Best Down To Me Poems
Italian restaurant; pasta and wine - red, like the eyes of a bat,
Screeching from a cave, dark as the eyes of a snowman,
Coal plucked from a bucket, the mop was deposed -
By the broom, new sovereign of all instruments
Resound with the trumpet on Everest’s peak
High as a clown doused with vodka,
Watery eyes drip deep to the void.
Abyss without meaning that threatens to consume all life -
In an Italian restaurant.
Makeup: lonely face and painted smile
Dark hole: crying into nothing
Hell exists after all. It claws towards me,
Dragging me down and holding me tight.
Then I am lifted, eyes flashing.
It is my turn at the abyss….
Another stares down to me as I reach up with spindly hands.
Seaweed turtle abyss
Smoke, Poodles! Mystic Weed.
Touching on my friends tweed.
Baloomp he goes as his red nose falls off.
Falling to the ground forever like a knife at my throat.
Help me the glassy shine remains, slicing through the endless vacuum of time.
Below may be aliens, enemies, frenemies, or even God? But all I know is the megladown stops me from reaching thee in the black hole below and above- an abyss of loss an abyss of soul an abyss of time has made me its fool. Baloomp he says to me. Awakened I see nothing. Nothing. Nothing and me.
28 February 2020
Written for "Clown at the Abyss" contest, sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
One in a million’s not enough
To say what he meant to me.
One from out of the whole wide world
That is what the theme should be.
He was my son, my only son,
The first of my children three.
I knew that I was truly blessed
When God sent him down to me.
He was born hungry so he cried
For a bit those first few days,
Until his mother understood
The feeding schedule maze.
Once his hunger was satisfied
And he had begun to grow
No sweeter child has ever lived
Nor delightful one to know.
His complexion would put to shame
Any model’s of the day,
His nature, that of an angel,
Was his for a lifelong stay.
He welcomed first little sister
When he turned the age of two.
No jealously did he display
And he knew to be gentle too.
He had pets and he treated them
With great tenderness and care.
If anyone or thing was hurting
My son was the first one there.
His elementary teacher said,
When trouble brewed on school ground,
My son found the way to fix it
If a fair fix could be found.
He had a very brilliant mind.
He read books to make him think.
If we had a knotty problem
He’d be first to fix the kink.
He gave measure for full measure
And then gave just a bit more
When dealing with his fellowman
Whether they were rich or poor.
He loved this world we all live in
And could always find a way
To find enjoyment in it.
He made the best of every day.
He brought me no pain or sorrow,
But filled my heart with pride
And happy to be his mother
Until the sad day he died.
God sent His angels down for him,
Just before he turned fifty-six.
He’d been born with a heart problem
Even my bright son couldn’t fix.
won 6th place in Linda marie's One in a Million contest.
For One in a Million Contest
How I loved spending a week of the summer holidays with my grandparents. Gramps would come and pick me up in his old pick- up truck, dad would bundle my suitcase into the back and I’d be on my way. Gramps would whistle as we wended our way along the winding country lanes until we reached their stone cottage. Grandma would be waiting for us to appear at the door, she always be wearing her checked apron which was flecked with flour. She’d scoop me up in her arms, and carry me into the cosy kitchen where the aroma of cooling gingerbread lingered in the air.
wheat from the old mill
freshly ground into white flour
grandma’s been baking
I would spend many hours in the garden with gramps, in the spring I’d helped him to plant lots of vegetable seeds and now summer had arrived they were ready to be harvested. Gramps would give me a ride in his old wooden red wheelbarrow, the wheel would squeak as he pushed me along the uneven ground and I would squeal with delight when we went over the bumps. In the vegetable garden we would pick perfect pea pods that were fit to burst with juicy green peas, bright orange carrots and creamy cauliflowers which reminded me of brains. All the produce would be placed into the wheelbarrow and I would help gramps to trundle it along the path to the kitchen door. Grandma would be busy in the kitchen and I’d help by podding the peas ready for our evening meal. I loved the popping sound of the pods as I pressed them to release the shiny peas.
from a tiny seed
colourful vegetables grow
harvest time arrives
Many years have elapsed, and sadly gramps and grandma are no longer with us. My father inherited their little stone cottage, which was eventually handed down to me. I now spend happy hours in the garden with my own grandson, and I’m passing on the gardening tips that gramps taught me when I was a small child. The red wooden wheelbarrow which I loved riding in is long gone; but I replaced it with a sturdy one made of shiny red plastic. My grandson loves riding in it to the vegetable patch and I love to hear him squeal with delight as I once did when I rode the same bumpy path.
the red wheelbarrow
reminds me of my grandpa
precious memories
Fiction write
For Your Poetry Journal Poetry Contest
Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart a.k.a Broken Wings
7/28/18
(On the state of American Poetry- A Non-Poem Poem )
I'm Poet Laureate Of Main Street.
