Best Ductile Poems
The old man was no longer a hunter,
But he would not stoop to women’s chores.
A storm was brewing as he sought
Shelter in a round cave.
Soon he had a fire going but he preferred
To stay near the entrance and listen.
He did not know yet what music was
But he could tell the difference
Between each sound that echoed outside.
The wind was strong that began like a rigadoon
But reached its forte in tone and pitch,
A crescendo that reached its apex as it climbed the hills.
There it hit stones and sent them down crashing
Like the sound of synchronized drums.
Slowly the wind lost its force and vibrated into a cadence,
Leading to an herbaceous plain as it wandered off
Like a soft funeral march.
The old man heard all and knew what was to come.
Promptly a bird began to sing to the now calm night,
A mellifluous sonata and then subliminal silence.
A breeze whipped up, a silky serenade that like an arpeggio
It grew ductile but strong as it flew amongst the trees,
Leaves replying with a trill till the moon came up,
Shadows dancing on the now calm groove.
All was at peace.
The old man picked up his reed. Someday he will learn
And emulate the sounds around into a coherent aria.
18 December 2020
Categories:
ductile, music,
Form:
Free verse
"And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing -
seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge, you will need, be formed -
till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere,
O my soul." (Walt Whitman, 1819-1892, A Noiseless, Patient Spider)
_____________________________________________
silence is like a beautiful flower
a rose blooming within my heart. . .
true silence is not about turning off the noise of life
like the television . . . radio . . . music
or turning off the computer and cell phone but it is more
it is the hunger of being just me
and having my own secret quiet- silent place
for me it all happens with meditation
meditation means bliss . . .
it is not something that is happening outside me
but deep within . . . it is a hunger I must feed often
I will call it an "inside" spiritual journey
a journey toward silence
I cannot take you along with me
or share it with you
you must make your own journey . . .
all connection with the outside world is broken
and all bridges back seem gone
the whole world disappears
it does not exist in my silence place
I think of my yoga mat as a magic carpet
that takes me where it will
the silence is profound . . .
yet there seems a wind blowing me up and away
no worldly noise penetrates
I need courage . . . I must let go of all fear
and I float to the center of my mind
where I am a bird singing in the distance
just singing . . .
I am a cloud full of rain ready to burst
then, I am the rain falling
I am a flower with petals opening in the sun
and I drift on a smooth ocean heading for my true north
in utter and beautiful silence . . .
____________________________
July 22, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/'my hunger for silence'
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1223-382-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Strand Select D Contest
Brian Strand
Third Place
Categories:
ductile, silence,
Form:
Free verse
We have strained the edges of the universe,
you and I together, seeking, searching
on cosmic trails for justice love and fear,
I loved thee then, as I love thee now, forever.
If I were but to die, it would be no great loss,
except for the loss of the sight of you.
Lost in eternity forever. Ever abandoned!
Blinded forever to vision, sound and touch.
The essence of your smile, the treasure of your love
the beauty of your thought unsatisfied in me.
In a crowded room with you, I am filled with only you
absorbed in assimilating the wonder of you.
We live so briefly, chained to our earthly mortality;
our human love brittle, ductile, fragile.
This fleeting existence complicated with
bitterness, evil, anger, fear.
Mortality in the cosmic galaxy of immortality,
a grain of sand on the threshold of time.
Billions of souls struggling to live, breathe, survive,
inconceivable abducted from the dust of ancient galaxies.
Transitioning through ageless boundaries of infinity,
an infinitesimal spirit hurtling across ever expanding light years,
at meteoric velocity, captive only to gravitational sensitivities
ever vanishing, ardent in abandonment.
Lost in eternity. Ever abandoned.
Seeking! Searching!
Spell bound in the eternal spell binder.
Seeking! Searching!
