Best Far Poems
You say, I’m too far,
towards the far side?
It’s a hazard of my left-handedness,
that I see the logic in abstraction.
Worlds lay within worlds
and colors bleed personality;
Oh, it may be distasteful
in the world of mathematics
to give a square five sides;
not in my world,
it’s a box with the lid open.
Into that box I pour
my imaginings,
things that only I can see
of which, some folks display
their jealousy;
they accuse me of being backwards,
of not following the rules.
In my world, rules are
shades of grey,
monotone
monotony,
my imagination
does not obey.
No one tells me that
a cow can’t be purple,
that clouds can’t speak
or that you can’t draw the
invisible realms.
Step into my guitar and dance,
it’s playing itself for you.
I’m an original, you see
and I travel in
imagination’s zone.
Don't miss me for I'm never very far,
glimpsing your days from a secret star.
I'm among flowers that grow by your side,
resting on rainbows when hoping to hide.
As stars sparkle in the misty moonlight,
should a lone one capture a naive night,
or, if the summer breeze ruffles your hair,
it's because, for the moment, I was there.
Music you hear in a soft, summer's breeze,
is our song I'm singing to sleepy trees.
If not there, I fly in a peaceful place
where love can exist in a groundless grace.
I often meet you in whispers of air,
the song of a bird, sunlight on the stair.
I'll caress you when time gathers us nigh,
Together we'll explore the seamless sky.
March 16, 2023
for Brian Strand's Number 1199 poetry contest
POTD
How sad when things are too far gone -
when pleasures once you knew
are things no more to smile upon.
This plight for some is all too true.
Some souls are captive to their vice.
How sad when things are too far gone
and simple comforts don’t suffice.
To evil some become a pawn!
Some bearing pain become withdrawn:
for pain of body or the soul.
How sad when things are too far gone,
and nothing fills the gaping hole.
Some lose their home or livelihood.
Some live enslaved. There is no dawn
that shines for them with brotherhood.
How sad when things are too far gone.
July 18, 2022
for Pick-A-Title, Vol 31 Poetry Contest
Title #1: Too Far Gone
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb
(Irish from his Pop Appendage from his Mum)
stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!
(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)
the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground
Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can
(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)
Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
blushing beets
the ground isn't just a place for our feet
Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence
(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)
Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight
our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple
We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"
I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...
... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...
Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One
Moon in distant sky,
Lights waves, rushing to the shore!
Carrying God's Love!
I LOVE YOU EVEN IN FAR OFF PLACE
Fever of love cartwheel snaillike but where are you?
Round six o'clock noon, sunken is the moon gazing
behind deep orange-aubergine feather skies,
its shadowy light floods the shivering sea,
I, standing still amidst the tickling water,
my teary eyes softly wander upon endless horizon,
my hypothermic skin long for the kisses puffed by you.
Barefooted, I amble along the silky sands
seagulls fingers rushing to caress my feet but
droplets of August rain run fast above my head.
The crisp wind wafts whispering something in my ear
t'was the songs we sang second week of February
honeysuckle times gone but still my celcius sprint.
Softly, I tread back to memoirs playing a chemistry
where there catena of reactions descry revealing we...
Cleansed from river tears, blessed by suns of home,
my heart didn't surrender in wanting your presence soon.
Crossing limitless borders where our lamp is trust,
the choice to continue gleams in the name of freedom,
as we daily counteract two strategic villains:
the odd times and the eight thousand miles distance.
Yes, afar but this NOT THE BARRIER. Us baring our souls.
Us stepping onward, offering ourselves, to attain one goal.
I listened close to your voice as we talk by phone
My oh my, your tone, your giggle magnify my thoughts!
but this not enough 'cause I yearn to hold you most.
I want to ask: what is it that's not in my heart
that fate acted so long in keeping us apart?
Perhaps... Ah perhaps! This must be for us
to rightly spell the language of love...
The long distance vanguished, frozen fears diminished,
sapphire eyes cushioned by cherry color skin sings
as he stares whole from rosy chocolate coated cutis
to eyes touching tears, directly screaming: "I love you..."
__________________________________________________________
EPIC ---ONLY - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Name -- SKAT A
~7th Place~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
10:59am, July 24, 2015
There comes without a warning,
one in hooded mantle grey,
with silent footfall treading. . .
treading nightfall into day.
An eerie mist - mysterious -
he haunts the valley floor.
He surges on through deep of night
and rolls along the shore.
And through the forest -
pressing on -
he wraps his cloak round trees.
The wanderers in empty woods
will feel much less at ease.
Then along a wall he creeps,
or climbs a city stair.
In seconds, traffic crawls with him.
Pedestrians, take care!