They voted. I won.
' came down to me and the kid whose dog craps on everyone's lawns.
His poem was about a missing red crayon; mine: the stop-sign someone stole from the corner of Elm and Main (I think I know who did it too).
Is it coincident both poems are about loss?
Probably not. Poetry is at it's best when expressing loss.
He'll probably win the position back next year with a weepy poem about not having been chosen Poet Laureate Of Main Street.
That's fine with me, as long as he keeps that damn dog in his own yard.
I have a thrill and a high profile skill
I must have dominance I will get your full confidence
I crave for lust even though you disgust
I control all things with you as you go on a stroll
I will make you bow down to me this will be your downfall
I am very intelligent as you become very diligent
I will stalk you as you start to feel distraught
I'm just your neighbor, or maybe a co-worker
Do You Feel Me? Do You Want More?
2/3/15 T Reams copyright Contest: 5th Place
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
of night
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Dear Mom, you are someone very good.
That is how I’ve always thought of you.
Embracing your station of motherhood,
You raised five daughters well, and still you do
Everything you can for family; your love is true.
Always you have thirsted and searched for truth.
You passed the thirst for knowledge down to me.
Reading Bible stories of women strong like Ruth,
You taught us well about morality.
And we were blessed by your sincerity.
Yes, goodness exudes from you, Mother dear.
I can love my life because I’ve grown
Knowing I was loved, and though you are not near,
It’s for your devotion that to us you've always shown
that God is with you, and you’ll never walk alone.
Written April 23, 2016 for the To Mom Poetry Contest of Francine Roberts
For Carolyn
By Carolyn Devonshire & James Marshall Goff
My hand
Wet with tears pouring down my face
Reaches out and finds nothing
Empty spaces where familiar voices
Once comforted me
My only hope
Is sleep, where dreams, in sketchy
Re-wind, promise a glimpse of lost
Loved ones, maybe a voice, if fleeting
Even, to soothe me
Those still with me
Look to me for strength, my motor
Memory urging me on, focusing
On the well, deep in my heart,
Cycle renews
Another beloved soul passes
Light they find
But darkness they leave behind
Grief
Hungry monster
Selfishly consumes my life
Devours all glimmers of hope
Leaving me
Destitute on a perilous plane
Mere existence
Not life as it once was
Sanity
Confronting memories, loneliness
Trek on an unbalanced bridge
Connecting life and death
Emotions purged
Shadows of yesterday surround me
Wisdom of loved ones
Permeate my thoughts
Filled
With clear vision, handed down to me
From my ancestors
Unpublished
2014
Pregnant once more, a surprise she would be. I was carrying a baby, dependent on me. Since I already had Shelby, no fear did I feel. Just excitement and doubt that this could be real. It wasn't an easy pregnancy still, the doctors we're worried that I'd get quite ill.
She was so strong as she moved inside of me. Every hiccup and kick, filled me with glee. At the end there was worry as her movements grew less, the doctor decided that induction was best. All at once I was filled with fear, my eyes overflowed as they started to tear. My
heart beat strong and knew she'd be fine. Nothing could take, this baby of mine. Labor was hard, the pain quite intense, but didn't last long for that I was blessed. There was no pushing, from me she came fast. Couldn't wait to be born and meet me at last. When finally I held her, it was plain to see. God sent an angel, down to me.
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
A brighter future a cloudless day
Or an earthly living Hell
How much of its our doing
How much is down to me
Is the fate laid out before us
A future meant to be
I know I've tempted fate before
At least a time or two
Risked life and limb and maybe more
I'd risk it all anew
Cos life for me's a wonderland
A journey to behold
A beautiful utopia
For the young and for the old
Til man exacts his dominance
Over everything he can
And mortgages each single soul
Of every living man
A banking led dystopia
Indebtedness their aim
We're caught here in the crossfire
In a costly Rotschild game
The year is sixteen ninety four
And a deal is on the cards
The notes are shilling loudly
From the moneylenders bards
Twelve hundred thousand reasons
Mortgage woman, man and child
The deal's been done, the trap's been sprung
The laughing Joker's wild
The Devil dealt a crooked hand
The rules weren't Heaven sent
The loans they pays a kingly ransome
The bets at eight percent
Inflationary stirms prevail
Nations drowningbin the flood
The odds now stacked in favour
Of a deal they signed in blood
Now money's just a token
The game is truly up
Their sleight of hand's been deftly played
They fill their debtors cup
Human lives collateral
As the game stacks in their favour
No money's needed anymore
The game is theirs to savour
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
The Devil deals in dying folks
His deals a living Hell
The game's a crooked one we know
It's plain for all to see
And the fate laid out before us
Is down to you and me
The sweet notes of a bird drift down to me
from one grand oak that shines with day’s first rays.
I look up at blue sky and that old tree.
What joy, for at a glad lark I now gaze!
