Best Excerpt Poems
Time is a consumer of
lives and souls and thoughts and love
The world that once turned yesterday
has forever gone away
Was it not good, what used to be?
Was it not sweet for you and me?
Remnants of the golden past
bring tears for times that couldn't last
Photographs are sweet sublime
handheld bits of frozen time
Miracles kept within a book
for anytime you wish to look
* This is an actual excerpt from a larger and older piece
that I am trying to rework. I hope to get it where I
want it, and if so I'll post the entire thing here. I hope
it was okay to share this just little snippet.
Excerpts from the compilation: “Prayer” 7
Inner Strength, Resilience.
I wish that each of us rediscovers their Inner Strength
And we understand that is a wild,
serene and pure treasure
That is simply forgotten - not lost.
Especially in the moments
when we need to say “no” or “enough!”
And get up, walk and attempt to set ourselves free
From all the internal and external voices
That keep us small
And try to make us believe
That we are irrelevant, inadequate and insignificant!
And also Resilience:
for the inevitable shocks and setbacks
And each time that we doubt, stumble and fall.
And that we allow ourselves to see mistakes not as failures,
But as perfect moments of great learning and understanding.
And let us practice taking time
to tend to and heal our wounds and hurts
Before we automatically turn off,
rush off to the next appointment
And mechanically, mindlessly, heartlessly
do all the things that we are told
That we are supposed to do.
© Sangeet Portals 2020
my shoulders are broad
my back is strong
maybe I was born to carry all of this
maybe I was never meant to put it down
“Place this cloak around you and blink six times
You will then hear three chimes
When your body begins to shudder
You’ll be invisible to your own mother!”
Now transition, a transit repositionment, a white car super-imposed with consumerist propaganda. Long rectangular prism solid moving, propelled by inflatable tubes circular, and the foul engine. A refridgerator that keeps the hole in the ozen fresh and crispy.
So I'm in this thing... and the seats are filled with characters; your second generation immigrants thankful to afford a spot in the faux refugee parade, an accolade, to the American dream, staged.
And once again the prism, because last night was just too much of a blur to remember- like an unwanted poem:
Repetition,
last day was same,
and how to remember,
Monday from Thursday,
and months
only by the weather
and the multitoned coughs,
of interchanging drivers,
if poetry is false,
then all the world's a liar
a twist and shake with truth,
and the multicolored boots
of attractive women who do 'the eyeroll'-
Wolf don't love, don't care,
they wouldn't survive in the woods out there.
Slipping into darkness, there is no personal fierceness against the logic of the heart, the inevitable force of the dying light, nor the finish of the soul surrender.
At last, the heart is over spilling with delightful rapture shouting out at the mountains of gloom....My time is fitting.
copyrighted 2004 book title Halona
//And there I was, standing in the middle of a room while clouds of fear flew circles around my body, I couldn’t see straight. I didn’t want to open my eyes because I could feel the looks, I could sense their bodies, flocking around me, examining my startled state like a wake of buzzards scoping out their next meal. I thought in that very moment that I was going to drop dead, until I saw you. You shone so brightly, you lit up the darkness I found myself drowning in. You were my personal beacon that led me out of the dark and into your light. Oh, how I wish every day that I could call you, or text you, maybe even write you, and tell you over and over again how you saved me. Maybe I’d stay long enough this time to hear you tell me how I saved you. I can’t seem to escape the endless regret that squeezes my chest like a quiver of cobras every time I think of you, of us. I did learn one thing from our epic love story; It’s never the person you used to be, or the person you are now, but it’s who you allow yourself to be that ultimately determines the path you take in life.//
With that invisibilty of age
I can fly my life like a kite !
Uninvited and unseen,
albescent, grey, you know what I mean,
( not the first flush of youth or strong,
the young forget that we were young, )
hold on to that, the string of that
to grip the meaning of it
as I grip the iron balustrade
along the miles of esplanade ;
think the century's wise men are ignored,
each lamp a light, a sage for each lamp.... ...
