Best Disturbs Poems
i believe we all
have a poem in our hearts
some need no metaphors
for a poet is a bridge
between words and emotions
connecting hearts and souls
through all four seasons
my heart is not a guesthouse
it's an asylum for the broken
a treasure of memories
of those forgotten
so all the names
written within it
i place into a box
to shelter from storms
as long as there is oxygen
i'll keep them warm
but sometimes I am thunder
because they are like lightening
sometimes it's really frightening
so i curse my heart
for feeling too much
sometimes it curses me
for not forgiving enough
maybe that's why
when they move forward,
i take a step backwards
losing the gravity of my voice
because sometimes i feel frozen
isolated on an unknown island
profoundly pondering
about the equity of love
it's not always fair - if ever
all i ask from these strangers
is to leave their ego at the door
for dishonesty and hypocrisy
disturbs one's tranquillity
from silence of the womb
to darkness of the tomb
some pens remain dormant
some suffer from insomnia
life is not butterflies and lullabies
so i keep writing in the hope
one day someone will understand
continuing to release emotive ink
with a message in each poem
hidden behind metaphors
Beyond the sun's celestial dominion,
past purple shimmers of twilight,
I delve far beyond moonlight's golden glow
into the darkness of pilloried memories,
continually searching for answers but fail to find
those that keep my heart fettered in chains.
Within my restless sleep reveries trespass,
flowing through saturnine channels of my mind,
flooding my heart until only sorrow remains
with pensive images I thought I'd left behind.
I'm blinded, not by the bloom of starlight,
but by bewildering moments in time.
Dismal are the murky shadows looming
in the corners of these cavernous hollows.
They hover over my drubbing heart,
whispering taunts in descending echoes.
I grow impatient to end their clamor.
High is the morning's rushing tide,
reaching its frothy fingers out for me.
I rest on grains of moist ochre sand,
winnowing far beyond the limits
of disconsolate bereavement.
It's here that Autumn's demise
wears a shroud of withered leaves.
I lie quietly, waiting to close my eyes,
my tormented heart lingering in grief
that has haunted me since long ago.
As the sun begins its ascent from the sea,
dawn disturbs my quest for eternal peace.
October 8, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 16 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
~~~~~~~~~
Originally posted on 10~20~2016
Apple blossoms flutter in the breeze. Awakening,
Barefoot to the brook we go, brightly scampering,
Counting caterpillars discovered on our way -
Daffodil and daisy picking this delightful day.
Enjoying the earth’s rebirth, revitalized are we!
Free, like foals we frolic through the fields with energy.
Green surrounds us; onto grass gratefully we fall.
Happy to have found this heaven, on a hill we sprawl.
Invigorated by our rest, in a little while,
Joyously we jump right up; we only have a mile. . .
Knowing we are getting close, faster now we run,
Leaping over lilies lying lush beneath the sun.
Myriads of other meadow flowers now appear.
Nature’s hidden splendor is getting very near.
Over by an old oak tree, it’s coming into view!
Picture perfect, it presents a pure and pleasant hue.
Quickly we approach it, without a single qualm.
Refreshingly it beckons us; our romp disturbs its calm.
Suddenly we’re splashing , and later we will seek
Tadpoles that are teeming in this, our secret creek.
Until the sun has disappeared in the April sky,
Vibrant crimson will have spilled through clouds. We say goodbye
With great reluctance to our brook, which has been for us
Xanadu! But now the warmth of home awaits us. Thus. . .
Youthful frolicking is finished. We have left the stream.
Zesty I could be again but only in a dream!
Submitted Dec. 4, 2021 on Word: Zesty
For the '''Z'' Contest, New or Old -' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Saturated by solitude,
I breathe the scent of wild flowers.
Nearby a lake, I recline against a willow.
The lake mirrors wisps of twilight’s clouds above.
A lilac trail in the sky is darkening to grape.
Here, where all is serene,
not even a breeze disturbs the willow’s slender limbs.
Hardly do I miss the hectic pace of life
which I have left behind.
Instead I allow my soul to linger
in evening’s long, sweet caress.
Soon, moon’s face will glitter in the water
as I lie back peacefully
in stillness.
Nov. 1, 2021
for unseeking seeker's
'Vibrant blissful stillness ' Poetry Contest
A harvest breeze invites the leaves
to shimmy on the tree.
In haunting song she sighs and grieves
as on her breath they flee.
They dance and twirl away from her,
sweet fragrance lingers where they were,
they dance and twirl,
they dance and twirl
toward the twilight of the year.
A gentle moonlight bathes the leaves
that lie upon the ground.
Her magic with them interweaves
in midnight’s silent sound.
