Best Enigma Poems
"I'm a conundrum. Or an enigma. I forget which." James A. Owen
In a white man's world,
I've become an enigma,
feeling like I don't belong,
trying to break the stigma.
In these mental maladapted creations,
against misplaced monachopsis damnations,
they stare at the colour of your skin,
like it's some dirty unwashable sin.
Be like Nelson Mandela,
you have the strength to fight,
once labelled a terrorist,
he said: 'always shine your light.'
Bob Marley sang loudly about the
Buffalo Soldier held by a chain,
a reflection of courage,
questioning whether to evolve or remain.
Like the lyrics of Libbe Siffre,
the higher you build your barriers,
the taller I become, this is who I am,
walking among the warriors.
I may have a quiet mind,
but you will never silence my tongue,
there is a snarl in my gentle eyes,
I keep proving bigots wrong.
Keep expressing my flawless scars
through the power of my ink,
softly swaying from page to page,
verses that make the ignorant think.
Brothers and sisters, just pause for a while,
we are not colonized minds,
despite their imperialistic prejudice,
we have to be kind to all kinds.
Trust the process of poetic words
and rediscover love for self belief,
even when they try to burn your pages,
rewrite to release your grief.
In times of oppression,
flow like waves onto pebbled shores,
When are you the happiest?
Tell them when they end their wars!
If weak winds rekindle flashbacks,
when you meet the eye of the storm,
against all forms of adversity,
stand strong in a proudly beautiful form,
so, don't shush me with antagonistic tones,
because my peace comes from within me,
as my pen was born to speak the
truth through powerful poetry.
I'm rather hard to figure out
Not many really get what I'm about
I'd rather sit quietly than shout
I keep it real I'm not prone to pout
You might think me passive
Still I will act
when others are subdued by doubt
Somewhat serious
Yet prone to smile
Not ecstatic I have my own style
If you need comfort I'll stay with you a while
Don't expect much talking
I'm a listener on the emoticom dial
As a poet
I know the power of the word
In the end I like to hear and be heard
Like you I too have been burned
Within adversity there were things I learned
I am a dancer
Stepping out on pages
Quiet paper oragami cages
Traveling on thoughts
Floating through all my stages
Fast forward rewinding
Pausing at my distance
Like the Borg victims there is no resistance
I breathe my thoughts with a certain persistence
If you look at me
I might reflect you
Searching for answers
Seeing beyond dark corridors
To places bright blue
Perhaps you as well
Like me
are an enigma too!
Written April 8th.
I can’t be branded and put into a box
I’m a rhyme wrapped within a riddle a complete paradox
I won't carry the labels, or walk around with the stigma.
I am the great unknown a total enigma
I am an incomplete masterpiece, a beautiful disaster
I am the once upon a time and the happily ever after
I am realism, embedded within a parody
I am hesitation and doubt, clothed in certainty.
I am cause and effect, the inevitable reaction
I am the unattainable that brings complete satisfaction
I am an open book, and still a complete mystery.
I am a façade, covered in authenticity
I am assurance and conviction, facts draped in fiction
I am chaotic peace and silent confliction
I am the writing on the wall that you try to decode
I am a living saga, great legends untold
I am a conundrum, a million scattered puzzle pieces
I am the hypothesis that obliterates your thesis
Dogma Enigma
When the pedophile is god
and genocide is good
when caring for the other
is a never not a should
when race is a weapon
and gender is revoked
when science is blasphemy
and climate change a hoax
Resist the urge to reason
you will just be labelled woke
They hang like a beaded curtain
in a fortune teller’s parlor,
each buoy a bauble
from the sea’s own trove—
sun-faded,
barnacle-bitten,
unstrung from nets
that once strained tides for omens.
Now they sway in the wind,
rattling secrets and guarding
the doorway to elsewhere.
Who dwells behind the curtain—
a castaway witch, perhaps,
who brews fog in mason jars
and weaves seaweed into capes?
A fisherman’s widow still waiting
for him to return from
his final fateful voyage?
Or maybe no one at all,
just wind and longing
and salt-stung light
curling around a chipped enamel cup.
Or maybe an infinitely
unfolding maze that traps
who enters in eternal twilight
where each corridor breathes
with the hush of retreating tides,
walls papered in kelp and longing,
ancient air that smells of old shipwrecks
and unanswered questions.
Some say you can hear a voice
calling your name—not as it is,
but as it was
before you forgot
what you came looking for.
And yet the house remains,
perched above the tide line,
porch sagging like an old shoulder,
paint peeled by salt and time.
Through warped windowpanes
the ebbing light still flickers—
not warm, exactly,
but not unwelcoming.
Seagulls gliding in a gyre.
A foghorn’s distant intonation.
And always, the buoys tapping,
as if to say:
You’re closer than you think.
A feller I met with a twinkle in his eye
Quite the enigma you see.
Said, "I ain't got no dough... not a single penny!"
Said he, "ain't got no cash... not a single plug for a cup o' tea."
"Couldn't buy you no drink / not even a dime's worth of time
Wouldn't dare ask you for no drink in my silly whine."
"Never saw nothin' finer... not a sight to behold
Then, your fancy top hat... not plated with gold.
In this fine conversation... though, I confess,
I don't know nothin' much... not more or less."
