Best Fleetingly Poems
Come and gone like small twister
like the cloud of debris he’s left.
Echoes of Charlie Brown’s buddy Pigpen
blow through the cobwebs in memory.
Left over coffee cups replacing
Transformers still dumped in the attic.
Reams of knarley skateboards, wheel-less,
lay in piles like so much unburnable refuse.
The obligatory hugs and peck, over and done
the never paid chauffeur collapses…
Ah, to have him always near,
So, each kiss was not quite so dear.
The last fair maid on parade has wandered across
the home front, wondering about her predecessor,
still tacked with magnets to the fridge,
still part of my heart and his…
Sons…they say, do not cause such angst.
Couldn’t prove it by this mother.
This maternal blimp of unused helium
was not permitted a girl child.
One did come and fleetingly leave before formed.
We’ll never know the sweetness of her.
Let the image of his manly self disperse, this son..
into the mist as his Father’s has…
to be remembered again, only in times of need, his need,
for to do anything else, would be to rub salt
in an open wound.
Poet: D. Guzzi
*the day after Christmas
I see her pretty little face
With a sweet smile as bright as gold.
I think about the days ahead.
It saddens me, I'm growing old.
I love that precious little girl
With all that dwells inside of me.
One day I know we'll have to part.
I beg of Time, so fleetingly,
To warp somehow and backward go,
So I could share more of her life.
She says "Grammy, never leave me".
That I must die fills her with strife.
She says"I want to go with you".
I tell her of the joys instead,
How one day she'll meet a man,
He'll love her so, and they will wed.
But Grammy's love is all she knows,
So I will leave her parts of me,
In photographs and work I do,
In love notes from my poetry.
April,13, 2016
Happiness of Life Contest
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place
Washing away drab, dour and rotting
elements, falling rains cleanse our earth anew.
Sunlight returns to beam upon fresh, crisp nature.
I have begged the rain to pour newness on me
but never does it heed my plea or grace my need.
Rain, I desperately beseech you, please, as a cloud
do burst a purge of all thunderous fear, stormy,
stinging pain and anxiety tidal waves
continuously knocking me down.
The sun will never warm me with healing,
soothing rays if the rain never floods my concrete
dam of depression, freeing my life’s stream to
flow with deep content.
Though the rain denies me relief, it keeps
me company, for its dark skies match my
inner gray, dreary season and give me proper
reasons to shelter in isolation.
On rainy days, I may pretend that I am part of
life, rather than a human drought of
withering, mortal inertia.
I may even, fleetingly, allow myself to believe
the returning sun will spot the drenched
me and, in either mercy or love, revive,
refresh and restore my drowning, soggy
spirit with rays of therapeutic warmth.
If only thunder would crack, roar and screech a
demand for skies to pour suicide ideology drops
down in a loud, rhythmic, lulling beat, such drops
would, in time, evaporate and I would realize
the blessing of a true, deep, restful sleep.
~ a thought bubble requires - quiet space ~
quote by poet
Silence can say more than words
don't be intimidated
The white clouds spun in silk
invites you to an inner calm -
opens for a deeper form of intimacy
Vulnerability is vaporized fleetingly
The crown of the choral finale in the symphony
Listen ...
be brave and patient
dare to be quiet
I can feel the chorus getting more jubilant
30.03.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- 'Q' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
Poem of the Day : 31.03.2023
By its very nature it is romantic and inspired. It sends out a message to snuggle ever closer. Thinkers are blessed by the lack of distraction, and dreamers are, now and then, prolific with its abundance.
Its arrival is a security blanket for poets-an inspiration for their moods. We are those that let it do our running from the humdrum of the ordinary. No other force in nature is so powerful, so all-encompassing, so awe inspiring, and so kind. Unwanted forces can only penetrate the veil fleetingly, then disappear from sight and sound.
The appearance is unstoppable and, for us dreamers and poets, most welcome. Dreams are real if only for the moment. Difference disappears, as does sameness. A million tiny get-a-ways are yours for the seeking; minute worlds populated by one or two.
I cherish these moments of arrival for it covers the real world and seems to balance nature. When its task is done it departs slowly, cautiously. It is gone, but it lets you know it will return and diminish your problems once again.
Hurry back, fog...hurry back.
19 Nov 1990
to be so far apart
in so many different ways
brings a hunger to my heart
a sorrow to my soul.
