Best Eleven Poems
Chill breath of autumn
Sears the poppy scarlet red,
On his memory'd cenotaph.
Tears trickle in the furrowed
Faces of young comrades
.....now long dead
A busy road.
A tree stump.
An old man.
Everyday at eight 'o clock
He sits there, cane tapping
just watching cars go by--
I among them
Such a lonely man
I say to myself
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Same old man.
He looks up, cane twirling
and smiles at me
in that split second
I smile back
A roadside friend is gained.
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different old man.
Day after day
He waves hi--cane dancing
Smiling
I wave goodbye,
no time to stop
Same busy road
Same tree stump
No old man
I screech to a halt
Ask of his absence
Clutching
a piece of paper
found taped on his cane
I weep in my car
and send a prayer
of thanks
to my roadside friend
Eleven words
Changed my world.
"Thank you lady in the blue car.
You make my day."
Same busy road.
Same tree stump.
Different me.
Like your favorite ambrosian juice and long caramel series, there's always an end. Everything has an end. The arcane rainbow, the beating rain, your aching pain. Hunger is a feeling, and to conquer it, you must feed it.
The strongest things are buried
beneath the ground, in the dark, in the unknown and to know how much you can hold, you must reach your threshold.
As powerful as the motley moon, it’s not full every nebulous night. Even the purified stars disappear. Your beauty doesn’t rest only in fullness, It blooms in your maroon mistakes,
your balmily imperfections, and your empyreal past. You do not exist without
them—hold them like a teddy, sing a pumpkin lullaby and let it be your Nexus.
For just like you, what holds the trees are unseen. Be it your resin fears or your shrinking folds, your amort traumas or flaming losses, give them a chance to win,
Whatever you give power to,
controls everything you have control over.
when something breaks,
it never returns to what it was.
It either stays unfixed or is made into something better. Every grain I’ve lost
gave me a chance for something more.
The beauty of the tangerine
sea glass lies in the turns of the tumult storms and corpulent tides. Some things aren’t seen, yet create the best results.
For what we become, we dream, and to dream, we must live. Like life, dreams are tunnels and we must sway through.
In that dark journey lies a vessel—yourself.
Flowers and thorns both exist in that path,
but you must know that you are not alone.
There’s an end to sadness, uncertainty, failure, rejection, and heartbreak.
But to fully sink into goodness, you must first be buried in the fins of kismet.
The thick padded clouds show their thighs, but can never stop the skylight or the rain. What I become, I become. What I seek, I seek. What seeks me, answers me first. For all the lives I couldn't live, embrace me in the next. And for all the dreams I couldn’t dream, wake me up in the next.
Stopped by Seven Eleven to find absolution...
maybe some triple chocolate Häagen-Dazs'
slice of heaven., a little peace; redemption.
A lanky guy dressed in jeans and a smile,
one welcomed in a greeting...
walked the parking lot selling flowers..
wrapped in a clear shielded bouquet.,
set his sights on me.
Wonder now, whom the more desperate of us two,
either way wasn't showing all his tarot cards,
when I waved him aside.
Keepin' that deadly pace..
fallen far, it seemed,
from any kinda grace.
In that one second, my mood a little off..
face must've showed it.. too late.
He knew, as I did too..
he had to ask,
anyway..
I just wanted to be,
somewhere else, anywhere..
else.
Anyway., rested uneasy on my mind.
I made my way out past the door,
marked in inches and feet.
For a moment, I thought about it.
Guilt-ridden, eyes searchin' for him..
young woman with her flowers..,happy,
his truck backin' to gas up, full of flowers..,
still smiling..
Almost turned and went back. a chance to repay,
my fellow brother in arms..
'hey, I do want those flowers after all..
how much are they?, keep the change.'
Man, when did things get this bad...
One of these days I'll find you..
your smile will be my reason.,
to buy those sad looking flowers.,
though I don't think you care much for them.
Another day perhaps...
I'll find it; we'll find it..
the perfect poem.
One written just for you and me.
Just a guess., I think that flower vender heard it already,
and wanted only to share its miracle with me...
The eleventh month, November, the month that takes a breath,
As it's waiting. Waiting for a fickle sun to decide.
Though sun's decision ever is to skim the sky with stealth,
As if a painter's hand the vibrant stars of night has 'plied.
The short days of muted light unwrap autumn's cold beauty,
While thick blankets on a bed ensure an even slumber.
This month of regimented hours calls us to our duty---
The great preparation for December's Holy number
The buildings fell, and so my heart.
Not the very whole of it,
But that portion of innocence?
Fell that piece, or part.
And I beheld the evil,
Though a foreign thing to me—
Even as the buildings fell,
And my hope for humanity.
But the tower dared to rise again,
As I marveled at the view—
For the evil failed to triumph...
As my hope was born, anew!
It was a beautiful morning, the sky azure,
and the air clear and cloudless.
The dawn's sunrise casted shadowy silhouettes
of the city, on the calm and unrippled Hudson River.
The city's streets were heavy with people traffic from
workers and tourists rushing around in the fast pace
of Manhattan's mid-week norm.
While driving to my work destination, and listening and singing-
along to John Lennon's hit song "Imagine"
Suddenly, the music stopped playing and the radio host interrupted
to announce that a plane had just hit one of the twin towers.
At first, I thought it was a small private plane that hit because the man on the radio didn't explain that it was a jet with passengers on it.
As the minutes passed by, every radio station was sharing the "Breaking News" that a plane had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Centers.
Most every was in shock, and clueless as to it being an attack by Al-Qaeda/Osama Bin Laden. Once the second plane hit the South Tower,
it was a no-brainer that we were under attack.
