Best Ejects Poems
Mindful
Startled out of nonchalant light,
Wakefulness stands at attention
Ignited flame from the eternal candle,
Energized vigil of the watchman
At the soul’s dawning daybreak
Tingling in the presence
Of every dappled infinite breath.
Rotating eye of illumination
Watchful, like a lighthouse beacon hovering,
Charts rocks and shoals through clear oceans insight,
Every nerve exposed in circumspection
Sometimes cringing in wary expose
Often basking in the light touch of satisfaction
As niggling prophecy finds confirmation in revelation
Throwing off the blinded penury of antonyms,
Embracing flashing synonyms of wisdom,
Tears of the heedful heart touch drab puzzles poverty
To polish with refinement’s shine burnished enthusiasm
For the incandescent dancing mindful
Then banish chary strobes of destitute indifference
Reaching beyond self-centered parentheses.
A lantern of thoughtfulness in floodlights
Of full harvest shared – no scattered crumbs of bread
Baked to stone in scathing flashes of the false
Eloquent vigilant splendor - never morning extinguished –
Torch to awaken lambent radiance of clarity’s joy,
Identity of the pilgrim heart, ejects sightless shades
Mindfulness blends the conscious scattered fragments
For Mosaics in clear lit portraits of charity's open hands
Throwing off the numb stalker branded carelessness
Born of intentional ignorance
Seeker’s actuated incentive to the attentive –
To hear! To see! To feel! To move in birth!
Action invigorated by accentuated humility of grace.
Date Written 6-10-21
Best #1 Poem - September 2021
1st place Trophy Win Poetry Contest - Mindful
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology - It's Still Poetry
Is it love or trust, mutual desire or strong will
that ejects entwined bodies into the unknown
from the springboard of impulsiveness?
Arched in firm embrace and defying norms of life
they leap forth with passion filled
in search of fulfillment.
A moment so intense
magnetic, unrestrained,
where the movement flows along
radiating hidden brutal strength,
and yet, so graceful to behold.
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[Note: After attending the inauguration of Caesar Attard’s art exhibition
at the National Museum of Fine Arts, Valletta, Malta. This is about his
painting called "Locked Leap".]
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Contest: Screwed III
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Placed 3rd
Which is the real African dream?
building an independent continent?
decolonization of neocolonialism?
I think it is a no!
Which is the virgin African dream?
is it life of mutual brotherhood?
can it be continental patriotism?
I think it is a no!
Which is the African dream?
becoming a world super power?
protecting resources for posterity?
I think it is a no
African dream is a dead dream
whenever the Africa begins to dream
noises and skirmishes wake him
out of bed he runs!
But I think I know African dream
It is individual not communitarian
ballooning belly, head, pockets with pride
then skating the planet!
The African mass does not dream
once noise ejects them from dream- beds
they trek to where citizens have dreamt
to pick bits of life!
Africans, do dream virgin African dreams
Nothing is so precious, nothing is so great
A humorous thing about sex
when young ‘twas a subject complex
we tried to get laid
but left so dismayed
when merriment early ejects.
August 29, 2019
I was expecting to find an open door to your heart
From the glimpses I received to your soul
To be lost in your dream forever my dream
Drawn to your pivot like a charged magnet
The only time I seem to be alive…is when I'm electrified!
When I become lost in your fantasy…you can end me?
I watch the world go by as you enter mine…or choose to.
There are no words, not a sound, only your powerful thoughts
Only emotion, only my undying devotion…in this placid ocean
Of once rough waters…collected tears like the Dead Sea
I picture you as you were before the door closed
A raging storm, a ravaging force, unforgiving
A drop of your tears, flooded the mind to a crippling stroke
With sorrow and despair…a woman scorned!
How I stayed afloat the wreckage…unseen?
An ant in your crushing palm…where do I begin?
Only you can end the storm for love’s sunset to take form
Only you define the horizon…to a goodnight?