They turn to gold from jaded green
beneath the moon’s cool waxen sheen,
they turn to gold,
they turn to gold,
and gild a graceful autumn scene.
A winter wind disturbs the leaves
as they so soundly sleep.
The tree’s loss, so the wind believes,
gives him the right to reap.
He whips them up and whispers low
that all the golden leaves must go,
he whips them up,
he whips them up
to clear the way for soft white snow.
Flowers Emerge
Impose your will on the pretty flowers as you may
Trans-formative wonderment of nature
Entrenched, defiled, they pop up any way in clusters
Vivacious are the colors above the solid stem
Cut cold to death, decay and pain, to follow winters grip
Excellence defined in the ability to survive
Dangerous are the forces that persist to derogate them
Yet they prevail against all odds
Death comes but they regenerate
Grass is their shield. Dirt is their pillow there
Negative winds carry with them ice
Reds and yellows grow on below the sun
Visceral, strangled roots, fragile faces, petal soft, grow cold
Ingenious species, green with envy on the leaf, rise again
A Cacophony of nature’s birds and bees disturbs the peace
Flowers come in abundance, remain, friendly on the green
Distinguished in divine fashion, exquisite, generous to the last
Elevated smiles on pollen grains contain the seed of life
Flowers emerge, aware of life
11/22/14 Poetry Contest - "Encounters With Flowers"
“When you find someone who can turn your world around for better, tell him/her everything you wish to say. Perhaps your dreams that never came true may be realized. Who knows”~ By Poet
Slowly fades the light of day’s solemn hours.
The sky in colors of amber and pink marvels.
Desert roses from crannies peek their heads out.
Here amid hills and slopes, we roam hand in hand,
Tireless and unvexed in thoughtless joy.
Stirred to ecstasy by the sweet serenade of birds.
Among the hills I know of a dreamy lake
To its bank, shall we go where nothing disturbs?
There I'll affix the stamp of binding love. Are you ready?
“Why can't we all just get along”
Rodney King once uttered these words
As current today as it was back then
Our “head in the sand” thinking, it disturbs
We're all just members of the human race
Why divide us up, us and them
Brothers that will meet our maker one day
What's so very important until then
In the overall scheme of earthly things
Only love should rise above all
Colour, language and religion all secondary
Co-existence must be installed
Maybe I'm just whistling in the wind
But if my small voice does make a difference
Then hear me loud and clear as I shout
To reject it is a display of ignorance
Through somber steps each climb is made;
The fruitless efforts fail.
Thus, love unshared and work unpaid
Disturbs the nightingale.
In song it copes
With fears and hopes;
From limbs it hung,
All feelings sung.
Warm waters crawl beneath its wings
On lonely twilight trips.
Yet, cold of nighttime softly stings
The feet with which he grips.
So many are the shamed
Whose sorry sights were aimed
To win the hopeless fight;
The one unanswered plight.
Where care once came
Comes only shame;
Now only rhyme
Recalls the time
When lovers held each other tight
On nights of endless laughter.
The nightingale would take its flight,
Rejoicing ever after.
But friends refuse each others hands,
The sign of cherished life.
On edge of death his heart now stands.
Serrated is the knife.
Now gone away again to mourn
The winged creature flies,
Until the warmth of love reborn
Revives the sunken eyes--
Those bitter sockets filled with tears
Reflect the speckled moon.
Escape from tortured life appears--
He ends the final tune.
The zephyr breeze disturbs the leaves
through pristine forest trees,
and water gurgles over rocks,
while coursing to the seas,
disputing shrieks beyond all sight,
as if there is a riot,
yet with the gloom I left behind,
this does become my quiet.
Thunder bolts though distant now,
are carried on the cloud,
a rustle made in dying grass,
can be a nervous loud.
Sombre tones of crackling fire,
may well fill the night -
where natural balance poises,
this quiet I will not fight.
She passes the place
where I sit some mornings,
her slow, sure gait pads
a gentle elegance across
the grass carrying
just a hint of indifference.
Retired from racing,
she has been adopted out.
She seems contained within
herself, ignoring the yappy terrier
and the playful retriever
that bounds towards her
on her right, not shifting
her gaze as if transfixed
on some vision
she holds in her head.
Nothing of the morning
disturbs her meditations.
I often wonder whether
she is playing out a trauma
that has lodged in her memory
or can't fit the past and present
together into some reconcilable
whole or her aloofness
is just the nature of the breed
and the interpretation
of her manner
has more to do with me.
There is a solitude in her
that I cannot fathom and troubles
me. Sometimes I feel
like bending down
and putting my arms around
her lovely neck but a reticence
holds me back as we both
go our separate ways,
each with our own solitude
held locked within.
