Best Eroded Poems
This one is for the broken,
hiding behind invisible bruising.
For the forgotten and the ones
who have forgotten us,
like the misunderstood misfits.
Who howl at the moon,
look beyond the stars,
for some form of understanding.
For the one you labeled a weirdo.
Who's life is a cocktail of corruption,
struggling with ignorant co-existence.
For the ones who have lost their voice,
unable to speak unspoken truths,
like the child of stolen innocence.
For the abused, the violated, the humiliated.
Those who chose to run and are still running.
Hope you find a safe haven to call home.
Like the ones who no longer dream,
due to demonic intrusions.
This one is for those who
continue to love ferociously.
Breathing genuinely in a world of
hypocrisy and artificial actions.
Who's hearts are an archive of
old songs, lost in the concept of time.
Their piano keys of darkness and light,
have eroded with each tremor,
but still refuse to sell their emotions.
Preferring an overdose of life
lost in lullabies of rain -
battling against ugliness of adversity.
Their hope eradicates thunder,
emanating clear blue skies -
souls illuminating like a ring of fire.
We all have a purpose, a personal potential,
find it, feel it, be it.
There will always be a mountain,
with wandering wayward winds -
but there are several ways to conquer it -
just believe in the beauty of your being.
We are warriors.
Simple Musing
Silent One
30 November 2020
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
When I first realized that I loved you
I became afraid, for I felt exposed,
surrounded by the broken-down fences
I had painstakingly built as protection
for my fragile emotions and great fears
against a cold and indifferent world.
Suddenly, without warning, my safe world
was changed as I gave free entry to you
into my heart, and in spite of my fears,
I willingly my complete being exposed -
seeking the nestling warmth and protection
and the safety of love's strong fences.
I found that love was not caged, and fences
were not needed to live in its blissful world,
where affection was its own protection
and the sharing of life's journey with you
could allow unknown joys to be exposed
and assurances could replace past fears.
As our love grew and flowered, and past fears
were eroded with abandoned fences
I became strong, despite being exposed
to the changes of an evolving world.
I felt secure and contented with you -
In your loving care I found protection.
And through the years, love's certain protection
has shielded us against life's storms and fears
And as I have walked at the side of you
I found a paradise, without fences,
where we have built our own beautiful world,
filled with love, and our joy could be exposed.
Now we have grown old and by age exposed
our bodies frail, each limb needs protection.
As we move slowly in a twilight world
and confront diverse and alarming fears
I seek strength in my memory's fences
recalling joyous times and days with you.
A soul exposed to true love knows no fears.
The protection of your love's strong fences
secure my world - I will always love you.
I just got to the grave today, death was given to you by my infidelity.
Along the way alive, my soul was given death.
Thy Ishq ruined my mahi like this,
Your every axis raised me up
never ask you for dream love stories
Never wanted to love such fake love.
Did not know the consequences would be this
name of love will be murdered
You stab in the chest
And it hurts in the heart ..
Had made a spectacle in the poetic life.
The desire of the moment was made of corpse ..
Death came to love on that day, that I had made.
You were playing with heart and I was feeling love
dréams all got crushed - misunderstanding has gone away.
Dreams burn - they died
They became clean and became ashes
Who says the ashes are just human
I had seen dreams also being eroded.
The eyes that had seen love in the eyes had seen the goodness.
Why do you die every time I ask you ??
What is your likeness?
She said mine was my love.
She used to say "Mahi" to whom she had revealed.
Those last hopes were shattered by my breakdown.
Took the robbery in love's market.
Often what they used to say was eaten.
First of all, by making fun of it.
i always used to walk behind you.
And you keeps the infidelity behind you ..
In sweet sweet things, the poison went away.
My grave went deeper ..
He continued to poison, I used to drink
He kept kicking and I continued to die.
That was the fact that love was done.
Whom you called "mahi"
We became like pebbles on a beach
touching in the depths, caressing in the shallows
Crystal waves, crested us above the deep abyss
In ever ending caress, we were carried together,
brushing, embracing tribulations as we progressed
The further we were washed, the more we became estranged
Stranded we eventually became, the depth in our love drifted amidst
Slowly, different tides brought different waves
Cross currents were gradually pulling us apart
Discarded like driftwood, with it's meaning of existence
What we were, and what we had became eroded
It reached the point, where we couldn't communicate
All became lost as we entered our abyss
We aged like pebbles on a beach, only to be turned into broken stones
Streaks of pink 'cross morning skies.