Categories:
ductile, imaginationlove, universe,
Form:
Free verse
I am patently smitten
With utmost contempt ,they treat any mention of its reality
The realm of the illusory is its permanent abode
Its at best transient , an ephemeral indulgence ,
A violet on a morbid pathway
The ill-fated roadside plant whose demise is lurking in the shadows.
A facade ,an imaginary concept birthed out of delusion and denial
Disapproval and detest permiate the dense air
whenever the subject comes up
The thickness ,stifling the atmosphere of any remaining residues of hope
Intense apprehension carved from a litany of painful experiences
But what's the essence of life if not the defiance of history? -
The obliteration of barriers thought impervious?,
The ******** of walls long believed
to be figments of overambitious imaginations ?,
The charting of venturesome trails in the perilous jungle?
Don't you just love it when you see tables turn ?
Isn't it a sight to cherish when the applecart gets upset?
I am utterly smitten ,
by that penetrating ,self assured gaze -Impeccable as ever
Cascading through my being like African okra in an enamel plate
Fluid and engrossing
The ravishing smile , aggressively addictive ,
which almost always succeeds in changing the climate in my spine
The lips which drip unfettered mellifluousness,
A song without want of both depth and sweetness
Something that only such a golden soul can exude
The archetype of perfection ..
Like a gazelle in the Savanna plains ,
grace and elegance attends her gait always
This is where even the most intransigent hearts ,
are rendered malleable and ductile
And utter patency becomes the heart's portion
Categories:
ductile, love,
Form:
Free verse
The dispersed grains of darkness drizzle down silently
from the cauldron of the infinite blankness of eternity
that the sky started to shape at the edge of ductile dusk
since beginning of time when its primal time was created.
The silken tapestry of the black blanket spreads slowly
as the twilight dissolves at the hinge of the hazy horizon
like the timed rainbow melting upon the skyline clouds,
from where the satin darkness flows with the fluid night.
Sonorous sound of silence echoing in night sky ethereally
wakes up the sleeping stars one by one to sparkle bright
on the bejeweled crown the amorous ambiance adorns,
as the moonbeam strands weave dream of you for me.
Each stardust sprinkled night I wait awake fervently
for you to emerge out of my dream like an angel
and walk through the craving corridor of my mind,
as I let my thoughts drift in the air of night’s allure.
Written : August 10, 2019
May 15, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice D
Categories:
ductile, angel, imagery, love, night,
Form:
Free verse
Written: August 16, 2025, for contest by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
"conjoined with the whole - we play our life role
exuding a scent - granting love consent"
************
Conjoined with the Whole
Not as sovereigns,
but as sylphlike strands,
woven into a ductile tapestry—
Each act of kindness forges
a bond within the communal consciousness.
Love is not a shadowy incantation,
nor a glamour to inveigle us into isolation.
It is hortatory, beckoning forth...
a rosy summons to convene,
amid the clangor of squalor and sojourn
to supplant the slipshod ache
with a warm intention.
We are not mere wanderers
adrift in nebulous vacuum—
We are emulous embers,
thirsting for the amaranthine,
avid to imbue our days,
with seraphic resonance.
Community is not a chimera,
It is pavonine in its iridescent truth,
multivocal in its sweet sorrow,
edacious for connection
but never laden with avarice.
We do not dismiss the burden—
We collocate it, we share it
withdraw from silence,
and cast aside the Icarus myth,
a tale of solitary flight,
Even the untamed child.
crumbles for the quest of kinship—
Even the weary elder winnows,
the soothing balm of a neighbor’s touch.
Love sanctions its courtliness—
not merely a whispered sigh,
but as a philanthropic deed,
a calyx protruding,
amid the clamor of desire.
To love is to be an iconoclast
to find solace in a gentle embrace—
to forbear the yearning
to anathematize others
to witness the evocative elysian—
in the eyes of the distraught.
We are not aphonic.
We are harmonious,
even in our disconsolate times.
We are evocative, full of meaning,
even when our souls feel drained.
