Best Fibre Poems
With the onset of advancing age, so I find,
A man grows weary of all mundane talk;
Occupies his every spare, idle thought
With that of the slow, reflective kind.
Regretful of many a squandered hour,
Turning his back on the squabbling nations,
Their woeful, self-serving deliberations,
Dreams wistfully of his own starlit tower.
Should he hopefully find that blessed stair,
Wound insides of the ancient, dim lit wall,
Where tread from unseen feet sometimes fall,
He could but elevate himself above his cares;
There, throwing his soul upon the night,
Lift his gaze upon a tumultuous crowding!
His thinning pate adorned with a crowning
From a far-flung, pale, distant light.
And if he was to fix his mind upon that point;
To that moment forcefully bring to bear,
With every ounce of fibre when stood there,
An unremitting will to somehow exploit,
That, which, the mystics so jealously guarded...
Then, perhaps, he might too ascend?
For, in all reality, at the very end,
All is thrown off...the very body discarded.
Therefore I will choose my own finality.
I give my remaining days to old worn steps
Enclosed in rock, a turret that silhouettes
Against an endless sky; and if it should be
That I find such hallowed battlements
Give aging legs the strength to slowly climb,
To praise the celestial and sublime,
When reaching up where my God frequents.
For though those stars seem out of reach,
Unattainable by grand, omnipotent design,
Nevertheless I am thusly to be inclined
To offer up a prayer and unto him beseech:-
"Immortal father who created mortal man,
Ye who sits above all earthly thrones,
Give unto me old tools and rubbled stones,
And I shall endeavour to do what I can...
To rebuild that abandoned, crumbled tower...
For, Lord, be it only by dreams men are
Truly empowered"!
I miss the one who stole my heart
Before the waves pulled us apart
When craving throbbed in every vein
We sang in tune to love’s refrain.
I miss the sparkle in her eyes
The sensual timbre of her voice
The urge to share, to give and take
A tacit wish, a mutual choice.
I miss the moments when at night
We watched in awe, silent delight,
The sequined twinkling in the sky.
From time to time a kiss, a sigh.
I miss the man who made me yearn
To touch and yield, with passion burn.
He made each fibre thrill within
I lived and breathed only for him.
I miss the touches of his hand
The sense of home within his arms
Where feelings bloomed and love was sweet
His knowing smiles were graced with charms.
I miss the rhythm of his love
His kisses raining from above,
The breathless rapture of my soul
I miss the man who made me whole.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A Callman Collaboration
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
Kiss me, I want to lift you skirt flying
Inside my heart like the wind
To dance on clouds of joy my kite
Embracing time, to hold you in my arms and spin
Festively playing in the clouds
Long lines of passion I can feel
Yearning against my string
Intermittingly fawning as you bow
Naked to the throb of wind
Garrulous like a lover moaninng
The scintillated light.
Etched upon the sweat shining
Silver shafts of ribs
Tensed in every fibre and nerve of being
...
I want to press my lips
Upon your cheeks, prettier than confetti paper
And let the golden sunlight drips
Chocolate of satisfaction on my tongue
Because I made a kite like this
Then to breathe your fragrance
Falling free
From every jasmine of your limb
Where the lissome bamboos hold firm
The quivering of my string
And when the wind exhausted
Make you loop and dip
Before suppliant eyes
To cash that boyhood zeal again
And run until you rise
Or shortening your leash
Bring you in
To closer dazzle my eyes
And let your string between my fingers fall
A ravished and splendid bride
I want to make you feel secure again
Your flying strained against my faith
Buoyed by the comfort of my love
For you the only joy that fills my eye
In the huff and blow of time
I want to lift you like the wind
And with you all my affections fly
To shout in glee from my little hill
Below unlettered clouds in pride
My kite alone to fly.
Winter's whimsical nature comes with
fickle freeze, cold pervading every fibre
How I remember you, red hot
against the white snow
Smoking volcano
against permafrost desolation
How your aura lingers in my brain
fleeting perfume, breeze of ozone
The sweet sweaty scent of long nights
leathery lines grafted in my skin
The fragile steps we took, tension
of our vulnerability in closeness
Sweet brokenness, tender hurt...
