Best Foreheads Poems
And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!
When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger
Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact
They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood
Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”
Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings
Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited
They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads
Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies
…
And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?
When will the flinty sheep
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began
Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands
©Drake J. Eszes
i stood looking outside
listening to the rain
with its long slender fingers
tap a tune against my window
squeegees in hand
i could see
the troops of drops
clean the air
for a clearer view
while on their descent
people
some walking
holding their umbrellas
others running
attempting to escape
the cruel barrage of
knocks to their heads
there are a few children
in their rainy day gear
locked and loaded
steady and ready
attacking the puddles
with a fierce offensive
crushing any and all puddles
dare question their authority
jumping and diminishing
the enemy ruthlessly
the children's joy
propels me to thoughts
of the gift ahead
a rainbow large
or maybe a double arc
fully colored vibrant
interrupted
my kettle
whistles
me over
meticulously
i proceed to prepare
my rainy day cocoa
in my neighborhood
it's a law
rain?
hot cocoa
cocoa in hand
i return to my show
the trees are soaked
the rain unrelenting
the plants forced
to bend under the
weight of heavy rain
all the tiny flyers
seek shelter
while birds
bomb dive
for their landing
worms however
are in their
full glory
out for their
unscheduled shower
later aliens
with lamps
shinning from
their foreheads
will gather
to pluck
worms
from the earth
poor worms
my daughters
will be glad
never having
liked crawlies
of any kind
i suppose
they would think
poor aliens
the rain now
is descending violently
apparently in cahoots
with the wind
but still no
thunder or lightning
this must be their
week off
a paid vacation
i gather
my cocoa only
warm and almost
finished
i decide to
bid the rain
a good night
i head
upstairs
for my
daily shower
Maurice Yvonne
September 12 2014
Rainy Day Contest
The distance between us is like a pencil line drawn on a page
like steam in air
like the drop of water that captures in its soul
the light
It is like water in the wash cloth
but also like that one ice cream drip that gets away and falls
Sometimes it is like the cool breeze that flutters the shears in the middle of the night
elusive ...beloved...treasured
like a kiss from the universe itself
it is like the suspended moment...the feeling of our foreheads touching
just before we give in ...to the kiss
You held my hand...listened to my every word
waited years to dance with me...to read to me...to tell me of your injuries
in the rear view mirror we are always surrounded by tiny glittering lights
fairy dust or is it mysticism twilight
our voices are strung up
like streamers across any room we have ever been in together
our foot steps glow and pulse wherever we have passed
the air respectfully swirls around our ghosts
but the distance you ask?
It is 70.1 miles from me to you...a graphite pencil line on a mapquest
but if you reach out you can grasp my hair in your hand and hold my head to yours
through the worm hole in the head of a pen
There was a place I used to know,..
where summer evenings
spoke in long shadows that were heard by the sun
blending dark into light
Where sweet grass, fragrant and damp, would buckle and bend
under the weight of a child's hide and seek,
then quickly spring back, upright and sleek,
as if to experience a last moment of fun
Tonight I recall how I'd watch from the window
My face pressed intimately against the cool glass,
while the children ran up and down the grassy knoll,
to stretch that last ray of light before it was time to come in
It was there
where perfume coming from small, sweaty foreheads
would rise to meet me, making my eyes smile, and my heart swell...
and the faint scent of childhood, mingled with the breeze
I remember kissing salty cheeks at bath time
Stroking feathered hair that fell into lathered curls
Soon after, when nestled, blissfully clean,
swathed in contentment, between cool, crisp sheets,
they would wait for a last goodnight kiss.
Young faces scrubbed red, and expectant
Reeking of soap, and joy, and love complete
Words?…. Most of them were left, unsaid
It matters little now
We had it all back then
for just a little while
Tonight I find myself within the nimbus of a memory,
while evening shadows tell about the laughter that is gone
But together we will listen, as the echoes linger on...
reminding me,
of a place I used to know
______________________________________________________
8/13/18
Contest : Five Senses
I was Second Lieutenant of the Army Nurse Corps,
At Pearl Harbour when it was attacked and bombed;
I was in my room at the nurses’ quarters, a store,
Near Tripler Army Hospital, six miles from le monde.
At about 8:20am the on-call nurse called me,
Said Pearl Harbor was being attacked, grave concern,
She looked out and said something was strange, really,
“There is an awful smell…a lot of noise,” we did discern.
So I decided to walk to the hospital, ten minutes flat,
Bt as I stepped out the quarters, had an awful feeling,
No gardenias or hibiscus to sent my nose in a bat,
Just the odour of sulphur and burning oil, and buzzing.