And when we reflect,
We accomplish this together—
in the emollient of shared grief,
in the soothing touch of shared joy.
So let us frolic with abandon,
Let us explore the hidden meadows of our lives.
Let us gather in our joy,
transcendent in our understanding,
Our sense of self is transient.
Let us be love—
not as an elusive dream,
but a tangible act.
Let us be united with the whole.
And play our life roles.
with eloquence
vibrancy,
and grace.
Categories:
ductile, analogy, love,
Form:
Free verse
World
One
And all
Blessed and kind
Nature and souls bind
Clings, remain soft but not fragile
In God's hands, no strong marbles clutches the ground ductile
No boulders can silence the caves' echoes in the Cordillera of man's gifted lands
Seas and oceans combined, grounds drifting like blind, storms and clouds may rage over sands but floods cannot capsize arks of men as God and Love prevails.
Categories:
ductile, god, love, world,
Form:
Fibonacci
"Peek-a-boo," Chucky said to me
Seek and hide, we played
Meek was I when I hid
Leek I smelled as Chucky swayed.
Agile Chucky prowled inside the house
Fragile was I when I shrugged
Tactile is he whenever he talks to me
Ductile was the glass floors when Chucky got mad and thugged.
Categories:
ductile, horror,
Form:
Lento
What a phlox in you I find,
What a Rose Flower, oh babe:
Bright like early morning sun of xmas.
Succulent “things” like the rightly ripe pawpaw at my backyard.
Oh Babe what a beauty you are to behold –
Making gawping heads not able to eyes hold back,
Goggling eyes round whole streets turning in ogle –
Stupefying sensations sending down signals into phallic organs!
And can I contain this fire of desire?
Down my frame, too electrifying, feelings ductile,
And whole system holding spellbound, as in phantasmagoria,
A deep chill of early harmattan morning.
Oh Babe, I can see the fiery flies of love
In your luscious orbs flying, beckoning for a dear.
But can I be your bee? my sweet sixteen!
To your sweet red nipplenectars suck? like a suckling?
What a phlox in you I find,
Oh Babe, what a beauty you are to behold.
And can I contain this fire of desire?
Oh Babe, I can see fiery flies of love,
In your luscious orbs flying, beckoning for a dear,
Down my frame, too electrifying, feelings ductile,
Making gawping heads not able to eyes hold back.
What a Rose Flower, oh Babe:
Bright like early morning sun of Xmas,
Goggling eyes round whole streets turning in ogle –
And whole system holding spellbound, as in phantasmagoria.
But can I be your bee? my sweet sixteen!
To your sweet red nipplenectars suck? like a suckling.
A deep chill of early harmattan morning,
Stupefying sensations sending down signals into phallic organs!
Succulent “things” like rightly ripe pawpaw at my backyard:
Nwanyi oma, my sweet Asaba Queen: delicious Xmas stew,
I sing your conspicuous beauty, your deserving love: for am no philistine:
What a feeling too conquering to contend, aphrodisiac! –
A philter too difficult to contain, down my vein, my marrow!
Sweetie, I adore your fine phizog amatory. Wow.
A wonderful mien irresistible, cloud nine delirium tremens
Down my pliant spine killing ardour sent. Figure -8
What a towering pulchritude, a pleasant statistics!
Categories:
ductile, girlfriend-boyfriend, sweet, beauty, fire,
Form:
Romanticism
For so long you’ve held the key, the scepter and the crown,
Harrowing the reality, the subconscious, the deep within.
Your voice was deep, poignant, forbidding. Clattering like,
The tumbling down of ancient and spidery bones, swishing
Like the dust raised by warm nocturnal winds above the grave,
Of underneath whose cold stone, you speak.
I’ve held on to these, the pain most notably, the curse of living,
Clung to it as one would a shepherd’s staff. I was bleating, you, stoic,
An anguished ghost whose wispy façade slashes through the ages,
Thru generations of minds in the offing of torment. The honored
Priest above my chasm and dreams, whose scepter whirls an order,
to the bottomless chaos, defining, refining.
