Best Exude Poems
You didn’t notice my tears.
As you both kissed each other
like two lonely plungers
who just escaped from plumber’s solitary confinement,
your eyes open and wander up.
You didn’t look across that banquet hall
with my feet planted against wood polished tendencies.
Its creaks motioning time towards yellow-signal identity.
As my breath declares sudden death
against lake’s dripping reflections…
…you didn’t think to set your photo album on private.
Advertising lust
wrapped in pretentious cloak
sewed in recycled fibers of “love”.
With ignorant enablers speaking chic-flick tongue,
“Oh My Gawd! I’m so happy for you! I wanna ovulate!”
As I, put my head down
returning to this moment in time,
I had to let my song…cry.
Lenny Williams begins to exude “cause I love you” chorus,
as I walk towards bar
sensing your seductive retinas
stroking against my Latin swagger.
Your ring finger
chained by 3 carat, naïve cut, diamond
motions an intense, streaking caress
against wine glass filled with Zinfandel sin.
Because you know I am your addiction.
Your diabetic lips never forgot
that taste
of my
brown
sugar.
But, you didn’t notice my tears.
I wish you had.
For all this time, these tears
were of joyful splendor.
Because solace holds my hand
with candlelight warmth.
Slow dancing with my soul
in mystery Salsa sway.
While you stand on home plate,
holding your 2nd place trophy,
with 3 strikes against you.
A reminder that my heart,
was flexible enough
to dodge
a bullet.
© Drake J. Eszes
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
divining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
Metaphors and similes exude when scripting poetic verse.
Across pale parchment, the poet's pen continues to traverse.
Ink courses like life blood, rushing through his eddied veins
as he ignores cramped fingers while writing echoing refrains.
Each stanza arranged by sequence in the creation of a story.
Sometimes his mysterious muse dances wildly with allegory.
He reins her in when he is focused but totally oblivious of time.
With vivid imagination, he sits penning in consummate rhyme.
Thoughts drift like flurries of snowflakes; his passion ignites
as each completed verse lifts his wizardry to greater heights.
In epic form he wanders within a level of verbose amplitude,
composing lyrical sonnets when creating a romantic interlude.
He indites with skill and talent of an accomplished musician,
striving to compose a magnum opus, a worthy composition.
If by chance his poetry is interpreted with eyes of admiration
he'll credit his gypsy muse for offering amorous inspiration.
This Poem Is Who I Am With Everybody.
I was told who I am, always reflects upon my friends
and family. When I choose a friend we become one
soul forever.This Is how I interpret my friendship.
When I choose a friend, I would shelter their names
in my heart,after conquering their friendship.
Their secrets will register in my brain to never be exposed.
I was told who I am always reflects upon their lives, they know
my spirit and soul will not survive without them, my consistency
will nurture their strength to exude.
When I choose a friend, my love will never sleep or vanish,
my telepathy will wake up and sleep when they retire.
My sharing becomes an unconditional awareness of either their
pain or happiness. They feel that I am capable of praying for
them each night.
If they are near or far makes no difference out of love their
shadow will send me messages in what state of mind they
are at the moment.
My heart will surrender when I am needed, if they want to talk,
I will listen, if they cry I will wipe their tears, if they are hungry
for food I will feed them, if they hunger for philosophy, I would
share my knowledge, if they crave for silence my voice is muted,
if they are weak in health nothing will hold me back from running
to stay next to them day and night till healing will prevail.
When I choose a friend, I was told who I am always reflects upon
their everyday living, because knowing all what I possess will be
shared without asking, generosity progresses out of love.
Their silhouette constantly moves next to me, feeling their heart
beat continuously to determine how to approach them.
That is why who I am always reflects upon their everyday,
knowing I analyze the word friendship as the dearest to my soul,
I have no boundaries, my tears will flow like raindrops reaching their
window if any help is needed.
I love all my friends.
21/5/2013 Contest For SKAT. This Is Who I Am with everybody. WIN (10)
Roses have bloomed colorful, wearing
A symphony of red, white, and pink.
Gardenia and Jasmine pose in white,
Butterflies are fluttering in delight.
