Best Flexed Poems
Is it not enough that you’ve hung me beside
myself from your fraying rope - tendered by
graying wooden clips with rubber fingers?
Must we really soak on dry until we are sepia
toned under-developed photographs, left on fix?
Why is it you still feel the need to marinate
my every flexed tendon in formaldehyde?
Is it the slow bumping up against red glass
that turns you on; that you relish? Or simply
the come-hither thrill of the bottled hunt?
Watching our developing forms (and by ‘our’,
I mean me and myself - I left the party half
cocked and ready for more long ago) submerged
beneath the red tinge of shadow forms split at
the wrists - dividing one truth from the
next - your tapping, impatient, ready to dance
fingers drumming my convoluted tumbler to
halves; throwing tomatoes, cabbage and micro-
brewed beer bottles at my smiling face as it
develops, appearing as every God damn thing
you never could do; slowly, quickly emerging
hung on the next pin over.
O’ how you hate that photo!
The one where I’m smiling and you’re not.
The one where I know who I am, and you
don’t. The one where even though there are
two of me; there are, (at last count) 10,000 of
you. And if you could see your own face through
the wide V darkroom dusk looking back at
yourself, you would see that sometimes even
the best photographers get it wrong. Sometimes,
all there is, is shadow covering up the best parts,
leaving no room for light meters, fixer, or dull
graying clips clutching white Mickey Mouse fingers,
forcing the image still.
© Kristin Reynolds 5 7 09
A blaze of silver breached the surface,
Muscle flexed, sinew taut.
Through the raging waterfall,
Upwards struggled, strived and fought.
Her mighty tail thrusting, driving
Instinct pushing, nearly spent.
A heroic leap, she jumped again !
Over the waterfall, the salmon went.
Entry for poetry contest 248
Any topic, max 8 lines. 13/12/2016
Budgie managed to get me to write again, I am very grateful to him for providing me with the first stanza, he's a wonderful friend :)
***
Elm stood regally and rigid.
Ivy looked up in awe
and said, a little timid:
“Ahhhh, to be so big,
close to the Sun”
Elm nodded with a focused gaze,
he was, to be fair, somewhat amazed,
and thought to himself:
“What harm could it do
to allow this slight
little weed to wrap
around me, gain my sight?”
She looked so sweet and small,
he was so strong and tall
Ivy snug a little closer
and in a tight embrace
clung for dear life to his twigs,
wound her lithe limbs
'round his leaves,
entangled him with lovely sprigs.
Elm liked that sweet intrusion.
It tickled him in many ways:
"A little higher now, my dear,
just an inch more, yes here."
Ivy flexed her fingers, green
and poisonous, Elm didn't see
through her ambition
from his high position.
"Oh Elm, I'm almost near your head.
Oh Elm, show me your eyes,
I will caress your delicious neck
with my small leaves?"
Ivy wound 'round him in strong embrace,
and before long his breathing ceased.
Then Ivy eased, for from her high up
vantage point, she became queen
could see so far she'd never seen.
And only then she lost her grip...
When Elm broke and crashed
Ivy realised she only ruled
a Kingdom of soil and dust.
***
September 3, 2017
Copyright © White Wolf and Darren White
I sat beneath a Veteran-oak,
In awe of His strength—
Here was a solid spirit!
Sympathy you get from Willow,
But stiff upper-lip from old soldiers,
With forged bark —
His limbs flexed, cut, rippled against the wind…
No chinks in this warrior-wood…
“Divide and Conquer!”
Then I thought of my Father—
A cook at the end of the war—The Big One!
You know the One I mean, as if there are small ones—
When the commanders were through eating
He was instructed to toss the leftovers
From the belch of plates—
Trashcans were in the alley,
The steel that seems intrinsic to battles
In one form or another—
The hungry German children
Would sneak pass the guards
And line-up;
My father would sneak pass his superiors
And his honor
To dispense carefully wrapped scraps…
Well, soon the line was out into the street
As my father was compelled to seek food
From wherever he could steal, beg or barter
To procure—This brought attention—the cat-out-of-the-bag,
And all hell down on my father,
As the captain screamed: Gus, these are the enemy (the children in the alley),
What in God’s Name are you doing?
