Best Expiration Poems | Poetry
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by Tones, Raven
by Hopper, Anna
Premium Member Expiration Redacted
by Babbit, DM
Love expiration date
by Duffy, Alex
by Wright, Tom
by lawless, John
by Barrera, Ren
A Date With Expiration
by Schumacker, Earl
Expiration Date Past Due
by Murphy, Joe
by Dee, Laura
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The Best Expiration Poems
You're in the last stages
of lost wages,
of empty pages,
of spent rages,
You're in the termination
You're in the culmination
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
A gentle tickle belies the sadness
as the corner of my eye swells and my vision blurs.
The beauty and the joy fading from my mind,
the "what was" and "what could be"
but longing memories and lost dreams,
like fading shadows, of a wasted life,
and all that is left is the loneliness.
Lying alone lost in somber reverie,
the welling in my eye inches ever closer
to flooding past the impenetrable fortress
created by my, now, tightly shut lids,
the specters of my past slowly filling my unseeing eyes
with visions of all of the special moments
and the caring caresses that we once shared.
My lashes quiver and moisten as I breathe in deeply.
The words of love we breathlessly whispered
now only wisps of meaningless expiration
hidden among icy, broken emotional shards,
a million pieces of sharp frozen feelings
piercing so deeply inside of me, freezing what remains
of you in the deep crevices of my broken heart.
The tingle sharpens as the dam breaks,
one forlorn drop escaping slowly down my cheek,
meandering, lost, in the creases of my aged face.
I reach up to wipe it away, but can't
for everything I am, everything that is me,
everything that we were and could ever be,
I've set adrift inside of that tiny, tickling, forsaken tear.
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2017
As our patience wears thin
We encounter the Moment
Where our frustrations
Boil to the surface
That deep part of us
We choose not to reveal
Even to ourselves
Is the legend of nightmares
For what awaits us
When this dimension surfaces
Are bits and pieces of knowledge about who we are
That are too painful to see in the clear light of day
Better to be afflicted
With all manner of ache and pain
Than to see
A part of which we really are
Has an expiration date for all
Yet most wish to stay in denial
And passively wait for that date to transpire
Rather than actively confront truth
If only we could believe
That by confronting and exposing these
Inner dimensions of ourselves
We are actually addressing the nightmare
Changing who we are
And eliminating that expiration date
From having any real meaning
Copyright © David Mayerhoff | Year Posted 2017
Denial is a can of peas
should never be indulged
beyond the expiration date.
Yet there I stood,
evidence screaming reality
at my eyes, their gaze steadfast
upon the wailing baby girl
before me in her bassinet.
My mind then confidently knew
that what lay there
could have never come
from briefest self-indulgence.
Still, my heart wouldn't listen—
And rightly so.
I turned and faced
a solitary window,
which framed a cold and gray
that froze as well
the unrecorded moment.
Though soft upon my parted lips
came unbidden words:
“I love you, dearest child”—
knowing all that was yet to be,
for here lay an open book
in which life would write about
a young girl’s timeless, playful mirth,
but also test her brazen dreams
and tireless hopes alike.
On life’s other end,
my mother wearies
of her endless days
over life prolonged well past
these ninety-seven years—
asking with familiar eyes,
undimmed by age,
the reason why,
which none can answer,
and which none tries,
and silence reigns.
Then, soon enough
both memories and questions fade,
their cycles now complete.
Mark B. Peterson, Any Poem/Any Form, December 26, 2013
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2013
Invalids weep when
soiled diapers suddenly
In spite of the battered off-chance -
from a despondent interruption;
I'm the exposed exception.
Coarse fingers bleed.
My wheelchair spokes
are hardly friendly.
I proudly bawl when no one
can see me bow my head
amongst the company of
with this solemn disease -
the embrassing stench of inhumanity
forces me to open a
newly glass-stained window.
I whisk swallowed past-killings
onto bent steel hangers.
Neatly there, they elegantly droop -
angled and uninteresting;
in a dank closet where
Leukemia, I personally, thank you.
Mid wives laugh at me.
Jesters poke a crooked finger, also.
and jacks are left behind.
I chuckle, too - with an
unbridled Lucille Ball lament.
Four spaded-aces and a forgotten spittoon;
the uninviting hospice where we
comfortably bed together
crocheting darned finales.