Upon reaching the hospital, I saw twenty stretchers,
All with injured men, lined up, each with bloody wounds,
Some with an M on their foreheads for morphine, etchers:
I was an anaesthetist, and was commended at the sounds.
The chief of surgery turned to me and he did say,
“Madelyn, if we are hit, I want to say to you that,
It is a pleasure to have worked with you,” hey, hey,
“You are a good anaesthetist”, and I accepted that.
But I just replied, “I know God knows we did nothing,
To deserve this, I am putting my trust in him”;
And caring for the wounded took days, also the dying,
And our emergency rooms were schools and a kitchen.
We were very short of bandages, medicines for repair,
Totally unprepared for the hundreds of casualties,
But we did the best we could do with our work and fare,
And blood was donated day and night, no apologies.
"Always”
Burning flames
kiss bowing foreheads
lost along the way
Home calls you
to be you –
always;
to remain.
Love is calling You -
always
Love is the way
Home
always.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm
one day you will need this
“Home” / Depeche Mode
https://youtu.be/yIvKZ_EX_xE
"Home is a Burning Flame"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/home_is_a_burning_flame_1004944
Precision incisions put holes in our ears
our noses, our foreheads and tongues
As for me, I had enough holes in my head
to last me a lifetime when I was but young
Everyone needs a gold psychedelic prejudice card.
A PP card to carry that shows whether they are an auto-demi-dog or republi-cat
A PP card that says whether they are a liberal or a permissive, a pinko,
or a fundamentalist right-wing-bird.
This all-knowing PP card could instantly tell us whether their kitchens are red or orange or another color.
Without gold PP cards, how do we know who to hate?
Sure, we can sort some people out as hate-able right away.
White people’s faces blaze forward in a glaring way, so face colors are easy.
Freckled people have freckles on their faces or their arms, so if we want to hate them, cards are not necessary.
Red-headed people cannot hide their hair all the time.
Chevy drivers have that Chevy emblem, so that’s easy.
But for some stuff, we truly need a gold PP card –a hate card, so we will know who to hate.
I think this card should be implanted under our foreheads, but shiny enough that we can see it,
So when we decide to talk to a stranger on a bus or in line at the airport we know WHO we are talking to, so we will know who to hate.
Also, our children will meet only the kinds of people we approve of.
There are a lot of undesirables out there. They need to be pointed out right away, so we can instill a solid ground of prejudice in them at a young age.
I am thinking the PP cards should be implanted at birth.
Am I right?
The sun is rising, the moon is lighting,
The millions of birds are flying and chirping,
The insects are crawling and does flying.
As long as, the grass are growing, color green and
Flowers bloom and plants grow.
As long as, the ocean roar control by you and
Skies are blue with white cloud beneath it.
The fields creates bushes and thorns,
The mountains and volcanoes still.
As long as, the air I breathe is here and fresh.
The wind blows in any direction creates sweet sound to my ears.
As long as, the trees stand it tall and animals are
Clothed by your affection. The universe are turning in its normal orbit.
The people obey you and not forsaken you.
As long as, our faith burning, yearning and believing in you.
As long as I am standing here, looking up in heaven,
Talking to you, worshiping you, listening to my prayer.
Your power, your love, your forgiveness, your mercy
And grace never ever fail.
As long as, you are the God who rule over all.
You are indeed control the universe. No doubts.
You uses set back to fill us with your love.
You are amazing indeed, an awesome GOD.
By your son Jesus Christ, our saviour and Lord,
And your Holy Spirit with us. We surrender, mark us
Your name in our foreheads and let us do your will. AMEN.
(c) Jocelyn Dunbar-Sumido
28 March 2020
9:05 AM
The Wax Vigil
I'm born from a thousand wax faces pressed close in silence,
each forehead an age that burns out in one drop of honey,
their blind eyes carrying stone tears down in the darkness,
the world's insomnia leaking through veins like hearth-smoke, unhurried.
I'm awake in the depths of a sleep with no border at all,
and I sleep in the light that burns on foreheads pale and bitter,
through the cracks in my mind a faint music comes slipping,
a silver song poured down from the moon, foolish and stretched thin.
Colors run violet over thoughts made of shattered glass,
and time coils around like a smoke-serpent tracing a map,
each second a face that is born and dies in the same breath,
a game played between shadow and an angel its sky forgot.
I search through the sea of faces for proof I'm still who I was,
but every gaze is a doorway that opens on some other shelter,
and longing, a small candle lit in the box of my bones,
drips its wax on my soul, quiet and tender and slow.
Maybe we're only dreams dreamed by some eye set high above us,
plaster saints standing still, waiting for a tired god to set,
and this night we live in is endless, one eyelash half-open —
an insomnia without any edges, where nothing will ever freeze.