Drawn to the Sailor's Arms, her kegs
the weight of years upon the legs,
for whispers round an inglenook
where galaxies are in the glass,
to swap a tale, another round,
a golden fleece, a crumpled map !
Or waft around for words, like smoke
along the butt - ends from the tar,
or vanish down into the draught
if Alan Watts is at the bar.... ...
Below, where gulls quarrel in kelp
no harbour there need shelter me,
no life - boat slip to cries for help
need bring my spirit to the lee -
I hear the past with all its murders,
the wind wail through the rusting girders
yet still am I, free to fly with you
who lean against the railings, too !... ...
The world may seem to come in bits -
let nonduality begin ?
Come celebrate your opposites
for all depends on loss to win !
Tribal culture in your face -
to win is everywhere you turn,
if God is losing all the time
then will we ever, ever learn ?... ...
'You'll win' he said, 'its in the bag',
out on the point
what can the mindless wind do
but wave the flag?
Missing the point forever
signalling our nascent spirit.
And the voice said
'raise your head when the night is cloudless
and tell me who you are subject to,
remember the truth of your own story
as your eyes take in the glory'.... ...
Full to be empty, empty to be full -
do you hear the paradox, do you feel the pull ?
I do not mean to be patronising,
have I asked you too soon ?
Do you see what I mean when you gaze at the moon,
when the full moon, lifeless is full of light ?... ...
I sit upon the lobster pots
that decorate the harbour wall,
if you come a little closer
you can see me in the hall,
if you do not hold the key-
Mrs keepings locks the door,
I'll be looking out to sea
after eight but not before.... ... ...
an exerpt from a love story I am too lazy to write
She found him outside her small flat
he was in the bloom of the old lamplight.
she noticed the grey flecks in his beautiful eyes.
Hi!
he whispered softly like honey falling from a spoon.
She flashed her prettiest smile
And tossed her hair back like she used to.
You look as beautiful as I remember.
She looked at him for some small signal of remorse
but she could not see it.
He wanted her
she felt his need even in the cold night air.
There’s a hole in my existence he said.
His mouth almost smiling.
The smile that had her undress
for him a thousand times.
Why me?
I was never enough before she retorted.
Wanting to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her.
I did not know I loved you
until you were not there he said.
A sadness glowed in his eyes.
And if you remember
it was you that left me.
Why did you leave? He asked
Because you never asked me to stay
she said quietly.
I am asking now he answered.
She let him into her flat
They undressed and made love.
When she awoke she heard
the click of her door as he left her.
She knew her heart would ache
Just as it had before.
And she knew he would be back again.
And she would let him in once more.
THE INNER VOICE OF MARK BIRROS II
From world war two in the Atlantic
I hear the drowning cries of men,
climbing out as in spirit from waters
that lap the steps of the harbour wall ;
time erodes as the sea -
washing up these thoughts that linger
here and on many beaches,
thoughts that stick and have the stench
of used oil around them,
the name on a memorial
does not reflect the horror ;
the surf rejects such cogitation ;
for a moment, ' try again '
the gulls seemed to say,
' let go ' said the movement of the ocean,
but I cannot, I simply cannot
for what transcends these waves
and breathes out the universe
is love, the love of a father.... ... ...
The old clock ticks away the day
that haemorrhages the evening,
and like a night- nurse at the bed
as growing lesions slowly spread,
the crescent moon would nothing say
to see the patient pass away ;
the stars call out but they are late -
what metaphysics spring from that
while in my soul eternity
is smiling like the Cheshire cat !...
A presence haunts me as that touch -
that hugs the heels in failing light,
with eyes that peer through space and time
and follow me into the night.... ...
The pine wood has its secrets -
I am one of them now,
like the columns of an ancient temple,
straight and upright
where no priest intercedes -
I trust it with my life,
I am theirs and they are mine,
growing inside me, sturdily and strong,
transcending their roots with my secrets
to their archetypal heaven... ... ...
