Best Encumbers Poems
I would like to spill,
What is harbored in my soul.
I would like to say,
Things that no one really knows.
·
I’d apologize to you,
In a measurement beyond the stars.
For not being there with you,
Has left my soul this scar.
·
I’m reminded of the heartache,
From that dreadful day.
Of an ordinary time,
When God took you away.
·
I would’ve quickly taken,
The fate that you have faced.
Than to see your children suffer,
Savoring sorrows aftertaste.
·
If I had straps on my shoulders,
Attached to an antique plow.
You’d see deep ruts in the earth,
From the weight I carry now.
·
I’m harvesting my burdens,
In my open fields of pain.
In the drought of happiness,
Awaiting a smiling rain.
·
I’ve cultivated memories,
From the 3 years you’ve been gone.
Laying on glistening blades of grass,
That I cried on sorrow’s lawn.
·
I reminisce on the tears,
That only my heart knows.
Waiting for bouquets of smiles,
From the seeds I just now sowed.
·
I’m sorry you faced such madness,
Without me along your side.
And things could have been better,
Perhaps you would have survived.
·
I’m sorry I didn’t call you,
To distract your vivid mind.
But I replay those what if’s,
All the freakin’ time.
·
No one knows my heartache,
Of not biding my goodbye.
These are things I’ve harbored,
Way down, deep inside.
·
It feels like you’d still be here,
If I’d used my earthly power.
I’m sorry for not distracting you,
From your darkest hour.
·
This is a poem I had to write,
To regain my inner control.
And release my encumbers,
To unburden my soul.
·
You will always be my best friend,
A notion I’ll never condone.
You know I’ll await your answer,
When God calls me home.
_________________________
For Christie and Sharon's
"I'm Sorry" Contest
SONG OF ANALOG MAN
Don't blog.
Sing in analog.
Log-off in space.
Wasted time!
In machine rhyme.
Holding data in your face.
Past, heart shaped locket.
Present, gear and shinny sprocket.
Pendulum stops in place.
Time machine,speaks tick-tock.
Strings and loops, in quantum flick-flock.
Trying to save the human race.
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream of
one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
Here today and gone tomorrow.
Cry into your programed sorrow.
You are not, Computer Ace.
Find the F key, find the trouble.
Hit a key, and now it's double.
All else fails, report your case.
Don't throw ExBasic fits here!
Count the gigs to megabits dear.
Do your Loop in nested trace.
Forgot to multiply
the chain.
Did this really cook
your brain?
The functions solved for X and Y,
thrown a curve you won't embrace.
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream
of one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
A swirl of chips and funny numbers.
Formulas, our life encumbers.
Are we truly lost in place?
Can we backtrack and count our fingers?
Toes and noes, the feeling lingers.
Of pendulums, and golden lockets,
and crystals used for mama's vase.
He wants a song, to strum guitar strings.
Don't complicate, the how to live things.
Digital, can we erase?
Analog he really savors.
No prologue to quantum favors.
Do away and please efface!
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream
of one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
By Edlynn Nau
All you took went in your bottle
The energy is full throttle
All those feelings mixed together
Will explode on the road of the nether
Never thought you’d let them leave
It’s happened but you can’t believe
That the damage has all been done
And the pain is yet to stain the sun
Now you see why you must vent
Half of what’s said is ever meant
The other half reflects your age
Embrace what can misplace rage
Release all that encumbers
In the greatest of numbers
And tell the trusted what’s wrong
Because life is brief, but grief is long
So don’t conceal
How you feel
Or you will peel
Your emotions
Mixed with potions
Cause erosions
You’d never heal
I lay encased in darkness, in loathing,
With twisted visions, my mind betrothing
My dried lips with a lustful, moistened hue.
In that blackness moved a slender figure,
Its shadowed frame increasingly bigger,
As it coiled tightly around my senses.
And into my ear I felt a whisper,
So surely of some forgotten sister
Released to tempt one upon his Garden.
This serpent lady, she but kissed my throat,
And claim of my soul this seraph could boast;
Into her cold grasp, my consciousness sank.
Breaking from that kiss, I felt her slither
Beneath my spread, her sweetness turns bitter
As she encumbers my mind and my bed.
Upon my neck there's a burning trickle,
Her fangs no longer a sweet, soft tickle;
She licks my waist, I fall into a death.
----
Note from the author:
Lately I've been very inactive with my poetry. I've had a severe writers block and my mental health, usually a fuel for my writing, got to the same smothering inevitability as putting too many coals on an open fire at one go; my writing was starved of some form of oxygen that helped it thrive. To be honest, I'm attempting my writing again, but just where I've got to it compared to some of my other poems on this site I just don't know. I hope you all can soon appreciate and enjoy my writing again, and thank you for your time in perusing my poetry.
