Best Flees Poems
Though she holds his hands, he feels all alone
As moonlit desires sense his dissonant vibes
Emanating from pulses beating in discord
Plundering away ambiance to vacant thoughts
When a cogent conversation becomes a task.
Silence he placates discarding her prompts
Preferring the dark over company of stars
As a lone-bird sits forlorn on a leafless branch
Awaiting for daybreak to build a new nest.
Steadfastly she holds on to her view of galaxy
Undeterred by forces of invisible black holes
Comforting his woes till he rejects her call,
Deciding resolutely to abandon her place
When the lone-bird flees before daybreak.
November 5, 2018
Placed first in contest #520 by Brian Strand
Raven Speak Not To Me, For A Plague Flees Thy Lips
Sadness came, in clumps of ripping hard, smashing waves
as if morbid thoughts could such sorrows ever save,
none but the blind and deaf could know a darker realm
or more lost ship with, blinder captain at the helm.
Yet even in such pains, one must seek out the Light
for the blind can see, if they embrace truest of sight!
Wayfarer now in hideous ancient abodes
mind burning flames, blasts of misery that explodes,
born of the vile demons that plagued Master Poe
from fiery depths they sprang, as savage and dark foe.
What greater black-curse can one thus be forced to bear
or evil that sends monsters that nightly scare?
Raven speak not to me! For plague flees thy lips
weeping soul, prays not to enter such ghastly trips,
save your epic lashings and thy horrific calls
as well as scalding-hot brands from thy torture halls.
We that saw deepest pains, you once sent Master Poe
enter not chambers or beg more accursed shows!
Your friends attack, forcing each soul to further flee
from hell's first dark levels, with its pitiful pleas,
into caverns wicked, filled with flesh eating beasts
with each new arrival cry, more food for our feasts.
Sirens lure fleeing lost souls into black-sea pits
always seeking, more blood, deeper cuts, harder hits!
Raven, thy terror-nights will soon come to end
for in bright flooding lights, I have found a new friend,
stalwart ally, armed with more than long sharp teeth
one whose true faith, will silence thy calls from beneath.
Dawn's shimmering lights, you shall plague me no more
I bow to he, his powers seals your wicked door!
Robert J. Lindley,
Dark Poetry, ( Poe, Raven and Nightmares)
12-18-2018
We flip the hourglass for time,
use moments as each hour's pawn.
Then store Today, when past its prime,
midst Yesterdays--now finished, gone.
If we could make one moment stay
just by flipping the hourglass,
how to choose the hour, the day
so many moments come and pass.
Or, as time's measure disappears,
will we, in greed, pound on the door
of hours, minutes, days, and years
that come but once and then no more.
Time flees--its hours hurry on,
a moment's look, and then it's gone.
February 2, 2022
for Pick-A-Title Vol. 28 Poetry Contest
Flipped Hourglass
Honorable Mention
by Edward Ibeh
Musing with Caren Krutsinger’s musings. I love
our dear poet’s imagination. Thank you, Caren
for allowing me to use your poem and a few phrases
from your poem. Used poem by permission.
My Food Flees from Me
Caren,
A creepy thing I would devour
But wait, wait, wait…
not fuzzy wuzzy in the drain;
are you insane?!
Tickly tasty, i won’t wasty,
wiggles and waggles -
the hashtag “what am i thinking?!”
I watch it move - stomach’s sinking.
My food flees from me…that might be
just what i need!
Don’t be hasty - tastes like cookie?
My brain reacts like a rookie.
Cookie doesn’t slide nor slither
on my pink tongue.
I’m persnickety and picky,
quite realize this snack is icky.
Though your friendship i encourage,
i’ve no courage
for bugs that bathe in the sink
or crawl on the floor. I need shrink!
No! No! No bugs at all, my friend.
My skin’s crawling,
as i’m spitting out the thought.
I’ll eat good things, as i’ve been taught.
4/28/2023
Find Your PS Muse
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Not as Picky as I Thought She Was
If I was hungry I would devour that creepy thing I think.
It is something tasty that crawled out of my sink
You don’t even know what it is my friend says.
She is persnickety and picky, my pal Inez.
Look at its legs, I reply. They look tickly tasty.
Not so fast! Says the crawler. Let’s not be hasty!
Inez says “I never eat food that speaks to me.”
“I will make an exception,” I say, “That thing is free.”
Inez is not as choosy as I thought that she was.
I begin bathing the sink creature, fluffing his fuzz.
"Wait!" the crawly thing says. “That brush is too short for me!”
The second I stop, he scuttles down the drain to flee.
Caren Krutsinger
As Winter Flees Giving Spring A Begrudging Nod
As winter flees giving Spring a begrudging nod
So the farmer waits to turn over life giving sod
Mother Nature, bows to Heavenly hand of God
Summer too, waits to embrace racing feet unshod
Young lads dancing forth with live bait and fishing pole
With promise of joy and food from fav fishing hole.
As life in enchanting mysterious ways
Sallies ever onward into those flowing days
So shall winter return to blanket earth with cold
We should give thanks we came from God's Heavenly mold.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-29-2022
Rhyme
Note: 1
When the light has been gifted and the heart wakes to see its power. Joy enters and falls like a blessed Spring shower.
