Best Furthered Poems
Would you be proud,
would you tell me out loud
If you were still on this Earth ?
Would your eyes well with tears,
would you smile and say “ cheers “
would you feel I am someone of worth ?
Would you wrap me up tight in your arms with delight ?
Would you see that I now have a purpose?
Would you now believe
it was so hard to leave my old life that resembled a circus ?
Would your heart swell with love ?
would I fit like a glove
into the family you nurtured ?
Would you tell all your friends ?
would your love never end
now you see that my prospects I furthered ?
I see you in dreams and your face seems to beam with that beauteous light that surrounds you .
I just pray that you see , that there’s lots more to me
than the girl that you left far behind you .
Could you be close by ?
Are you near when I cry
In the wind softly drying my tears ?
Could it be your embrace ?
Is the sun on my face ?
Stroke my arm when I’m facing my fears ?
Would you gift me a sign that you’re hearing my rhyme?
That my words have been able to touch you ?
Every moment I relished,
conversations I cherish.
How I wish I could reach out and clutch you.
Though you have now gone
your wise words linger on,
they’re engraved in my mind now forever.
Through the veil that divides,
This tie will survive.
I’ll not let our bond ever sever.
evil's agenda is furthered most by those who are right but hateful
June 9, 2020
My Beloved Flowers***
Those flames of orange marigolds;
Proudly bloomed golden sunflowers;
Perky pink asters;
Lavender, draping-petaled petunias; and
Deeply velvet, dainty violets
In my cherished photo, showing
Them arranged for my admiration…
Those were the last flowers I was able to grow,
As I collected their blossoms before
The first frost two years ago and how
Afterwards, my poor health
Prevented my gardening anymore.
But, now I will stare long, and often refer
To the photo of those flowers,
Even putting their colorful faces into
Paintings on fine papers.
Imagine, too — what must be due to the inner-
Staying of some childhood
Innocence —
Smiling, I confess I wonder
(just as I do about my favorite trees)
If the flowers sense my
Caring, or know at all
That I am a friend?
Do flowers take their flourish on to heaven?
Too, does their
Presence there present
To God a praising beauty?
And, might any of their
Furthered energy be
Gifted back to us?
Silence. I do not
Expect they speak
…yet, my heart keeps on
Trying this reach…
I dare not guess about
The infinite dimensions
Of God-created Love…
Nor do I know of the many ways
Death was conquered.
I also have
A single, yellow rose
I got at 16
From my brother to bless my ballet recital,
Which I kept and pressed
To hold for life…
My beloved flowers now
Grow on in a poem,
Where revitalized in words,
They may rise
To meet other caring eyes.
———————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 10/10/21
Thanks be to God
***NOTE: please don’t read this piece literally. I know the Bible says nothing about dead plants. As a poet, I wonder & ask ?’s. Oh, surely, God & heaven are open to imagination, even more so than our hearts.
how can you be furthered with my understanding, without reading the words that i say,
remembrance and knowledge are a given to you every time you read and pray,
i mark my words down in your heart, they pertain to what you do,
the pain is erased with every trial you face, or every struggle you go through,
it will keep you steady and solid, balanced in love and standing,
my love will give u soundness of mind, with me there's no misunderstanding.
Form:
I admire the wrinkles upon your face
They are beautiful to see
They're folds, lines and creases
And you wear them courageously.
You awarded some to the most
And most to those with less
For these that you have handed
Your face has so been blessed.
The birth of these markings
Are born from blessings with a kiss
Thus your life has been so furthered
To exhibit heavenly bliss.
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
My life is pen and paper
My world was built with them
And still they’re true forever
Till when the worlds will end
They helped me with the letters
And see me through life’s school
They know when, if and whether
My returns would be good
Now pen then ink and feather
Who stored up memories
Upon cloth or brown paper
Now made to history
They're true and never skitter
About what has been known
Their wisdom's cheap, but glitters
And turns us into gold
My world is pen and paper
My life made colourful
And blessed by these two mothers
I bless thee my people
They helped me with math furthered
And also with the games
Now through the storm and weather
They've risen up my name
When even in cold winter
Their work’s still beautiful
And as it gets colder
They are more wonderful
Life was made with you my brothers
Well made like the sparkling stars
That shines and points their fingers
To none but God on high
The dark night fell
The evening mist embraced my cold breast
But your love always warmed me up
How could you have had any doubts that I loved you?
When I was in your bed
I was king
Out of it I became a romantically deprived fool
seeking love like all idiots
The moon and the sun cheered for me
they told me you and I were eternal
I believed them
I felt in my marrow we would last forever
Do I have to be bound naked, dragged on sharp rocks,
have you watch my blood spill in the dirt and mix with my tears?