Don't tell anyone.
Blood bleeds beyond
frowned staled dales and
expiration is a personal moment.
Daddy and Mommy need to witness
the definition of
an unwarranted demise.
Open ended the
Grimm fairy tale concludes,
without a finely tuned
leashing the braille-exhausted
onto another muddied
Copyright © John Heck | Year Posted 2011
Why are you here?
Your familiar skin,
Radiating miscellaneous emptiness
Trembling wanton security
Filled with finite smiles
Why should we indulge you again?
A rejected buffet of frozen tenderness,
Aching for high horses to help you gallop
Hunger, no vacancies to reside in your malnourished smile
Wishing for a soldier-in-arms
Wishing for a human-in-arms
As you reach for your step-stool glory
Another dignified teardrop
Stolen by cacti palms
Proverbial residue streaking across glassy 3rd eye
How would our cries
Affect your tomorrow
Why do you return?
Did your rose tints become another concaved agenda?
5 identities, incarcerated
4 revelations, engorged
3 embellishments, glorified
2 pre-judgments, sexualized
1 memory, tainted
Yet, your leech aches for another devouring of serenity.
Hoping to feel #1 again, before expiration
Of your 90 day return policy
Another Cinderella, with a shoe that was never going to fit…
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2015
Love should only ever kindle the present and the future. Not the past…
Primarily, I am second.
For I have placed others on similar platforms
Made of charred cedar and revamped memories
It is not intent that we embrace, but the end result.
I hang my smile on half-mast remembrance,
The elaborate touch of yesterday’s smile
And days go by
Where cryptic anger holds me dear
Because my identity becomes nothing more
Than a discarded 140 characters
Yet, this handsome error
Will still smile through the equally equivocal flaws
We are a marathon running on seismographic parallels.
The pricelessness of my heart, cost overridden
Perhaps it has become the only option
To keep love’s punishment, subdued
While songs of psychic animosities,
Lay judgment on unawareness’ smile
It is not easy to reach wanton goals,
While attempts to (mind) read incoming ruptures
Incorporate 50% success rate
We stumbled when we ran yesterday.
We will stumble when we walk today.
We shall stumble upon the sunrise & sunset of tomorrow.
Why couldn’t you just hold my hand when we fall?
I am, Error.
One day, I will become a candle in the wind
Will the winds upon angel’s wing
Be guided by those same smiles
Tossed into amnesia’s similar gust
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2016
How I'd like to make it last
Instead of a memory of the past
I cannot disavow
That im happy in the now
The flesh begins to manipulate
Sadly knowing of an expiration date
The more I'm here the more I wizen
With you heartbreak is on the horizon
Copyright © Eric Oakley | Year Posted 2016
How many people with foreboding palpitations
have I seen slip from middle age and slide into old age?
They slither into their last refuge, the dirt hole,
and nestle into the forever unknown life stream.
The ones who grow old breath by breath, carry a last wish,
that life be sustained one minute more,
to last long enough for death to be quick and painless.
The dead, even the almost dead, at this point know hope is futile.
Hope is only for the living, the years brandishing hope vanished
from our hours quickly dissipating as we lived in our lives,
decaying quickly into our last, precious dying seconds
but revealing that recoiling from death is folly.
We are finite beings with an expiration date.
Death always triumphant shows no mercy
and leaves no room for hope or idle prayers;
forward and onward as the saying goes.
At my age, death is my constant companion, I do not shun it.
I welcome the old rattler without hesitation or fear.
Life and death are just what they are, a before and after selfie,
what happens after that is anybody's guess.
Nothing more, nothing less and in the in-between years
I stuffed my hopes in plastic grocery shopping bags
toting them with fears and lofty aspirations
knowing I had enough time...
So I lived my life as a happy-go-lucky tourist
seeing interesting places, but finding people with minimal common sense, avaricious to a fault and lacking compassion ready to believe anything.
Questioning has been my guide to understanding this convoluted world,
but what I see is a war-torn Disneyland in chaos,
controlled by wealthy men with a malicious agenda.
I visited and am grateful for living this long to see the world's malaise.
The call to learn critically is imperative.
I await my next perplexing assignment,
eager to explore the universe and satisfy my curiosity.
