Best Encasement Poems
He never did see a face though only a board width away,
yet remembers feeling privileged, spending those last few moments
while trying so hard to find the softer soil to lessen the impact
upon the brass plated permanent encasement; in this final resting place.
beneath the old oak
neither sun nor moon perceived
a veil of shadow
He’s mindful of the susceptible sensation within when the last
shovelful that completely covered the coffin tenderly placed,
then the license to use the coarse fill of heavy clay and stoney soil.
to become apart
at one within holy ground
the grass grows each spring
A phenomenal pride when to barrow away the surplus soil,
leaving the mound trim and tidy, a monument for the deceased;
also a monument for him, his very first dig, all with his own hand.
a mark of respect
for three score years and nineteen
entity forgone.
© Harry J Horsman 2015
Raging Reality
Love lost cannot find the freshness it once knew.
Haunting past memories absorb sanity.
Spellbound, last illusions, and joys say, “adieu.”
Flickering dreams blanket deaths black reality.
Haunting past memories absorb sanity.
Reality grips hate’s raging encasement.
Flickering dreams blanket deaths black reality.
Final mockery proclaims a new standard.
Haunting past memories absorb sanity.
Spellbound, last illusions, and joys say, “adieu.”
Flickering dreams blanket deaths black reality.
Love lost cannot find the freshness it once knew.
© Name withheld until after the contest
May 9, 2010
Poetic form: Pantoum
Your voice is like a song bird, trilling Spring with praise
Tantalizing me with melodies you render
Each dulcet note you sing is a meaningful phrase
Spring may be fleeting, but your songs, I surrender
When you sing to me, I could listen without end
You are exquisitely sculpted, regal splendor
You are a romantic sonnet that must be penned
A letter declaring love, and I the sender
Such beautiful vocals from song birds is a gift
When I hear them I will always think about you
I wish I could croon like the melodious swift
and fly away with you in Springtime skies of blue
As long as birds sing, it’s your voice I will hear
Encased within my heart, my love will have no fear
Love is a seed
When it is planted in fertile soil it grows
When it is planted amongst thorns and thistle it is choked out
It cannot flourish when the enemy tries to choke it
It cannot flourish when the vultures come to pick over it
Love is a seed
Have you ever planted a seed of love?
Have you ever watched another one’s grow?
It is a most spectacular plant ever so silently growing from its encasement
Once the outer shell of the seed softens the seedling emerges
It sneaks up through the soil to grasp the light with its tender leaves
It reaches up through the fertile soil and seeks nourishment and light
The sun photosynthesizes its energy upon it
Have you ever seen a weed?
Have you ever seen a weed as it suffocates the harvest?
As it strangles out all the healthy plants that are meant for food?
Have you ever got on your knees to pray and pull spiritual weeds?
All the while knowing that the weed pulling is up to you the gardener?
This is a metaphor
This is a poem
Its basis is solely from the Words of Our Savior Jesus
In order for seeds of love to grow we must plan for the harvest
In order for seeds to grow we must be on our knees in prayer
Come and sit at the feet of our Savior and pull some spiritual weeds today!
Your harvest will be bountiful and it will shine amongst the best gardens in the world!
Gwendolen Rix
8-21-14
“My grandfather was strong and mighty, till he died at age of ninety.
The clock then stopped to run no more.
Then one of my relations wrote a song, sung for generations.
I think of it more and more:
“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny-weight more . . .”
Shaken from his quaint digression, his face in tense expression,
He renewed his dire obsession
About what made the clock strike in the night.
He slipped to the room adjacent, above an empty basement,
Where stood the clock’s encasement – opened so very slight.
Moving with stealth, and in no hurry,
He saw an object hunched and furry;
His cat stood vigil in the night, with eyes reflecting light.
A mouse, the cat had faced, into the clock was chased,
And up the pendulum raced, quickly taking flight.
Climbing the clock’s encasement, the mouse’s weight displacement,
Tripped the spring so tight; it struck with awesome might!
Striking twelve it had numbered, his muddled thoughts encumbered,
Scared awake from slumber in the night.
“All of this is so confusing, could I, these years be using
The clock with spring so tight?”
In his mental delusion he added to the confusion,
For this intrusion in the night.
There was nothing he couldn’t handle
With his shotgun on the mantle by the door,
With it he could surely even up the score.
With the menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger
Then the grandfather clock was no more
And the cat and mouse— a taxidermy chore.
I am missing you,
thinking of your love-
its not the hours since my last hug,
or the voice that I hear inside,
it's the caring in your eye's,
and the sanity that I derive,
though I cry
... I can't ever deny-
the sweetness of real life,
the wryness of your flight,
and the encasement of the lights,
bring this town to a halting glide.