Such morbidity, such dusky frights and ebon like chill, thawing,
turning ductile the mind’s seams to enable comprehension
of misery, for one, for two and for as long as dreaded numbers
Could gnaw, could go and would soar. And then dreadfully and
just as suddenly, fall. But always finds in the descent kindred misery,
Again and again spewing thermals for tattered wings.
Aye, my friend, you’ve enabled these, I followed your grim lead too,
Debauched a day, or two, or three. I honestly can’t remember anymore.
When you despoiled your body did you lose your soul? I asked this
Because mine never was. It was never lost. But you, aside from being
a friend, are a terrible despot. For you bound my soulful core, right
after you cried over lost grains of golden sand.
Alas, when you failed to save even one of these grains from your
Clasp, why the need to wail and ask if all that we see or seem,
Is but a dream within a dream? Why cast eternal umbrae over
Those sojourns which aside from your company lifts my weary
Psyche? Those twilight times when I can escape and open the
Drain in the reality of my life?
Categories:
ductile, dedication, depression, faith, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
The road to Rio ran his every day
Aerobic fitness was his daily way
The lactic acid ate his muscle mass,
but soon the aching pains began to pass
The win reward a fine line to the tape
He fought the fight to get into best shape
He made his time to take him to the start,
to peak his strength and win the race an art
Just five circles his only dream tattoo,
or maybe under forty three will do
A gold the prize for him, a life reward
it looked so easy, Wayde’s new world record
He lived the dream a life in golden hope,
but ductile gold a sweet success tightrope
-A tribute to Wayde van Niekerk’s new world record in the 400m almost breaking 43 s yesterday. The record was held by Michael Johnson and was 16 years old-
Categories:
ductile, tribute,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Quiet save for a morning glory’s cue
Daylight decks the sky cerulean blue
Sunday and like the hues of color wheels
Old Man Dan hunts for all his fishing creels
The rye grass cradles tiny spheres of dew
Dawn fishing allures in lieu of a pew
Like osmosis, moisture fills his old boots
As the last morning owl gives a few hoots
Trout Royal Red is already awake
Waiting for Dan in the depths of the lake
Three pounds of beauty, paint on his sleek back
Royal Red knew what the old man might lack
Sharpen arsenal now, fish where it’s dim
You know he will not dare bite on a whim
And Old Man Dan has a trick up his sleeve
His light-tinted fly spent two weeks to weave
His tackle befit with two pound test line
No wet or dry flex just regular twine
No weights to be used, tossed from the jetty
The fly should track the natural eddy
From his boat he tossed his new-fangled bait
So natural the drift only to wait
Red spied his game moving at the right speed
Closer he came from behind the tall reed
He strictly examined his tasty prey
For t’was a real bug, it would have to pay
Closer he came to the well-tied disguise
Knowing full well it could be his demise
Soft and ductile he gave it a small bite
Then Old Dan jerked with all of his might
Royal Red noticed a slight scent of snuff
Then spit out the fly aware of the stuff
Old Dan fell overboard with all his gear
The only thing left – a pain in his rear
This comical scene smacked of déjà vu
He had been there before - a time or two
Red took a break aside the still water
Smiling inside providing Dan fodder
Eyeing Dan’s canoe tarry upside down
He sped swiftly to hide from his mad clown
Madder than hops Dan drug his boat home
Cussing and swearing he took on a foam
He would come back the next date of the sun
Certainly it would be his day of fun
Categories:
ductile, funny, inspirational, natureold, red,
Form:
Rhyme
"And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing -
seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge, you will need, be formed -
till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere,
O my sou.l" (Walt Whitman, 1819-1892, A Noiseless, Patient Spider)
_____________________________________________
silence is like a beautiful flower
a rose blooming within my heart. . .