Insects are pollinating flowering trees
Devouring nectar, a fee for the service.
Apple flowers, pretty in pink and white.
Purple peach flowers, an enchanting sight.
The fig trees nearby have flowers too
Greenish blossoms hidden from view
The tiny buds, look like fruits indeed!
In fact, they're inverted flowers within.
Flowers' aroma attracts female wasp
Eager to lay eggs, as romance begins
Inside the Syconium of a male flower.
A mutualism yearning for symbiosis.
Baby wasps will soon mature
The siblings will mate with each other
Wingless males will die, females will fly
In a hurry with the pollen they carry
Searching new male flowers to breed.
Female flowers exude a special scent
Tricking the wasp to shimmy in the stem,
A one way street to death sentence.
Female flowers pollinate, don't reciprocate
No place for the wasp to lay its eggs.
Having lost its wings, it dies for a cause
The flowers in time digest the dead wasp
And grow into a ripened fruit we call fig.
Just this one time, mutualism lost its grip.
How intricate your mind. How it can vex!
A labyrinth that offers no escape,
its walls are glazed with patterns that perplex.
I glimpse inside. At times I stop and gape
at murals which reveal an iridescence.
But shallow are the joys you sometimes feel.
I turn to find I’m facing evanescence.
Intense emotions swell; become surreal.
They swirl with thought; descending, they exude
through dark partitions winding through your head.
The maze becomes a spiral to seclude
you from the world and me. I feel your dread.
Dark angel, trapped in strange and endless gloom,
to stay with you would mean to share your doom.
For Nathan's ......."INSANITY or DEATH"......Poetry Contest
Theme: Insanity to Darkness
I see three doors before me.
The one to the left is blue, a beautiful lupis blue
with ornate lacework in its center.
Parisian-esque, it looks likes an entrance to adventure
and inspires me with its sophistication.
I imagine inside the rooms beyond that door
exotic curios on shelves along the walls
or tables heaped with charming little treasures.
My muse’s curiosity is sparked!
The middle door I see is that of a welcoming house.
Beneath two large rectangles of decorative glass
hangs a straw wreath adorned with festive flowers.
A friendly-looking white lab sits in front of this door
and on each side of it on the old-fashioned porch
are two pots of pretty geraniums.
I imagine beyond this door friends and family
gathered around the kitchen table
finishing Mom’s delicious apple pie
and preparing to break open a pack of cards
or sit beside their fireplace, playing charades
or perhaps singing along to a guitar.
The part of me that longs for warmth of family
lingers at this door.
The last door I spy
much farther away and surrounded by trees
is a light green door blending in with nature,
unadorned and not as high as the first two doors.
Were it a bit smaller and round, it could almost be
the door to a hobbit’s cottage.
A bower of vines spreads around it
covering the brown bricks of the house,
and a short cobblestone pathway leads upward
to this simple but interesting door.
I know that if I open it and wander in,
solitude will surely greet me, a solitude so sweet
that when I shut the door behind me,
I’ll leave behind the stresses of my life.
I will have entered another world
where I can rest and meditate. . .
perchance to write.
I look back at the first door, imagining the thrill
of discovery. Its charming blue entices me.
Then I return my gaze to the second door
from which warmth and empathy exude.
I redirect my gaze to the third door. . .
Which do I want more?
New experiences? Intimacy? Peacefulness?
Creative inspiration could reside behind all three.
Which one do I choose?
Which one would YOU choose?
March 28, 2017
for the Doors Contest of Anthony Biaanco
Gifts of stuffed toys make my special child
delight vibrantly in freedom bliss
as he cuddles them joyously
to create magical time of beautiful wonders
transforming his bed into marvelous haven.
Awesome bonding moments
grasp him around fellowship with his friends:
soft monkey, furry ape, smooth dog,
huggable bear, silky dinosaur
bringing sheer laughter of amazement-joy.
With sign language and gestures of care
he attends to them in his relaxation time
midst roll-call they understand
as he lines them up in his organized manner
expecting for their presence.
In his mirth-filled grin
he picks them up one by one
conscious of their responses
heartfully warming him therapeutically
never defying his touches and embraces.
