Best Echoing Poems
It’s a recurring thought –
Over and over again –
Reverberating in my head,
Bouncing back and forth,
Reeling up and down like a Yo-yo,
Like a boomerang that keeps coming back,
Like a song stuck in your head,
A thought that gnaws at your will to live,
Like an army of termites devouring
your soul making you hollow inside,
Like the waves of the sea
lapping its shores ceaselessly.
It’s a nagging thought
to just shut off everything,
Like turning off the light switch
and walking away;
A thought to strip off all my
worries and cares of the world,
Like a snake shedding its skin,
And just wandering away,
Leaving behind petty rivalry,
envy, jealousy, shallow ties,
The promises and perils of life,
And to step forth renewed, reborn,
into a new place with no identity,
no name, no past, no aspirations--
just living for the day
As I like, As I please,
With no vagaries of life,
No yearning for paradise.
Walking away folk free
unrestricted by time or space,
customs, creed or the rules of the law.
But this thought
Like an active volcano ever brewing
and rumbling but never erupting,
Like a seed sowed with care and nurturing
but never sprouting, never coming to fruition.
It just keeps kneading and churning
Forever bobbling in the doldrums
Performing boondoggle tasks
Bearing the burden of the world like Atlas,
Unable to sigh or sneeze,
Fearful that a sudden moment
The slightest shift might cause
an upheaval in someone’s life.
Ah, the woes of life!
Why thou linger willy-nilly in my vicinity?
Why thou not forsaketh me?
Go and befriend the dark, foreboding clouds
And burst down upon some distant shores.
Let some sun shine upon me,
Let love gather me in her warm embrace,
Bequeath to me days rife with joy
and mellow moonlit nights,
Let my path run some distance straight
and not twist or turn at whim,
Let there be spring in my seasons
instead of the cold and bare winter,
Let me rejoice in the day’s toil
And earn me the night’s repose –
It’s a recurring thought,
Over and over again,
Reverberating in my head...
Wait just a minute!
Didn’t we go over that already?
~09/10/15
"Inside My Head" contest by John lawless
Rising above the destitute land
Barren are the quiet hills now
Echoing terrain's vacant sound
There, where sweet home was.
Tree uprooted quivers gently
Its scattered mangled remains
Swaying aches of forsaken pain
Mourning tranquility's death.
In solitude this climb he treks
Aspiring zest of rising dawns
As they concede to sullen days
Looking for her presence
Ever since the oldest tree fell
And the lone bird fled its nest.
The sunrise still evokes her name,
So does her beloved sunset.
Despite the dearest hopes he held
She never returned this way.
March 5, 2019
Placed first: Standard contest #190 by Brian Strand
Petals drenched in poison pearls of emerald envy,
carefully placed objectives whilst adrift in my tears of realization
Longing sorrowful souls among lilac lakes,
buried deep into somber depths of tinkering procrastination
Starving for ruby righteousness and pristine perfection, and yet still reaching towards a tilt heart searching desperately sunset embers
Distinguishing luminescent authenticity among
bittersweet endives drifts away with each cooling December
Shall I pursue soft screams for kissed loving
ethereal roses dazzled with enchanting sensations
To float away from every twisted hazing hoax with every spoken whirling weapon - coated with fabrications
Ghostly, my echoes are moans floating in the air
like muffled murmurs carried on the wind
or rippling waves across a calm sea.
If I'd been singing lyrics to a sad melody,
I'd hear the haunting words until they'd fade away.
Where they end up, I'll never know.
How far do echoes go traveling from here to there?
Maybe they scatter through distant hills,
whispering as if they're telling my secrets.
Gossips, repeating in the timbre of my voice...
always in a rush to run away from me,
like children playing hide and seek
who cannot hush to keep me from finding them.
Even now I still hear my words in refrain.
Echoes are mirrored images of my voice
but in reverberating sounds instead of visions.
Reflective and repetitive,
with the ability to mimic my words,
only speaking what's been spoken.
I wish they had the ability
to filter words I'd rather they omit.
Things that in anger, I scream and shout.
I doubt the reality of that.
Only echoes in the Twilight Zone
would be so bizarre to be able
to manipulate my voice with one of their own.
Strange, how much louder they sound in the dark.
Into the urban city I walk half empty
Emotions consumed by social fetish and the norm
Our fingers locked while you make me understand the world
Now it’s all on me, why’d you set yourself free?
Our imperfections criticized
Without menace we ignited a perfect dysfunction in their heads
But now it’s all dead
Tell me, did you wake up in a different dimension instead?
Nights have mourned the mornings
My weekends became stormed
I created this image of infinity
Without you, I’m only a stardust atom in discreet soliloquy
Everyone defines their first love, no one ever forgets.
But could there be euphemism for my last love that I don’t regret?
To my last love, I’m paralyzed.
Living an infinite grief, can I wake you in your sleep?
The questions ignite the pain.
My pain aches for answers for why can’t you remain.
The rest of my life is now only a sublime recall.
I promise this will be my last install.
But please, to my clueless last love
Why’d you shoved us in a pitfall?
by Michaelw1two
Thought, how resounding it is,
now that everyone is thinking
mentation drums as mantra,
at once each considers linking
reason deemed illogical,
blessed now with national rethinking
purpose gathered within this storm,
save our lives from sinking.