Worlds of ice can not find my
Duvet of snowflakes, simulation of
soft warm goose down
Mirroring remnants of our souls
that sleep in dreamless reminiscence
***
May 17, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
We start at the end, with the warmth of his breath on her skin
Baulked by proximity, he never knew how to begin
A golden-tainted obsession, bitterly laced with lead
Transformed rapture to quicksilver the instant Cupid fled
A moment held, made static, tender touch met with distress
For seeded in her veins, lies a stem of the wilderness
Pursuit stalled just in time, yet time itself recalibrates
Supplanted upon breaking, a laurel shoot germinates
Oh, what should have been the faintest touch cannot be undone
Rooted in the throes of escape, bound to bask in full sun
Sinews harden to fibre, each pulse springs a bonsai tree
Bark chokes her voice box; silent screams nest in the canopy
Locked in abjection, as her praying hands first plead then splay
As liberty, though not consciousness, is taken away
Overruled in evergreen, contortion as regal crown
Petrified white marble shall become her eternal gown
In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the god Apollo mocks Cupid for wielding a bow, claiming it unworthy of a child. In retaliation, Cupid shoots Apollo with a golden arrow to ignite love, and Daphne a chaste nymph with a leaden one to incite revulsion. Though innocent, Daphne becomes the target of Apollo’s relentless pursuit. Just as he is about to seize her, she prays for escape, and her body is transformed into a laurel tree. Bernini’s stunning sculpture captures the precise moment of this metamorphosis
A is for Antenna
A is for Antenna, the two-in-one, receiving in and transmitting away.
B is for Broadband, to fire away on the high speed digital highway.
C is for Current, what a beauty, it is all but free- electron- flow.
D is for decibel, not the horrible, but a logarithmic unit and a ratio.
E is for Electrons, the teeny weeny charged particles, so light
F is for Fibre, or simply glass that passes streams of bits as light.
G is for Gain, could also mean loss, a measure of what’s in and what’s out.
H is for Harmonics, often unwanted multiples that are up and about.
I is for Ionosphere, the upper reaches of appreciable ionization
J is for Jitter, Who wants this unwanted, random fluctuation
K is for Klystron, just a tube which, in the microwave range, oscillates
L is for Limiter, thank God, the input to a system , it limits.
M is for Modulation, a wave-on -wave super imposition
N is for Noise, the hated disturbances due to heat’s action
O is for Oscillators, they are from low to ultra high frequency
P is for Pulse, not of the heartbeat, but a quick shot of energy.
Q is for Quartz, the stabilizer that is piezo-electric
R is for Regeneration, recuperating-the- sick- signal- trick.
S is for Semiconductors, not semi-precious, but indispensable
T is for Transmission, making communication finally possible,
U is for Unlimited Plans, the veritable godsend for the customer
V is for Voltage, the difference of potentials, one should remember.
W is for Waves, electromagnetic waves not the ones in the ocean,
X is for X-rays, against which the engineer should exercise caution
Y is for Yagi, it’s only an antenna, not a yogi or a tribal totem
Z is for Zirconium, hungry for neutrons in the context of atom.
That puts in a nutshell the revolution
Of electronics and communication.
02 Mar 2013
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For: Cyndi Macmillan’s “ Z is for Zaria-ABC poetry” contest.
The most social thing on earth
Social than the Social Networking Sites
Tall with straight uniform trunk
Unbranched trunk topped with a
Tuft fanlike or featherlike leaves.
Cresting with a plume of long feathery fronds
Making a graceful silhouette of unique beauty
With spiral arrangement of its wood fibers
Which makes it a tree of unusual suppleness and strength
Large evergreen leaves
With bundles of vascular tissue
Scattered throughout the trunks.
Abundant throughout the tropics
And thrive in almost every inhabitat therein
The quintessential image of relaxed and elegant lifestyle
A good friend in need,
A good friend indeed
Because of its versatility,
Many people cannot do without it.
Having as many uses as the year has days.
And noted for productivity in the bible
Imagine the way it comes to its full bearing
After ten to fifteen years on earth.
And still continue to bear for nearly a hundred years.