Guess what?
I am not perfect
Yet you call me Brother Lee
I've fail again my God and thee
Yet He's forgiven me
For He lent His life hung on a tree;
And for this I'm thank-fully
grateful
did I say thank-fully
Don't you judge me
You have no heaven and hell for me
I've been forgiven
Only thing good in me
Is
J E S U S
and His unmerited grace encumbers me..
Been bad
Yet, I've have also been good
But it's not totally depended on my good deeds
I've forgiven my brother's and sister's transgressions
For you see I to want to be forgiven
I am not perfect
Yet you call me Brother Lee
I've fail again my God and thee
Yet He's forgiven me
For He lent His life hung on a tree;
And for this I'm thank-fully
grateful
did I say thank-fully
For the only good in me
Is God's breath, His breathe of life in me
For the only good in me
Our His words I choose to receive..........
for thought I've fallen
yet I've gotten up
Now I stand before my sins
Washed in His blood
and now I AM a child of the King
Now I am truly forgiven
Don't you judge me
You have no heaven and hell for me
I've been forgiven
Only thing good in me
Is
J E S U S
I sit, gazing at my bountiful fields;
Cattle graze and meander upon the grass;
Flapping, a shadowy figure soars near;
He perches on the railing of my porch,
still saturated from the morning dew;
"Hello, my old friend," I say with a sigh;
He wears blackened fur and sports darkened wings;
“What brings you here to visit me today?”;
His masked bill stirs with curiosity,
Balancing himself on the old, cracked wood;
Through a gurgled croak, the bright outlook transforms;
Dark clouds emerge above dangerous peaks;
Pockets of pure salmon sky are swallowed;
Green fields decay to a hostile landscape;
Pestilence ravages the strong cattle;
Their corpses fester where maggots mingle;
Shaking, I try to clear what my eyes see;
The thumping of my heart intensifies;
My lungs seek oxygen but there is none;
Bleakness encumbers my soul, my being;
My only release sits on a table
Beside me in a cloudy container;
I grasp the bottle and clutch the white pill
With a strong gulp its powdery flesh makes
Its way deep into my troubled system;
I close my eyes and suck for air again;
Minutes pass, and the malignant world mends;
I open my eyes to the greenery
And perpetual beauty undisturbed;
My old friend departs into the blue sky;
I wave him goodbye but I know he will
Return tomorrow with an avalanche
my spirit hovers in a land without color
only shadows between dark and light
in youth the hues were vibrant
but now there are only forms in shades of boldness
oh, to bring the color back into my world
perhaps a magical return to childhood
you offer roses; their outlines I see
but they blend in with the untinted scenery
what was green
what was red
what painted the sunset...
this beauty I no longer see
since you left my side
and loneliness encumbers me
Mosaic tablets are not monoliths.
It all depends (despair, or last best hope?)
whatever end of Tocqueville’s telescope
you happen to be viewing. One man’s myths
are gospels to another. Freedom fighters,
or filthy terrorists? A vexing ton
of evidence encumbers Lexington.
Our certain self-assertion might indict us.
A foreign army’s trampling our soil,
despoiling farms and cottages at will?
We’re justified (according, then, to Hoyle)
in using violence? It’s never quite as
simple as they say, those righteous writers.
Is Dien Bien Phu so far from Bunker Hill?
For Shame
Their cold bronze eyes stare out at us from busy thoroughfare
Heroic gaze and presence met with apathetic stare
The marble plinths now stained with piss record with misery
Of truth and Kings and Glorious dead condemned to history
Graffiti ‘s witless scribbles stains and mars our heroes stands
and thuggery runs feral in multi coloured bands
No shame no pride encumbers they our landmarks here defile
Like pigeons stains on marble heads they vent their acid bile
What now of Nelson, Churchill, Drake, of Wellington and more
How are our Heroes memories served, by smearing them with gore
What spawned this breed of British men devoid of care and shame
Who know nothing of the Greatness of these bronzed men of fame
If Hero's could for just one day return as what they were
And take in hand these untamed brats, these craven little curs
To throw them onto Flanders fields or stand at Agincourt
And know the price of honour, these giants paid and bought
And when this generation pass, as car parks gain the ground
Our Heroes plinths will be condemned to underpin the mound
On which will stand graffitied towers our apathy displayed
Whilst from the past great men look on with countenance dismayed.
As much as I love to watch her undress
and anticipate what her reasons for doing so might be,
I find nothing more erotic than to watch her step out of the morning shower
and begin to prepare herself for the coming day.
I lay in bed, pretending to still sleep,
sans the clothing that encumbers my peaceful rest,
secretly watching her go about the morning rituals.