Surely, somewhere else must have more common sense and astute logic.
Time brought age and wisdom, but also laughter and confusion,
gearing me up for the next bewildering wonder to be revealed.
The universe is immense, but humorous and full of deceit.
Lead on, Grim Reaper,
I will follow your lead with bated breath,
worried what other idiocies you have in store for me
in that unknown theater called the hereafter.
Copyright © norberto franco cisneros | Year Posted 2017
Exquisite in its form
Exists despite abuse
Enjoy a view from space
Expiration date real
Copyright © jill spagnola | Year Posted 2015
everything i'm looking for
surely, I want more
I have spent so long
imagining your style
I want you because your strong
unwilling to cramp my style
In your memory
I've written a Limerick
On the phone
I speak in rhetoric
with lustful words
Copyright © Jared Pickett | Year Posted 2009
Take Two Bullets
Take two bullets orally with gun powder dry
Loaded water as a chaser can shoot them down
Some cinnamon for flavor to encase the rounds
Ensures the procedure is correct, is profound
Torpedoes are too difficult to swallow
Something about their shape and size
Avoid bazooka breath when you digest
The aftertaste is hollow and benign
Keep projectiles away from children
Who creep up from behind
Stir things up with barrels of a pistol
Two bullets is what the doctor ordered
But not as suppositories
If all goes well with the original directions
Fragments should come out intact about the other side
We can project that these projectiles
Will have a happy healthy outcome in the end
Keep extra ammunition by your side in bed
Always check the expiration dates
Take your bullets every day to stay alive
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015
From crumpled and wrinkled to blinded and half dead
Howling and regretting; on the decisions not taken- thinking
Why I choose to transcend?
In desire, I roam the world like wind; and become static
To be the consumer of depths of destiny, of fate and love;
How could I forget to get directions for my passion?
I lost my way and become one with trash of the world
I see my extinction, my expiration, my death, my doom
I burned; I turned and transcend myself to bits and bits
Why I choose to transcend?
And realization transpires but seems too late- now
Nothing to fix and nothing to stitch- REPENT
Copyright © Muqudus Shahab | Year Posted 2016
Life, love and communication, this is something for every nation. It started with temptation and verification, but ended in complication. So listen to this declaration.
We gave each other inspiration, but also forced confrontation with our own situation. You have my admiration, but also my exclamation of condemnation. I've been on probation, negation, suspended animation, holding back this accusation of flirtation. My automation, caused the stagnation in our relation. One last conversation, ventilation, would be my liberation of this infestation of indignation.
But I'm not gonna ask for comfortation, an explanation, a reason for separation. A confirmation of expiration, information or explication. I have my own meditation, salvation, a new foundation of my own creation. My frustration, agitation, my never-ending contemplation, is under restoration. No more manipulation, exaggeration or expectation; I'm done with argumentation, suffocation and speculation, this implication of obligation. This is my adaptation, transformation and reparation, my graduation from irritation. No more hibernation. Only acceptation.
This proclamation needs clarification: it's not a profanation or defamation; you still have all of my adoration and appreciation. I'm just finally taking vacation, with a newfound determination. We don't need justification or vindication, a modification or translation. We only need commemoration, to remember our sensation of elation. It was not a simulation, just pure stimulation, accumulation of exhilaration.
Copyright © Timmy Burchard | Year Posted 2015
Let me take out my thesaurus
And talk about them stinky dinosaurs
I have my own theory on the Mesozoic Era,
First I'll share my reason on the Continental Drift
Who's to blame for the disconnection of our jagged sierra?
It could've been the Jurassic reptiles that caused the world to split!
My favorite meat eater is the ferocious Allosaurus
Sharp claws- sharp teeth,
terrorizing all the dinos walking on all fours.
Sneaking up while they eat and gaze the veggie heath.
Striping away chunks & chunks of meat!!!
A prehistoric predator eating his way to the top.
Preying on other dinos as if they where all pork chop.
I also like the silly Velociraptors!
These carnivores gathered and hunt in packs.
Should I call these wanna be birds 'gangsters'?
Since they had each others backs!
I also like that funny looking pea brain Stegosaurus
Look how his tiny little head is attached to that gigantic body.
