Best Dithers Poems
Blondie is forever young.
Rosy cheeks and lips bee-stung.
Her nicely waved hair is perfection.
One wonders at the odd connection
To lazy Dagwood so unkempt,
To comb his hair, makes no attempt.
Truth told he would rather stay in bed.
Pay no heed to what Mr.Dithers said.
Dust yawns in a forgotten corner
knowing the lazy hand will never
disturb its slumber.
Flies flit in and out
spiders weave their
geometric wonders and wait.
Dust wanders aimlessly
in the afternoon haze
neglect brings a deathly
serenity.
Dust's drowsy dance dithers
in forlorn insignificance.
A shrine of dust locks away
memories of the past
as dreams decay in
suffocating silence.
Written on 3/21/2017
I cannot hear.
Sound has lost its crispness.
Articulated consonants
have merged into blurred murmurings.
The loss was not sudden.
No cataclysmic happening
but rather a gentle deterioration
of a faculty, once taken for granted.
Normal conversation, once a joy,
has become a struggle.
Repartee, chit chat, a little banter
is no more.
The quality of sound
once reverberated and filled spaces;
now I have no spaces – just tinnitus,
constantly grinding away.
To be sightless is to be aware,
with other senses sharpened;
but deafness leads to
introspection, loneliness and a deep despair.
The half blind wear their glasses
and look so very wise.
The deaf man, with his hearing aid,
dithers.
I should know.
~
A gentle turn
changing colors, changing pattern
greet you lively, fill your transfixed eye
you can’t resist looking through even if you try.
A gentle move
changing feelings, changing groove
enchant you within, entice your heart
you can’t stop trying even if anew you start.
A gentle twist
changing concerns, changing wish-list
enrich relationships close, please others
you don’t lose trying even if the mind dithers.
A gentle jerk
changing vista, changing framework
transform you, liven your listless life
you can’t stop doing even in times of strife.
A gentle tap
changing design, changing roadmap
morph the mind, create colored hope
you can’t desist looking in the kaleidoscope.
When summer comes the fruit abounds
Red apples are giggling above
Number of heads below surrounds
It's in the air, I felt the love
When the red hearts was harvested
People departed happily
Empty!? -- the tree was affected
The baskets run bountifully
...
When autumn comes the tree withers
The green leaves turned to orange ones
Seems like the surrounding dithers
The tree was alone, people shuns
When red apples are elusive
Could you sense the word importance?
Now that it was left reclusive
Just get the leaves of acceptance
...
When winter comes coldness blossoms
The tree freezes, the people warms
Feeling of numbness as snow comes
Leaves are gone, sorrowing conforms
When whiteness covers the whole place
The tree were left in emptiness;
While they celebrate in their place
The tree seems dead on aloofness
...
When spring comes revival occurs
The tree recovers back to life!
Leaves are growing while sadness cures
Folks came back expecting its rife
When birth of abundance arouse
A rainbow of happiness grows
Eyes are as fresh as trees, it wows
Warmth feeling goes and now they're close
...
The seasons in life may fluctuate
Relationship could go and change
But God's great love will perpetuate
It's the love that will never change
The world could leave you in your fall
But you will shine again in spring
No autumn loneliness at all
For God's summer breakthrough will ring!
Wisdom is a fire, a little enlightens and much burns,
Insight and experience are an added fillip,
Some folks are wise and some are otherwise,
Delinquent in his quick temper dithers,
Ore of gold mixed with precious stones,
Man so erudite is a gem bridles ensuant yen !!
The black butterfly,
Wings dithers as the gate creaks,
Open to ones soul.
The sordid thought thicket thrives
within the dungeon of the dark mind,
where the web of tormenting roots wriggles,
entangles all the escape routes,
as qualm deconstructs life’s forest path.
Unsure frail footsteps falter,
deranged wobbly tread dithers,
the root trap and the abyss wait
for the traveller, worn out of walking long,
going jaded to nowhere in the jungle of life.