The lark sings on. Her song fills up my heart.
I turn to see a deer whose head is bent
to drink at a cool stream; the view is art. . .
Sun’s beams, the deer and lark from God were sent
to cheer me at this time. My eyes are drawn
to fields far off and near them - hills that gleam
in that gold stream of light, the blaze of dawn!
My thoughts now waft as if they were a dream.
This day of bliss I wish to keep - and so -
I sit to write of it in dawn’s bright glow.
For the CONTEST NO 204 any form-theme max of 16 lines Poetry Contest of Brian Strand
If I had over 10,000 dreams
You'd be the only thing my mind could see
Judgment couldn't be real
Succumbing to the fear of this cold life
Find a way to break through
The self-destruction of wordly delusions
Don't tell me I've lived so long in a lovely illusion
Break me down until we find a Nirvanic state
Then bring me a savior from transgressions
An atoning sacrifice
Send down to me a messenger for me to submit to
Bring me the truth to break through The delusion
Bring me the messenger to explain it all
And let me leave behind
Sorrow's caressing the earth
The caliphate stole my heart
Without a will to fight
But I have the Means to be free
I'll try to go with the word I believe
But so many stones to be thrown
Stakes to burn, limbs to break
Faces to hate, scorns to taste
Will I have the will to die
Despite all of the tears no one will cry
Sorrow's caressing the earth
The caliphate stole my heart
Broke my will
Safetefied my soul
Martyr for the Unorthodox word
Sorrow's caressing the earth
The caliphate stole my heart
Without a will to fight
But I have the Means to be free
I'll try to go with the word I believe
But so many stones to be thrown
Stakes to burn, limbs to break
Faces to hate, scorns to taste
Will I have the will to die
Despite all of the tears no one will cry
Sorrow's caressing the earth
The caliphate stole my heart
Broke my will
Safetefied my soul
Martyr for the Unorthodox word
On a day where
the rain
attacks the windshield
only to be brushed away
like an ill-timed rebuke,
yet caresses my face
sweeping back my hair to unveil
the intensity of longing caused by you
do you think of me?
My entire being sings for you-
My life resonates in your echoes.
I will wait for you...
will you ever come to me?
I dreamed last night of a kiss-
that you leaned down to me
and covered my mouth with yours,
wholly bound to me
as if your tongue wrapped around mine
joined us more than in a marriage
any lovers are.
Do you dream of me?
My entire being sings for you-
My life resonates in you echoes.
I will wait for you...
will you ever come to me?
When I first said your name
it began to grow in me.
On my breath
I hear the whisper of the words.
My heart beats to the rhythm
of the syllables immortally
impressing themselves on my pulse-
in my blood.
Do you long for me?
My entire being sings for you-
My life resonates in you echoes.
I will wait for you...
will you ever come to me?
Passed down through generations I hold a gift of soup poetry,
it doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, as long as it comes in rhyme,
free verse is also tasty when I add a good analogy,
and sometimes I add a little bit of limerick and thyme.
The flavor that I savor is in the magic of the recipe,
boiled in the heat of the night or chilled during the day,
I have tendencies to stir and sip quite constantly,
just like my great grams used to do and say.
She wrote journals of emotions holding dreams of aspirations,
when she died they were handed down to me,
I learned that while making soup poetry I need inspiration,
and keep craving verses that will set me free.
The combination of deep love and gaining old age,
brings me satisfaction when thirsting for release of pain,
sometimes it’s nice to add some haibun and sage,
because adding a little cilantro can leave a senryu stain.
Footles of noodles and chicken marinated in raspberry villanelle,
reminds me of growing up when I was sick with heart ache,
my soup poems were yummy in my tummy with some garlic ghazal,
and when feeling the sorrow of loss, I’d add a fibonacci flake.
The soup poetry that tastes the best are the recipes from the soul,
and when the cooking is done I can sip from a poetry soup bowl!
My Poetry Soup Recipe
January 26, 2017
What am i doing
I'm a squirrel in the cold
I should have listened to my mam
And done what i was told
But not me you see
I wanted to go into town
To look for nuts and goodies
Until a strong wind blew me down
I fell into a corner
All white with glistening snow
I hurt myself when i fell
I'm now so full of woe
My little eye's were closing
As the cold was making me shiver
Although i have a furry coat
I was starting to shake and quiver
I sensed a shadow approaching
A hand came down to me
He lifted me from the snow
A saviour he will be
He held me in a glove
The warmth came back to me
If he had not looked in the corner
What would they have found of thee
It's now well into spring
My savior's nursed me back
If i was as big as them
I would pat them on the back
If they could see me now
As i dance and run in the tree's
Where the city is just a memory
I'm so happy, alive and free
I read the lovely poem called " SAVING SHIVERS! (winter of '73) " by James
and i just so wanted to be the squirrel, and this is his reply.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup.php