I bet that dino was the dumbest of all dinosaurs
Once again imagine an 80 foot long Diplodocus,
or, a 90 foot long Apatosaurus- also known as the Brontosaurs.
Along with the largest known 45 foot tall Brachiosaurus.
Can you imagine a herd of these dinos over 40 feet tall.
Leaving a path of destruction like a tornado.
Turning the earth upright, tumbling the ground with one fall
Flying high in that sky, swooping down to the seas.
In the Pteranodon eyes, every thing looked like Pease.
Don't think I forgot about Mr.. T.Rex
How funny he looks with them little claw like hands,,
A nightmare in his own neighbor hood,
A scavenger, prowling to see what he could eat next
What a big O' bully that Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Lets not forget about the 3 horn Triceratop.
I wonder how long it took Mr.T.Rex to bring Sara to a drop
Last but not least
I like the little egg thieves
Hiding and kidnapping all them babies,
before they hatched, into their herds like armies.
Now that could be a theory to the real Dinosaurs Evolution.
One can't really say why the dinosaurs went away
Maybe the climate, or a star explosion leaking out radiation.
Scientist don't know why dinosaurs had an expiration!
I have a crazy thought!
Maybe all them egg eaters ate the dinosaurs into extinction.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
His limbs misplaced.
His presence weak.
His actions laced.
His sweat reeks.
His inside crumble.
Just within reach.
His outside humbled.
Welcoming immortal sleep.
I bid you farewell.
You’ve been strong, I saw!
Its been intolerable, I can tell.
You have been missed in our hearts.
Still learning the lessons you teach.
Our love will hold and never part.
Your spirit always near, always within reach.
17th April 2015
Copyright © Fariq Yusoff | Year Posted 2015
Jonah found himself in a most dreadful fix
He nearly had an encounter with the River Styx
He was freed by the whale's timely regurgitation
Thus easing its bellyache and Jonah's expiration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012
( Poet Destroyer-our dearest PD)
Loveliest and greatest poet, sis and friend of mine in poetry site,
Loved so much by everybody, I’m shouting this with all my might;
Let’s make October 7 a very special day again for her this year,
Let this poem of mine heralds the biggest party, I loudly cheer!
In this home and family of ours, now extended… big and so happy,
If she isn’t around, everybody is lonely without her and her stellar poetry,
I’m making this day the most memorable and happiest moment as can be,
In this world, she’s one of our most precious gifts from God, the Almighty.
North to east, east to west- -in both primary and secondary directions,
Never miss this moment… let’s all dance and sing in her grand celebration,
Now sending all my loving wishes as she blows out candles on her birthday cake,
Never fading love, joy, health, blessings and more best wishes, she’ll take.
Dearest sis, friend of mine and greatest poet of everybody,
Day ‘til night… every moment I whisper special prayers for you so dearly;
Drop all your loneliness and keep in mind that everybody cares so much and love,
Dream of yours will be fulfilled for I know you’re blessed from above.
An exceptional poet who never ceases to amaze us,
A unicorn lover dazzling us with her unique and stupendous writes;
A queen and muse of both poets and Librans, so brilliant and so smart,
A very beautiful celebrity deserving great adulation, here’s our huge sweetest hugs.
Sept. 22, 2013 7.15pm
HER BIRTHDAY: OCTOBER 7, 2013 (Now, Monday here & Tuesday in US)
HAVE A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAREST POET SIS & FRIEND LINDA. I LOVINGLY WISH YOU ALL THE HAPPINESS, GRACES, BLESSINGS , GOOD HEALTH, GOOD LUCK & PROSPERITY AND ALL THE BEST THINGS IN THIS WORLD THAT LIFE EVERYHOLD TODAY AND THE YEARS TO COME! MAY ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE! GOD BLESS YOU AND YOUR FAMILY/ LOVE ONES!
1. This birthday poem was posted ahead of time on my special blog for our very dear Linda because I was worried that I can't post a blog anymore due to the expiration of my pm before her b-dday. I supposed to post both this poem & the blog on the 7th.
2. The above special birthday poem is called ACQUAINT FORM/Leo form. ;)))))An acquaint form is my newly experimented form of poem combining 3 forms: an acrostic, quatrain form ( stanza with 4 lines) and a quintain english ( with rhyme having no set of measures or foot) ;))))))). Proven & tested to be one special form in my mini-poetry lab.;))) This is my give- away sharing to u for enjoying my birthday poem & special blog for her & also for your greetings to all Librans. I hope you will enjoy! Thank you so much!