Perhaps I enjoy these salty planes and otherwise clear skies?
My destiny is wherever your storm ejects or swallows me
The nightmare is still only a small part of your dream
I love you Cecilia…and so I stay within a force of nature
Where your winds and whims dictate my direction
And your rainwaters offer me equally life and death
(On May 1 1960, at the very depth of the
Cold War, CIA pilot Gary Powers was shot
down over the central USSR. Here we are
imagining his conversation with a charge
d'affaires of the US Embassy. Powers
is threatening to go public on CIA
mismanagement and to tell all to the
Russians - the Igors and the Borises.
Powers died soon afterwards in a
helicopter crash.)
What's Thompson's game? He's sent a charge here?
He should have come himself. So, Mister Jinks,
I'm going to assume you're with the firm.
Tell you what happened? Why don't you tell me?
Okay, I didn't trash the Thunderbird -
but I was kinda busy, get my drift?
My face was pulling g's to beat the band
and if you knew the vehicle, you'd know
the seat ejects like bats fly outta hell -
explosive bolts. I'm falling vertically,
and spinning like a top, and if I get
alignments wrong by half an inch,
the console cuts my legs off when I spring.
So what? So this. I had things on my mind.
You want your secrets kept? So train us right.
Foresee contingencies.
The silver buck?
I chucked it. Threw it, as the chute came down,
but kept the pin. The Igors have it now.
Well fella, you got questions and to spare,
and I don't like the way they're shaping up.
Oh sure, you got your job to do. Me too,
remember? I'm the guy who got his ass
shot out the sky at sixty thousand feet!
I didn't buy the farm. Is that a sin?
Tell Langley I'm an Amish - what the hell?
I told them it's curare.
Get real, pal!
They may be Borises, but I won't have
some guy get stiffed because he pricked his thumb.
They'd find out anyhow. You bet I have!
I got more beefs than Texas. Pin 'em back.
Nobody thought it through, this turkey-shoot,
or what we'd do, dumb Joes like little ol' me
when Igor got us. Unprofessional!
Now bust your ass, and get me outta here.
When I get back, I'm gonna tell the world
how Langley hangs its fly-guys out to dry.
We got a First Amendment. Let 'em try!
barely whisper - behind ear
drum quite - nostrils flare
pulse quickens - blood flows
lips part softly - supple fingers test
legs spread freely - dark naval dips
chest rises fully - tender nipples press
back springs upward - faithful head lifts
well tightens - hips flex
eyes glaze - mind ejects
love pauses - whispers yet
Up,but Down…Part-1
This bus old as this rutted road
Panting to haul its sweaty load
Moves along the steep gradient
Of these hills stoutly determined
Raising to heights which although small
Are far like aeons beyond recall
To the place men and maps from yore
Call by a name now part of lore
It stops and ejects a lone man
Bearded, forlorn, bag and baggage
A petty forest official
Perhaps on punishment transfer
To these hills, unfeeling and cold
Where his ticket has taken him
Which could take him no further, no less
Away far away from sweet home
To where it’s for predators home.
It turns left, heaves off a U-turn
Climbs on to a conglomeration
Of tenements of refugees
From a strife-torn island, whose hopes
Are holding breath in another land
Uprooted amidst the rooted
All at sea amidst hardy rocks.
And returns to the highway where
The forest man still stands rooted
Aghast where he was offloaded
Like one of those gaunt and old trees
Failing to find his way to those
Who came before, missing the link
With the before and with the now.
Let me put my heart out
Want to show you how heart ejects blood
So I want to put my heart out
Before you draw feet far for other
Want to wash feet from my blood
Then your heart will visit into my heart
Not only it is red but can irrigate
your feet with love, besmearing with red
Red is a symbol of win of my love
So let me put my heart out
Before you draw feet far for other
Whole day I waited your ways in the corner
Your shadow does to come nearer and nearer
Assuring faith of love and air of your breath
Not mere breath that was an strength of my faith
So I want to put my heart out
Before you draw feet for other
When you will run to wash my blood of heart
The dust will soak greedily to create love on earth
Part and particles of blood mixing with air
Will blow wider wider spreading the end of love
So I want to put my heart out
Before my love will sink with the stars forever.