As he prays and gives thanks to God
my special child asks blessings for his stuffed toys
midst utterances they all comprehend
expressing his affection toward them
like how his Mom loves him so dearly.
Before he drifts to sleep
he covers them with his own blanket
assuring their safety around his protection
while he allows my hands to extend toward them
since for him, "we are a family."
Yes, his stuffed toys understand his quirks
as they play with him with their flexible compliance
keeping him company of significant worth
enabling his individuality to exude compassion-manners
while enhancing his kindness-deeds.
More than soft toys, they are my special boy's treasures...
...gifts from people who love him --- whom he values likewise
as both recipients and benefactors of care, comfort, and cheer
... since they exemplify God's grace, goodness and generosity
while radiating hope, peace, and triumph for their functionality
though, of course, they can never and must not be....
... substitutes for a loving home.*
*Psalm 127:1 Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it.
September 16, 2025
1st place, "More Than A Soft Toy" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg; judged on 9/26/2025.
10th place, "2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 20" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney; judged on 10/8/2025
Line of inquiry:
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude” - Unseeking Seeker
A person’s true emotions we cannot know,
but sometimes by a frown their feelings show.
With awareness, we learn to recognize
the pain reflected in a person’s eyes.
There is a girl that we had somehow hurt.
She lost her glow. As if left in the dirt,
she seemed to wither, dying like a rose,
so compassion was the path we chose.
We talked with her to find out what had made
her beautiful countenance and smile fade.
Apologies we offered in hopes to please
this friend of ours, who now seems much at ease!
Where black-necked cranes come to chat with me
In the company of wine and deep brown honey
Flowing from apple twigs in the heavenly valley
Of Bumthang , carved into the sublime Himalayas
By glacial melt and monsoon rains in collaboration
Giving rise to lovely landscapes offering relaxation
In Buddha’s silence, there lies my dream destination
To fill some vacuum in a week of my next vacation
In the north east of the Indian subcontinent where
Beautiful girls and Buddhist monks are very sincere
(Bum refers to girls and thang a flat piece of land)
Everywhere you will see Buddha’s lifted hand
In consonance with the land an ever demure voice
Of Buddhism says: go to the mystic blue and rejoice
Along the murmur of icy rivers and lakes everywhere
Pink rhododendrons exude fragrance in the fresh air
Flowers red, yellow, pink, white, lilac, green and blue
For our sore minds and thirsty psyche all these hues
In the shades of Pine and Oak monasteries as a nest
The imposing peaks descend here to take a little rest
Four charming valleys, Tang, Ura, Choekhor, Chumey
Will greet us in a smile on our trip to Bumthang valley
Morning is wakened here by blue-capped rock thrush
Beside the flapping flags the gurgling streamlets gush
Where Gross National Happiness instead of GDP
Determines economic progress of the society
Come, dear friend, to join me in the amazing journey
From the chains of self to a deep sense of infinity
_________________________________________________
February 13, 2016
(to Mittens)
Schrödinger’s Cat is where it’s at,
nor live, nor dead, nor purring.
With half a chance she’ll live to prance
the worst may be occurring.
There must be something I can do
that Nature says is not taboo
to rescue this poor Russian Blue.
But if I’d look I’d lock her fate.
Dare I disturb her quantum state
when spooky action at-a-distance
could conclude poor cat’s existence?
Somehow unseen I need to see
behind that curious curtain,
where “God plays dice” with cats and mice,
where Heisenberg was uncertain.
Where large meets small, and cause effect,
where fact finds science fiction …
It boggles my small intellect,
each way I think of to protect
her has some contradiction.
Where simple seeming Maxwell’s Demon,
if programmed to assist …
To no avail, he’s doomed to fail,
he clearly can’t exist.
Where mighty minds have failed before,
what chance have I to best Niels Bohr?
Poor Einstein nearly fried his noggin
when he tried at Copenhagen.
Then, at the Solvay Congress, rambling,
suffered his cerebrum’s scrambling.
Each clever loophole that he “found”
failed, for Bohr shot each one down.
Where the world’s four known forces and all its best minds,
couldn’t save kitty lest they Unified.
So, he tried and he tried, and he tried and he tried,
still, we weren’t Unified on the day Einstein died.