Contest: Birthday Girl
Sponsor: My greatest poet, PD
Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013
I hope I know what is healthy sex,
in an experiential kind of way,
in a biblical swell of stay,
and I can imagine a world with healthier,
more cooperative, political empowerment,
but I am clueless about healthy religion,
which most of my friends would claim is an oxymoron,
like military intelligence.
Well, I think it's easier to have any one of these,
if you already have the other two.
So, if I am feeling warmly resonant with my good vibe
positive political psychology
of ecologically cooperative relationships,
including those that are sexual,
now that I think about it
I'm not really sure what a sexless human relationship would be.
Maybe ambivalently androgynous,
but isn't that somehow the same thing as saying transgenderal,
and somehow that doesn't seem sexless at all.
what does all that have to do with healthy v pathological religion?
What makes sex and political relationships regenerative,
and sometimes, unfortunately, degenerative,
is also what makes religions syncretically regenerative
across all Earth's more celebratory ecosystems,
both Left-scientific languaged
and Right-artistic mythic,
divine as regenerative sacred inspiration
breathing through each moment and day
and night and death's last eternal expiration.
Breath memories are sequential
but also consequential,
and empathically cumulative entrusting
religioning healthy politics
of Earth's sexy sacred cooperative ecological economics.
You seem to see politics as the religious business of empowerment.
Yes, to control nutritional and pathological regenerative/degenerative trends
of multicultural and multigenerational contentment,
absence of suffering and ecological loss,
for you, a Taoist Christian Zen-Jew.
More typically comprehended
as love ultimately comprehensive
within Judeo-Christian nurturing circles,
rather than demi-terrorists marching in Red Patriarchal Squares.
Yes, love takes a paternalistic-dominatrix tribal paranoid WinLose
in Mohammad's search for a more ecologically helpful Allah.
Love is synergy,
according to Bucky Fuller.
Yes, and consilience,
says E. O. Wilson,
over at Harvard
with that Positive Psychology clan
on the social science side of campus.
Syncretic and perennial philosophy,
for Alduous Huxley.
Yes, but why both?
Why not just syncretic,
like integrity of Earth's ecological-nutritional values?
Perhaps because Huxley saw multicultural syncretism
as evolving polypathically and inclusively across time,
like the evolution of DNA's intelligence;
like the seasonal cycles of development,
mutually and perpetually enriching future generations
with further layers and networks of interdependently healthy
metaphysical paradigmatic ecosystemic integrity of co-gravitating
Creation-ReGeneration Stories, Aphorisms, Wisdom Literature.
The pre-millennial transliterations
of post-millennial (0)-ego-sum-invested ecologically EarthCentric Soul,
gifting cooperative-nurturing-nutritional resources and ecopolitical ownership forward,
to include WinWin choices only,
inclusive of all time, all generations of Golden Ruler ReGenerativists,
at least in our positive-nutritional, non-socio-ecopathological intent.
Sacred regenerations of incarnated Elder DNA
sensory-nutritional-digestive ecopolitical climate-normed consumer balancing producer organic functions,
looking at 7-sacred generations forward
in Earth Tribe's multiculturally ecological
Ego/Eco BiCameral TaoEconomics
of New PostMillennial PermaCultural
PolyCulturally Climaxing Feminist EcoPolitical BodhiSattvas
and EcoNurturing Messiah Circles
and double-helixed fractal (0) sum zen-tao-bilateral spiraling temporal Yang/Yin mandala networks
of cooperative DNA/RNA solidarity
climate and landscape health-regenerativity.
but I prefer Rabbi Heschel's
Wonder and Awe,
for all of the reweaving recreative regenerativity above,
whether sex, or politics, or religion,
and preferably all three,
for a really nice cooperative bicamerally balancing party
to be multiculturally held and had and owned
and consumed and produced
and empowered and disempowered
with ecologically optimal cooperative-politically regenerative Tradition/Story/Sonnets/Stars/Light/Sun/BiLateral DualDark Integral 4D RealPrimeTime Interdependence/(0)-Empty DiPolar
Oh, I get it,
like Teilhard de Chardin, right?
