Best Flanking Poems
On the day after Christmas, they started appearing,
cast out of houses, stripped of their finery,
lying crooked in the gutter, garbage bags flanking.
My brothers and I walked to school
and halfway there, three blocks away,
was a steep ravine called The Hollow.
A place of some dark mystery in summer,
one hundred feet deep and forbidden land
according to most parents, The Hollow
sang its song to all neighborhood kids.
Returning to school after Christmas,
my brothers and I would drag the discarded
Christmas trees along the sidewalk and onto the bridge
that spanned The Hollow, then heave them over the railing,
watching their graceful tumble earthward,
their air brushing final fall.
"Hey, I used to do that too!" Donnie was a lot older,
almost done with high school, and his walk took him
right by our elementary school - he laughed to see us
hauling the trees to that concluding bridge.
He grabbed a large one, bigger than any of us could handle,
and upon the bridge had us help him hold it upright on the railing,
as it stood in life, as it looked down upon Christmas gifts;
we watched it slowly lean into Gravity,
watched the balletic descent into silence.
Donnie kept with us that first month into the new year,
the pile of trees growing in the bottom of The Hollow.
He told us things, we told him things,
we asked him things and he told us more.
My brothers and I still talk about that big tree
on the railing of the bridge over The Hollow.
It hit right on top of the pile of other trees
and bounced off to the side, its own special place.
As January wore on, we didn't find as many trees,
and ultimately it was all done.
Eventually the school year too was done,
and then more years, and school itself was done.
The trees at the bottom of The Hollow rotted away to nothing.
Somewhere in there my mom told me that Donnie
had been shipped off to war, killed within a few weeks.
We had that one magic month.
December 25, 2016
For Anthony Slausen's contest - 'The Day After Christmas'
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
When I was born
I was adorn
With parts in pairs
For here and there
And being male
Two nuts to scale
Due to a sale
A two-for-one
Then I inhaled
Into two lungs
Yet with one tongue
Let those lungs wail
When I began
As a new son
The BOGO plan
Was the bargain
By-one-get-one
Like my two ears
And their two drums
Yet twice the tears
From two squished thumbs
And I’ll be clear
I’d opt for one
Or maybe none
I got two arms
In that twin deal
Great on the farm
Not at a meal
Two hands on arms
Stuffed my tummy
With chicken parm
And lots of honey
Since my mummy
Made food yummy
Though meant no harm
I felt crummy
I got two knees
And two kidneys
But tell me please
Couldn’t they part
With one more heart
Two hearts would be
A cause for glee
Don’t you agree
Then I’d restart
This work of art
And reach eighty
Or that times three
I got two holes
Flanking my nose
Where fingers go
For nearby strolls
Thank god my toes
Stuck on two soles
Way down below
Can’t reach those holes
Boy that would blow
Yet when I doze
Who is to know
Where toes repose
I have two thighs
Made just for guys
A pair of eyes
In just one head
Which makes me dread
As not too wise
And so they’ve said
That I’ll drop dead
Since hooked on meds
Plus over fed
On pies and fries
And yeasty bread
I got two feet
At half the price
Two sets of cheeks
One for a seat
They say is nice
Two-for-one’s sweet
And can’t be beat
For parts seem cheap
When they come twice
But don’t you cheat
If not complete
To get parts thrice
I drank my coffee
Then jumped in the cup
To see the cool views
From inside, looking up
I imagined rowed teeth
Flanking a tongue
Pink and juicy like
Gooey bubblegum
And fronted by lips
Both lined and puckered
Smacking themselves
Like plump bloodsuckers
But fortunately
That was all made up
Except for the part
Where I jumped in the cup
The cup didn’t grow
Instead I turned teeny
The size of a tack
Like a lamped genie
I did see bright sky
Without a rainbow
That was suddenly
Dimmed by a shadow
But there was real fear
When I was picked up
For someone was going
To fill up the cup
I wanted to scream
But hadn’t a voice
So small in that cup
Of black Taster’s Choice
How could I survive
In a caffeine sea
I was to drown from
Curiosity
But then remembered
Though remained unseen
We had no more coffee
In cans nor as beans
I rejoiced with glee
But then in a blink
Was poured down a drain
And looked up from the sink
Which may seem hopeless
But it was part two
Of the next task that
I was going to do
I dive headfirst into Masonite’s wood fibers
compressed baked & primed
blending boundaries of life,
lightning and death’s
cycle of pain in paint
as a path to tranquility treading
through inner turmoil of vibrancy
A hummingbird in her shell breaks away
the triaged torment
for a moment, quietus cabaret on
cacti untamed canvas
conveys an observer in one’s
own collard greens
Tehuana traditional gown
from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec
ripe reds & burnt orange
Oiled in, the gods Xolotl,
guard dog portrayed
Aztec god & fertility goddess
Motherly milky way
flanking figures,
a fiery orb of the sun
& the cool, silvery moon
dualities of balance
Fresco muralist Diego Rivera
cuddled infantile by Kahlo,
adorns a frontal lobe’s
opened third eye
& wears Buddha’s mouth
apprises of oriental wisdom
both his & hers
naïve folk art
enveloped in a cosmic
love embrace of the universe
In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die,
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown,
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
was mistaken,
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
River minnows
One of life’s sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven
One of lifes sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven
Barcelona looked like a church
as I walked down La Rambla
in search of a vacant room
on that warm morning.
The balconies of the flanking
high-rise apartments were pews
festooned with holy day
football flags and bedsheets.
The white haired flower seller
sat silently with his serrated scissors
and buckets of sugar water
as if listening to a confession.
People who passed me
on that righteous path
became parishioners
with detailed back stories.