He was forced to stop—no Court Marshal though…
I looked up again at the old oak,
Through the snarled branches
Deep into the staunch soldier,
Where I spied a nest
In a small, compact fork—
Having a canopy of extra leaves
For shade and shelter from the wind—
I smiled—hum…
His bark reddened, but like my father, no apology from this weathered soldier…
The black-as-widow’s-weeds night of endless stars
was so cold...
cruel as temperature
plunged its frigid fingers feeling through my being
fondling my heart and soul without mercy
molesting me - taunting my will to live
and just when I thought
the ice water in my shivering veins would kill me
there she was
she came shyly at first
demurely spreading
her pinkening skirts over the horizon
while her blushing complexion
deftly gelded the darkness
I prayed-I pleaded-I made deals
(with who? you don’t want to know..)
that her warming smile would be my saving grace…
It began to slowly dawn on me
as she flexed her sinewy heat waves
flaunting her solar power
that I was caught
between false hope and no deliverance
for the desert sunrise-to-sunset
now faced-off and challenged me
with barren bone-dry intensity
sucking dry the new dew
and any life
containing moisture
weathered granular remains
of ancient feldspar and quartz
with eons of sifting and shifting boredom
took on a hell-raising life of their own
as the fire-breathing celestial sorceress casted spells
of smoke and mirror mirages
and magically made ridges of rippling blond sands
glisten like scales of a million skimming sidewinders
writhing in joy at my agony—
it’s amazing
how cold I feel when I have been so burned
again I face a desolate night
— deserted —
without a blanket
Susan Ashley
April 29, 2018
Widow’s Weeds: For women of 19th century England, a custom of mourning that involved wearing heavy, concealing, black clothing and the use of heavy veils of black crepe. The entire ensemble was colloquially known as ‘widow’s weeds’.
Mourning - Wikipedia
"People will forget what you said, forget what you did,
but will never forget how you made them feel."
~ Maya Angelou
I woke with twisted thoughts, coiling in my mind
like a trellised vine, weaving through my head
Gnarled bits of thread stitched me to my bed
and both my eyes were sewn shut til I was blind
I heard the sound of my notebook pages turning
by one whose mind was gnarled and full of hate
I could not see to stop him. I was much too late
to save my poetry. They'd been set afire, burning
A grizzled hand ripped the stitches from my eyes
A man with bony knees, bulbous nose, nubby toes,
said, "I am an ugly thorn, and you a beautiful rose."
He cursed at me with a snarl, "It's you I despise!"
Tears bled from the gnarly bloke. One fell on my cheek
I asked him to please free me from the tangled thread
He released me, and then I stood before him and said,
"When a rose needs protection, it's a thorn it will seek."
He stood to full height. The scorning frown disappeared
A smile curved his lips and he flexed each fingertip.
He shook my hand as if we'd just signed a partnership
His life had meaning, for he felt esteemed and revered
They wondered where the sunshine had all gone,
and gentle breezes warming spring's array;
the hues of pink that greeted breaking dawn,
and children’s laughter lighting up the day.
The darkness loomed; uneasy feelings spread
as clouds of war diffused across the land,
and somehow knowing what was faced ahead,
the Europeans braced for strife at hand.
The Nazi War Machine their muscles flexed;
their Panzer units massed at Poland’s edge
thus leaving nations of the world perplexed
at German conquest as reports allege.
And thus the world was plunged into the war
as Europe fell into the dark once more.
January 2, 2019
Escaped! furtive glances
Manifest of enchanted trances
Arrested by crimson faces averted
Too soon, too soon, they'd flirted
The air yearned with sensation
Surreptitious, delicious anticipation
Peering deeply into each other's eyes
Too soon, too soon, they'd rhapsodized
Tilted heads on swooning necks
Lips toward targets puckered, flexed
The moment arrived, two souls to merge
Too soon, too soon, they'd felt the urge...
Somberly returned, Cupid's bent arrow to its quiver
Too soon, too soon, murmured love's melancholy river
An alien landed in my thoughts today in the form of a gnat,
Right on the paper, it happened like that.
Not bothersome, not a worry at all,
Not big or fat or two feet tall.
Which is sometimes what happens when I see
An alien from Planet X, Y, or Z,
My mind is ready to grab any idea coming to me.
I look down for an instant, and she is out of my sight.
I flip on my reading lamp,
Springing forth some good light.
There she is, what is she doing?
She is tormenting the dog,
Who is booing and hoo-ing.
Should have been the cat, then she would have met her match.
The cat would have eaten her in one quick tongue snatch.