For those on foot within the fringe
of Phantom’s murky cape
will sense a chill -
the apparition’s breath upon their nape.
I wonder what this specter seeks;
what answer that he needs. . .
impelling him
to travel far
before his gloom recedes.
Previously For Thvia Shetley's
"Clever Analogies if you please!"
How can i behold your face again
when my eyes are ladden with tears?
How shall i hear the rushing wind of your voice
when my ears are deafened
by the silence within?
How shall i ever fondle your face again,
when my arms are withered by solitude?
At dawn i can not find you.
At noon i listen in vain for your laughter.
In the night season, my forlorn heart sighs
as it would its last.
The moon`s probing eye finds a way to my heart.
It is your reflection
that stretches in the dust.
Where once i had summer
i now have winter.
Your love which i once have felt
i now can feel no more.
You re so far away.
...so far away.
...so far away.
I dream of the old house, five thousand miles
away, across the sea, high on the hill,
the garden where the rhododendrons shade
the black and white tiled steps up to the door.
I enter, walk from room to room, and see
my mother on the balcony; she sits
beneath the tumbling vines and reads her book.
My dad is in his study playing chess.
The house smells like it always did. Each thing
still lives in its accustomed place. This is
a journey back in time: I am a child,
was gone a little while and now am home.
The light falls through the windows differently.
The trees have grown, obscure the view, and hide
The house from outside glance. Mom’s hair is white,
And father walks the stairs with halting steps.
I hope there will still be a few more years
For me to make this journey. Far away
Are home and childhood, and the church bells toll
The hours relentlessly.
7/11/2017
I wonder often what you think, or if you think at all,
of the time we shared together as the summer turned to fall.
I dream of your adventures, while I watch the passing day,
in a room of empty chairs, in a tower far away.
I wonder often what you know, of love that I cannot.
What lessons can you claim that wordless must be taught?
And even now I fantasize of games you surely play,
in a room of empty chairs, in a tower far away.
I wonder often what you felt, or did your heart not speak?
The power 'pon your lips made me strong and made me weak.
And even could I run to you, I think that I would stay,
in a room of empty chairs, in a tower far away.
The pain and loss are fading, my heart's more red than gray,
and soon your voice will echo, in memories far away.
Written in Sarkey's Energy Center for "Let It Be" contest, sponsored by Catie Lindsey
When night’s candles
wax in the breeze,
a glow draws near while loved ones are far...
I would scan places dimensions away
For in reveries
they bask among the skies.
So warm with wonder, bright with charm
Could I but fix them
beneath moon’s hues,
Who do not let affections stray through time
far beyond all limits of heaven's rails
May 2018 Standard Contest of Brian Strand
Burnt Into Ash My Sad Soul Looks Far Back
In youth, my spirit was a climbing vine
dressed in green leaves upon white oak tree
Seeking light, I was walking a true line
in shade of path that was truly free
Storms weathered sheltering branches
bringing sun's hot beams upon my head
I sought more, took gravest of chances
of true love's blessing and being well fed
Once cast upon dirt and parched ground
my legs found needed strength to run
Racing winds sent that deceiving sound
soon, I forgot the heat of blazing sun
Burnt into ash my sad soul looks far back
Long ago, in tree's top, I was once on track
Robert J. Lindley, 7-14-1999
Angel That Has Flown Far Away
Angel that has flown far away
dawn's soft glowing, I bow to pray
for her and yet another kiss
she the Love, her Touch, I so Miss.
This day, heart sees her smile again
my beloved, my dearest friend
I yield to these new falling tears
thankful for her, our blessed years.
She that wakes me every morn
to help heal soul that is so torn
her soft eyes shining so bright
telling me, it will be alright.
Angel that has flown far away.
Dawn's soft glowing, I bow to pray.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-16-2022
Sonnet
( dedicated to my beautiful, cherished and beloved wife,
Clarisa Tapican Lindley)
Note-
I woke at 4am. Today is the day of my beloved wife's
Celebration Of Life gathering at her church today, 4-16-2022.
I wrote this poem at 6:24 am while commenting at another forum.
It just came to me in a bright flowing flash.
Cradled by a hammock
with the sun shining in.
Coddled with Summer fun.
Ice cream’s dripping
from a whopping sugar cone.
It’s sweet to do nothing
but tongue the licks
and swing in a basket
in the zephyr wind.
It’s sweet to read a book
as I settle in.
My heart can race,
with adventure and romance,
with eyes darting back and forth,
but the cushions are at peace,
except when I subtly shift
crossing my knees.
Counting sheep on staycation.
Letting midday, flow from the windows,
light up my quiescent countenance.
Occasionally I exercise my thumb
with a thumbs up. I hope someone
is cooking ‘cause it’s sweet
to do absolutely nothing at all.