Slides me into the lake with saunter,
a graceful dance of the haunted,
I wish for none other than the positive,
for life and love and you are wanted.
we are all built for hell but some have made modification to adjust their placement and still they have miles to go before their finished racin
so daily i enter my mental basement to destroy its encasement only to find its like beating a twig on the pavement
my courageous statements are met with resentment
my untainted patience is often more than should be given
and still im driven to keep winnin through unbiased livin
i refuse to envision my manhood in a compromising position
and my past transgressions are contradictions to my mission
since I strayed from the christians but thats my conviction
so i try to throw blessins in many directions in the form of lessons depictin the streets oppression
and this food i feed to my brethren is like feeding a cold congestion with no medicine for suppression
seeing as im spreading this contagion with no abrasions to the most evasive men in the nation
These beautiful black creations were supposed to be raising are raising hell in our faces and catchin cases with briefcases filled with life sentence phrases and sierra leone bracelets
I'm destined to change this.
“My grandfather was strong and mighty, till he died at age of ninety.
The clock then stopped to run no more.
Then one of my relations wrote a song, sung for generations.
I think of it more and more:
“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny-weight more . . .”
Shaken from his quaint digression, his face in tense expression,
He renewed his dire obsession
About the clock striking in the night.
He slipped to the room adjacent, above an empty basement,
Where stood the clock’s encasement – opened so very slight.
Moving with stealth, and in no hurry,
He saw an object hunched and furry;
His cat stood vigil in the night, with eyes reflecting light.
A mouse, the cat had faced, into the clock was chased,
And up the pendulum raced, quickly taking flight.
Climbing the clock’s encasement, the mouse’s weight displacement,
Tripped the spring so tight; it struck with awesome might!
Striking twelve it had numbered, his muddled thoughts encumbered,
Scared awake from slumber in the night.
“All of this is so confusing, could I, these years be using
The clock with spring so tight?”
In his mental delusion he added to the confusion,
For this intrusion in the night.
There was nothing he couldn’t handle
With his shotgun on the mantle by the door,
With it he could surely even the score.
With the menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger
Then the grandfather clock was no more
And the cat and mouse— a taxidermy chore.
Blessed is the calmness of our impassioned night,
Forever bound to the passionate starlight,
Unblessed is the sound from an old, rusting clock
Inside this windows encasement;
Oh but we lay here instilled with insomnia
Give me the nature, your intent and desire
When in thought remains the product of your urges,
The will relates to the capacity of our mind
Implanted in the hunger for sleep;
But we lay here long with insomnia
Come listen, too silent the sound as we lay,
And hear the wind as it rattles the glass;
While blessed is a soul who lays until morrow
Staring at the windows encasement;
Hungering an end to insomnia
By m.norton
The Length and Breath of Time
Yes, you linger so succinct my fellow of graying hue;
Like a ember coal is you as you fumble for a cigarette;
Eyes burning down to the filter; the very best of your
Soul is unbound with time, but you lie unaware in longing and regret. How shall we entrain
you? We who seek your solace, your collar stayed conformity to watch it fade and falter.
You stand upon the altar of time with folly pinching your
Belongings – how dare the Jester diminish the gifts he gave you?
A home, a shell of leather on your feet, a small itching on the back of time that all is
filtered through sublime; breathe it in my friend. It is coming to an end.
There’s a furnace deep within you where all acts do
linger fueled bright.
You stoke it day and night, yet no fire lights the
Architecture of the soul’s encasement, for it is billeted elsewhere, beyond the realm your
secrets have devised.
This should come as no surprise,
You can quench the fire, and scatter through the ashes
But find no answers there,
Another day,
Another week,
Another year…
Pull back that iron door,
Bite your tongue and curse the darkness
To light that flame once more…
Never been afraid of the nought,
Until your existence came upon.
Never feared requiems,
Until your breath stirred my life.
Did not mind stoicism,
Until your smile revitalized everything around.
It is like
every light, every meaning,
every sunshine and every wonderful thing
that the Earth has,
are being possessed by you.
Only you.
And if you decide not to stay,
the world will never be the same.
It would turn into a mass of asteroids.
Lifeless,
meaningless,
useless.
You have the core of my Earth,
And without you,
there will be no more foundation for my spirit,
music on my lyrics
and reason for my heartbeat.
So please, Love, do not leave.
But, when my encasement do not satisfy you anymore,
When the Earth is not enough for its core,
Forget my plea.
Leave,
my sunshine,
my soul,
my everything.
I embrace the state of being an asteroid.
As long as I make you happy.
#ifyoustay#
We carry history's traumas,
Twisted threads of wounded story,
And yet we have survived,
We have forgotten why we are here,
Our divine mission buried deep,
And yet we seek for the grail,
We dwell between ideal and reality,
Brokenhearted and confused,
And yet ultimately awaken,
In a moment of blinding light,
An eye opens,
I open,? I who is all and nothing,
Ah!
If you are no one,
You can be anyone,
If you are a Universal Being,
You can choose your way,
If you meditate on emptiness,
You can re-invent your life,
Simply realize you are both,
Everything and nothing,
Wedded in a spiritual encasement,
Infinite and finite exquisitely merged,
For freedom walks alongside,
Your captivity in name and form,
A soul bird flying freely,
Yet within a particular habitat,
A Being with a mask and a role,
A Being given a name and an identity,
A Being defined by convention and history,
And yet always, always,
A Being capable of realizing itself,
In freedom!