I watch her in disbelief, as she flips around, alien from planet X.
She yawns, and she preens, and she stretched and she flexed.
Alien Sweetheart, come give me an ear,
Come over to the paper, you can sit right here!
But she giggles and wiggles and scurries away.
Tinkerbell? Already done.
Alien seemed like a bunch of fun.
Wait, inspiration,
Come back! Come back!
But she has gone, sneaking out a small door crack.
Nocturnal creature signals calm
A tender night that's sure to bring,
The rising scent of dew-laced balm
Where Eagle Owl reels on a swing .
I listen how it yelps again
Through silhouettes of moonlit trees;
From leafy spades along the lane
To pivot ‘round in looped trapeze.
Eyes ebon guard the sky homeward,
Breaking the dark with hushed effect
In changing flight, more than a bird
As feathers sweep like ruffles flexed.
A sight that in my mind I lock
Till night unwraps light dusky shawl,
While I am charmed by whispered gawk
Sweet owlet trills, pervading all.
November Standard Contest, Brian Strand
Righteousness expressed in struggle’s ply,
comes shining in a single lifetimes chance;
From life’s shadows dim a gift will rise,
explicit in one solemn watcher’s glance;
Prosperity’s plex is so placed in hand,
but fortune’s bless those blind deny;
Bliss from one’s valid efforts blocked,
results in stress and tears from failure’s fry;
Delivered not is the finisher’s fee,
collected is butt, and not success’ pride;
Covertly served is an effort’s worthy try,
reward, is goodness, and a steady upheld bide;
Worth’s weight, the lowest hanging bough,
when weighed by the thinker that seeks to vide;
Value thus, when shared is given gratefully,
without the thoughts of a profiteering mind;
Presents to those of worldly wiles,
one dilemma, upon which the fool will find;
Clarity flexed removing one’s clouds of doubt,
what “gold” then mined, supplies a lifelong tithe;
Fulfillment is extract cast from nature’s whey,
nourishment enough for every creature’s clime;
Surely now greed can be wholly sacrificed,
and stress from the chase of cash be slimed;
Follows simple logic does this gist,
that once given a gift, the bearer of such will shy,
Away from snide and lowly self-intent,
and allow a higher thought to clear life’s cloudy skies;
From unknown facts, to time’s knowledge let,
each giver grants to all their generous boon;
Transgressions pushed aside are but truths to whet,
when honed by honesty, and in divinity hewn;
Hold these ‘truths’ expressed, prove mind’s suppress,
can be cleared for all, and not spent as garbage strewn.
Guided by instinct pure and noble
I would brave the sea and all the trouble
Over the waters I would sail ,
leaving no mark , no trail
Except in maps of leather where x marks the spot
among pirates ,thieves and hunters of treasure
Swimmers never come to this haunted spot for leisure
I dove to best them all and reclaim this chest full of treasure
Down ,down thru crystal blue waters ,
clear and bright ,the suns rays slanted just right
fish of all kind I passed on the way , yellow, red and painted brown
The kelp , giant and green ,silky and long,
made a vibrant, swaying , forest of the deep
Over white sands I swam finding lonely statues of Zeus and his kind
ancient statues of marble and gold
guarded by Neptune’s hoards of serpents , Satyrs and Celedons
Past lonely visions of Apollo and Aphrodite I swam ,
Up ahead, waving in the mists,
mighty Neptune lay with his head in the sand
the trident pointing the way where it was foretold,
the necklace would never be found
except for the warrior mighty and bold
There I dug at the tip to find the queens necklace I would keep
Ignoring the feelings in my bones ,
the sharp tingling that foretold of doom
I stopped to admire the crowning jewels ,
scintillating blue white diamonds , sapphire and gold
In my heart a sudden cold feeling awoke me with a start
Through the mists the mighty whites came on silent wings,
They were here to guard their wealth with teeth , size and strength
sensing their prey had come , muscles rippled and flexed
eyes glowing red , they sped forward like the dead
Quick as a blink the pack caught on to my presence
Our awards night, my corporate boss thought this up
with fine dining, much cash and chairman's gilded cup;
as awardee, they shacked me up in a five-star
in Hongkong where I felt I was some superstar.
After a warm bath, I consulted the mirror,
checked my body for any overlooked error;
inhaled, puffed my chest up, flattened that beer belly,
flexed my biceps, almost convinced I was Bruce Lee.