Land shaded lemon; last star dies…
Lightening blue spreads far and wide,
a half red sun. New dawn’s arrived.
This living desert yawns and wakes.
A foreign sparrow flits and takes
what morsel that darkness denied
to night feeders who now hide.
The sun begins its golden rise.
Shadows bear before my eyes.
Range of mountains now in view
look purple hazed and crumpled too.
A gentle breeze blows cool and soft.
A drifting hawk soars past aloft.
A static call echo's the morning.
Somewhere close, the first days warning.
There's golden bloom on mulga's face,
saltbush combines in shadow space,
a rabbit warren mounds the sand!
Three's company seems hand in hand.
The rugged hillside carved away,
gorged and furrowed brown and gray.
Eroded sand displays the shale,
where layered seams look to impale.
Tufted grasses dry and withered,
amongst that broken shale that slivered.
Stand out quartz already bright;
The rising sun turns glistening white.
A different swallow, black and white;
blue backed wrens dart out of sight.
Sunning now on walking tracks,
lay together; shingle backs.
And now the scene spreads far and wide,
to struggling wattle; sheer cliff side.
On closer look near at the base,
three kangaroos take a two-step pace.
Stillness lingers, there's an unknown call,
what bird is that? I love them all!
And the red plain grows beneath blue skies,
as the living desert welcomes sunrise.
MOUNTAIN
I
used
to be stable,
dependable, granite;
a mountain holds an echo
like a lover’s kiss. Once holy parts
of me are crumbling away, eroded by betrayal
~ that shifting precipice, integrity ~ that landslide, my honesty.
? How long does it take for a mountain to become a boulder? ?
Geologists know the answer but you don’t care, you have a pickaxe ?
and the desire for security. If a woman asks you to give up your mountain-ness,
no matter what she needs the rocks for, in exchange for her love, refuse indignantly;
it is not a fair trade.
Under the storm clouds
the rain starts to
wash away
Creating streams
that carve through earth
and broken stone.
Sometimes everything
has to be
eroded and
worn away
so you can find
the solid ground
that was there
all along.
Sometimes it takes
a heavy downpour
to reveal that
small, clear
and steady
spring of peace
within your heart.
Sometimes with
the splintered remains
of the old bridge
you've crossed before,
someone has crafted
something new
from the weathered wood
of your own story.
You are not drowning
you are learning to swim.
One must imagine Sisyphus’s
boulder, marble-sized these days
And Ozymandias’ plaque,
spinning despair into praise
Look on, ye hypocrites,
and sneer at my undoing
Your universe is a giant sandpit,
entropy accruing
Their legacies long crumbled,
eroded by rust
Gods built the wrong way,
on scaffolds of dust
Virtue or vice register
equally the same
Except between stars,
there’s space for one more grain
Down here, we clock in daily,
stack hours like prayer
Worship strong Wi-Fi,
evangelize on thin air
Imagine heavenly echoes,
because the silence isn’t fair
Some develop connection,
others a thousand-yard stare
Our Earth splits naturally,
along seismic lines
Greenwich claims centre stage,
only for the meantime
Sisyphus, still aching,
gets an epidural at last
But only in hindsight,
for his hump blocks the past
Redrawn are our own lines,
watchtowers in the sand
Sketching new borders,
carving up the promised land
Exhume ancient treasure,
and black, viscous stuff
Addicted to all things buried,
as if our dead weren’t enough
Still we write blindly,
tracing glyphs already faded
Helps lift the mood
when depressed and jaded
Gods stand on shaky ground,
myth holds them together
In schisms that bind billions,
then sever forever
Oh, look on—ye poet
Sisyphus now rolls his eyes
He’s seen the apps, wars,
hoodies, and cable ties
His hamster wheel’s a meme
for gods who merely try
Small wonder he mutters,
at least Ozymandias gets to die
And sometimes I pray to gods,
or maybe their ghosts
About versions of me
I’ve been missing the most
They don’t directly answer,
but do leave this guess
In the end, to keep on rolling
may be my passing success
By David Kavanagh
the dream painted itself sad ashen grey
a parched desert where rain never falls
this dark metaphor in her barren heart
loneliness whispering of love yet to call
bones of long lost hope on the ground
amid sands of uncountable empty years
she picked up the skull bleached white
all that remained of an old mossy steer
wondering if that would be her destiny
to wander until life's hourglass ran dry
becoming a forgotten, lost skeleton
eroded by day
and
ignored
by
night's
sky
You go about your daily life, but do you even care ?
