and yet to see a small child oddity.
for no town or village folk walked alone on so cold a day.
Just as I chose to wave and hail a hearty hello
a calm little sound, uttered from within the vicinity, albeit echoed...
"Gallows now covered in hoarfrost and rime..
scarce to hear angel's plea as guilty beg.
Ever flawless, never just as in Time,
though Adam's rib, borrowed as spindly leg."
What my ears heard my head denied in meaning,
such a strange thing for a child to utter.
She turned toward the foot of the bridge I plied,
wondered at what trick, my eye deceived.
The girl grew faintly scintillating with lack of substance in the gloomy air
as a mist or fume of smoke. Aghast., I stood on trembling legs akin to the variety..
she had so oddly fashioned in her sing songy discord.
Now spirit of another world, would ask to let me pass by.
with pleasure would grant your path ease.,if you were same as I..
Plain to those of us in mortal realm, where feet grow tired and cold
yet still leave footsteps along the path I've found.
Your feet, as much can be described, bare and unfeeling of the shadowy damp..
and don't quite reach the ground.
And with this further insult meant as challenge the wraith like apparation vanished.
Couldn't move quickly enough through rows of hedges and over fences til my feet found the common road at last..
I could still faintly hear a child's sing songy echo in voice..
"Gallows now covered in hoarfrost and rime..
scarce to hear angel's plea as guilty beg.
Ever flawless, never just as in Time,
though Adam's rib, borrowed as spindly leg."
Happy All Hallows' Eve