'twas fate dictated our destinies
that we were to be starcrossed
in love.
bittersweet is our portion,
though we did fleetingly taste
of intimacy's pleasures.
that is the one memory we can cling to
like the shipwrecked Odysseus
clutching at a spar.
you have lived locked
in a loveless union too long.
we were drawn together too late
by a force momentarily
too strong to resist.
thus did nature play
its cruel,insensitive trick.
I’m a wild tulip, bending but
breathing beneath
a star-burnished breeze,
skimming the blazing
silk of supernova dust,
as sirens ricochet through
honeyed silence,
as though no dream has forgotten
the music of my muse,
whilst I sip from
the sky of ethereal ink:
his skin ~ my orbit,
his eyes ~ my ocean,
his lips ~ my universe,
pulling me to the
depths of desire,
for our light sings amidst
stillness that floats through ~
like an aquatic garden,
where water orchestrates
tides of temptation
and trembling tercets,
composing currents
of careful devotion…
O mystical moon,
must I serenade the sparks
that bloom beneath
your cosmic gaze?
I feel the astral frequency
of galaxies within veins,
like whimsical waves touching
the shifting shades
of shimmering silver,
whilst I remain apologetic
for the erased cadence of charm,
unlearned in quietness
amidst unseen constellations,
quivering in sync
with the quintessence
of quenched vows…
I was never a promised island ~
but a forgotten home,
with walls aching to be heard
beyond avoidant acrylics,
framed in rhinestone regrets.
So take me ~ twirl me,
like a swirling sapphire
carrying chaos of celestial flickers,
twisting and teasing
through traveling time of tornadoes…
Forgive me, as I relinquish
the mythical waterfalls,
their addictive affections
falling too fleetingly
for Capricorn captivation.
I am more than a mere vanilla version
of a vision illustrated in loneliness,
sugarcoated in rose-ruffled mists,
when dusk itself
drowned in drumbeats of disarray…
Fireflies, lithe torch bearers
Flaming bugs on small wings
Fairies of the dark night
Freelance electricians
Fleetingly come and go
Flitting incandescence
Flickering before eyes.
light penetrated dark, sound birthed
the Word ~ p o e t r y
a superlative emitting that which changes
emerging when ripened as verse
speaking to people faraway
unlocking alphabets from minds
to glide, fast fly, jump or slowly crawl, landing
at destined places, swords or aces
I am Poetry ~ weep or whimper not for me
existentially dancing, enthralling, glancing at
blank paper to be embroidered in ink
ruby red, black or olive green
free flow I from fingers fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only for joy or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
I, P o e t r y ~ sequins of Love convoluted or rayed, in service
purifying emotive sentiments conditioned, romantic, missioned
Heart is my home where rest my letters, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered intelligence visioning dreamscapes
divine, liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
alive is my Supersoul breath giving voice to electrons
protons, neutrons which fleetingly capture
essenced life through observed elixirs
as Poetry, I witness action followed by pure
stillness ~ transcendental whirlpools in orbits
my limbs reach language lyrical or plain
burnished and wise
cherishing recitals in sacred spaces
I activate thoughts and visions remaining
supremely unattached attuning words
for Grace ~
undulate imagination in perfect waves
misty, clear or intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, sizzling in my own
fire or ice
I, Poetry, consummated
voice the W o r d
I am but a paltry pebble
washed upon the lakeshore.
A tumbled piece of agate.
Simply that and nothing more.
I am but a mere grain of sand
raised from the seabed floor,
sodden from an ocean wave.
Simply that and nothing more.
I am but an insignificant human,
a dinky speck of dust; an eyesore
fleetingly alive upon the Earth.
Simply that and nothing more.
I saw her today.
With her vanity blue wispy gray,
That smile that never goes away.
And she prays.
When God has forgotten to answer your prayers,
And suddenly a solution is there,
While you are standing mystified,
Did you see her today?
Frail and retired she asked God to serve,
Her faculties failing and un-scuffed shoes,
He heard her desire to be used,
Answering with a vision to pray.
So should you see her pass your way,
Or cross your mind most fleetingly,
Suddenly finding you know just what to do,
A little blue-haired lady prayed for you.
She makes an early showing,
her warm breath blowing;
an Eastern sunrise glowing,
flowers up and growing.
Melted icebergs flowing,
men on tractors sowing;
loose dirt clods throwing,
barnyard roosters crowing.
Suddenly, it's snowing;
frosty winds now mowing.
Wily smile, all-knowing;
fleetingly, she's going.
Spring . . . such a tease
She waded through the dreams as she drank her coffee.
Always speaking of the past and her lost memories.
She was fine as frog hair and fleetingly thought of a time when it mattered.