The basics to live
was with the peeling off,
the tangerines. The innovative flight
takes you to surrealism?
of a countdown, which begins
to send a subsonic device
to small jupiters.
You receive the call and
jump into black sea?
eliminating the foes, breaking the bridge.
This moment after sometime splits,
ejects the god particle.
You slip out of backyard
to embrace the apparition.
The ending was never a happy thing.
Satish Verma
A season – Ages ago
Ages ago, many a seed had been planted.
Their blossoming brings, being taken for granted,
never seen, acknowledged or appreciated.
As gardeners, sowers of, we are fated
to pay an intolerable, unbearable price
for all, all we experience that is not nice
for a parent to see, to feel, believe to be,
that has come to be a part of you and me.
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I – like the south pole of, a magnet pushes - away ?
I – like a distant planet without gravity – ejects ?
Is it that I repel ?, instead of attract.
Is reality ?, for me, anything beyond abstract
and truly above contact ?, - such a pity
to get down and dirty, get to the nitty-gritty.
------------------------------------
A beam of energy, a wave of light, a speck of dust
in the vacuum cleaner bag of space, brought to light
within the vast womb of our universe, have I been.
My life’s impression being, being that speck of dust,
which, speck, upon speck, upon speck, upon speck
of dust gathers, accumulating upon my soul.
Dust to dust, atom to atom, gas to gas, a planet to create
until all is to heavy, I no longer am able to carry the weight.
The weight become so unbearable, these shoulders
begin to droop, drop off – back to dust, to atom, to energy,
to that vacuum cleaner bag, to the universes womb, there ,
once again to start it all over, back on the merry-go-round.
Maybe ?, a lighter load ?, a brighter road ?,
a much better story that could be told ?
What will carry us to the next time ?
What path will we walk next time ?
What journeys will be ours next time ?
Maybe ?, when it becomes next time,
and we gather, are carried into ?,
I might impart something of value,
a new start to help carry them through,
after they have been dropped off
- blown away by the winds of times passing –
to create their own planets, live their own lives,
their own experiences without influencing
the gardener with a world of negative forces,
what has seemed a lifetime of negative energy.
B. J. “A” 2
January 19th 2003
Chemistry infuses
Grains of solace
Forecast
Passion illuminates
Forbearance wakes
Queries
Affirmation ejects
Anticlimax occurs
Siren
pot seeds down the drain
what kind of life force sustained?
mutant monsters with long hair
sleezy & greezy and they don’t care
growing their sewer dope
their purpose, their only hope
started with a few rejects
the kind society simply ejects
those that can’t reside
in this place where you cannot confide
mean ol’ gargoyles with a potent touch
give that stuff a strange rush
then a few more slipped in
alien warriors again and again
no way do these dudes care
make humans tear out their hair
so next time you see a bald guy
will you wonder about his high?
this smoke that grows in your drain
the only thing on Frankenstein Nazi’s brain
‘cause trippin’ in the bowels of this town
guaranteed to bring ya down
they grew it and they do it
each day beneath your street
stoned grinches in a lazy mob
full of the stuff that turns you into a blob
fallen angels with the munchies really bad
hungry for the toque that makes us all mad
Chemistry infuses
Grains of solace
Forecast
Passion illuminates
Forbearance wakes
Queries
Affirmation ejects
Anticlimax occurs
Siren
In hirsute adolescence
a narcissist climbs
the breast and becomes
a graveyard of moons.
Talking of marginality,
a hole in the chest
ejects a secret of peachy skin
when wind was selling sex.
Most corrupt was me
always telling truth about the
warm eggs of chaotic legs
who will not climb down the street.
Satish Verma