Best Forgot Poems
It's raining again, grey neon skies,
washing away suppressed surfaces,
to reveal unhealed wounds,
to scars the eyes cannot see
sometimes they bleed.
Some say words heal,
but I resist to express them,
because I'm afraid of my vulnerabilities,
anxious about tears I've never cried.
You only see the smile,
no one remembers that naive boy,
waiting at the window
for the shepherd who forgot his flock,
and he was no black sheep
if only I could reach him now
so he would not grow up like he did not belong,
stop searching for something,
he did not know how to find.
Stop composing that melancholic symphony,
recycling emotions, he did not understand,
I would tune his piano keys,
repair his violin's broken strings,
but
there are too many silent secrets,
blood stained walls will never reveal.
You left me behind,
with an empty toy box,
taking with you childhood hopes,
so ensued a vacuum of darkness -
sucking me deeper into confusion.
I remember watching you walk away,
along a path of overgrown weeds.
If it was not for the gift of mum's marbles,
I would not have laid an alternative path,
creating my protective bubble,
so I could float away, from all the troubles
until I lost them too.
Tell me father,
how was I to become a man?
You pushed me upon my knees,
like a cherry blossom in the wind.
A victim of your sins,
struggling to rise in adolescence,
I kept faith in the path of marble,
grateful for the guidance of my bubble.
After years of silence
upon your final sighs,
watching you die without words,
tears exploded for a stranger,
forgiving broken promises,
forgetting your crimes -
cursing stubbornness and bitterness,
thinking maybe it was me,
not just you
questions that will never be answered.
Today I stand before your bed of marble,
no need for a bubble, I feel no emotions.
After all I am a product of my childhood,
and you were a result of your own.
Silent One
18 August 2019
I forgot about you,
but I don't remember when.
With all the thoughts inscribed to you,
I once had to chase the pen.
My mind's now like an empty gas tank.
Oh, the roads we traveled... I can't get there.
The dedication page is blank,
because I can't remember what or where.
With all the adventures lived without you
and every brand new start,
with life otherwise filled, now I doubt you
ever existed in my heart.
Senility is what gets me through
each memory from beginning to end.
I forgot about you,
but I don't remember when.
Remember all the Wise Men on their knees upon your yacht?
With orphans on their backs they’d crawled (with others that they’d brought)
Through rubble on the highway sands and residues of Lot.
They came from severed cities selling postcards of your thoughts,
Though offered for a penny piece, not even worth a jot.
They mused
“How are you feeling? What it is you want, you’ve got.
The words you scrawl on calling cards: ‘I AM – the others NOT’
Shun wisdoms of the Seven Seas: ‘Salvation can’t be bought’ –
Your fathers tried before you and your fathers came to naught.
“You started out by gelding goats and then by casting lots
Of bodies to the battlefields, contorted, tight and taut,
Then wallowed in the wake of trails the dervish devil trots.
“With marching bands of fatherlands, and drums of Hottentots,
You lure your legions in harm’s way like giant juggernauts.
Like Tweedle Dum your minions come (the sober and the sots,
The troglodytes, barbarians, and mislead patriots,
The Vandals, Huns and Hannibals and seaport Cypriots,
The Japanese, the Congolese, Americans and Scots)
To vanquish bows and arrows, spears and catapulted shots
Of those who hide in bamboo huts their families, pale, distraught,
(Their withered wives with dried up breasts, their swollen babes in cots)
Who swoon, engulfed in poison darts and vats of acid hot,
Consumed by magic mushroom clouds, atomic megawatts.
“In churches of your deities, your Holy Huguenots,
Your Imams, Rabbis, Voodoo Dolls and Mitered Lancelots
Lit wicked kindled candled walls in temples (while we fought)
(Used pins and needles, magic spells on makeshift mock whatnots)
And mosques, cathedrals, synagogues have blessed each new onslaught
With prayers for pipers, puppets, pawns, your rigid armed robots.