Her old man had died of a broken heart in one of those.
She loved him and she loved those days but was left with his brake.
She lifted each one and slowly remembered and the love.
What shall I eat as if it counted?
She didn't wish to move on and she tried to embrace.
The woman climbed and the thought separated and died.
Have to keep on, for the moving made it all leave.
But those whiskers burned and waking she called for him.
And realized it was just a dream and the whiskers burning.
Mr Johnson was nudging her as she reached for the old man.
Mr Johnson lived there or she lived with him.
It all was so confusing and he was a clean freak.
Always grooming himself and a cough to get the hair up.
Mr Johnson had a pair when young but she had him fixed.
Why did he shave so infrequently going back to sleep.
I wish he shaved regularly and she hoped he would in the night.
Hoping for the burn she lowered herself back to the pillow.....
*****cat Johnson is my cat that when my wife and i separated she took him back to Italy with her.. Momma said his name was troppo loungo {too long} so she changed it to Mr Johnson...
How foolish am I?!?
YEARS beyond our sad end.
Multiple relationships past the
Joy of all that we shared and were,
I doubt I even (fleetingly) enter your mind,
Let alone time the cadence of your heart to mine,
Or polish the gold memories in your pocket, as I do.
What an absurdly pathetic and commiserative fool I am!!
I still find myself, on more occasions than I hate to (begrudgingly)
Admit, not only pining away in the night about how the sad moonbeams
Through my window connect me to you in some odd, existential sort of way,
Or sitting on the beach at the ocean, casually writing little messages in
The sand that you'll never, ever see, but ALSO writing you poems!
And songs! And even Letters and emails that I'll never send,
Though I spend FAR too long making sure they're JUST
RIGHT. What the hell is wrong with me?? It's been
A decade-and-a-half since you so lovingly
"Dear John"-ed me on my birthday,
(Our kids nearby so I wouldn't
Make a scene - I wouldn't
Have ANYway) ...
Inside my birthday
Card, at that ... my damn
BIRTHDAY card!! Gotta say,
That was pretty freakin' cold, and I
Would never have pegged you to be so
Heartless. I thought I knew you - thought I knew
You better than anyone, so many deep, dark secrets
We shared, or discovered - but it seems you hid that brutal
Side away from me, and saved it for that last, keen, cutting farewell.
The joke was on me, (and I sometimes imagine you laughing at the whole
Cold birthday card "Dear John" thing with your friends ... "Oh, you should've
SEEN his face - turned a hundred shades, then white! But what could he
SAY?!? It was a birthday party, for chrissakes!! Oh, my god what a
Hilarious joke!!") ... Yeah, that really was a stroke of icy cold
Breakup genius, I must admit. I wonder if it was your
Idea, or if one of your treasured friends or family
Came up with it? Doesn't matter now, does
It? And it doesn't matter that I still
Care. And it doesn't matter
That I waste time ...
Perfectly good time,
Writing poems for
Someone who's a
Ghost ... things is,
I'M the goddam
Ghost ... a sad,
Sorry apparition,
Slowly but surely
Disapparating into
Nothingness, and
Happy to do so, to
Carry this damn pain
To my sacred oblivion ...
It is symphonic
It is rhythmic
It tells a story,
of love and life,
of pleasure and pain,
of joy and sadness;
a story of defeat and triumph
It is the invisible book
of the human experience
It has the power,
to move you,
to make you yearn for more,
of its delightfully painful,
audible deliciousness
It can deliver you;
it can be your cry of deliverance
It is so mysterious;
it could only be celestial
It straddles the emotions
quietly packing a punch,
but pulls it, only to suck you in
When it hits,
it leaves no bruises
It knocks you out,
into the habitation of joy;
a relief from heaviness
It is transcendent;
a passport and transport,
to the esoteric zone;
the inner longing of the soul,
warping the time in its wake,
at such a pace,
that leaves you transported
It blows in,
from beyond the firmament,
riding the undulating,
invisible crests of space
It is copious in joyfulness,
filling the soulful emptiness;
an aid to cope with the sorrowfulness
of humanness,
reaching deep into the soul,
soothing even the savage beast
It is infectious, but does no harm
It is delightfully musing;
rousing a deep satisfaction,
yet, in it, lies a deeper longing,
for something or somewhere,
fleetingly familiar,
very present, yet very distant
Seemingly desiring to reconnect,
to something or somewhere,
enchanting, elusive, and disconnected
Shhh! Can you hear it? It is music! It is Jazz!