Best Drowsed Poems
In the tall green grass of August I lay,
And the sky was a sparkling deep blue,
And the orange sun sat on a distant hill,
As I drowsed in the forever of a moment!
Magenta blush and red flowers over my head,
Waved at the vivid birds floating above,
As puffy clouds drifted slowly, far away.
A yellow butterfly landed in my long hair,
And fluttered away as insects hummed tunes.
Time slowed to a stop in the season of sun!
Written on 12/10 2020
For: IMAGIST any form Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
There was a fairy whose name was Fanny,
She had a dear friend whose name was Danny,
At night, they used to stroll among flowers,
Talking and walking, they forgot the hours,
Before they noticed, it was early morn,
Time to hide from men in the field of corn,
One night, they were sauntering as always,
When Fanny saw the cornfield was ablaze,
She and Danny called Fred, Jane, Claire and James,
They carried water to put out the flames,
Flying with speed, but they couldn't put it out,
The breeze was blowing, it spread all about,
Danny said, "The humans, we must wake up,
This fire is huge and we need some backup",
Fanny and friends flew to the nearest house,
And beat on pots and pans, people to rouse,
They got up and saw their cornfield on fire,
Fanny, Danny and friends hid on the spire,
Soon, firefighters came and the fire was doused,
Adventure over, worn-out fairies drowsed.
21st February 2023
For Eve Roper's "Nursery Rhyme" contest
Hoary Decree, dateless Order,
Anthroposophy of the cradle,
Bewilderment of upper echelon,
Agemo - the goddess of forms.
You are the word, you utter not any;
You are the history, you tell no tale;
Cogent than ingredients and concoction,
Fiat is your potent and reverend name.
When the Earth was total gel
And the World was all indigo;
You drained water into the depth
And made the Earth bear its face.
Diktat of the premier flame:
“Let there be light”, how eloquent!!!.
When the godlings begged for cool;
Scorching was the amber they groaned,
With your fiat, you drowsed the flame,
And made moon comfort the godlets.
The day stiffeners berated the Bulkhead,
Sued Mystery for the contest of forms,
Yellow they were like a chip of sulphur;
You were yoke like the full moon in the sky.
When they were blue, black and brown;
Your apparel appeared beguilingly -
More blue, more black, more brown.
In poppycockish sobriety they roared:
All hail the absolute goddess of forms,
Never shall we grimace at Chameleon
And applaud the farce of any Caricature.
They dare you not, I say the dare you not;
When we know the fierceness of Shango,
Do will still rebuke the King of Koso?
Who shall pick his nostril with cobra’s fang?
Who shall bestride your path Agemo?
In the pages of history
there's a baffling mystery
about the passing of the crew
since eighteen ninety two.
Bright stars turned to dim
whether fat or slim,
no one's young, no one's old,
they were all in same horde.
As I saw the leaves fell,
the blowing wind came to tell-
all the sad news part by part
blew a 'piece of my heart'.
'Rock and roll' played in tune,
a fine maiden 'drowsed' in dune,
for the pipers came to call
to take her soul for a stroll.
I saw a star in 'Nirvana'
walking his way to Samsara;
the 'blowing torch' rang the bell
that casted a tragic spell.
I heard the 'greatest played his guitar'
at a distance not afar;
when the 'wind jammed' in the way
it was his time to drift away.
A legend sang his last 'song'
and declaimed his best poetry;
the 'beating of the gong' went wrong;
'the doors' unleashed a tragedy.
Oh! Number twenty seven,
how I wish they knew the omen.
May the great hearts that have fallen
make their way to heaven.
Dedicated to the members of 27 Club, especially to the memory of Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison, and Rico Yan.
September 15, 2022
The 27 Club Poetry Contest (5th place)
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Hear the bells ring!
Early though.
My soul still asleep;
drowsed and exhausted.
Pardon and allow me
another dawn.
Perhaps my love returns at dusk.
I must have breathed a whisper-prayer,
A single strand of softest silk,
It must have floated through earth’s clouds
And, caught in current’s upward stair,
Tangled in my angel’s hair.
She must have borne it Heaven-wards,
This thought I barely knew was there,
It must have drowsed in sorrow' s dreams
And, woken with the warmth of tears,
Poured its woes into her ears.
She therefore knew though I did not,
That deep inside I tried in vain,
It must have sighed my sad regret,
And spoke of steps I tripped and stumbled,
As beneath my feet earth crumbled.
For though we feel it's our will only,
Pulling us away from ruin,
It must be His that lifts us skywards,
And His strength that lends our prayer
Angel wings in our despair.
Here silence reigns supreme all time,
And evening melts away
Into the night in distant sight
From where the locals stay.
The murmur of the grove distracts
My stiff and weary shin,
Yet they move on and trudge along
The dark and shady green.
There oft the sun departs so soon,
He creeps behind the hill,
His lustrous rays no more embrace
The woods with happy zeal.
A flight of birds are yet to steer
Back to their cozy niche,
Their sudden flap aborts the nap
Of a hare against its wish.
A cricket chirped moments ago
But now it drowsed certain,
The graveyard lies beneath the skies
Serene in twilight rain.
An olive spreads its drooping bough
Beside the muddy way
The dew and mist each other kissed,
While on a tuft I lay.
I viewed the farthest rock in mind
As if I dreamt a dream
Of spirits keen on being seen,
As volatile as steam.