Then followed footsteps, Steven Hawking.
Though he didn’t do much walking,
wowed us with his brilliant squawking:
“Black holes have “hair?!”
Could information
in pairs of virtual creation,
entangled but with separation
by a great wall of gravitation
as “hairs” of “Hawking Radiation,”
repair in Grand Unification
to spare this long-hair’s ruination?
Might yet unwritten cosmic laws
apply behind those blurry walls
to spare her furry feline paws?
I can’t remember if I cried
when I read that Steven Hawking died.
Such sadness touched me deep inside,
still, we were not Unified.
So, confidence I can’t exude.
The only thing I can conclude:
Alas, I lack ability
to tinker probability.
But I will give you even odds that all our odds are even.
This odd result results because we’ve mixed our rhymes with reason.
So be it odd to play at God … by God there’s a solution!
I have free will and will by God will out her execution.
So, by stroke of this pen I do decree:
This story ends here. Happily!
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant …
how subtly innocent and eager!
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise …
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common!
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry,
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow -
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow,
and envy for even the inimitable …
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink),
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination …
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable,
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement,
saucy, exposed hips,
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent,
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event,
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy,
(and not returning without discerned effort),
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo,
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone -
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo,
adding to the sassy attitude …
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers,
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus …
faultless, blue-white smile,
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven!
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name!
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours!
the gods themselves are weeping wonder ...
the gods themselves!
* SECOND PLACE in the "Free Verse On Love" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor. *
Ancient Alien Earthman
Captivating galaxies numbering more
than grains of sand carpeting a shore
Spheres orbiting stellar giants of yore
a plethora of exquisite jewels and ore
Humans should revel in their inclusion
amid a choreographed mystic creation
Flawlessly crafted objects of perfection
an orchestrated symphonic conception
Corroded vision envelops bigoted eyes
antediluvian blinders befuddle the wise
Deep consternations must be liberated
dread of unknowns willfully annihilated
Distant worlds peculiar and enchanting
purple skies bring snowflakes in spring
Hopefulness aroused by emerald moon
patiently await solar heat not monsoon
Wanderlust evokes interstellar journeys
light years away towards a dark furnace
Emanating celestial wonders exude elan
Starman greets Ancient Alien Earthman!
3/21/2022
8:20 p.m.
Lake Worth
Florida USA
Crowned with a tiara,precious white,
crashing at the heels turquoise tide.
here all known colors exude through ,
at every step diversities brew.
The winds of past,
would forever last.
waltzing around the weaver's needle,
or reverberating through the artisan's chisel.
through the mystic roads,
clad in saffron robes.
saints chase the ultimate solution,
--a path towards salvation.
Not in a folklore or a song
here the palanquin bears the daughter along.
tied knots* are too strong to break,
solemn promises for eternity are made.
witness a reverse in clock,
the ideals in bricks and blocks.
or a picture of originality,
during the frolics of festivity.
here in happiness skylines swell with kites*,
the earthen diyas* set all corners alight.
Holi* makes the faces hued,
Of the past all feuds are subdued.
in reverence for the Gods of health,
and the Goddesses of wealth
the rangolis* are drawn at the thresholds
welcoming them to dwell their households.
Knowing no constitutional provisions,
or land demarcations,
Almighty on the seventh sky,
strolls down here on the sly.
May this land beneath His hand hail,
may never the people fail.
within its splendor shall we reside,
its the land by the sea side!
*tied knots--refers to the relationships
*kites--are flown on makar sakranti (a festival) It is a harvest festival. On this occasion the sky is filled with kites
*diyas--earthen bowls in which oil is used and they are lit on the auspicious festival of diwali as a mark of dispelled darkness when good won over evil.
*holi-is a spring festival celebrated as a festival of colours.
Text without context
Are words without soul
Man without nature
Won’t exist in this world
Life without relationships
Are shoes without soles
We’re all interrelated
By the soil of the earth
Spirit of forest
The air that we breathe
Clean flowing water
Every living thing needs
Flowers exude aromas
Smiles must have face
It’s the unseen intentions
Our spiritual grace