I've never felt so unsafe in my life than that day or the following days ahead. Everywhere I went, every time I left my home, my eyes would be wandering over my shoulder and behind my back. The eerie feeling lingered on for days, weeks and even months. The smell of ash still scents my nostrils, the quiet sound of silence in the aftermath still rings my ears. The memories of that horrific day will forever be with me.
can never forget
the world trade centers collapsed
terrorist's attack
I am Iron Man Seven/Eleven.
How's it feel to have arms of steel?
A cast iron head, and a rock hard bed.
I am ready to go to sleep right now.
Nighty-Night....
Short Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2002,2014..ALL rights reserved..
Eleven, Eleven, Eleven
Eleven, eleven, eleven, again
Tormented souls up in heaven
1918 - How time’s rolled on
With a whole generation gone.
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month each year people stay
2 minutes stopped from activity
Stand still and silent for all to see
Respect given to the long-dead, missing, fallen
In needless wars of attrition
Yet worldwide wars still rage on
Today our troops and civvies fall upon
Foreign soil and foreign lands
Killed and maimed by foreign hands
Their unselfish acts never cease
In helping bring this world to peace
Some youth look on with empty eyes
Cannot understand people’s sighs
Don’t want to know what they can’t see
At things that happened in history
The years roll on – but things don’t change
Respect for these heroes is not strange
These people battle universal strife
Willingly lay down their life
We hear Kipling’s words “Lest we Forget”
But do we understand our eternal debt?
No greater love is more than this
They give their lives for our own bliss
Rest well you battle weary souls
Whose souls and lives will ne’er grow old
Rejoice each year again and again
That your sacrifice was not in vain
August's aura arouses...
Arresting alluring angels
so blue, blissful & bright.
There's a New World
An anchor falls into the Hudson,
There's one half a moon
The Indians fall to their knees.
Red oak leaves are burning
High fly the ashes
Grey smoke signals of warning
Over Manhattan.
Gray smoke,
The drums were sounding loud.
Gray smoke signals of warning
Lost into the clouds...
Can you hear the Indians sing?
(CHORUS)
Brother Bear were you there
When those ships sailed into Manhattan?
Hey Brother were you there
When the White Men came?
Did you see it happen?
Hey you, look over there!
Now over the River
At the skyline of Manhattan
Were you, were you there
When the terror came?
Did you see it happen?
There's a New World
where shadows fall into the Hudson.
There's footprints on the moon
The people fall to their knees.
Red oak leaves are burning
Farewell Autumn ashes
Grey smoke in the morning
Covering Manhattan.
Grey smoke,
The sirens sounding loud.
Gray smoke signals of warning
Lost into the clouds.
Gray smoke
Nine, Eleven, Sixteen O Nine
Gray smoke signals of warning
Now Lost in Another time.
Can you hear the Indians sing?
(CHORUS)
--------------------------------------------------
Lyrics by Marco BING, written for the song 'Gray Smoke'
Note from the author:
11 September, 1609. Aboard the Dutch Ship 'Half Moon'
Henry Hudson discovers Manhattan Island.
I imagine the local Indians at that time (The Lenape people)
watched in awe and amazement as the giant sails
made their way up the Hudson river from the Atlantic;
perhaps lighting fires as warning signals to other tribes in the area.
Their lives would change forever from this day.
Then, 392 years later in the year 2001, the inhabitants of the area
once again watch on in disbelief as a different kind of ship appears over Manhattan...
Their lives would also be changed forever.
Peace to all
Marco
Eleven
Sad heart breaks in two.
A walk with pain, sorrow, death,
unbearable pain.
Daddy snatched away from her.
Scared, defenceless, eleven.
By night eleven figures came to me
Unlocking doors that sealed shut long ago.
We travelled forward on a darkened sea
To sleepy Somnus’ cave, hidden below.
Eternal slumber gave me rich insight,
Transcribing knotted weavings made by Fates.
The desert day so soon becomes the night.
A pink adenium opens the gates.
The broadened wings of Letum drive whirlwinds
Destroying yet defining futile man.
This changeless contract Saturn can’t rescind.
This boundless desert wastes the best laid plans.
The vision fades away, the figures leave.
The Moon is made anew, no need to grieve.
Nine Eleven
Alas , oh monoliths, that once stood tall
above the great metropolis
that housed human souls like carnival balloons
and the children would release them in the air
never to be seen again
The world is rife with Gods and Demons
who disguise themselves as
good and evil and which to choose
and who will lose
but we are all collateral
Oh, that violence would erupt
in the name of Gods and Demons
the monoliths have been destroyed
releasing the balloons in the air
as spheres toward heaven
Will they touch each other good or bad
in peace as they drift up toward their paradise
or will they pass each other upward
never to be seen again
© Ralph Sergi
(REVISED)
Ten years ago, on Eleven September
more than three thousand died,
we should always remember
There was no warning, that fateful day
when those planes hit the towers,
it shall never go away
The Pentagon rumbled, then was on fire
more people died,
with more funeral pyres
The Brave men and women, on flight 93
so valiantly fought,
what if, it were you and me?
Because of this day,there's a war that we fight
a half world away,
we're still living the plight
Me and Women still dying, fighting the foe
some ten years later,
just how far must it go?
On Eleven September,with our flags at half mast
let's remember our Hero's,
for the die has been cast
if you go to ground zero, please say a prayer
in remembrance of the Hero's
who were, are still there
If you see a Soldier, just back from the war
please shake their hand,
for, they deserve so much more
Bow your head now in silence, please let's observe
to reflect upon our Hero's,
it's for us, that they serve !
Heavenly Father; In a moment these brave souls, went from being with us, to being seated with you. We ask that you wrap your loving arms around them, and let them know that their sacrifices were not in vain, that they are being Honored, here, by those whom they sacrificed their lives for! Amen