Best Flay Poems
Lamentation
born among the travelers of her day
she played in the sandpile with Woody Guthrie
sung in the chorus with Allen Ginsberg
walked in the way of The Weavers
and bathed in the rhythms of Miles Davis
she lived unconfined and dreamed of change.
today, we see her still betrothed
committed to this sacred ground
searching asking, questioning, ...
consumed with her desire to know
engaged to a doctrine as a lover's pledge
she marches, occupies, writes,
relentlessly struggles, driven to ask
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
her life defines her cogent mission.
she continues to flay against an unjust world
where equity kindness trickles down
and evaporates among negative forces.
shall she rage against God
for not eliminating suffering
in the details of man's creation?
shall she cry to the architect
who left man to face the agonies
of hunger, war, sickness,
and the loneliness of death?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
will the glorification of beauty
love, compassion, and mercy suffice?
will her breath, touch, hearing,
sight or taste suffice?
will her ancestors, her tribes
her spouse, her children
rise up and see her as blessed?
or will a requiem be the one
purpose of her life's fulfillment?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
C.A.K. 3-17-2013
Mirror silver clad she stood, upon the lakes dark shore,
A spectral icy vision , that chilled me to the core.
A vapour’d hand she raised to lead, across the sheet glass lake
With racing heart and awestruck eye, I traced its misty wake
A cold dead air, that chilled my soul, now held my senses keen.
For there among the darkened woods, I saw what can’t be seen.
Like unlit candles stood a host, of mournful waxen dead,
In decaying desperation, with the fixed stares of the mad
My pounding heart so close to fail, beat faster at the sight,
As gliding ever closer drew, these sentinels of night.
What fearful power, what dreadful fate, hath drawn them from the
grave.
Whilst I transfixed upon that shore, my sanity I craved.
Then turned the lady of the Lake and fixed her steel grey eyes,
then pointed once again to where, the darkwood secrets lie.
My fading gaze could scarce suppose the horrors there replayed,
Whilst spectre ranks, in silence viewed with countenance dismayed.
Upon my knees, through fingers splayed, and terrified to see,
the horror there unfolding, between those witness trees.
I saw the bloody massacres, heard shocked and dreadful cries,
I felt their fear, and died their deaths, with terror in my eyes .
Each wicked deed, each evil act, each thrust assassins blade,
of every dreadful murder done, within that forest glade.
With screams of death, and cries of loss, the misty shore resounds,
To haunt my soul and flay my ear, upon that hell struck ground.
In faint I fell with senses lost, afraid to look again,
as words she spake in whispered tone, ‘Remember when you wake,
these unjust works, these sinful acts, leave vengeance thirst unslaked,
thus you must tell of this darkwood, beside the silver lake.’
Emmanuel
Jihad
The battle
Knights and swords
Devils and silent men in masks
The bombs come raining down
Arms and legs flay both here and over there
Blood is lost, families tossed
Fighting over who is the more righteous Boss
Jihad
Jihad
Mummy and daddy are all but gone
My little brother where did you put your arms?
A child born into a war cries at the violence
We all abhor
Childhood stolen
Barrels of monkeys
Barrel bombs
The orphanage, the respite from all that’s wrong
Jihad
Jihad
Jihad Jeffries said it best
Hate shall never defeat hate or haters jest
So an angels hand became a mothers loves
Two brothers arm in arm with warmth of the doves
Traveling to safer havens
Angels know, the afterglow, of inner strength and peace
Jihad
Hallelujah
He is more man than ever I
When you see his smile, it makes you cry
For the self pity of a deedless life
Here he is, with a heart wrapped in sheath of gold
Here he is to sing, a story that must be told
Imagine
Emmanuel singing to you, with a soul born of Iraq
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Maybe there are dreams above
Maybe the hell will burn itself out
Emmanuel is the star of hope
Rising above, angelic voices that envelope
When days are cloudy
And you have your doubts
Think of the gardens of Babylon
Where long ago a thousand Emmanuel’s would sing
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
When we see the smiles from inside the soul
Shining, we hear the voice from Dead Sea scrolls
Heart to heart, the voices heard
From the masses of humanity
Emmanuel you are the inspiration
Of what we wish all the world to be
Hallelujah
In a house of cards
in torrential rain
social media overload
floods my brain.
Wave after wave
you feel the pain.
Heading down the hallway
into the dark,
the imminent
and dissonant
hellhounds bark.
From the penthouse of hypocrisy
I jumped onto a train
Heading nowhere and arriving too soon
I watch as a little girl forever reaches
for her red balloon.
The Queen of hearts has her axe to grind
Her targets locked.
She rears back
Lowers her blade
As another head drops
We’re well away from this blood lust fray
It’s just a matter of time
til the skeletal banshees and their vigilantes
wave red flags
for their divergent paths
Driving away
ALL that is meek
ALL that is good
Running in circles
forever misunderstood
In a black glass
Chipped and cracked
You can see them still
Never approaching
Never fulfilled
In a timeless dance
They writhe and flay
This storys’ musical refrain
Frozen silent
Their world will ever remain.