Of great economic importance,
Providing food, fibre, wine and oil
Widely used in landscaping for its exotic appearance
A useful ornamental tree
This social palm tree
Fire in the Blood
How we love your warming glow
Yet know that we must fear you so
For you would set our hearts ablaze
With your subtle creeping ways
The warming glow the heart desires
Not roaring anger of your fires
Somewhere between we must control
For either side would steal our soul
First the flicker of your flame
Smoulders artery and vein
Finds the fibre to combust
Maybe love, more often lust
How you make us volatile
When we meet deceptions smile
How your heat does dissipate
As your ashes cool to hate
Without you our blood runs cold
To hot, and angers hard to hold
But we love that place between
Hot passion and comfort serene
If only we could bring confines
Have you never cross those lines
But we love that which excites
And so accept the blood ignites
R D Seal 23 Feb 13
(Re Old Poems)
A gaggle of girls lounging in the sun,
In the green grass many pairs of legs, stretched out
clad in their blue jeans.
My old pair, many memories...
In them I dug into the garden soil,
planting my spring flowers; my jeans grubby.
A girl gamboling in the rain,
water soaking into her and every pore of fibre
of her blue, old jeans.
Many moons ago, my jeans
touching his knees;
they remember the feel of his bare hands,
as he smoothly traced the lines of those blue jeans.
The hems got frayed, threads hung loose...
They'd seen better days, blotches of old paint,
colors that stayed.
Spent many autumns, growing old with me
My rough old jeans.
I looked far, into the dipping sky,
The soaring waves, breaking into foam,
Turn to the grey hills, as I spread my wings,
braving my last journey,
for the bird to be finally home.
..
Written for nette's contest 'Blue Jeans'
A gathering of whispers travel from breath to breath,
much like trains picking up chattering gossips along its
route. With breath held, they stand and wait to join the
last exhale of the wretch standing on the hanging platform.
Whilst a judge washes the atrocity from a hand that held
a vacillating gavel. Forced into a considered judgement,
his conscience is clear. Much as a whip of feathers
forces the killer into killing more. Whilst the birds
above scream a lurid act of contrition for the return of
such pathos, their miniature thoughts oscillating between
current events and the feeding of hungry chicks. And hubris
carries a last meal beneath distaining eye, lost to nature's
sight, as it nears a fading gaol door. And whisper's finger
crawls around the corner, ready to cosette a neck held within
a gallows noose; hanging bulged against the fibre of its hemp
curtain call. Like a veined muscle strains against the skin.
And so, black in thought from the final deed, whisper
reaches its sanctuary hole, shaped long in the ground.
And whisper's voice, watching the earth worms preparing
the way for the soft flesh to come, speaks one final time
'Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine'
And an earth-harried soul is finally released
in the night, he reaches, my body responds, aching to be near
yet the mind screams, pulls back inside its deep recesses
familiar pain rears, sits nonchalantly, laughing, taunting me
is it I who am loved or am I just involved in the act of love
the end justifying the means, a single moment, a brief interlude
conveniently remembered and enacted, how can one truly tell?
I opened my heart and yet I know, I'm not what he was looking for
the knowledge leaves me cold and saddened, ice forming around my core
rejection, inferiority, second best, all words that accurately describe
yet leave no telltale signs of the great pain that they have inflicted
reality and yet my hands roam freely his body as I welcome him inside
to lie buried deep within my being, my heart beating furiously
the sheer joy of being loved blocking out the fear, feeding on hope
even if his emotions are not real, every fibre of my being yearns
to one day capture all his love, to see it expressed in his eyes
to silently carve my essence indelibly upon his heart,
to feel it in his smiles warmth, as his eyes adore each curve
the knowledge that says you are mine and I will love you always
everyone wants perfection, those that know that they are not
nor ever will be the one, suffer from the lies of perfection
so here I lie, accepting the very little that is being offered
praying to someday find more, existing in that in between world
between shadow and light, where nothing is clear, everything is shaded
needing to be perfection to someone, as I breathe deeply with eyes drifting into
my dreams, helplessly staring across the bed of my future
Quietly now,
my serenading sky
you to me are!
almost radiant and high, facing the light
be about your plants of green
your strewn paths and needles
let rays tend the weeds that harbour gainst your hand
and trowel deep each foot that steps
they live as do I
mountains waiting ire
I watch and yearn the uprooting
the dislocation, the cast away,
each fibre stretched against the cotton
and the curl of sweat
separates...