I sometimes feel a unique vibration within
my own ears. My baby’s crying, calling from beneath his quilted,
baby-blues. His sobs rustle the warm sheath of home.
Before my mind reacts, my body is up, hastily tip-toeing
into the nightlight’s calming glow of a cow jumping over the moon.
Outside a soggy, spring night splatters under streetlights
like urban art. A steady rhythm of flowing rain
beats down on puddled pavements. My baby’s cries
reverberate as they reach that instinctual part of me,
somewhere deep within my diaphragm and through my heart.
A mother’s astute ears know the subtle variations of her own
children’s breath in sleep…I hurry to the shadows of my baby’s crib
to find him curled up, eyes still closed; little whimpers
and groans escape from his open lips…a bad dream, I realize.
I gently rub his back, shushing away all that disturbs his peace,
and I wonder about a child’s impressionable mind…
what intrusions of an innocent day could bring a bellowed anguish
to the sweet dreams of a carefree boy not yet two?
I listen to him tumble in and out of his fear until his breath is a tranquil hum…
only then, do I hear the music of an early morning’s falling rain.
Another prompt, just another poem,
but are these genuine feelings I'm showing?
I think of past versions of my existence,
changing with each season without resistance.
But now I'm too fatigued to study myself,
so leave me alone on a dusty bookshelf.
Sitting upon the edge of unread distant shores,
soul sighs, tired from being a misunderstood metaphor.
Sometimes the inner child loves to run wild,
try to be patient, he forgets how he once smiled.
I can't keep blaming those ghosts from childhood,
but it disturbs the mind when all I see is graphic blood.
I'm trying hard to control these red mists of rage,
to start a new chapter with new verses on a page.
I search for avenues that lead me to chapters of purity,
but this facade hides behind deep suppressed insecurity.
Low self esteem massacres my confidence,
I'm just a man who sometimes lacks common sense.
My outbursts of slaughter are just a means for defence,
apologise in advance if I caused any offence.
Forgive me, I can never take back the sorrows I caused,
but is that any reason for love to remain paused?
You won't see any tears, but they hide my fears.
I've seen through the years that torment never clears.
Encrypted musings of my heart hide behind pain,
Sometimes the wounds reappear and still strain.
I close every door to find silent solitude,
but these devious demons begin to intrude.
Ranting and raving as the Devil joins the queue,
wanting to take me to a darkness that I once knew.
Toxic vampires sucking at my bleeding empathy,
compassion goes out of fashion lacking sympathy.
I try to explain but my views only frustrate,
after a while it seems my opinions are out of date.
Then you wonder why I refuse to communicate,
ignorance of my emotions isn't up for debate.
Silence seems to be the best form of narration.
No one is listening to the angst of my damnation.
I'm content in the deep depths of isolation,
don't summon my soul without an invitation.
Silent One
23 March 2022
Viewed from the snow covered mountain
Slopes laden with flower beds like
Colorful vase of flowers
I saw the* Him Kamal flower
I asked, “Why are you all alone?
Beauty is to be adored”
Should give yourself before
Your petals fall to dust”.
Quick came the response from flower
“Am not lonely, enjoy these heights
Shelter of blue umbrella”.
I asked if I crush your petals
The flower said he would be glad
Its fragrance will radiate.
Purpose of life fulfilled
If destroyed not admired.
Nearby look at the snowy streams
Ripples flowing kicking each other
Exhilarating music.
Our life like ever flowing streams
Water running towards ocean
Currents never turning back
Perennial flow of life
Small life merging in big.
The nature is peace all around
She only disturbs who disturbs
She teaches wisdom to those
Praise her beauty, not destroy her.
Develop the aesthetic sense
To feel the nature’s beauty.
Looking into the sky
Searching their gardener.
=========================
Date 10-1-14
Third place win in
Contest: Thank you by P.D.
Eighth place win in:
Contest: Maverick Free verse sponsored by John Freeman
Silently white snow falling
Covering the ground in a pristine blanket
Purest white, luminous in the night
Muffling the silence of the night
Into an even deeper reflection
Stillness not of the head, but of the soul.
I sit quiet and let the blank spaces fill me
Driving out the pain
Driving out the sadness
Driving out the regret
Filling my emptiness with cold solace
Slowly the snow stops
Night sky is revealed
An ebony quilt covered in dust-like jewels
Too numb to twinkle.
Dark trees reach winding limbs to catch the stars
No wind moves them ,
Or disturbs the spliced flakes
No wind cries in the night
No animal howls its loneliness,
No crying from my heart
I am filled with stillness.