left with right,
right both/anding wrong
health both/anding appositional pathological imbalances
of sexually cooperative ecopolitically reweaving metaphysical revolutions
of DNA/RNA (0) thermodynamic fractal-balanced octave-harmonic
light frequency reiterative
bicameral ego/eco-identity consciousness,
both (0)Mega-InterdependentYang and (0)Virgin-EmptyYin
coincidentally co-arising cognitive-affective
rather than more LeftBrain Dominant
overly-competitive mutual ecopolitical mistrusts,
WinLose survival of the fittest evolutionary models
substituting for fully regenerative ecologically supported
cooperative power-with history
trumps monoculturing power-over competitive enculturing memory.
If no DNA,
then no sex,
If no light,
and if no yinyin as WinWin (0) square root
dual dark Black Hole (0)Rigin,
then no Perennial (0)Mega Yang/Yin
bicameral multicultural-regenerative balance.
well, don't hold your breath.
Gotta keep breathing together,
if nothing else.
Would help, though,
I mean, you know, just as a post-millennial start,
to invest religious time as spiritual energy
on planting trees and native grasses,
green organic root systemic Earth-nurturers,
cooperatively conjoined together,
where we now ballistically create deserts
of starving soils and souls,
too competitively anti-religioning not together.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
On our lawn I stand
Admiring three Islands
Your harsh words they've outgrown
How would your garden grow?
Again you scoffed at
Sheer joy I earn with carve and trim
Life to lawn once dying
I know that feel inside
As you rock with breeze
Rocking chairs have held you
Have heard, "We don't need those."
There you go again
Denying flowers before I die
Your pie waits in the sky?
Keep banking sans expiration date.
Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015
My love is light (a fairy kiss?)
Like the pressure of sunbeams on your cheek,
Ineffable, and yet capable of changing lives…
Darkening skin to a more attractive hue,
Pushing spaceships to distant stars (given time) ,
Even causing cancer given sufficient lack of love for self.
For love is not about just getting needs met by another,
No, love is more like a laser's coherent beam….
For in reflecting back a portion of what is given,
The power of what is being created grows
Until it can cut through the hardest steel
And span the gulf between galaxies.
Poetry too grows through the cross-fertilization of newborn lines,
The lines of this poem insist that I record their birth.
Each new line grabs me by the scruff of the neck,
Forces me to hit the brake, grab my pen,
And claim it in my family bible…
My only children, clamoring to be set in ink.
As these Voyagers' pass into the present state of my art
(Some that I barely recognize in their profligate parentage
Of older verse's new verse's newer verse still) …
Somehow still carriers of my own genetic code.
They press my design against the blank page
Flying in search of, homing on… your heart.
My love's intent is simply truth (do you want less?)
Would you have me downplay
The warmth of our connection
Because it is complicated by here-to-fore
Unacknowledged passion, spiritual connection,
And the remnants of former relationships
(Even those still gasping for breath) ?
Or feign a lack of attachment to it's denouement
In a solitary attempt to feel safer?
No matter can restrain the effects of gravity
On the orbits of other bodies in its field of influence,
Gravity that binds us all in deep wells of space-time.
Your kiss of greeting…
After so many years of imagining such a possibility,
Imprinted deeper than even my memory of our first meeting,
Our moonlit shadows touching as we soaked naked
In the steaming waters of a volcanic mountain spring.
This new conjunction of souls occurred in God's clear view,
Without artifice or scheming on our part
And rocked my inner core to it's depths,
Organizing molten currents of confused turbidity
Into a magnetic flare of such intensity
That iron flew to my spine
Inspired me to finally declare my love
To acknowledge your impact on my life…
And after a period of gestation
Gave birth to this poem of celebration.
Back to Nebraskan reality and a new mystery…
I pass an overturned car,
Its wheels tied by yellow police tape,
A metaphor for my life perhaps
'Damaged but still salvageable.'
The windows are broken out,
The occupants removed to a distant hospital somewhere
(Hopefully arriving alive) ,
Their odds and ends of life scattered like garbage
On the inverted ceiling of their car.
The explanation, perhaps, is the water still standing
Several inches deep on the road side near the wreck?
A sudden orgasmic release of cloud in a desert….