true silence is not about turning off the noise of life
like the television . . . radio . . . music
or turning off the computer and cell phone but it is more
it is the hunger of being just me
and having my own secret quiet- silent place
for me it all happens with meditation
meditation means bliss . . .
it is not something that is happening outside me
but deep within . . . it is a hunger I must feed often
I will call it an "inside" spiritual journey
a journey toward silence
I cannot take you along with me
or share it with you
you must make your own journey . . .
all connection with the outside world is broken
and all bridges back seem gone
the whole world disappears
it does not exist in my silence place
I think of my yoga mat as a magic carpet
that takes me where it will
the silence is profound . . .
yet there seems a wind blowing me up and away
no worldly noise penetrates
I need courage . . . I must let go of all fear
and I float to the center of my mind
where I am a bird singing in the distance
just singing . . .
I am a cloud full of rain ready to burst
then, I am the rain falling
I am a flower with petals opening in the sun
and I drift on a smooth ocean heading for my true north
in utter and beautiful silence . . .
____________________________
July 22, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/my hunger for silence
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1168-153-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Hunger
sponsor, Silent One
First Place
________________________________
Submitted to the contest, Best Free Verse, July - December, 2019
sponsor, John Hamilton
Third Place
Categories:
ductile, silence,
Form:
Free verse
Thou art my mistress,my fantasy,and my craving
Thou art my imperial,my masterpiece,my wealth, and treasure
Thou art sunshine and silvery that doth enliven dismal heart
To the sparkling stars I shall compare thee
Your beauty with beauteous,luminous,and lustrous
Thou art serenity of many endowments:
Endowed with cooling effects of milky moon on a starry night
How ductile is thy movements
Lithe body lissomly limbers in exquisite
Like summer orchids manoeuvres on jolly sprigs.
Thou art nosegay endued with odoriferous incense to nostrils
As hard as diamonds oft
As chill as frosted hail
Yet thou remain delicate like dandelion thistles
And as sweet as that of thamatin
Sticked with faithfulness of lioness care
Thou art the sweet songs I dost composed in dreams
Where, in dual we shall sing in our melodious tone of the nightangle.
Thou art my reasons to morns wake
Thou art irresistible:
unique,proper ,and sublime
Mistress Yangchenma ,you are!
All my tears and scars
Hadth transformed into radiant blossoms
Giving me a reason to smile each days
Thou art imcomparable,My mistress Yangchenma!
Thou hadst joy and forever in your sparkling eyes.
Thou art entrancing divine soul
Yes! Thou art veritably.
Thank you.
*Yangchenma refers to girl name.
Note: Your humble rectification is highly respected.
Categories:
ductile, funny love, romantic love,
Form:
Blank verse
In the pediment of the blue hills rolling down from the horizon,
the rising crimson sun spread surreal splendor on the landscape,
etched with carvings of meandering streams, verdant meadows,
transparent ponds, thriving thickets and emerald vale of flowers.
My youth embedded in the naïvety of juvenile exuberance,
fluttered on the wings of indigo birds scaling the cerulean sky,
like my colorful kites flying at the fringe of the fleeting clouds,
my flying fantasy took their nebulous shapes, I keenly marveled.
I wondered what they meant, for they were so expressive in form,
designed by the intricate play of the opposites, light and shade,
like the pattern the filtered sunbeams created piercing the foliage
on the floor of the forest where I ventured to chase the butterflies,
or like at dulcet sunset the dancing design of lengthening shadows
are sketched by the trees on the pond rippling at sailing swan’s wake,
I followed swimming away from the seething heat of summer.
The infantile motifs engraved on the ductile young mind
lie buried under the dust time blew across the uprooted life.
At the edge of the falling night I trace the faint footprint trail,
searching beneath the dust for the pale picture of my youth.
January 10, 2021
Contest : The Good Old Days
Sponsor : Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
ductile, childhood, fantasy, memory, time,
Form:
Free verse