That one day you will wake up and your earth's not there
And what I'm about to tell you may come as quite a shock
But it's only two minutes to midnight on the Doomsday clock.
In nineteen forty seven the worlds scientists did all agree
To create some sort of symbol to show the end of humanity
So an imaginary clock was made for all of us to see
And when the clock chimes midnight, it's the end for you and me .
We're in the nuclear age now with climate change as well
And some of our world leaders are ringing our death knell
When they test their nuclear bombs the big hand starts to move
What in the name of God I ask, are they all trying to prove.
There won't be any winners, we'll all cease to exist
All of us will be vaporised in a cloud of nuclear mist
The ozone layer, the Artic ice and the forest's too
Are all slowly being eroded, but what can we all do.
Well you can vote for people, that can help mankind survive
And if they get in then there's a chance, we'll get out of this alive
There is still some time though with two whole minutes to go
But please don't say you weren't warned or that you didn't know.
Written on February 4th 2018.
( Entered into , The Doomsday Clock 2 Minutes To Midnight, poetry competition and sponsored by Emile Pinet.)
Torturing me with touches
I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust
Touches not of mortal fingers,
But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery
Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike
All upon me, yet far from me...
Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings
Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark
Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo--
Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure...
The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me
Making rhythms giggle in my mind
Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason
Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison
Is the smile that helped design those strings
Those strings that pluck upon my spine
Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time
Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys?
Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing?
Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive?
And tell me… through it all…
As you compose the rise and fall…
Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?
TO A POETIC TIME LAPSE
As the sharp rays
of sunlight slowly sliced
through the tarrying tinted clouds,
I wiped away the web
of darkness of night;
broke off a piece of time
and used it to scrape away
the corrosion of agony
from the heart of my mind...
and resuscitated my eroded faith.
Today I will open
dusty luggage of creativity
and pull out wrinkled war worn words:
etch ebony emotions of long lived life
onto refined pulp of trees;
weave soul stirring songs;
mould scented flowers
of peace and love; justice...
feel the breath of God
warming my serene sweet soul
while feathering the nest
of my pregnant poetic mind.
OGE
Crushed dreams exploded friendships eroded,
stubbornness, selfishness and ego interceded,
expectations of true friendships forever eroded.
Mystique, curiosity gives the urge to peek,
but critiques week after week , send a message
there's a mean streak.
Always like a kid wanting to be applauded,or a
confused adult needing to be lauded, friendly at
times, ugly at others .
Yoyo idiosyncrasies
flexing like Jekyll and Hyde, a crazy pretender,
never had a nurturer, stuck in mixed moods
one that love and friendships eludes
I remember a riding pony I had as a lad which was born blind. A filly she was born during an
Arkansas blizzard and we did not know that she was blind at first for we kept our horses in our
barn for several days because of the winter storm. We all had fallen in love with her by the time
we learned she was blind and could not bear to put her down. I remember training her to ride
after she was mature enough and I named her “Pet” for she was my riding pony.
We spent many happy days together riding inside the green pastures.
I remember she never refused to let me ride her even the first time. And she learned very
quickly to respond to my voice and she trusted in every command that I gave her.
I would say, “easy Pet” when we would come to rough terrain or an eroded ditch in the
pasture. She would slow to a careful walk, in response to my voice.
I would ride her down into the lower part of the pasture to the creek in hottest part of the day.
Pet could of course smell the water and when she would come near the bank of the creek I
would again say, “easy Pet” and she would respond by slowing to a snail’s pace down the steep
bank.
Pet would wade out about belly depth into the water where she would drink her fill of the cool
clear water. And I would use her back as a diving board launch and swim to my heart’s delight.
After she was through drinking I would climb on her back again and give her head to her and
she would trot to the barn where she knew I would give her treats, such as carrots, apples,
sugar cubes and so on.
I remember I never did have the heart to make her run full speed as
I supposed that her blindness was burden enough in her life for her to bear.
It is said of truth that one gets to keep in heaven those things of this life that were loved sufficiently.
I know that my beloved Pet shall be my precious playmate again in the heavenly ethereal of the Spirit.
Pet lives on even now in the depths of my childhood memories. Her loving low neighs as she
approached me by smell, and her nuzzles into my pocket for the sugar cubes she knew would
always be there for her. In heaven I shall see my Pet again, and this time she will see me,
maybe for the first time.
For and in honor of Carol Brown
and Contest.