Best Eschews Poems
The grass
alas
is shorn
like corn
the dew
eschews
forlorn
this morn
the crowd
avowed
the ball
and all
then groans
and moans
clubs thrown
are known.
Embued
and hued
the words
like swords
wrong swing
the sting
bad lie
too high
the squeeze
on knees
in pleas?
to seize
the gold
and hold
glory
story
though droll
their goal
control
cajole
that ball
to fall
or roll
in hole
August 22,2022
For Brian Strand's Premiere Choice Contest
FIRST PLACE TROPhy!
POEM OF THE WEEK!
Misleading, minacious maze now thwarted,
eschews stealth as sandal-clad steps resound.
Determined and dour, destiny draws near;
completing this quest: forever renowned.
Stygian sky grants a much-welcomed boon:
conformable clouds cast curtain aside.
A radiant pearl suspended aloft,
reveals route to where foul fiend does reside.
Mouthing prayers to a personal angel;
supplication: salient and silent.
Head held high, eyes fixed firmly on heaven;
bless these dark deeds, bloody and violent.
Sharpened silvern sword raised proudly aloft;
unblemished blade mirrors midnight’s moon-light.
Utters an oath sworn at parents’ graveside;
tonight sees the zenith of a birthright.
Shrieks fill the air, inhuman and hungry;
hero’s hammering heart reaches its peak.
Fear is just fleeting, for foe has arrived;
savage beast attacks with claw and with beak.
Garden’s guardian inflicts ghastly gash;
‘tis nary a scratch for warrior’s might.
Unyielding weapon wielded with such flair
finally - fatally - settles the fight.
Chimera confronted, cowed and conquered;
tales of this victory regaled forthwith.
A marble mosaic marvel beckons
and once-true events pass straight into myth.
-------------------------------------------------
February 2017
An apology for any students (or masters) of classical mythology. I’ve used a fair bit of poetic licence with the events leading to the death of the Chimera... but I was raised on a diet of Ray Harryhausen and this was my homage to his creature features!
-------------------------------------------------
Written for the “Chimera World” contest sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron - Eighth Place. The following restrictions applied:
“1 original poem that uses the following words: mosaic, maze, moon, guardian, garden, angel, heaven, heart, midnight and clouds.”
bedazzled by jewels
beguiled by the gem of you~
diamond eternal
as fake gold duals
alloys mix unbanding two~
with flames infernal
tears drowning in pools
blinders tunnel, love eschews~
so notes my journal
Love is
Surrounded by Monarch butterflies,
on migration
A tingling in your gut
does not defy
A warmness flutters inside
When flowers perfume
When you are near
You feel the same, I shall assume
Love hurts
When rubies now rhinestones,
dullen, sullen
Diamonds now glass,
cutting deep
Pollen smothers,
I swallow my sorrows
My bleeding heart
Let’s stay together
Dowse the drought
Better a diamond with a flaw
than a pebble without
“The fog may come on little cat feet”*
But Autumn eschews silence
The thick crunch of crisp fallen foliage
Hastens the homebound honking of gaggled geese
Soft whispers of falling rose petals
Fade into the haze of hoarfrost
Cold winds whistle wildly through naked Maples
Flags snap loudly to attention
A brutish barn cat recoils from the touch of snow
Squawking ducks slowly slide across an icy crust
Chattering children board a school bus
Winter awaits its curtain call
At the end of Mercy Street
lies a forgotten wharf.
A single row boat is
moss covered.
The battered vessel is
moored and unwanted
like leprosy -
conducive to an invisible cancer.
Two splintered oars imitate antennae -
receiving distress signals
from no one.
The dinghy will not row towards God.
The boat will not sail past
Bergen-Belsen or Dachow
nor will it glide 'gainst Newton.
Mother wouldn't allow such a spectacle.
Tommy doesn't sleep on bottle caps anymore.
Tommy and Mother are content now.
(Tommy is dying)
Tommy's back is not broken
like a scarecrow -
(for he is good).
His leg is not twisted like a licorice stick -
(for he is cloaked in servile flattery).
Tommy doesn't skip like a river
nor shine like a sapphire.
Kevorkian wise and Barabbas blamed;
he grimaces -
he swallows Mother's red roses;
knowing when he sweats -
(in the afternoon funeral festivities)
he'll smell just like her.
The darkened sunlight -
(which Tommy cannot see)
throws itself between two clouds
marking a dramatic entrance!
Tommy's knees are broken yet
he still dances -
obviously dumb-founded
and matriarch approved.
Tommy hyperventilates and chokes.
Tommy eschews Mother's American beauties
and externally regurgitates the
memories he can't
(internally)
understand.
A single groove migrates
the needle into ambient static as
Tommy washes his hands.
Tommy simply washes his hands
and whistles.