I heard a mellow voice at once,
As sweet as a summer song,
It beckons me to the cemetery
I sauntered all along.
Never I felt my limbs so numb,
As though I levitate,
A mastiff howls to the parted souls,
Who love to emanate.
What have I seen, it steeps my mind
With a never-presumed state,
The knights and reverends upward soar
To blame their sorry fate.
Most lonely I assumed myself,
I now see a lonelier face,
Or is my mind of reason blind
That views a captive race?
Tonight I will converse with you,
Upon your flowers I sleep,
The marble frame protects your name,
Where softly I shall weep.
22nd September, 2021
Wild, old dog singing everyday
It does not have a holiday
Singing songs about other's glow
Like, it does not have gleam to show
It sings on dark and stormy night
It always sings when day is bright
It sings to halt how others shine
It's drowsed on other's own fine wine
It chatters like an old, old goat
Instead of rowing its own boat
Feels bad when pushy dogs succeed
Just like envy is its own feed
But comes a one dog with wild dream
It does not care about the scream
It only cares about its catch
That one day, its hard works will hatch
Days are stolen by light begun
With the rise of a savage sun;
Air drips with a wearying clue
To fire roiling down heaven’s flue,
And sidewalks haze in summer’s brunt.
The city is by heat waves stunned
Into dreams of cool hills far-flung.
Waking hours are all drowsed through,
Days are stolen.
Forays outdoor are roundly shunned,
Tales of deathly heat wildly spun.
Clouds barred from cerulean blue
Conspire to stage a drenching coup.
By sun and damp in contest hung,
Days are stolen.
Hear the bells ring!
Early though.
My soul still asleep;
drowsed and exhausted.
Pardon and allow me
another dawn.
Perhaps my love returns at dusk.
An impulse, like hunger or thirst, that marks,
Need for defense from a danger that sparks;
Nervousness if not attended to and healed,
Turns phobia and soon great power wield...!
Aren't snakes, spiders, and cockroaches creatures?
Don't tigers and lions have tender features?
Aren't fire and air midst other facets,
Function as Mother Nature's great assets...?
Why should I fear the dead and their spirits?
Aren't good deeds to the alive, my merits?
Can daggers or guns or cannons kill me,
When the endless life, in my soul, flows free...?
Psychologic senses, yet, are aroused.
Cognitive logic, like drunk bees, drowsed.
Behavioral emptiness created,
Emotions, for the sake of fear, weighted...!
Fear is like a rope that seems like a snake,
That, for a split second, my self does shake;
This, like a speck on a stream, flows away,
When confidence and courage come to stay...!
16 January 2023
Fear Is Liar Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Bonded desire, laced in lark,
like a glow of moonlight spark
that creeps softly in the dark
and pummels to make its mark.
It is for affection
that it tickles in motion
like a heart drowsed in potion,
drowned in sea of tame emotion.
It is wrapped in ecstasy
that is thicker than the sea
for the longing soul to see
that it’s not mere fantasy.
But too much desire is dangerous,
it is wild and perilous,
it can drown the heart of Venus,
for its soul is weak and tenuous.
For lawless desire is wrong
like a tune from a forbidden gong
that echoes like an odd song
to where it does not belong.
It’s like the fangs of aversion
that are noxious like a poison
for they’re polished in illusion
of distaste through bigot reason.
For hate itself, for whatever motive,
can make our souls a captive
of the filthy hands of violence
laced in shadows of prejudice.
So in everything we do
we must be sure we think it through;
let the flames of hate subside
before we make our moves aside.
For regrets won’t heal a scar
more so if it is latent,
it’s like a deep wound from a war,
for in the mind, it is patent.
September 28, 2022, 12:12 PM
Desire and Aversion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
The weak rays of dawn
Struggling to
Drive out the darkness
Her sleep-drowsed heavy eyelids
Opening slowly
A semblance of light yonder
And here,
The big deep brown eyes
Forcing the thick eyelashes
To part
The apparently shy sun
Not in too great hurry
And here,
No flutter,
But languid movements.
Cheer spreading across the sky
And here,
Smile suffusing her face
After all,
With the Eastern gleam
Another
Looked forward to day begins,
Another
Chance for love to beam
Her smudged face in the bathroom mirror,
seen from bruised sheets.
The open mouths of high heels
one face down drunken, the other gaping.
Headlights strafe the curtains,
a scant dress clings to the oily back of a chair.
The room has washed up
on the grey surf of dawn.
She walks back into the room.
Her slip white as bone,
sallow skin dimpled by day-peep.
In the dark, she told you her story
as you drowsed beneath a shadow mind.
You did not want to know her
and now she won’t look at you
as she leaves.
When she’s gone,
you lay for a long time
in your cotton shrouded tomb;
it is way too big for how you feel.
I rarely go to temple,
Though when New Year comes around,
I do not feel complete until
I hear the shofar’s sound.
Some synagogues stream services;
I listened for a while,
But the rabbi’s talk went on and on
And wasn’t quite my style.
I turned it off and went to sleep,
Yet while I calmly drowsed,
A noise disturbed my slumber
So I suddenly was roused.
It was a shofar from the street
And it was being blown
In the familiar rhythms
That, since, childhood, I have known.
My husband woke up also
To the blasts, both loud and clear,
Which, from right below our window,
Wished the world a sweet new year.
*This is my poem from October 3,
when PoetrySoup was down