Continued in Part 2…
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
I've forgot how to rhyme right
Lack of inspiration keeping me up for five nights
Writing rhymes to keep my mind tight
I'd rather be truthful than a coward who hides behind lies
An average poet, but you might find
a few lines that are designed nice
I need my heart to break in order to write when my mind dies
Yesterday I was sitting around missing her, now I'm over her, time flies
Being a poet is like being an addict because after every poem, I say I should just do one more line, guys
That line should be in an episode of Lil Wayne rhymes like
Making fun of celebrities for no reason, I'm shameless
I need a hot girlfriend so We can get rich the same way Kim Kardashian got famous
I'm just having a little fun, please don't take it too serious
But people get offended by everything these days in my experience
No disrespect to the Kardashians but I don't wish to keep up with their nonsense
I was a fan of a rapper until he said he's flyer than an Ostrich
Everyone is "Flyer" than something that doesn't fly
Or maybe I'm not smart enough to understand a rhyme so complex
There needs to be a "Worst rap line of all time" contest
Got told I'd be dead by 21, but I made it to the future and I'm not talking about the mask off guy
That line was predictable but don't mind it
I'm writing in Big Pun's rhyme book with Eminem's pen so there isn't a word I can't rhyme with
You may not agree with the form that I write
But writing was all I had when i was standing alone in the storm of the night
the white Mike Tyson, I was born for the fight
Maybe I should have a little more decency
They'll say I only dissed the Kardashians because they won't sleep with me
I went to write something nice but my pens crazy
Bipolar and inspired by Slim Shady
I've got a beer belly, but I don't think Dwayne Johnson has been to the gym lately
I don't know why I said that, this is the worst poem I ever wrote
But I just managed to write a poem without talking about depression, well almost
I'm inside of Jason Voorhees Hockey mask and out of my mind
But now my writers block has gone and I've remembered how to rhyme
Whoops, I forgot to comment
Upon that nice poem you wrote
Please don't take it personally
My reasons are many, take note
It's too long, I'm easily bored
It's not really what I expected
I though it might have rhymed a bit
So now I'm a little dejected
I've nothing special to say
When clearly others do
Perhaps I've missed the meaning
Or have a different point of view
Occasionally I'm just stuck for words
Stop laughing it's often true!
I've just run out of pleasantries
To pass on what is due
Your poem I'm sure is wonderful
I'm sorry I failed to say
How beautiful are, the visions you give
I'll tell you another day
Contest entry for “Comments Verses View”
Dear Santa Claus, can I ask a wish
A wish come true- for everyone
Be'eth I too old..to ask
Will it fit on your sleigh
It's not a small wish
It's humongous
Everyone
Will love
It
I
Myself
Will share it
To one and all
To the entire world
Even for you, Santa
Several times I wrote you
I wished for peace and love on earth
Maybe I forgot to put the stamps
Double Nonet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
12/13/2020
If tomorrows never mattered and yesterdays forgot
Living in the present would count much more than not
Our days could have more meaning, each word chosen more precise
Visions may be clearer, not clouded by the past
Every time I'd be with you I'd make each moment last
Your kisses might be sweeter, your eyes might twinkle more
Our hearts could dance in perfect rhythm
Under a smiling moon from your ocean to my shore
There lies a land behind the smoke,
Where silence screams and hearts are broke
Where lullabies drown in bombs and drones
And cradles turn to shattered stones
Babies cry with lips so dry
No blood, no milk, no tear left to cry
No schoolbell rings, no hospital stands,
Just bones and ruins buried in the sand
They queue for crumbs and bleed for rice
A bottle of water, the price of life
Each has lost __ be it a child or spouse
a parent, a sibling or a shattered house
Then phosphorus rains on wrecked-out souls
To burn their skin to elevate their pains
And we the modern civilized race
Watch stage 5 famine take its place
What further war-crimes must I define
Palestine bleeds while the world stays blind
my laugh raises hair on people’s necks
it is not petite, polite, refined, or subtle.
it is a throwback to your hillbilly ancestral
caveman’s outrageously loud and ugly laugh.
when it happens, it is as if the bowels of my
inner crazy is released after 4,000 years in
a dutch oven.
I forgot how loud it was when I picked up three
boys for a little “hey, let’s learn this board game”
session in the hallway where teachers’ classes are
trying to work.