(He simply washes his hands)
and whistles...
Sages say it's wise to persist
In striving for respect over love.
Such counsel I readily dismiss
One is set here, the other above.
Respect requires a clinical bent
Empathy-empty in the joints.
But love lodges everywhere sent
Heals, blesses, and anoints.
Respect eschews a pardoned act
Fearing a weakness be exposed.
But loves sustains itself intact
Caring not for what is supposed.
Prioritize respect if still you will
Seal it fast in bones and soul.
Know though when life bodes ill
It's love that makes it whole.
I'm longing for warm eel pie,
tis' a squirming delight to the eye,
me wife she eschews,
eel pie and eel stews,
and eats only fried eel on rye!
I love her limpid, clear blue-eyes
and her long, yellow tresses;
wise, and with grace that never dies
or wavers, she blesses.
Behind those intelligent eyes,
she ponders, thinks, and listens;
as I surmise, she feels the rise
of saintliness that christens.
With golden tresses dressed in waves,
spooled, and weaved in sage;
she braves the loathing that enslaves,
assuaging enmity's rage.
Shrewd, wise, and just, she's tolerant,
patient, kind, and compassionate;
and eschews man's Pride, the giant
of deadly sins that's intemperate.
But her existence's all but undone,
for she's more abstract than real:—
that she's only fiction I bemoan,
for she's “la femme idéale.”
The tortured mind 'tis that causes pain
Knowingly, to others with abandonment
Sticking out its venomous tongue again,
Dissing others, but to its own detriment.
It cannot seem to grasp the simple truth
The tortured mind 'tis that relishes pain,
Twists words into what’s foul and uncouth
Eschews responsibility, like clearly insane.
Becoming harder and harder to explain
Ranting and raving with vilest intent
The tortured mind 'tis that releases pain,
Until forcibly silenced it will not relent.
Seeks new faces, new victims to assault
But continues to sing an old, old refrain
Dares never to admit its own arrant fault
The tortured mind 'tis that pleasures pain.
Written August 30, 2022
[with slight change in the
repeated line throughout]
Iron bars bent open begins the show
A black and white striped bonanza
A ballet of bravado under midnight skies
The bashful dancer eschews an eager audience
A plethora of prances covers an endless stage
His legs lilt inside a labyrinth of forgotten leisure
And no matter the truth of his turbulent persona
Tireless desires to dance and devour deliverance
Is what drives him from the spotlights in the dark
March 18, 2016
The perfect woman is both lovely and charming
She carries herself with a sophisticated air of feminine grace
Gentle and loving and brimful with laughter,
Yet showing at times a stubborn streak of strength
Not always having the answers, yet knowing her values
She is both capable and vulnerable.
Perhaps too trusting, placing a limitless faith in God and man,
Thus endearing her to those who treasure it and rescue her from her distresses.
Possessing a boundless sense of honour and virtue
She cleaves to what is good and eschews evil.
She tends to be peaceable and tries to please others,
Esteeming others as greater than herself -- and being rightly esteemed in return.
-- Isaiah Zerbst --
-- Feb 8, 2013 --
agape gave grave to age
bent not to burdens born
cleave verily the leaves of life
distilled stilled styled reviled
entry net try and try
filigree reeds figure loosely
grave gave the age to rage
humble bled humid muddle
insomnia sonogram moss grass
jubilant talent bilious slant
koan known now shown
lilting quilting tinged with gilding
mellifluous flows of metal filings
nervously reverse obtuse nouns
opulent lute plants ting
preening terns plead for flight
quatrains track rain tacks
remote restless rustlers rust
still lilting laughter silenced
until nettle salve unwinds
valves self-seal veil sails
wishes she eschews clothes
xoxoxox the ox loves my ex
yew we way away my yes
z in me sees z in you
[bard1]
To wit, sans pearl, mere grit and sand,
an irritant, sebaceous cyst,
expressive as a mongrel’s gland,
self-seeking randy churlish tryst!
[bard2]
Eccentric heel’s ethos raised grand,
eschews finesse, rough skewers gist,
a numpty dumpty, brillig panned,
thou frontal lob, now dully bris’d!
ESSENTIALS
visual language
with
explicit
traces
of experience
eschews
categorisation
limited
only
by number
of the
little
&
defunct
freedoms
of a subliminal
kind
so strangely
familiar
something
of
an icon
in perspective
in
manifested
in
perhaps
unsurprisingly
rare
& privileged
light
&echoes
more focused
with the same
passion
& obsession
with imitation
with
& imagination
beauty &rhythm
confronting
experience
with
innocence
transcending
potential
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
a metaphor is
a simile
you don't like
----------
it is not in my
nature to write
senryus
—————
baby tries on boots
without crying,
eschews fits