Would that have been enough for you to know the depth of my love?
Would it?
But shortly thereafter, tigers came into our life
and tore you from me
the moon and the sun
are ignoramuses I shouted!
But you rejoiced in your freedom
new blood
new lovers
new ways to make love
new hearts to break
Later, you had four kids that furthered changed you
I railed at the moon and sun’s lies
I told them I could have loved you better than anybody
“It’s not our fault," the sun replied, "she chose others.”
And so my life went,
later I learned nothing remains the same
everything changes and young skin once so proud
weathers and wrinkles like all skin does
The choices people make to explore greener pastures
Have a payback burden
For you it's your kids and wrinkles
And for me it's that I still love you.
Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs,
your anti-christs and anarchiests.
Stuff your false idols up your ****.
Stuff your regenerative ramblings;
the spiel of a million others
spilt in diluted misunderstanding.
The generic rhetoric of another blank generation.
Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism
we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly.
Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow
of TV screens and neon lights.
Suckled by the fast food empires
and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses.
Supping the milk of human blindness
with the blood of fallen beasts.
Schooled in paranoia and conformity
through magazines and film.
Body over brain! Body over brain!
Don't feed either if you want to fit in
to society or size sixteen jeans.
Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all.
We are over-looked and yet watched over;
Monitored through cameras and stolen information,
watched on screens by perverts and bigots
watched for signs of difference and dissent:
word gets around and gets arrested.
Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out.
I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Spayed to the point of mental impotence:
no longer threatening. Hope is dead.
Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks,
working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours:
ownership as proof of existence.
I consume therefore I am.
Ownership of possessions and of people.
Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents.
Mate Spawn and Die.
Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences.
There is safety for us all in our collective clichés.
The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused
through labour and labour saving devices
then drowned in alcohol and soap.
Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape:
Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy.
Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision
rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams.
Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes
an alternative repressive ownership,
punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity
even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick.
All grow old and sick together
having furthered the species and the empire,
return to the organic matter from whence we came
or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef
down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed
Form:
A deserted Victorian house stood off the county road just a little way.
To keep apace of living I rushed by it most every day.
For years I'd wanted to visit there to see what secrets it held,
And perhaps find out about the folks who in it had once dwelled.
Massive oaks stood erectly as if to guard the old place;
Clinging vines held weathered clapboards in precarious embrace.
I mused as I opened the latch on the sagging garden gate,
"Why was it forsaken and left in such a forlorn state?"
The front door was slightly ajar so I entered with pounding heart.
As I sauntered down the dusty hall I was brought up short with a start!
The door slowly closed to the sound of screechy hinges and slammed locked!
I tried to exit the house but all the doors and windows were tightly blocked!
The old house groaned and sepulchral voices were heard from within!
I ran from room to room stumbling over moldy furniture to avoid the din!
Suddenly, the old pump organ in the parlor began playing a haunting dirge!
Macabre figures in funereal dress began to dance and mysteriously emerge!
Squeaky floors, spider webs and flying bats furthered the home's decay.
There was the stench of death about the place that haunts me to this day!
I snatched a poker from the hearth and broke a window to flee the place!
My curiosity about the house was more than sated as from there I did race!
Entry for Dear Hearts' "The Haunted House" Contest
(13 August 2018)
*Image of The Old Shed by Pixabay.
Still Here
He was the tourist trade foremost embellisher,
his Aloha shirts receptive then, and
now respecting a closet.
Regale lava-covered isles, swathed in white flags,
succumbed to skyscrapers,
and tremendous crowds.
His chord, an isolated tool, tranced the sways,
encased uke leans on clutter,
a harmonica tags the bestilled.
A kid drilled, backs out a Chevy, to looks of relief.
Rusty toolbox by a heap,
chanced ferns sprouting rights.
On a mat with a bloody nose head back, learns to block,
gloves on a wall...glad to know how to defend,
and glad to have the seldom use of it.
Handheld twirling blade lawnmower, a sickle, and rake.
An old tool shed, shelved three wood handles
minus their mettle, as well as their mentor.
You paid a buck for our house...realtor extraordinaire,
and mom's limited knowledge about land, you
left her the trust and deeds~you both left me.
It has been beyond years, young that you were, a period
I furthered. Gone too soon, yet there's so much
of you still here, that it dawns~you've never left.
*For my dad, Joe; 1931-1989.