The survival struggle starts as shovel of resolve
upturns the security soil, fells the trees,
removes the mesh and the darkness,
the crafted pasture of freedom then
looks up to the sky above the dismal canopy.
Destiny isn’t a pretext, the walk is one’s own walk
through the murky maze of the forlorn forest,
where the insightful impulse carves out
a pasture transforming into the garden of bliss,
the inner vision configures in the clearing.
_____________
February 17, 2023
Contest : The Clearing
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
For Brian Strand Premier No. 1194
Sea, who breaks against the shore, reveals the anguish
soul’s soundless urge to feel the mist of impatient waves
remembering the solace, the soothing, the sanctity
beautiful waters scraping against the sand – a sensitive
peace that has the upper hand, the whimsical story
grace falling across the land…
mountains, climbing toward the summer sky, raised
hesitant to softly cry, moaning to the limbs of oak and pine
stealthy leaves in colors of tempting light, arising
so forever never decides to let time pass on by, let time
remember why the dream can silence the nights, fading
through the heart, in inklings of softest cries…
meadows, blown wild as the twilight’s melancholic rhymes,
a story unfolding on the hesitant stems, flowers and grass
revealing the music of a soul who hears the night’s prayers
erasing the fear, pouring out gentle instead, a furious race
between loneliness and the chaotic unrest of a crowd’s laughter,
the story of two who connect…
in rhythms of sea and shore, in the praise of the mountain’s roar
beyond the meadows and beneath the limbs of those oak’s heavy hopes
stirs the silence of a winsome grief so alone, so daunting, so full
like the lingering feeling of unending blue, the melodious ages race to the truth
where anguish evokes the mist of a mourning who is imbittered by doubt,
a mourning who never lets the joy out…
grief is the moment when light meets the dawn, with a fog who dithers, forlorn
risking the silence, risking the heart and soul, risking the moment
before hope withstood the song who colors the heart in lost,
colors the prayers in pitiful words, colors the forsaken in lingering lies
who remember what if feels like to grieve without end, with a grief
that shatters every peace the lives within.
Every peace – apart from Him who comforts beyond the heart’s unrest,
Comforts in a way that is surely blessed… just believe and know His relief is best!
Quick sands of fate cave in
airless darkness invites,
reeds of agonizing marsh slither
hope of escape entangled,
risk paves the life’s walkway
for the destiny to saunter.
Uncalculated steps falter
pace dithers uncontrolled,
the sands and the reeds wait
for the guest to arrive late,
tired of walking a long way
on the life’s walkway.
The survival game begins
in toiling times of journey,
struggling hard to win
treading on the life’s walkway,
until the time comes to join
the ordained farewell party.
Destiny is not an excuse
the walk is one’s own walk,
the walkway lighted or dark
the inner lamp decides,
garden path or marshy trail
the inner vision conceives.
A special space of sanctity
the lamp lighter needs,
and the vision maker seeks
to make the life’s walkway to bliss.
July 16, 2020
Contest : All Yours (Feb 27)
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Kaleidoscope
A gentle turn
changing colors, changing pattern
greet you live, fill your transfixed eyes
you can’t resist looking even if you may try.
A gentle move
changing feelings, changing groove
enchant you within, entice your heart
you can’t stop trying even in a new start.
A gentle twist
changing concerns, changing wish-list
enrich relationships close, please others
you don’t lose trying even if the mind dithers.
A gentle shake
changing vision, changing track
transform you, fulfill your empty life
you can’t stop doing even in times of strife.
A gentle tap
changing design, changing drape
morph the mind, build colored hope
you can’t desist looking in the kaleidoscope.
I have not started writing poems with Poetry Soup. My poetic journey began about ten years ago and on the way I published three books of poems. My first poem on Poetry Soup was Kaleidoscope posted on July 7, 2017 which was a POTD. This excited me beyond measure. I like the poem because our life is like a kaleidoscope with everything changing in response to whatever we do in the impermanent world. Over time I have been enriched as a poet by interacting with some very fine poets on PS and receiving their encouraging comments. I look forward to growing as a poet of substance by being associated with PS and being recognized through the Poetry Contests which I find very innovative, competitive and challenging.