"Oh," she whispers, "but she's here with a boy!" Her words, especially the painted blue one, stick to her palm covering her lips and mouth, I lace my fingers through yours and this happens simultaneously on opposite sides of the room, we look at each other and smile, the suppressed laughter in our mouths a balloon blown so full it's about to pop,
It pops.
You're not all boy.
We laugh because she saw you from far away, she saw you and your hair that basically spells out either, 'lesbian,' or, 'boy,' across your forehead.
I look at your eyes. I tell you: Jesus, she thinks you're a boy and she thinks I'm straight we've neeever been in this situation before.
We laugh.
And, oh, that waitress that one time said, "thank you sir," when you handed her your credit card, her words overflowing with poisonous flirtation, spilling out of her mouth along with a biohazardous receipt, Her fingertips brushed yours as she handed it to you,
She didn't know. Painful ignorance.
After she left, you asked, "So is she a lesbian? Or..."
I didn't have the heart to tell you that she thought you were all boy.
I also didn't have the heart to believe the waitress didn't know she was feeding us poison.
you acted like it was nothing, but I, like, internally growled or something because the only two people who are this protective over someone else are moms and girlfriends.
She whispers, "Oh, but she's here with a boy!" and the blue word caresses our cheeks like your thumb and mine, currently participating in some sort of passive aggressive thumb makeout session because that's a nervous habit we have when we hold hands.
And we have the words "boy" and "lesbian" written across our foreheads, so it's a good thing I focus on your eyes.
Collaborative Chinese water torture
Dropping fickle whispers
Their foreheads pound with belittled grief.
Egyptian cotton tissues,
Coated in fresh aloe and waxy resolutions,
Torn asunder
Idyllic sonatas
Heaving identity crisis under bus,
One
Note
Off
An exacerbated syllable
Pleasing vultures
Who speak louder than anonymity’s slur
Befuddled visions
Damning clarity upon equator of serenity
Stalking Information Superhighways,
A glorified game of telephone
Where declared verbiage,
Set in Swedish Hot Stones,
Is STILL misunderstood!
Filtered!
Tainted!
Stoking ill-advised dreams
Stroking tact with leavened paper cuts
S h r e d d i n g
yesterdays
Whiplashes against horizons’ symphonies
Choking lyric of March
These hands showed you epiphany lights
Now 2nd face, abandons restitution in onyx dark
…
With their one last cry,
One
Last
Spoken Cry
“Instead of reading our words,
My child,
You should simply open your eyes.”
(Fade to white)
©Drake J. Eszes
Cleansing of body and mind- the Indian Way- An Alouette
For any Hindu
Bathing in Sindhu
Or Ganga thought to be pure
On fetes, on deaths
Tilak on foreheads
To meditate for mind’s cure
Indian Brahmins
In temple domains
Recite mantras while bathing
Then a marjanam
Followed by japam
Trikal Sandhya with chanting
============================
Sindhu and Ganga – the names of rivers of India
Marjanam means- Sprinking water around to purify the place.
Japam means - chanting of the Goddess Gayatri Mantras
Trikal Sandhya means- Tri means three times. Kal means time and Sandhya meaning
controlling the breathe as we do in Yoga.
Sandhya means- meaning “UNION” of day and night dawn and dusk, noon is considered
the third juncture of the day, and hence meditations and prayers are performed daily three
times.
**The Alouette was created by Jan Turner.
It consists of two or more stanzas of 6 lines each, with the following set rules:
Meter: 5, 5, 7, 5, 5, 7
Rhyme Scheme: a, a, b, c, c, b
Alouette means a "skylark"
The form is not available on PS
Herded on to reservations.
Their chiefs humiliated.
International witnesses killed and abused.
Geneva conventions are ignored.
Oslo agreements are trashed.
United Nation covenants and agreements denied.
Numbers were written on their foreheads.
Their homes and olive trees are destroyed.
They are killed at a rate of four to one.
There seems to be only one solution
for a people whose capacity for survival is so great.
Even their women sacrificed themselves
to get your attention to the depth of their grief.
They have already had their Trail of Tears and
there is no where for them to go.
Extermination, genocide are
the traditional methods
for getting rid of peoples in the way.
So, who will start the ovens for Palestinians?
I know that Exxon will supply the gas.
Students at Work
See them work!
Studious looks,
Buried in books,
Leaflets flipping,
Binders snapping,
Pencils tapping,
Textbooks slamming,
Nick-knacks toppling,
Back-packs rummaging,
Noses rubbing,
Nail nibbling,
knees flapping,
Foreheads scrunching,
Eyebrows rising,
Lips compressing,
Faces scowling,
Chins supported,
Tongues catapulting,
Coughs echoes,
Work Accomplished!