Wrapping a towel around her wet hair while standing in front of the full length mirror,
taking a sideways glance in my direction to make sure I am still asleep,
which I feign so well,
before twisting and turning her torso to make sure no parts were oddly misshaped in the night.
Wriggling into a pair of undies, of various shapes and colors,
making sure they fit perfectly to flatter her curves
and applying makeup before going on her search for a misplaced brassier.
The faces she makes in the mirror that she flips back and forth
to alternately magnify then reflect her image
highlighted through the artful application of makeup,
make me smile.
I cannot prevent the twitching and rising of the sheet covering my manhood.
Then, the head towel is removed and her hair spills out.
The raised arms brushing and blow-drying her hair
provides the opportunity I needed to feast on her, still bare, supple breasts.
By now, she is pleased by, but pretends not to notice the affect she has on me.
When, finally, she spies a bra that suits her wardrobe selection,
I watch her carefully place each breast in the cup provided,
making the necessary adjustments for comfort,
before she begins ironing those items which she next will don.
The graceful dance she performs around the ironing board,
first with her blouse, then with her pants or skirt,
I openly watch and enjoy,
no longer feeling the need to hide my level of awareness.
Having completed her morning’s preparedness,
she approaches me for a good-bye kiss,
smiles at me,
reaches under the covers to where I have grown,
kisses me lightly on the cheek,
and says,
“Later”.
I love mornings.
Coping with a prognosis,
for some seems difficult,
but a flicker of hope
lingers in my heart.
Viewing death as devastating
is tantamount to snuffing
the inner candle,
a prelude to heaven’s glorious light.
Even as pain encumbers our abilities,
muddling our sense of reason,
bask in the glow of optimism
that earthly life is but a passage.
Through the tunnel we see a beam
that resonates through our souls.
A single candle illuminates
the path to eternal salvation.
Fire lust of the angry clouds doth cover envy
To fork the stars upon my ever-changing view.
The crestling being i endure to hold of many
Foreign thoughts to translate a bonafide rue.
Carnival of lights leave me starstruck
In a haste no more than that of my gloom.
No one who knows of this life are stuck,
In a waste of bittersweet cloves that bloom.
As I sink down to the combers of lies
Nevertheless leaving my soul to him.
This monster of foreign carnage dries
To a crisp, no longer able to freely swim.
Finally feeling a soft touch upon my flesh,
Where is this pale longing rose of red I dread?
This flying repent of lustful notions is all I thresh.
Please let me fly with you in this land of the dead.
Denies of my request shows to me how I feel,
Still though, carrying me much higher and higher.
This resentful flock of gloomy encumbers peel
My skin I weary of angry clouds doth burn a fire.
This victim of self like a snake
Broken heart to devour my pride
And then what coils around will awake
Ouroboros eating his lies
This hero of truth like a trance
All black and white in this haze
Where my sword in the darkness will dance
Behind my shield I dream for days
This hatred for life like a game
Noisy conflict unfolding the scenes
And within each of the players a pain
Now their silence gives birth to teams
This wisdom of love like a dare
Will I speak of such deep disease
When what I am is too much to bare?
On the edge and with no release
This painting is not a man
Nor child, not even real
I am the constantly changing sands
And there is nothing I can not feel
I will become every fall
I awake to remember the words
That encumbers the many tall
And have silenced all those that heard
This truth can not change its rhyme
Only reflect on those that hide
And the heart ever heeds the signs
Drawn to the changes within the tides
Man’s Origins
Searching for origins, from perhaps stars. (10)
Conclusive evidence, apes? (7)
Chaos, madness encumbers and it jars (10)
Religions poke presumptions (7)
Mythology, astrology, “too far!” (10)
Confounded naysayers, truths (7)
Leading absolutely nowhere, they mar (10)
Yet, faith, belief, knowing truth (7)
Journeying beyond, all seen, avatars (10)
And knowing goes full circle (7)
Our universe sings with divine sitars (10)
©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved
Learning exercise
Syllabic and Free verse exercise. Syllable counts at ends
Any suggestions are very much appreciated... Thanks!
Let me carry you to a waiting star,
With this kiss on your lips, we’ll reach that far
Leave behind all that encumbers your soul
On pristine whiteness with me take a stroll
Hold my hand as I lead you to a place
Where you ‘ll be blanketed in love’s embrace
There is no echo and no living sound
As you and I tumble down to the ground
This rendezvous star is for you and me
There’s no one else our love making to see
We sprinkle stardust as we toss and turn
Temperatures rise as the star starts to burn
The small earth is millions of miles away…
On this throbbing star, forever…please stay…
Eileen Manassian Ghali