As if a change of consciousness was meant,
against the pull of ego, the body
inwardly swept up in spiral ascent,
spirited away from me
from all the world below,
from all that I would ever be
that anyone might know ;
raised the cloaked arm
of my archetype
to draw the void across my eyes,
and I did rise to heights of bliss
to see the world from this -
dancing in vortices, tiptoeing on pools
as through a mesh, devoid of flesh ;
our world is an illusion -
a carousel to light,
as in the midst of heaven
we ghost on through the night... ...
I knew that while happiness is warm and filling and makes me feel whole for once in my life, it is ultimately fleeting and fragile, a paper thin glass box. I remember thinking about how much I deserved you, how much you deserved me, how we did not deserve each other. It seems to me that we were not hiding away from the rest of the world, more blinded from reality, grasping onto a sliver of lingering hope that everything works out in the end.
It took me up until now to learn how to build myself an armored heart. To put myself in a cage that keeps you and your multiverses out of my life. It dawns on me that everything in my life has a part of you left, whether it be the smell of you on a pillow that I hide under my bed, or the faint scuff mark on the floor in front of my door from the day you walked out.
And Water! YES!
Complimentary;
"On The House!"
"Relectuntly,"
Muttered Under
Her Breath...
You Know?
We Have A LOT
Of Water,
Sooooo... Much...
Some Planets,
A LOT Of Places...
Nearly Everywhere!
Have Practically
NO Water
AT ALL.
You Should
Count Your Blessings...
Very Rare...
You Need To Know
How Extraordinary It Is
You EVEN EXIST!
What A Blessing To
Be Alive, To Be You!
Now, Here's Your Water!
(Slam!)
-Gray Squirrel
09-07-2025
Destruction of Me
And my father died, and I had a surgery go terribly wrong,
And I was trying to care for my mom, and Covid became a thing
And the tears gushed and flowed and splashed and rolled down my face,
And I realized that holding back tears had destroyed me.
Holding Back Tears
8/30/21
Liberum Divisa 7 Poetry Contest
“Into busy cities with the flow of cars
Is where we come back to – simply no choice! –
And we’re coming down from the heights we reached,
Leaving our hearts in the mountains.”
~ Vladimir Vysotsky, “Goodbye Mountains”
...
How ephemeral is life
How permanent
For ages before this body’s come
And further ages after it’s gone
The mountain’s contemplating
The life it’s carried
Throughout its existence
And will sustain
Until it’s gone
The creatures
Who make it
Home
I can stand
Huddling no more
I won’t do it anymore
In the next obscene tempest I’ll revel
Shove aside the quaking glass
Stagger wild-eyed into the thrashing sheets of the rejoicing maelstrom
Let it burst over me under me through me in pitch black rage
Let it spear me deeper and deeper till the tempest’s heart is one with mine
Let it scoop me twirling heels over head and back upright
My mildly wavy hair drawn straight out inundated
Pummeled matted flipped plastered twisted flattened
Again
Again
And again
...
~ Thanks Always Returns
Time is but a shadow twisting in the sun;
Forlorn and forgotten.
Cold and dry are her lips so that
no breath could pass through without shattering the shell.
Oh where has it gone and to whom?
What man so greedy, so rich, so..unfortunate could buy such a treasure.
Or more, steal it from those now sad forgetting eyes that were once,
not long ago, aglow with laughter. What is its worth?
For shame! What a man!
A man who steals breath under the cloak of darkness and prolongs his own life with it.
Is this a man?
Nay, some devil. Oh how sadness can drive one so mad as he.
Then can you see that the things that were so forgotten
are now remembered. Y
ou cannot escape the fate oh devil, which has befallen every man
whose soul you have driven out with a pike. Every man whose wives you have stripped of a
spouse,
each child a father, and each being a companion.
If you demon have a soul, remember: every breath expires and every soul escapes its capsule.
Time is but a shadow devil, twisting in the sun. It fades into the darkness alone and forgotten.
As one day, you too will be.