The mustachioed man walking
his dog near the grass
was a lapsed Catholic
and Spanish novelist
taking a break from
the tapping of the typewriter.
The chubby middle-aged lady
in high heels and a skirt,
who carried folders and puffed
on a quick thin cigarette,
was a museum secretary
with the curator's copies
and a mother who cooked up
fish and paella for her children
every Friday during Lent.
The invisible clouds that
wafted from the restaurants
smelling of grilled seafood
and lemons and garlic
were like the prayers that a
priest's incense personified.
I later spent a humble evening
in a small rented room
washing my socks and
shorts in the white sink
and reading the boxscores
and baseball epistles
from a day old New York Times.
I studied batting averages
as my underclothes slowly dried
on the back of a wooden chair
with the help of an electric fan.
I'm A Happy Whale
I am a whale
keeper of the sea
so mighty and huge
I swim to great lengths
from the arctic sea
to Hawaii in the winter
... I put on a show
The greatest show on earth
that's not man choreographed
as tourist flock for a peek
from tour boats and land
cameras in hand, no doubt
to take keepsakes
and treasures
of me, of me
to take back to their love ones
or to frame in their memories,
in albums and on walls
of me, of me
I don't want to disappoint
I don't want to disappoint
first I pay homage, though
to the land
the koolau mountains
flanking in the distance
and to white sand beaches
nestled with palm trees
as a cool island wind
breezes over the glistening blue and white
I blink, I blink
at paradise, at paradise
and at a seagull circling above
blinking back at me
I get ready, I see my cue,
in the distance, I see hundreds of tourist
most of which are clad in Aloha print waving at me
the stage is set
I dive to the deepest depths of the sea,
along with my pod
gathering up speed, like a submarine
then breaching the surface
slapping the water with our fins and tails
dancing, dancing in winter sun
I blink, I blink
at the many tourist smiling
cameras in hand
no doubt, taking word of mouth to spread
I pause, I pause
I let out a bigger spout of water from my blow hole
I see more smiles, especially of the babies
this is paradise, from the smiles, to land and sea
I am happy whale
connie pachecho
2/2/17
Sleigh bells ring, do finish shopping, the countdown is on,
Be kind enough to spare your precious hours two or more
Being Indians, we’re quite new to this kind of celebration
Welcome to my “Holiday home” at this special time of year
We borrowed two whimsical trees flanking the front door
A large, chunky garland ready to greet you as you will enter
With Santa saying “The end of the world is home” as you enter
Welcome to my “Holiday home” at this special time of year
Our humble dining room features all things traditional
These *Laxmi ornaments of gold bring sparkle and color
Wish I could keep this glittery peacock our bird national
Welcome to my “Holiday home” at this special time of year
Here is our sitting room is done in a theme musical
The tree filled with ornaments of gold, green and copper
We’re in the kitchen; here we decided to go whimsical
Welcome to my “Holiday home “at this special time of year.
Oh, so hard to bypass the yummy treats for our tummies
Crown Pork Roast, *Jalebi and ladoos, curry and cauliflower
Baked brie, prime rib, *pakodas with Chutney, and cookies
Welcome to my “Holiday home” at this special time of year.
Bear with me as we are vegetarians we have our dishes.
And for desserts, peanut butter cookies and candies there
Fresh snow dripping out, please move to the safe recesses
Welcome to my “Holiday home” at this special time of year
*********
*Indian name**Indian delicacies,
==========================================
Tenth Place Win in
Contest: Holiday Poem by P.D.
I am in India and enjoying the Diwali Holidays, today being the last day
of the Diwali festival.
Treasure Hunter
I was following a narrow road that led to a dry like,
the road was flanked by uneven trees, looking like rejected
kids for the school´s football team, short, thin too tall, and
the fat boy with round glasses. They shared a secret though,
glad not being selected as they hated organized sport.
At the dry lake I walked to its deepest point and pretended
I was diving looking for treasures. I found an empty tin of
sardines; I hate sardines we had only sardines in my childhood
even sardine burgers, how pathetic is that?
The trees flanking the road where losers, that is only in the eyes
of those who thought success was looking like everyone else.
a slight breeze and a frazzle of laughter;
seeing a dry rubber eraser, one that had been looked up in
an office drawer for five years, driving a scooter.
A swarm of longings flanking like bees
around the tree that once stood free
Stole it's fruits, shoots were torn,
It stood bare while the bees scorned
Bees needled around the shred roots-
as nails hammered in the hooves
Ate the roots, sucked the life,
No breath was left, no branch to survive
The bareness, The death and cause so small,
A tree of fruit is victim to all
A wave of wind then slightly kicks,
Feeling no brown but only bricks
Never it saw this eerie sight,
The fruitful tree fell off the might..
One of life’s sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven
The crystal white orb guarded the night
With sky full of jewels sparkling so bright
Mirrors etched in the tranquil black pool
Where underneath rests a sleeping soul
Oblivious to the stench of murky darkness
Echoes from croaks and jump-in splashes
Tightly clenched from the flanking noise
Awaiting the fiery glow to dry the moist
When the azure sky reflects the daylight
And in the foggy water spike beams of light
It signals the time to rise from the mire
To stand and bloom for others to admire
A pinkish glow in the waves of greens
Affably in quiet bloom to scan the scenes
Gentle in the eye yet distinctively sharp
Seemingly near yet far from the grasp
Below, the tangled mess one cannot see
Entwined straws of threads floating freely
From where the buoyant beauty springs
Dancing with the current wherever it brings
Emerging clean from the grubby water
A symbol of purity, a source of wonder
To sink in the mud and rise without mark
To bask in the light then back in the dark
As the blazing star loses its burning glow
The lotus flower’s spell ceased to show
Receding to where she bows once more
Only to blossom like never before.