Best Dismissal Poems
Where do you come from, vacant-eyed
hag, and where do you go from here?
Witching your way from border to bay,
who will your mumbling hear?
The babe in the bower is safe for an hour
while you intone your hideous cries;
the man in the wood not even you could
harm with your malevolent eyes.
Scat! with the brat who accompanies that
noise which you wail with spoon on pail.
Sail 'cross the sky on your broom or fly
down the chimney of some dungeon dimly
lit by the flare of gaseous air.
We'll not heed your pitiful creed
nor miss your darkening frown.
Go, Despair! Get out of town!
Death’s Dismissal
I have seen death
masquerading in its many faces,
the fear of those holding numbers,
the agony of those not. Stared into
the dimly fading headlights of the
passing vehicle, slowing as the vision
dimmed, the agony increased.
I have seen death
take the unsuspecting in an instant,
snatch the breath of youth, impose its
ugliness upon an empty future,
string barbed wire upon memory.
I have watched death
peering cowardly from non-existent
shadows, haunting our moments without
care, stealing, in hurtful bits and pieces,
the warmth of life’s slowing breath.
I have touched death
in weakness and denial of my life,
pleaded for release without conviction,
felt the loneliness and terror of submission,
saw the saddened eyes of death’s dismissal,
heard a number called, not mine, but death’s.
John G. Lawless
submitted to Death Shadow – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Justin Bordner
Yesterday, on the 20th of March 2016 on the BBC,
On The Andrew Marr Show about politics weekly,
I did see Ian Duncan-Smith, government member,
Say something that upset me, I do remember.
“I am not morality, I leave that to church men.”
But can't anyone decide what makes you a christian?
I understand evolution, and that gives me values,
Sets standards and boundaries for thanks and dues.
I am sitting here alone,
I look around and I see:
The couches you wanted to be here,
Brown leather, brownish auburn leather,
Couches made of a football dream,
Shattered, or a football dream
Imagined;
I see a misplaced shelf,
Once towering over my desk and a dream of togetherness.
I look some more and I see the bar stools by the kitchen counter,
Empty;
No children to sit in them, a family dismissed.
I see a light oak kitchen table placed by the
Dark cherry hutch.
Once a set,
Now two individual pieces that quietly state,
Their will to not belong.
I listen to the sounds and I hear:
I can hear my heart beating as it always has.
I listen closer and I can hear the baby breathing.
The breath of new life, hopeful and unaware,
An existence allowed by chance.
I breathe in the air of this small apartment
And I smell:
I smell the candles burning;
Please keep burning as you might be able to burn
The cells that cause me to remember.
I smell sadness,
I smell an unkempt apartment and an unkempt union.
I close my eyes and I try to feel and sense:
I sense your presence still lingering here.
I dial your number, the number meant to be my answer,
…no answer.
My call has been transferred to an automated voice mail system,
My call has been transferred to the dismissal of emotions.
I sit still and listen some more:
I listen to the me that is left, telling me to stop holding on.
Please let go of your embrace.
I will go taking the best of you with me as
You accidentally gave yourself a chance to start over.
I will replace your sweet lies with the loyal truth.
I will never seek happiness in a glass or in a white line.
I will never seek happiness amongst people that live
as drums beating to the sound of emptiness.
I will walk sober, and will embrace
Life and death intoxicated only by images of happiness
That will be earned.
We walk different paths for a reason. I can’t follow you because
I will elude myself along the path that you have chosen.
I refuse to be a ghost before my time has come;
Your freedom to not be will be my freedom to become.
Alone I enter my dim empty house and mourn our slain president
Monoku
Written 2/15/22
Oh the days ,where uncertainty fears
Now a golden crops field I will make over your chest
thousands mile long that the row ,
So need not it wait for tomorrow
Long walk and long rest ,after where will we be!
I will husk beneath the rays of autumn sun
cuddling ur arms and no comma between twos.
There be built a mountain of love that depth has crossed
Mariana Trench
Sipping the weave of ocean that flows to life line through .
Just now the days we inherited and sang with the wild flowers
either Primrose or Elestren smells arround
we've bathed in luke worm mythed water.
You can drink the holy love from the lap of happiness
A day is very long to wait for next ray
From dawn ,lest a shadow be missed or the crispy morning
And a mourn will be moaning in next evening.
Love for next sun ,hopping dismissal
and fadded
A rhythm won't rhyme with hymns of Magpie and be frozen,
Let's glass the dark door and not for next yards
We can brighten the sun over the heads
and polish a golden crops field today close to dear.
I could sing a verse till my last breath,
I could worship the love till the last sun set
I could love the Almighty till He alives
I could and could wait to touch your hands
if the next sun was not and not the uncertain.
Now I overhelmed with with summer blushing
need a basin like Bikal
I want to drink all stream's honey drops
I can't wait to lose a single twinkling
Just having thirst of my love deity,
wrapped by your embrace and passing the uncertain race over a long meadow.
Ah, Inhale life
onto the paper I shall write
Be it dark or be it light
while the inner fire’s burning;
now the wheels shall be turning
It feels just right
It flows so freely
out of the depths of me
This ambitious attraction
to cascade and spill,
and all the lonely hours it does fill
For this reclusive writer
Chooses to live within her mind
there she shall be for hours at a time
And time passes so promptly and measured
moments have ended
For that, that is treasured
I will idolize my tranquility
And bleed out my reflections
In hopes I may be reconnected
Paradoxes
Are stories with
Responses of
Disbelief..or a
Certain immediate
And quiet resonance
Which cannot be
Explained..
Nevertheless...
We stand outside, in heat or cold
And one by one, each class
Is marched outside to reunite
With we who wait, en masse.
The teachers watch to match each child
With parent, sitter or
A nana or a grandpa
Huddled near the exit door.
The children run to give a hug
To those who stand and wait,
The teachers glad their obligations
They can abdicate.