The car tops the hill to find the highway
Buried by a lake of dimensions only God can know.
Who would expect such a thing in Nebraska's sand hills?
And what does it say about me finally
That I am so drawn to distant objects,
That the two women given access to my heart are
Both still tied to failed marriages
By dark chapters I am not part of
And innocent children who need their love?
And at our age where is the partner without a past?
Is this all that God has planned for you and me,
That we 'just miss' every thirty years or so?
I know there are times I am afraid to trust another's love,
Cannot even hear words of genuine affection.
Perhaps this explains my attraction to women
Whose availability might really be in question?
Maybe I'm afraid to let a real lover in?
Is the simple dream of love a better choice
Than the chance of finding real love anew
(Even love with an expiration date) ?
I think I'm more distrustful of my own heart's passion
Than I am of women being unreceptive to my love.
Do you struggle with similar feelings?
And is it my lot to only remember passion like this in a poem
While you spiral away to unimagined rendezvous'?
The coldness of space is not after-all
The simple absence of heat…
No, in human dimensionality it is more the absence of others…
Others who both shine life force toward us
And reflect our own light back to us,
Who collide with us physically and emotionally
Altering our pathways forever,
And who crater the façade whose design
We imagine belongs to us alone.
The void of human space-time is a true 'black hole'
Sporting only star death fragments of the 'Big Bang.'
This is all I really know…
I treasure the memory of our 'fly-bys'
Even if that's all they ever are.
And if I'm lucky this joy,
This celebration of your existence,
Will continue to pour out of me in songs and verse…
For your ears always (if I am so honored) ,
For God's heart (as I was born to honor Him) ,
And to the stars alone if I have only them for company.
This poem, like 'A Walk Near Blunt, ' began during an actual drive from South
Dakota to Oklahoma and then took on a life of it's own. These 'real life
narrative' poems are part of an attempt on my part to give precedence to truth
and content over form and rhyme. For readers with an interest in science, I
hope you also enjoy my attempt in this and other poems to bring my love of
Physics into the world of poetic imagery.
Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014
So at 47 I have arrived.
A position most disconcerting,
A blatant assault.!
An ego in default.
Should have steered left,
Perhaps joined a cult.
Having settled back into the lap,
Of my original birth sack,
I am anything but patient.
I now care for
My matriarch. Ancient!
As she skids down that slippery,
That slaughterhouse of all hope.
Toward her final expiration.
Once a beauty of
The extraordinary kind
With the quickest of mind,
Don't get it twisted.
Aging is nothing if not unkind,
Names of her clan,
She now labors over, unable to find.
Her once glowing blonde tresses,
Sexy, 50’s signature dresses,
Athletic leaps, impressive,
All night sexual feats,
Replaced now with wrinkles.
A faint frame, once sturdy
Now wobbles and crinkles.
I shall have her warped feet, it appears,
Twisted, worn down from all the years,
As I step back and upsize,
The navy blue faded from her eyes,
Now light gray, I see my own,
Paired with my offensive demise.
I say “Nay!!!”
Launching a rather
Loudly inappropriate protest.
With all of my feisty lather,
I attempt a half-assed jest!
But I'm not joking.
I am not.
Gravity. What a horribly shitty guest!
I opt out!!
I simply do. It just not for me.
This aging get-down,
Perhaps it's for you?
But not I.
Protesting with an icy chill,
This is a far cry from a thrill.
(Excuse me for just a moment,
I must go take another pill.)
Sore joints, crows feet, vision going South?
I have had my fill!
You must understand my decision,
Appreciate my unprecedented position.
I have been paying for the botulism syringe,
Carefully dodging sunbeams that offend,
From beneath my wide brimmed hat.
Ordering fine potions.
(Please! Ship STAT!)
Getting any older?
Nope. Not doing that!
I opt out!
Yes, you heard me,
I'm simply won’t go.
I've called the 800 number,
About losing my glow.
What about my sexual, slippery slide,
Threatening a possible dry run?
My feisty partner laughs and says,
“Princess Vanity,” you have no choice here!”
I say “Nay!” “I refuse!”
I’ll even give up my,
The entire month I decided to show,
If I can dramatically get this aging thing to slow!
You enjoy getting older, but I’m showing age the door.
