Best Due West Poems
Brutality’s Day
There’s been a terrible accident
A plane rammed into the World Trade Center
What? Another plane?
The other Tower?
You mean it’s intentional?
Me at my desk
Thirty miles due west of downtown Manhattan
That’s how it was all begun
September 11, 2001.
Up my shield.
Emotions not breaking a steely barrier of denial.
And so the towers fell
As did my wall
And finally my heart succumbed at such mistral.
My cyber buddy, gifted poet, working in Kuwait
Said some were dancing in the streets.
They even gave out candy.
Can the fallout of carnage be displayed with sweets?
Oh please, ye dancing devils
Please, be you few compared to we.
We, mounted on earth’s primordial pebbles
Ready to smite the enemy.
Let’s annihilate the treachery.
This wells forth of desperation.
No! Not begat by hate.
A plea for brutality’s eradication.
© September 15, 2001
Kathryn McL.Collins
Zephyr,
echo of the eastern wind,
gentle and balmy is thy caress,
your kiss leaves the hardened heart due west;
breath of hope for steely-days,
winds of change whisper fortune,
do they raise the spirits of righteous device,
and speculate to riddance,
of tempests to come,
flee me forever ---
in thy pleasant climes
Spirit of the western wind sings,
thy floral in flowered Spring,
whistle in the wombs of weeping willow hangs,
the grated ground from stretching hands
(courtship of the tasseled frays)
so human is thy playful ways,
and child-like thy fickle display
(though so earnest is thy whistled word) ---
I leave thee my levity, and forget thee not,
keepsake to keepsake; when the hour is late
and the icy-ridges of doom do renounce and boom;
in the breath of my end days
sing in my ears once more
(the coda of drummer calls)
and play thy earnest tune,
in the vestige halls of evermore
(I do wait)
Page 2
The Shoot Out At The KOA Corral
The continuing saga of Zack Waverly
The mare was to far gone
and I had to put her down
There was nothing I could do
To help her make her back to town
When things have come to this
Life seems barely worth a trifle
As the only mercies' left
comes from what's inside a rifle
I saddled up and rode due west
Not to my destination
But, took a little detour
To make an allegation
On a hill top, I approached
As the Sun hung at mid-day
and I saw a man, with whip in hand
strike a Dapple Gray
My poor horse, was exhausted
But I guess he some how knew
He reared up on his two hind legs
Then down the hill flew
I've learn to hold on tight
When Ole Buck gets inspired
I swear, His eyes turn black as coal
While his nostrils fill with fire
He raced to make a beeline
To where the horse was being beat
Then stopped outside the wooden fence
In the mid-day summer heat
"Jonah, stop it now"
Is what I shouted from my horse
"Don't make me come and make you
'Cause you know I can of course"
Jonah wasn't tall but a strong and abled man
and so I pulled my Walker Colt
and watched the whip drop, from his hand
HeeeeYahaaa, Partners Keep your Posse out lookin' for page 3
A meadow of Spring,
due west evergreens peering down;
yonder above snowy Hood.
WHERE’S MY LUNCH, MUM?
Mum bird’s in nest:
Her small pest wants
Food lest it starve.
She says, you’d best
Fly due west - and
With zest and speed.
Chick says, this test
Is a jest - for
My rest is due.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Dr. Ram Mehta’s Contest “Than-Bauk”
My thoughts breath, like a wave from the deep,
Some are fleeting and breaking too soon.
Others grow steady, becoming bigger than big,
With all of the help from the moon.
And just like a wave, that's out in the deep,
I can't tell which idea is the best.
My ideas are confused about where they are heading,
Like a wave heading east or due west.
To the shore my thoughts head, gaining momentum,
Coming together directly to land.
And like a great set of waves breaking to beach,
They wash up all over the sand.
The waves of my thoughts, from the deep they do come,
Some are huge and some are mundane.
I like my ideas that are perfect rip curls, I wonder,
Are your thoughts kind of the same?
sleeve of heart and head in hand,
blindly pacing, sight and sand.
faces lose all faith and will,
blurred and silent, always still.
one eyed man among the blind could tell the endless lie,
and all, shy god and insects, miss the falseness of his eye.
anchors weigh the state of mind,
imagination ties the bind.
see truth is rarely logical,
where as, sense and fiction rhyme.
due west, press on, leave east to mourn the plight,
of fading stars and last moonlight.
eyes open with the morning to see the sun ignite.
these days yearn for movement, move sloth from mind and sight.
activate the tools or comparison will pale,
despite your every effort, gritting tooth and biting nail.
path ahead is tomb for good intentions of the failed.
occupy your minds with thought or waste and wallow in the mess.
our home and hope will wither while you find what to assess.
for dormant minds, the truest dream, will always be no more or less.