Ventures a rivulet down your back,
you are the mystery my love
Knelt neath the shading of time
bowed, from the unforgiving branch,
how do I see you so
a dance
to the music in my heart
a dance
that wealds the tilling grasp,
the pain I feel , is white peaks screaming
curling to kiss the clouds
each bead pours from your diamonds stream
and settles on the rock
catching sunlight on your nape,
a nape I've kissed a thousand times
I live a'neath the bowing branch,
allowed my wallow time
in shadows looking down
timeless tunes a humming
little inconsequential notions
swept back, brushed away
a remembered time when ledges cowered,
in rockbeds so dry of love
like strangled flowers
that grow untended, like lies
reflecting summer sunsets under the
mountains of your
unforgiving eyes...
That's not me in that box
I'll not be shrouded
Or cushioned on silk
Do not dress me in Cotten
Perfect me for heaven
I shall let nothing contain me
As it's just a shell
All muscle and sinew
Fibre and hair
Nothing I need now
As I am
As air
That's not me in that box
Perfectly place
I'm not beautifully made up
Hands praying on chest
That's not me in that box
Nothing shall hold me
As God created me
My soul was set free
My love
That's not I
Looking like china with alabaster skin
Close your eyes, listen
Do you not see
Slight change in the atmosphere
As you stand close to me
Please say you feel the warmth on your chest
As I snuggle into you
I breath in your neck
If your fingers tingle
I'm holding your hand
I promise ill do this as long as I can
The smell of white musk
Creak on our stairs
That's me my love
I'll stay with your here
Mum, dad
It's not your girl
In a casket of oak
I can be part of the wind
Or anything I like
I can be for you
The warmth of the sun
Shimmer of leaves as dusk moves in
I'll be your comfort
As you cry and can't breath
I'll hold you up if you stumble and scream
I'll be for you
Whatever brings ease
I'll be memories of autumn, summer or spring
Tangled Christmas lights and blackberry picking
Warm hot baths
Water bottles in winter
For you I'll be anything
That could make this easier
That is not I
Sealed within oak and cushioned on silk
I am everything
As everything is me
I'll stay with you all
For as long as you need
I miss the one who stole my heart
Before the waves pulled us apart
When craving throbbed in every vein
We sang in tune to love’s refrain.
I miss the sparkle in her eyes
The sensual timbre of her voice
The urge to share, to give and take
A tacit wish, a mutual choice.
I miss the moments when at night
We watched in awe, silent delight,
The sequined twinkling in the sky.
From time to time a kiss, a sigh.
I miss the man who made me yearn
To touch and yield, with passion burn.
He made each fibre thrill within
I lived and breathed only for him.
I miss the touches of his hand
The sense of home within his arms
Where feelings bloomed and love was sweet
His knowing smiles were graced with charms.
I miss the rhythm of his love
His kisses raining from above,
The breathless rapture of my soul
I miss the man who made me whole.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A Callman Collaboration
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
[Awarded POTW 22nd Jan 2023]
© January 2023
One hundred percent, can you see it?
Maybe - imagine if that were a pool.
A pool of water maybe or a pool of blood?
What power dictates true endeavour?
What justifies what stakes rise?
Perhaps we stand here in front of pure evil?
Perhaps it’s pure love we see under a reddening sky.
How dangerous is it?
How sharp is the hand that slices to kill, how blunt is the fist that strikes for the freedom of you and me to survive?
One hundred percent is every fibre, every thought, every sight seen through the eyes and deep in the minds eye. All the pumping blood, heart beats, memories of love and hate draining into the sea, rotting on the ground or exploding in the vast sky. Every feeling felt, every tear, scream or cry in an instant goes by.
What of those who give one hundred percent for our lands, for our democracy. What of those out there today or tonight?
To give one hundred percent for most is too much because you can never be free. To give one hundred percent for those who you love do you separate yourself from humanity?
Imagine the pool of darkening water, imagine the lonely cloud in the deep blue sky.
Those who give one hundred percent for you and for me on foreign fields, in foreign seas or skies.............
.............die.