"Don't know nothin' much 'bout music... not a single note
But begged the whole bar not to leave me croak
In this sea of confusion... though- I confess
I ain't got no answers, not more or less."
Confused, I just stared / mouth agape and wide
"So are you broke or not?" I finally couldn't hide.
He winked / then chuckled / a sly knowing grin
"Don't you fret none... my friend / I ain't never givin' in!"
"Never learned nothin' clever / that ain't no surprise
But I sure ain't unhappy, not with tears in my eyes!"
A poet / a pauper / a prince; his stories spun gold
Ain't nothin' like his tales / never gettin' old.
We made a bond that don't nobody understand
A friendship ain't never been seen in no other land.
Everyone is a blended mixture of
Elementals made up of
Oxygen, carbon,
Hydrogen, nitrogen,
Calcium, phosphorus, and…
Trace elements
A divine recipe, perhaps?
Some are yet to be born
Some are young,
Some are old.
Some are people of color,
Some are people who lack color.
Some speak one language
Some speak many tongues.
Some are social
Some are antisocial.
Some are healthy
Some are sick.
But what am I?
Some are poor
Some are middle-class
Some are rich.
Some believe in God
Some sense a higher design
Some aren’t sure
Some are atheists.
Some are extroverts
Some are introverts.
Who am I?
Some live on farms
Some live in suburban communities
Some live in towns and cities.
Some live off the grid
Some are liberal
Some are moderate
Some are conservative.
How shall I live?
Some are loving
Some are joy-filled
Some are hate-filled.
Some want peace
Some want a cause
Some want war.
Some want to destroy
Some want to mend
Some want to kill
Some want to heal.
Should I matter?
Should I not?
What are my choices?
Everybody dies…
But do I truly live?
In this vast simplexity of humanity
Or am I more than the sum of the parts?
Or am I just a glitch of stardust
Or a spark of the divine?
Momentarily aware
Yet, unaware
Forever in BlueJeans…
Forever questioning?
Generous of heart, the morning his light,
with a spirit of passion he shares his wisdom.
He muses his manic state with courage - profound - Awen
Glowing, he sparkles, eyes twinkle,
timid - unsure, rich in a maelstrom of ideas,
and silent contemplation - Awen
Cloaked yet exposed, open and free,
protecting his inner soul as he imparts his knowledge,
distracting through equation - Awen
Numeric of mind, instrumentally in tune - a converging compass mainly longitude.
The lateral advances of his discourse,
become a passionate concept - an interlude - Awen
The warmth and softness, as the lines string together,
pausing to reflect, he searches the precise -
as he hunts for accuracy - the consistent flow - Awen
Seeks clarity - yet remains confused, the touch is calming, encouraging fluidity of speech,
he's curious to watch as the physical ignites his soul,
the contact eliciting the passion at hand - a conundrum - Awen
A library in context, you are , my friend
Arriving there, open door to floors bare
Moist was air, dwelling effusive with peace
The enigma of time began to cease
Oblivion to all but ocean, just stare
Simplicity for a few days; nowhere
To go, timeless, watch Gulls instead of Geese
Yesterday's ravenous problems release
Now live on sublime seaside oasis' air
Aster, Willow won't sway in zephyr this day
Only kaleidoscope color 'pon water shone
Exquisite view for me, myself, alone
This ecstasy delight not auspice by they
Lilac, Lily doesn't bloom, chrome rust away
Impervious bug repellent glistens in defiant stone
Contest: Secret
I am but an unsolvable puzzle,
A strange enigma of shattered pieces,
Mute, voice restrained by an iron muzzle,
Dreadful as despair slowly increases.
Fragile feelings and thoughts,
Scattered around like dots.
My lost mind quickly rots.
What’s really true?
At once I knew.
Now, not a clue...
Now the unpurged sad memories tousle
With my life until my hope decreases,
And I am mute. Try to speak, but cannot.
I’m colored blue.
For the "The Puzzle Of My Rhyme" Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings (Constance)
5/29/2018
Fingers nimbly tapping his
heart onto the page
a rich tapestry of heartache
gentleness and rage
perceptions that astound me
engaging my soul
first one way, then another
a fall down the rabbit hole
who is this gifted writer
who speaks in shortened lines
tap tap tapping out his magic
til my heart he entwines
“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth...” by Oscar Wilde
Face-to-face, he lies;
truth locked inside his heart’s vault.
Is it fear of ridicule?
How did he get here?
Why is it he dons a mask
before he’ll share true feelings?
*Written December 16 for Brian’s 6-7 Line poems contest.
Jueju 10-8-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Enigma
My baby has no grave
Slipping from my womb
Upon a crimson wave
Too soon to feel your heartbeat
A son or a daughter
Your eyes blue or amber green
Your voice, a mystery
You - unsolvable puzzle – eternal enigma
Your laughter – never heard
Your smile unseen except by God
Unspoken your first words
Each birthday celebrated with angels
Yet, I believe you live, little saint,
Wrapped in Heaven’s embrace
Your first steps walked you into eternity
Where God revels in your perfect face
Lipstick red
a wet rose opens
A treeless leaf
turns in the heavy air
as if
seeking where
harvest moon
spindly pine tree's darkness
silence sleeps
1/13/2024