Free Verse Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor Joseph May
A walk through the meadow seems in order
The sun is peaking through some wispy cloud,
Coreopsis is in full bloom along the border
While verbena and cosmos are standing proud.
I make my way through the overgrown path
Pushing aside the wild carrot and floss flower,
Knowing I’ll have beggar’s lice as an aftermath
Causing my nosy neighbor to snicker and glower.
It’s a fine, fine day; butterflies are everywhere
And the mockingbird’s are tweetering melodies
As I get closer to the tree line a-way over there
Where the squirrels will jump between the trees.
I do not expect to see deer since I’m rather late
And they are generally feeding in early morn,
So they’ll have bedded down in hidden shade
They have long weaned their early spring born.
Surprisingly, I see an opossum trundling along
Three or four young’uns clinging to her back.
Picking a bouquet of flowers, I break into song,
And hear scuttling noises, I’ve disturbed a pack
Of nesting quail, fairly close, and off to my right,
Streaking in a flurry their white underbellies flay
I locate them just in time to see them take flight.
I’ll get on home to vase my wildflower bouquet.
Written August 6, 2022
If one is hungry
And bored
Of watching over Mecca,
What better place
To steal an apple
Than from another country’s orchards,
With fighter jets
Twanged in the sky
Like flying bottle openers,
Diving down
And peeling back a tin can roof
Of a school bus
Loaded with 40 children,
Whose shoulders are all
Strapped
With blue and red back packs
That look like little lunch boxes,
One of them
Surely containing
The sweet temptation
Of the perfect apple.
Mistaken identity, can happen.
So, a few bombs,
True,
Have to remove
The dozens of windows
And deposit
The million shards like razors
To flay the skin of the girls and boys
And, in an attempt to remain civilized
About this,
First cook
With fire and oil
The cheekbones from the skulls
Of the five year olds
Who are still alive,
And it’s important to keep fresh
The liver, tongues and hearts
Shish-kebobbed
With splintered ribs, white as serpents,
And finally, then
There it is,
The well done slab of lamb’s meat
Still clung, red as a beet,
Limbs and noses,
To be stripped
From that one buried back pack
And within it, zipped,
The fine taste of a ripe apple
Polished by mom
As a snack that was packed,
That day,
For school.
(As Galileo left the session of the Inquisition
at which he had been forced to deny his own
discovery that the earth orbited the sun, and
had to "admit" that the earth was static, he
murmured, "eppur si muove" ("but it moves").
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
She longed to be a baker
Though neither thumb was white
Couldn’t rise to the occasion
And the contest is tonight
“Listen Cupcake, don’t you fret”
Your name is not Sue Flay
Just do your best and let
The chocolate chips~ fall where they may
You just might win this contest
And be rolling in the dough
It’s when you yeast expect it,
Those creative juices flow
Kneading inspiration,
I whispered in her ear
“You just can't roll over”
And give up out of fear
You’re shortening your lifespan
With silly complications
You should learn to trust yourself,
Start raisin expectations
Books are our friends hey!
Don’t throw them away;
Keeping ourselves array
So that we be at assay
With books positively lay
For scrutiny at a ballet.
They – best pals – do say:
Read lavishly and do play,
Or in bright sunshine splay.
All healthy tips; no betray,
No deceiving, no astray.
Hence be ready to little pay
And be free as that jay
And soar up in the airway
Knowledge and wisdom to flay.
When couples tie the nuptial knot,
They hope to leave the lonely lot.
But far too many newlyweds,
Soon realize their dream has fled.
Instead of being bone of bone,
They live as married and alone.
Feelings become easily bruised,
sparking a cycle of abuse.
The childhood wounds that failed to heal,
greatly affects the way they feel.
The hateful words hurt spouses say,
sear the soul and those old wounds flay.
When violence enters the milieu
The victim feels trapped and unfree.
Their mind is numb and thoughts unclear,
As each new day they live in fear.
The scowling stares, they take their toll,
by slowly stressing sore the soul.
The victim, anxious and depressed
Even in sleep cannot find rest.
The careless words of a dear friend,
crass counselors that do not mend,
a church not caring, callous, cold,
engender suffering untold.
Daily existence feels like hell,
as the soul shrinks to a mere shell.
And then the thoughts begin to tend,
To suicide as welcome friend.
Is there hope for this sad state,
When dreams of love explode in hate.
The God of love who made you both,
Desires to foster your growth.
Stop thinking of who is to blame,
End the name-calling and the shame.
The path to wholeness starts with you,
So, look inside and change your view.
Start looking deep inside your brain.
Explore the hurts that cause you pain.
Ask God above to soothe and heal,
And cause your heart His love to feel.
As each of you begins to heal,
And God’s great love begins to feel.
The grace of God your hearts will fuse,
You’ll love your spouse and not abuse.