2023 January 20
*HM*
You Select
~Brian Strand: Judged 2023 January 21
In truth there simply has to be
A way to cause the world to see
From here we can not get to there
This place can only serve despair
Choices made and sides begot
Fear be fed and hatred taught
A distance furthered in between
Illusion wrapped up in a dream
Self inflicted pain and rage
Caught up in this twisted cage
Where heaven’s light doth barely seep
Lost from love in places deep
Children who deserve a life
Suffer through unending strife
All because we can not see
Our false individuality
How is one worth more or less?
Based on where they lay their heads?
Until each mother’s safe and fed
And every child’s life is led
Until all people hold it true
That you are me and I am you
This downward spiral’s sure to spread
Leading to it’s own sick end
And those who sadly can’t believe
In peace, love, and prosperity
Will continue on this evil trend
From fathers on to grandchildren
Damning us eternally
To live in false reality
Separation feeds the beast
Until the masses pray for peace
Seeking mercy fair and sweet
Alas in truth we’ll be set free
Today’s walk started a little earlier than usual
With the welcoming of gorgeous cottony clouds’ dancing splendor
Their shining was charmed by sun’s golden-reddish glitter
Dazzled me showing their astonishing shapes and colors
Saw a big flock of turkeys appreciating silence of the morning hour
Looking for tasty treats while happily chatting among each other
After sensing Reva they responded by clucking bustles
Becoming uncomfortable started running in various directions
A dog was roaming in the back yard of a house right at the turn
Charged toward Reva thankfully through the fence’s bars of iron
Showing her annoyance she challenged him by standing right in the front
Pulling her back was a hefty encounter I had to tackle
Our walk furthered in a calm shush
Observing the transformed colors of some tree leaves’ prominent standards
Shades of green were changing into amazing reddish-pink patterns
Showing a start of upcoming fall’s enchanting flavor
We kept enjoying our walk cherishing every moment
Abruptly Reva got attracted to a familiar smell
She pulled on the leash and went down a slant in bushes
Holding a tennis ball in her mouth came back up happily wiggling her tail
As i look back on that Summers day in August 44
Soon to be transported back to Normandy's bloodied shores
I know i will be leaving, the girl of my dreams
Face to face as we say our goodbye's and tears like loving streams
The day that we first met on that polished pebbled beach
Her flowing blond hair and eyes of blue and complexion of ripened peach
The backdrop of the waves as they echoed within my heart
Rippling undulations, impart
On a tartan blanket she lay whilst her siblings threw skipping stones
Momentary our eyes were captured, two souls on a beach unknown
As we furthered investigation, with glances of blush and stare
This blond and the entranced soldier, now becoming aware
Just as we finished glancing, to the waters edge we look
Her sister of five years old, was caught in wave surge soak
My training instincts show as i react to this little girl
Inhibitions drain from my heart, postponing my previous swirl
On this polished pebbled beach, a young life's barely begun
Nearly taken from a family rich, on a sands where there was no gun
I step back from the tartan and reflect on my tomorrows
Not knowing what i walk into, to visualise hidden sorrows
A changing surrounds us, where two were in captured glance
Turning to this unknown soldier, and smiles with grateful please
She flutters her eyelashes like butterfly wings
With the grace of a Summers breeze
We gather our thoughts as we look back at the stones
Where living can succumb to our future and die all alone
I survived the war, fortunate to return home
As i think of my colleagues, who will out there forever roam
"This is believed to be a version that I'd furthered a bit more," ... by Poet
Sing a song of gone-byes,
A pocket golden watch.
Four and twenty hours
Staked as top-notch.
When the time had entered,
The Cuckoo Clock did sing.
Wasn't that a dandyish,
As sunset be the king.
The king in his grandfather clock,
Tick tocking away.
The queen mooning the dark hour,
Waxes and wanes at bay.
The stars are in the heavens,
Hang amongst the clouds,
Then dawn came up and did astir,
Awaken sun aroused.
ORIGINAL
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye.
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing.
Wasn't that a dainty (or dandy) dish
To set before the king?
The king was in his counting house,
Counting out his money.
The queen was in the parlour,
Eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.
Oh, the longings of a heart
Still waiting for romance to start
Such youthful whims and teenage dreams
They haunt my memory, it seems
Though cars and clothes in dancing beat
distracted from l’amour’s defeat
I knew they’d never ease the void
of urgent dreams yet unemployed
To love and be loved for all time
the requisite for life sublime
And so I persevered and found
The heart to which my love is bound
Though many years have furthered by
Emotions only magnify
So I recall as life rewinds
Fantastic dreams of simple minds