I even thought it should not have been Pitt but me
as the champion Achilles in Troy, the movie;
for there stood I, a demigod of mythology,
proudly prancing, preening in self-love's apogee.
A thump on the massive door smashed my reverie;
with a towel round my waist, I peeped out to see;
finding no one, I stepped out to catch the prankster;
must be the aircon wind for not a soul was there.
But then, the door slammed deafeningly behind me,
locking me out in the bright hallway with no cardkey;
from nowhere, young lady guests elegantly dressed
with smooth tuxedoed escorts, strolled straight towards me.
I panicked and froze in indescribable shame
though they didn't and wouldn't even know my name;
so there stood I, a semi-nude dude from the sauna
nervously blinking like a startled iguana!
slam it to me punk you think you’re so cool
this bald headed old fart will take you to school
you think you’re the first generation to revolt
if you read a history book you’d know that’s a joke
yes that’s a joke
go ahead punk – take a poke
hell i was sitting down in a war protest strike
while guardsmen flexed their muscles and sticks of the night
don’t talk to me about your troubled young fate
until you’ve been through a night like at Kent State
people died there
shot by the man
four college kids killed right where they stand
go ahead shout, curse and be rude
show me your underwear and your attitude
pretend you’re real mean and ain’t scared a nuthin
brag like you think you can beat out my stuffin
i’m an old fart of fifty plus years
i’ve already shed an ocean of tears
i aint got nothing much left to loose
which is what makes me much more dangerous than yous
pain ain’t nothin when you’ve had a rectal exam
you think you can scare me more than the doctor can?
think again
young man
i’ll slam your slam
this ain’t writing
it ain’t exciting
its simply yelling and telling lies of being tough
it ain’t enough
now go write some good stuff
you think this stuff makes you a hero
you think it ain’t conforming to norms?
you’re a real zero
you aint the first
heck you might be the worst
you are just replicating
duplicating
other punks beat you to it
now write a sonnet – if you can do it
you’d be the only punk out on that island
that would make you brave
make you stand out
give you some clout
if you could do it
but you can’t can you
instead you say you’re one of a kind
don’t waste my mind
you think I’m blind
i’ve seen it before
you’re just a slam whore
easy to ignore
i’ll slam your slam
now go jam my jam
PART I
The Joy of a birth, his own shine penetrating his eyes,
The new out born fruit of a long spend love,
Her hands rubbing against her red shiny chin,
Her legs crossed, the beauty that sings till the last breath.
Her thumb in her mouth, blowing, saliva flowing all over,
Her tiny grassy hairs and a sensational smile!
His mind throbbing with a pleasant paternal pain,
Oh, the enduring love!
He curls her onto his lips, the roses of affection,
Fell on her bright cheeks and a spurt of emotions,
Through his blood, that glowed the heavens between
And his two round globes filled by a sea of passion.
“Come to me, my baby, my love, my little daughter….
My sweet little doll,
I will love you till my death…
And I will carve a heavenly doll,
For you to sleep with….My angel…”
The man thus became a father and a true paternal love
Flew through his heart, into the unknown worlds.
PART II
The enthusiasm of the youth, and desire for the taste of love,
Her tiny grassy hairs grown long,
The soft fabulous filaments of keratin hanging by her curves,
The dream of a girl, for a handsome prince haunting her nights,
And eventually flourishing into a full blossom shiny daffodil,
Her lips wet, her legs crossed, her red cheeks burning
And the sweats flowing through the blankets.
Oh, the youthful pleasure!
The ghostly love takes her into the world of souls
From there the memories of her father,
Pulling her back, into the past world.
The affection fought heavily with the gods, but, only in vain.
And the gods decided to keep in their beds, the beauty of hers.
Unknown of these realities, he opens the door
And finds his love fallen prey to the love of an unknown.
All his dreams to carve her a heavenly doll to sleep,
Perished only in the mightiest darks of the underworlds.
The life in his soul had gone and the bird shall sing no more…
“Not yet, my love, not yet ….
I haven’t died …my love ….I haven’t”
He fells on his knees and takes her into his arms,
Her head hanging down by his flexed elbow,
Her breast pressing hardly into his heart,
His face bends, lips on her forehead,
And his teethes hurting her pale feathery skin,
Tears of unfinished love dribbling from his spheres, her face wet,
He cries loud with no breath in-between.
THE END©Anees Rahman