I shall remain the way I am at present,
Don’t care what’s inevitable,
It matters not who says it.
This girl is aging no more.
I opt out!!!
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
Fear and violence and guilty judgment
display synaptically sharp,
competing "Loser!" skittish economies.
Love and active peace sustain buoyance,
robustly revolving away
from red skies of mourning;
cooperatively mutual Win-Win
ecology of evolution.
I want so badly to fly my competing belief kites,
for my string to remain confidently taut,
vibrantly humming and singing my self-righteousness,
intrinsic value and merit,
for my eisegesis to transcend up and out
catching our multi-cultural wind,
decomposing old ways of competing
as we bow to my better judgment,
declaring my Orthodox wisdom kite
your kite won't fly this way,
or hasn't after all these frustrating
lean growing years of learning our faith
in competing paradigms,
where one must be more right,
the best kite,
but really not just the best,
because we would each love to obliterate
all inkiting competition.
Our ego-cycling judgment
reads and studies why each must be elite
to lead losers behind.
Meanwhile, some of us are relearning,
reweaving kites flying best together
like wedges of geese
balanced and resiliently squawking
our glad tidings,
"It's warmer south,
and colder north,
and vice versa,
depending on which habitual hemisphere
you dominantly favor."
Together we catch post-millennial wind
to soar our joyously cooperating kites
in Golden self-regenerative atmosphere of inclusive grace.
If my eisegetical kite won't fly right,
if my EarthTribe can't hear or understand
or care about what I have to proclaim,
I listen deeper
to find how high
my kite might float
in richer racing flowstreams,
as positive deviant diversity
among mutually mentoring companions,
quacking our coincidental ecologic.
We find each Other's incarnated contours,
merging one breath,
two resonant heartbeat kites,
Then rise to fly apart.
sustain mutual listening,
sync-rhythmic vibrant revolution
spiraling up and away,
soaring eastern harmonies,
dancing inkited incarnate breeze.
Left-Right well-bowed bicameral sparring confluence
toward mutual gratitude,
centering mindfulness soaring regeneratively up
reducing tipping-tail dissonance and stress,
waving down and up
in and out
back and forth to smile warm namaste.
Leaning left proposes inspiration,
flexing right disposes expiration,
together swelling prime (0) spinal soul,
our permacultural kite-fly system
fractally equivalent decomposing,
interdependent open windowed balance,
which was our Original Intent,
to reach up toward bicameral balancing flight,
as Left breathes in
Right breathes back out regifting Earth,
positively praying revolution's gratitude.
Breathing out what you breathe in,
breathing in what you breath out,
my Yang inhale our Yin exhale,
my Yin exhale our Yang inhale,
balancing (0)-sum ecologic stress,
flying our long-taled inter-nesting kite.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
Let me waste my breath
Scream this at the top of my lungs
Until my face turns blue
You'll never learn
I'll never learn
And I'll never disconnect this bad habit
You need me like a a druggie needs his needles
I need you like a bullet to the head
We existed once
We exist now
Just crumbling apart until nothing is left
So many years spent
In obidience, biting my tongue until it bled
Of wonderful laughs and bliss
Memories that are inseperable to my heart
But what we have is headed for the grave
Where it will lay it's head and rest in peace
This friendship has reached it's expiration date
Unraveled with time like an antique rug
You're the one pulling the strings, kneading the threads apart
I'm the one trying to sew it up on the other end
Stabbing and pricking my fingers till they bleed
Working in vain to stitch this friendship
Stitch this gaping hole, splattered in blood from these hands
That have worked hours, days, weeks, and months
To fix this while you unravel it
Down to nothing but the single threat that made it.
I'm wasting my breath
and I'm wasting my time
To salvage a friendship
That wasn't friendship
Copyright © Samantha Komornik | Year Posted 2014
linger at the bottom of my closet
oh sexy heels
in a rainbow of colors
oooh la la . . .
high and lower flat as can be
and when I need to find
just one pair to wear
it is a puzzle a labyrinth
my world is shoe-wonderful
the flat as can be
high and lower
all in a tangled mess
at the bottom on my closet
so on my knees
I search the abyss
for that pair that are
perfect and amazing
there are a few that are the best
can I be honest
my running Shoes
August 26, 2016
Membership Expiration Contest
Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2016