I received your gift today, as it flew overhead, carried on a wind from the east, a bouquet of red, yellow and blue balloons, tied together with string, could not have been one hundred feet south of my house as they passed, and heading due west. How could you imagine, what are the chances they would reach me across the thousands of miles? Moreover, your timing was amazingly perfect, as I came outside this morning to check the weather and color of sky – predictions of heavy rain today - however, they were beautiful against a bright cerulean forever. As I watched the balloons swiftly drift by, they moved, rotated, and appeared to jostle for a position to lead, red was in front and your message of love was clear. There was no question in my mind that they were from you…I knew…which made me smile as I have never smiled before, I could see you and your smile and hear your laughter, arms outstretched as you spun around releasing the balloons, watching them rise, setting your hope free to roam the sky. How many others had seen this display, I wondered, as they drifted across land and sea, thinking it intended for their eyes, for their heart; how many other hearts would leap to be gathered up, carried along with this gift on their flight, keeping them aloft, spurring them on? Where from here would they travel on their magical journey, alternatively, might they end up snagged, tangled, and drooping from a saddened and unusually tall old tree? I was compelled to try to catch them, to prevent such a fate and keep them for myself. I set off in a sprint, but soon recognized the futility of my efforts as they moved faster than I could run and along with this, I grew painfully aware that they would probably never last. I realized this was your intent after all and love’s true essence became acutely vivid in my mind…I stopped running and stood there in the middle of the road catching my breath, my head bowed, I then whispered my thank you.
I wandered on a journey, in search of treasure,
priceless far beyond any kind of menial measure.
After weeks of hard trekking, 258 miles due West,
on 6/25 I lost my 20/20 vision. I needed a rest.
I was sick of the infernal heat on this tiring quest.
The warm breath of summer became quite a pest.
A coral snake bit me but I didn't cry and ballyhoo.
I ate him for dinner and wrote about him in Haiku.
I was singing my swan song; an ache in my breast,
so I gave up the search for finding that stupid chest.
Because of my selfish need for greed and pleasure,
I learned a life lesson. I've become a lady of leisure.
Views For Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Funom Makama
Posted on July 15, 2020
Poem Name: Warm Breath of Summer
Views: 258
Poetry Form: Haiku
Date of Publication: 6/25/2020
I can smell the wind in my face
Salt air in my mouth-my skin
I become the other world I am in;
Walking against the breeze as it
grows
But nobody knows or gives two
crows..
That's OK self conceit is in faded
retreat.
Birds dive, their calls reaching my
ears
An orange sphere eclipses all that is
near
Blindingly bright~ on the edge of
night
I walk west~sun setting as if in jest
I smell lush salty wind invade my
chest
I chase the reality to bask in
finality...
I look at this beautiful place
A saving grace~what a beautiful
face~
How I distaste what's left of the
race,
Leaving in its trace a waste..an
infertile
place.
I feel salty air tickle my nose~
Feel the sand slip through my toes~
Walking against the ocean breeze
One last pose before god only
knows;
I go to my knees, look out at the
seas
Birds dives and weave, sit upon the
trees.
I sit awhile and contemplate as I
smile
At oceans edge I take in all that I
hear
The orange sphere eclipsing all that
is
near
I walk due west, sun setting as if in
jest
Feet and mind never stopping to
think or
rest
Quiet determination defeating loud
lethargy
I slip into liquid effigy
Oops too late, I am not here to see
Dark vertigo becomes the wet indigo of me
The
deep blue
sea.
We walked by them…
The lovers on the beach…
The night hid our presence
and the waves silenced our passing.
There was no missing the intensity of their caresses
and the throes of their passions in the gentle falling of night.
We walked softly to honor their magic.
The lighthouse sparkled in your eyes
and the quiet laughing in your smile
echoed the warmth of younger days.
On an island, long ago,
the dunes of Ossabaw
had whispered such spells
and we, in our youth,
had listened to the ocean’s love songs.
The return to our camp
passed in rich silence.
Under the amber glow of candles
the adventure returned
and I fell in love..
again.
Originally published in "Bang" by Due West Publishing. duewestbooks.com
I found a Stetson cowboy hat
lodged in some tumbleweed
somewhere a hatless cowboy
must be in urgent need
the western sun will be relentless
upon his sweating brow
and burn the tenderness of the face
unless he waits in shadowed boughs
this poor hat has seen better days
it's dirty from blowing around
the band is missing, the brim has holes
from bumping against the ground
where are you cowboy? I have your hat
I will keep it here for you
mount your horse and ride due west
it's in the valley you'll ride through
If the air can burn like fire,
Let your heart supply the flame,
Merge your passion with desire,
Till they both become the same...
Watching shadows as you cast them,
That reflect your inner peace,
Disappearing as you past them,
While they're searing in the heat...
Watch yourself in shades of amber,
Scorching earth as you collide,
With the skyline as it cambers,
Just beyond the other side...
So you rise due west of Heaven,
Just to settle in the east,
With your eyes upon the leaven,
As the sky begins to crease...
If the phoenix that has risen,
Is from the recess of your heart,
You'll return to the beginning,
So the fire can restart...
Terry
WWW.WhiteLionPoetry.com
morning afterwards
best possible experience
waterfalls due west
Once again you slide inside
to chiv me,
to stick me with a blade.
Cold steel is not
when your blood's running hot
but the signals get mixed
then we're fixed
fine? it's dandy.
You don't feel the stiletto
as it tiptoes in and your
life falls out,
and I thought it was
all about that.
Centurions in Century city
reaching out to the witty,
the pithy
and are you with me?
okay,
it's okay
I
lose it too.
On a heading due West,
of oblivion
colliding with starlets
like Vivien.
that's Leigh in case you were wondering.
no escaping
just scraping
the bottom of the barrel
the cider tastes better down here.