Allowing a fresh breeze to enter,
Inspirational new hope,
Death and rebirth welcomed,
Saying yes to change,
Re-inventing oneself,
Into being,
Who we can be,
It is possible,
For we are Spiritual Beings,
In disguise,
As it was said,
If you are no-one,
You can be anyone,
Like an actor taking on roles,
Yet knowing the person behind the role,
The real, authentic person,
Who is actually whoever and whatever,
We choose and develop,
We can throw out the rubbish,
We can resolve to clean out our cupboards,
Bury the skeletons,
Let go of masks that do not serve us,
Nor the world,
We can do this great work together,
Encouraging each other,
On the broad road of personal change,
And collective transformation,
Take my hand and walk with me!
I have been pondering for quite some time,
Is there a permanence to the meaning of the word ‘greatness’?
Whatever does it mean ‘to be great’ or ‘to feel great’?
You see, from ever since, I’ve attached its meaning to superiority,
Something unreachable, beyond my wildest imagination.
With branches beyond the skies,
which climax at levels exceeding human capability.
And thick, fibrous roots so deeply entrenched,
that they become onerous to deracinate.
But over the years, my realisation has surprised me.
I have recognised that greatness has distinctive,
yet instinctive qualities.
Much like a budding and unfolding bouquet of roses,
Its perfume is subjective.
Pungent to some, but fragrant and elegant to others.
Its vessel comes in different forms,
Some curved, thin or well figured.
And its florets can bud, bloom, change colour or even decay,
depending on the level of care.
Similarly, I have discerned that greatness resides in each of us.
Its aura is unfastened by our creativity and vision.
And it is unbarred by the similitude of unreached potential,
encasement or bewilderment.
And, at last, there cannot be any fixity to its meaning.
Rather, there is much subjectivity, intuitivity and reason,
that we must open ourselves up to receive.
I hope you receive and accept your feeling of greatness,
in whatever form it appears.
Love & Light.
07/04/21
Woody cologne caresses me, your fatherly comfort
Stirs corpsed compartments of stiff collar protector
Control and my frenetic force combine, triumphant
Curled in cream leather, exhaust drips peach nectar
Our lunching laughs echo in establishments of stature
Plate sized steak gorging has gregarious wine support
Irk of nostalgic nubile incessantly scratches my rapture
Emboldened blend makes mockery of standard thought
Furtive frowns from fellow diners behind glasses gossip
Solid gold arrogance asserts benefit blatantly displayed
Societal stable unharnessed, blurred in break out gallop
Crossing the line wins sustain disdain for lifestyles staid
Ocean boulevard show emits stadium raucous applause
Celebrated red car salatious, shouting salt can't catch us
Elite earnings erase enforced judgement, smudging laws
We cruise past calm cove, masts middle finger up status
Fresh blood Ferrari parks grumpy, subground clot cements
Your apartment arranged for everlasting afternoon lust fest
Ruptures my role of freewilled friend, raunch to commence
Aerobics of limber mayhem, loosened make-up, not just yet
Smug exhibits itself on you, bosom blooming, smile swollen
Why are you weird; response is, "Let's make a small detour"
Perhaps a chance to sunbathe bikini clad hasn't been stolen!
Side by side basking serves as a mismatched stamina cure!
Sixth floor nominate instead of eighth arouses sudden angst
Silver keys silence, you push them to my palm with a flourish
This mystery door surely won't submit, a magic rabbit yanked
Wave glint water pours in wall width windows, sun encouraged
"Enjoy, it's in your name," your announcement deep sea drowned
Overwhealmed by involuntary screams, my violent claws attached
Cling to your hull, oyster oppurtune splits old and new, pearl found
Levered apart, rough encasement heart slides out, gratitude hatched
27th Febuary 2026
rewritten by further reality
May 2020 was first version imagined
From fourteen feet I visualize how heavy is the frame,
which parallels encasement of slow and lumbering brain.
While even with my vision blurred and tables in the way,
I certainly descry the face so flat,broad and plain.
Before my semi-weekly sessions, which conscience forces me to face
my body debilitates my leave and preparation with psychosomatic pain,
while though I'm free from heart attack, the organ grips again.
Without sepsis and collapse in its non-ruptured grain,
my right and lower abdomen fools perception "Appendix in its flame"
When I arrive into the center on every session day,
I take the folder and the book and in my mind I pray
"I truly hope the absence will take the charge away".
In pause of possibility, while I sit,dream and wait,
I write the note on take-home sheet " It will return that day"
Within the lesson,I am tortured as mine's a greatly swifter pace,
the discipline is nonexistent,for I repeat my say
"The lesson wants you to master this" and hope that it obeys.
As I faced my session one inevitable day,
I needed the board for the lesson,while the student continued to paint.
I couldn't say "I need the board" within a mode of faint.
I tried to take it in my hands, yet weakness gave its way.
As the deterrent triggered a lesson in delay,
the sound lesson wanted us to learn is realm of slow retain.
When I arrive home, I aim to watch the videos of saints,
for that'll correct the aforementioned,uncharitable ways.
Date:4/15/2017