Note: 2
My first in a while. Ablessing was gifted me this day- and that gift birthed this new creation, God works miracles and sees every fallen sparrow.
Life Flees, As If Faint Whispers In Moaning Winds
As fleeting hours flew into eternal abyss
once youth and love imagined to dream
so went grave error that time allows this
facing life, always with full head of steam.
We marvel at the beauty of ancient oaks
majestic towers stretching to eager skies
oft captured in the glory of artistic strokes
yet burdened by this world of worldly lies.
Weep not for more, for dying is our Fate
and task of living well often most hard
if one has learned and loved, they can relate
evil world is a test, just ask any bard.
Life flees, as if faint whispers in moaning winds.
Yet we all feign power, to so mold how it ends.
Robert J. Lindley,10-10-2018
Sonnet, ( Life Finally Teaches Us That Time Never Waits)
lioness with her sights on the prize
antelope feels her; pops out her eyes
the chase is on
one is a pawn
antelope’s heartbeat is on the rise.
somewhere in the night
a spirit flees in darkness
captured by the light
Different birds,
the same call
Time frozen,
the hour stalls
Mother earth,
bastard son
Nature flees,
—damage done
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
Not everyone form Danger flees
Some do beg for it with “Please!”
Their entreating voices loudest
Sounds producing of the Noisiest:
Blokes who’d shun a state of Ease,
For ordeals paying all their fees,
Their unspeakable imagination, The Best’
Sure Danger, absent from the East, is in the West
Not everybody from Danger flees:
Danger keeps advancing and they’re trees
The Gone ultimate Warrior, for example
Consuming avoidable blows, his own sample.
the darkness covers
surrounds the light before day
day runs from the night
open up your eyes
see the darkness in your path
surrounds day stillness
beat the drum today
run from the cold black darkness
flee the night turn day
2/14/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.
Let’s swashbuckler for fun the fox said to the owl.
The owl was encouraged, for he was an optimistic fowl.
They got out their swords and they fought to the brim.
Pushing owl to the edge of the ship, fox’s eyes got quite yellow and dim.
Let’s fly away fast! The owl said to the furry bandit.
Come back here! Yelled the fox to the retreating chit.
Which Modern Man longs
For the folksongs
Helped by rusted gongs
Or their lines sing to a throng,
Very sure that nothing is wrong?
Which Modern Man eats with bare hands,
Because on them unseen sands
And this publicizes with bands,
Heroically skirting lands?
No Modern Man flees from books
To simply keep learning from looks;
To libraries and books
Forced back with hooks!
The Modern isn’t Ancient,
In restraint glimpses the sufficient
He is The Okay with a robbed ambience,
Meaning or feigning its munificence.
On nights when sleep flees from me like a shadow scared of its own existence,
I wonder if we are cursed or blessed, we who think beyond the edges of reason,
For "bad" is too simple a word for the complexity behind our perpetually awake eyes.
We are the architects of our own mental labyrinths, builders of castles from layered thoughts,
And if you look closely, you'll see that beneath every worry lies hidden a profound form of love,
For no one loses themselves in infinite thoughts if they don't care to their soul's core about everything they touch.
At midnight, when the world sleeps, our minds race at the speed of light through parallel universes,
Constructing perfect scenarios, unraveling and reweaving the threads of reality into ideal patterns,
While seconds drip heavily in the hourglass of insomnia like mercury tears.
We want each day to be a masterpiece sculpted in ephemeral time,
Obsessed with details like painters dedicating their lives to a single painting,
Trying to capture the essence of life in the fine net of our hyperacute consciousness.
But the price of this infinite attention is heavy as lead in tired bones,
Temples pulsate under the pressure of thoughts like drums in an endless ritual,
And eyes burn from tears shed for the perfection that always slips through our fingers.
With all scenarios calculated to the last comma, with all plans woven in silk threads,
We end up exhausted, with souls heavy from unrealized dreams and bodies drained from the perpetual dance of the mind,
You, who read these lines, know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?
And yet, in this beautiful madness there exists a kernel of greatness,
Because we love life so much that we refuse to be mere spectators in our own existence,
We choose to feel every second to the marrow of our bones, to live consciously every breath.
In this hyperlucidity there is a strange and painful beauty,
In the way our mind constantly dances between reality and possibility,
In the way we refuse to accept the superficial and always seek deeper meanings.
There is beauty in you, restless thinker,
In the way you carry the universe in your mind like a precious burden,
And each thought is a star illuminating the darkness of the unknown.
Not everybody from danger flees,
Some do beg for it with ‘A Please’;
Their beseeching voices at their loudest,
Sounds producing of ‘The Noisiest’ ….
These are blokes who shun a state of ease,
For ordeals paying all the prices and fees,
Their unspeakable imaginations, always the best,
Sure if Danger is missing in the East, not in the West,
All encounters with Danger their salubrious breeze,
For every blow from Danger, not a breath wheeze,
Our gone Ultimate Warrior, for example,
Shakur’s consumption of bullets, his own sample…
Not everybody from Danger flees,
Danger keeps approaching and they are still trees.