My thought
The nature so beautiful
The world so enchanting
My poems flow from heart full
Of old songs of life pulsating.
Everything seems to collapse now
Like fragile designs in kaleidoscope
As ordained winds of change blow
I write poems of perennial hope.
The Poetry Soup gives me a scope
To take my say to sensitive people
The travails of life we painfully grope
The hope of new sun on poetic ripple.
August 31, 2017.
Once, I was something—a name, a face,
A force in the world, moving with grace.
I built and I bridged, I lifted and led,
A life filled with purpose, a life fully fed.
But now, I’m no one, a shadow’s faint line,
The echoes of work, of projects once mine.
Friends who once gathered now drift far away,
Gone like the years, the night, and the day.
It’s not easy, growing old and gray,
Less days ahead than those slipped away.
The strength I once held now fades in the dusk,
With more to get done, and less I can trust.
The fame and fortune I chased as a prize,
Have faded like stars in the morning skies.
Superficial and fleeting, not as I dreamed,
Just glimmers of gold where emptiness gleamed.
My wife, my dear partner, she left me in time,
Her laugh, her love, her warmth in decline.
Our children are grown, strangers, they seem,
Scattered like leaves in someone else’s dream.
The dogs that once lingered close by my side
Have followed their paths to a place I can't find.
Empty and silent, the house that was home,
Now hollowed with memories, I wander alone.
Each day is mostly sadness, a haze,
Filled with the echoes of faraway days—
The things we once took for granted and light,
Now cherished so dearly in the face of our plight.
I used to be someone; now, I just am,
A face in the mirror, gray and bland.
A retired, forgotten old man, they say,
Who dithers the hours and drifts through the day.
Yet there’s wisdom I hold, though no one may see,
In the spaces I’ve lived, in the work that was me.
The laughter, the struggle, the love, and the loss,
Each scar, each line—they’ve all come at a cost.
For now, I’m no one, a whisper, a breath,
A life that was full, now nearing its death.
But the silence that holds me, it speaks just the same,
Of a life once remembered, of a once-spoken name.
Today I want to take a lethal dose
of black lips, confronting the killer on
contract. Time dithers to escort. May be
a cold-blooded murder of a handful of
sick shadows will give a transparent
memory.
Planting a sad kiss on blameless
insomniac, I rub the sweet tenderness
of morning blossom, a work of a faithful
artist, an unnoticed grief ( for the sake
of old promise). Meanwhile the blue moon
splits into thousand splinters.
From the height of insanity flows
the chaste river of history. I defy the
laws of gravity and climb with death
all the time, becoming dark to myself,
finding the shape of light in
beauty of death.
SATISH VERMA
Today I want to take a lethal dose
of black lips, confronting the killer on
contract. Time dithers to escort. May be
a cold-blooded murder of a handful of
sick shadows will give a transparent
memory.
Planting a sad kiss on blameless
insomniac, I rub the sweet tenderness
of morning blossom, a work of a faithful
artist, an unnoticed grief ( for the sake
of old promise). Meanwhile the blue moon
splits into thousand splinters.
From the height of insanity flows
the chaste river of history. I defy the
laws of gravity and climb with death
all the time, becoming dark to myself,
finding the shape of light in
beauty of death.
SATISH VERMA
It's either too hot or too cold here,
the thermostat in hell must be broke again.
Maybe this is Purgatory
i'm told the Governor of purgatory
can't fix anything and he dithers a lot.
Someone has turned down
the dimmer switch in my mind -
hard to see my thoughts.
Foods a bit stodgy
and there's a shortage of porta-potties.
It’s quite heavenly here on the weekends
and during most 'happy hours',
otherwise there's much murkiness.
I’m driving down a four lane highway
squinting into the foggy rain,
now I see a road sign;
well look at that
it says: 'Welcome to Ohio'.