Sometimes words can flay a heart’s tissues
Inflict wounds that last a lifetime
Sear the mind with painful recollections
And make you just want to die
But then again, inconsequential words
Meaningless chit chat
To appease the conscience of the one who speaks
That something’s been said at last
Are just as corrosive
Salt rubbed into open wounds
That aren’t acknowledged
They offend more than comfort
And would be better not said at all
Then there is the silence
Ah…the twisted warped suffocating silence
The silence of self-preservation
Bought at the price of someone’s sanity…life
A silence born out of the knowledge
That THIS will take an investment
Of emotions and time
And so nothing is said
You silently withdraw
All the one in pain hears is silence
A silence that shrieks
Of rejection
Dead silence
Where once there was banter
Unchecked laughter
……joy……
When you say nothing at all
That leaves a gaping hole in my heart
I try to fill it up with memories
Of when you were courageous and brave
Strong enough to speak
Words that would heal
Instead of this weak thing you’ve become
Only caring for your own well-being
The filling falls out
Incompatible to my heart’s tissues
To the reality of you...
It doesn’t hold
The holes remain
And I slink away
To nurse my pain
And I draw further into my shell
Cocoon myself in outer silence
Yet my heart is in constant conversation
With the person you used to be
When you knock
All you hear
Is resounding silence
For you have taught me well
I am a good student
I will keep silent
I will not tell you sweet little nothings
While my heart bleeds
And you pretend not to see
I won’t talk of the weather
If I can’t talk about the storm in my heart
I won’t talk of inconsequential things
To give you the sense of normalcy you crave
I want you to be brave
No, I won’t stoop that low
And so……………
I pretend
Not to be there
Two can play this game
And I wait for the knocking to cease
To be left in peace
Safe from a world
Where people say
Nothing at all.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The title of this poem is the title of one of my favorite songs by Ronan Keating. It is the exact opposite of the message of the song which is absolutely fabulous. Give it a listen if you have the time.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuJrEBtmM1Q. It was the theme song for Notting Hill, one of my favorite movies.
All wars scourged bodies and souls--
Torn spirits and dredged feet of the fowls
Ravished by rabid gargoyles of prey
Scuppered dreams of the reapers of hay
Wars circled the world of May
'tis emblem are ruins and remnants of flay
Wars for peace can be penned on paper
Words and spikes of chivalry of the bleeder
Ink flowing out are veins of the fighter
Scrawled blood purged from the might of the writer
I lost myself today.
Walking home I lost my way.
Lost in thought, my mind all gray,
like dots in patterns of senseless moire,
I've faded away.
My feelings died today.
Emotional turmoil gone astray,
once vividly painted, now, dull clay,
colorless, lifeless and dark in dismay.
Spirit broken as passions flay.
My heart broke today.
The love it had has drained away
like shards of crystal on stone parquet
shattered to pieces in my emotional fray,
left bleeding and broken in dismay.
The world stopped today.
Spinning slowly, the time fading away
loosing the fight in this ethereal display.
The daylight goes dark with each fading ray,
eternally black in lights decay.
My words won't come today.
Just worn out dribble and tired cliche,
cloudy, my thoughts are complete disarray
with meaningless babble and nothing to say,
so lost without my words today.
01/24/16
A northeaster snow storm is rampaging air
A roughshod young warrior, launching ice as a spear
Without any warning, he comes from nowhere
bending trees into sickles, while he conquers with fear
Plowing up roads with a gust and a till
Burying leaves along the gutters and streets
Furrowing rows out of valleys and hills
Prodding the herds with a howl and a shriek
The sun takes retreat with solemn dismay
and holds fast his tongue with whimpering sounds
Rendering helpless, behind hail and flay
Biding his time, while the snow pelts the ground
From the sphere of the dawn, into cold afternoon
war is schooled by the whims of the moon
___________________________________________________
Contest: "Pick A Subject" ----Storm
Resubmitted for Brian Strand's Contest: 219
Roosters crow at the break of day
Inviting the sun to come up
And reveal a partly cloudy sky
While the poet shivers as she stays
Out on the porch to view up high
The odd slow movement of clouds cupped
Like a clam shell's ridges flay
White crackled cold dew coats summer grass
Pines softly sigh their winter song
Amidst bamboo wind chime's mellow tunes
Winter's bite removes desire to surpass
Time out on the porch with nature commune
Birdsong symphony; poet belongs
Not viewing nature through the glass
The Star Magnolia now blossoms white stars
Daffodils delicate leaves show
Forcefully pushed through frozen clay
Encouraged by the signs of spring's stars
The poet's winter blues allay
As warm sun shines returns aglow
Luscious plants become new avatars
Soon the red earth will warm again
Remove the damp damaging frost
Bare limbs whipped by winter winds
Will invite to come unconstrained
Now the northwesterly breeze blinds
The pines sigh from the cold winds tossed
A poet languishes behind glass constrained
Written: February 06, 2016
Inspired by a contest..It was a challenge..