Political misdirection's blind US,
to the nature of this assault
improprieties pervade the eye,
as it strengthens through default
weaken do the knees of all,
as guile and greed reign to a fault
freedom bled of denotation,
becomes a society’s burial vault.
Dedication to the sphere of peace,
abandons favor of our time
replacing is freedom's abdomen,
ruining goodwill whilst in its prime
boasting blubbering fuels the wind,
infuriating is its rapid climb
rhetoric barbs of poison fear,
drive weak minds to morbid crimes.
Echoes of peace, goodwill, morality,
vanish in this swirling beast
accrue does this wickedness,
as we are whipped until deceased
social clime succumbs to hate,
common people soon are fleeced
timorousness rules the moment,
result, the best become the least.
Asleep have become the masses,
as the few control life’s flow
living sliced to minimal pieces,
at once in chorus all say whoa!
condones in wild shrieking howls,
even life can’t clear escrow
extinction now approaching,
our doom delivered quid pro quo.
Jan 2010
The shying of success
When thou call to success
To overcome temptation
and suffocation.
Adaptation of beneath
And low underneath
Befall upon the falling
Scheming of town and
properties.
Patience is the overcomer
extremely.
Don’t be in a hurry
It will be your turn sooner.
They lived their laudable lives through ethereal eyes,
Calamitous chambers to chastise, too soon to canonize…
A heart of liquid gold, their strength & beauty to behold,
In bearing their blindfold, left alone in the caliginous cold.
Sacrificial to the lamb, wounded words of their dithyramb,
Besieged by the battling ram, etchings upon their epigram…
Endless echoes of love eternal, peaceful of a mind maternal,
Their words in a viral vernal, a spirit sacrosanct sempiternal.
King amongst Kings, holding heavens tides on angelic wings,
Their death to carry soulful sins, bludgeoned of their limbs…
Tears fall on sacred sands, bowing beloved of praying hands,
Graceful joy to all commands, infinite love before you stands.
June.26.2019
YOUR CHOICE TRIBUTE VERSE
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Honorable Mention...Thank You
Re-posted for Tania Kitchins
Your Best Poem that is
Trophy Worthy Contest
Sept.29.2019
NOTE~I know my poetry can be a bit 'deciphering' at times lol
In this verse, I am talking about the Eyes of the Lord and His tribulations
It is said that once you look upon them, you can see all of creation & Love
I think worthy of a higher spot-Plus, I need more Trophies lol
Whispers of sweet nothings through my ears
Roaring yet soothing tunes interrupted my veins
Small boats abiding the collision of fears
Abandoning the bundled senses of pain
The briny tang became acidic to the heart
With coral and ultramarine that entwined violently
A hurricane of wolves galloping like surreal art
I fall back, drowning into the depths of vibrancy
Echoes, Echoing In Cold Silent Hush
The Gods we adore in our youthful youth
are shadows we see before coming truth.
In youth, our eyes are but dark jaded spheres
that deny and guard against our true fears!
From imagined hopes and great treasured dreams
we see far more than gold in moonlit beams.
As golden mirrors upon waters cast,
so are sorrowful regrets born to last!
Winding trails, we traverse on darken paths
are found bitterest black seeds, grapes of wrath.
To be planted in dead and barren grounds
as innocent cries, birth horrific sounds!
The Gods that, our golden dreams dare to crush
are but echoes, in that cold silent hush!
R.J. Lindley,
Feb 7th, 1979
Sonnet, ( The Way We Tread, The Way We Fall )
Why am I so bare?
I feel like my body lacks bones
Unable to move … stagnant
But I can feel my soul
It is alive
It wails and moans
I am the only one who hears its anguished tones
Hiding in my shadowy corner
Trying to avoid being hit by the raining stones
How do I escape this place?
I feel imprisoned in this zone
Do I want to be freed?
Do I just want to be left alone?
You can’t stop the sun from rising
nor the waxing and waning of the moon;
nor can you stop the stars from blinking.
You can’t stop lightning from flashing
nor can you stop thunder from roaring;
neither can you un-ring and rung bell.
Ever wonder if an echo can be stopped
once reflected into the ever-moving wind—
blowing with its own as well as other echoes?
And is it not also a wonder that wherever we go
we tend to leave some kind of footprint; even if
only scented footprints that could be followed?
Contemplating further, it can be realized
that the inked poetic word can be likened
unto that of echoing footprints for the eyes.
With respect to life, there is an old axiom
that reminds us that while workers will die,
the work they were committed to will go on.
Likewise, it is with the poet and poetry:-
Poets will die but the inked poetic word
left behind will be as echoing footprints.
A string
A voice
A beautiful noise
The sound that calms the mind
Reverberated by the wall behind
The perfect kind of poise
It is
My kind of noise.
Traversing towards the thundering falls
Its echoing calls pulling
Eyes filled with dewy mist
Sunlight....
that burns in the middle of the woods.
The spread of fragrance
with the echoing of the singing birds
Is all I needed to envision heaven
That, Thy hand hath created them all.