One of the teachers said, “Mrs. K, the kids wondered
where all that laughing was coming from, but I knew.”
I started to apologize, and she said, “I love hearing it.
I loved it; I truly did. Do not apologize!”
I heard later that a rude teacher, who is always dour
wanted me to apologize. I had already tried, right?
I walk like a secret the world used to know
A hush in my heart where the sunlight won’t go
I smile out of habit, not out of light
And dream in grayscale when i used to dream bright
I’m stitched from thunder and stories half-told
Soft in my silence, but fierce in my hold
I carry a grief that has no clear name
Just echoes and ghosts and a flicker of flame
People ask “What’s wrong?” when it’s what I can’t grasp
But how do i trace something lost in the gap?
When I’m part of the room but not in my skin
And I miss who I was, but don’t know where I’ve been
So i whisper to shadows, letting moonlight confess
And wear all my longing like a velvet dress
I’m not broken, just paused, like breath held too long
A verse without rhythm, a beat without song
But there’s beauty in drifting, in being unsure
In the quiet before I remember my core
And even if now I’m more silence than sound
Im not truly lost just waiting…to be found
Leadership once stood so tall,
But lost her spine along the hall.
No knocks, no words, just silent calls—
She wiped away the names on walls.
Silence sits—a secret scribe,
Whispers soft, commands prescribe.
No voice to speak, no hand to shake,
Just shadows where the echoes break.
Respect once tried to find her place,
But Ego barred her from the space.
He strode in heels, so loud and proud,
Drowning out the quiet crowd.
Understanding wept unseen,
Waiting in the in-between.
Communication packed her bags,
Left behind the silent flags.
Compassion came at noon’s faint bell,
Mistaken for a fragile shell.
Sent back to darkened shade,
Where hopes and dreams begin to fade.
Exhaustion sat beside my side,
While Hope refused to step aside.
In children’s laughs and bright clear eyes,
Joy danced beneath the heavy skies.
Not titles mark the soul’s own song,
But truths that guide us all along.
Resignation comes with grace,
A calm hand placed upon my face.
“Your health is yours,” she softly said,
Beyond the words that go unsaid.
Though this place forgot my name,
I walk away without the blame.
And there—where whispered shadows fall—
Begins the slow return of all.
The city grew so bright it blinded night.
Its towers cast their neon into clouds,
And every window glimmered like a sun.
The children learned the names of countless brands,
Yet none could point to Venus in the dusk.
Old men recalled a river made of light
That once flowed overhead from hill to hill,
But younger ears dismissed such tales as myths.
What river could exist above the sky?
Then one small girl, while chasing after wind,
Climbed past the rooftops to a silent place
Where darkness still survived behind a wall.
There, trembling in the vast unguarded black,
A single star unveiled itself to her.
The city had forgotten how to look.
The star had simply waited to be seen.
It’s early
Not a sound from the street
Newspaper lies in the driveway
Where it landed
Some time ago.
When I get up
The sun is also up
Brightness
Clarity
Not a cloud in the sky
So why should I read the newspaper
On this beautiful morning
To read about politicians
Taking bribes
Projects stalled by demonstrators
Economy still in the toilet
An actor arrested for God knows what.
They say
Not reading leaves one uninformed
But reading leaves me misinformed
Avoiding the need to choose
Between the devil and the deep blue sea
I choose to read the comics
Yes, those cartoon characters
Amusing
Unbelievably funny
Occasionally making a point
On things we ignore.
I take the comics seriously
As I sip from a coffee cup
Carefully placed nearby
Casually savoring each drop
As I contemplate the day
And the morning leisurely wears on.
In da Big Easy
sipping on our Hurricanes
wandering to who-cares-where
Pass an old court-yard
Meters playing 'Cissy Strut'
Funk echoes down Bourbon Street...
*Art Neville (The Neville Brothers) was the organist and founder of the Meters. 'Cissy Strut' was their biggest hit. They reunited for a Katrina benefit concert with Aaron Neville as a guest vocalist
Below are are the links to the song and ‘They All Axed (Asked) For You’ which has become a Mardi Gras classic
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_iC0MyIykM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1Vi795Wduc