Best Haltingly Poems
Two
fawn stood
beyond Dale's
grave and fed on
fallen acorns. A
doe, then a second deer
haltingly drew near. One buck
hung back where grass met woods, head raised,
watching. . . like my dear brother - apart
from family, yet not too far away.
"We both are fluent in the language of love
And I want to make sweet poetry with you"
I write my words across your chest
My single letters haltingly slow down
Incoherently forming new words
Lining up in sentences withheld
Crying for attention
Your name a foreign sound
A word without meaning
Forming strings of small pearls
And I see a thousand times your name
In a million different colours
Exploding in the air like small poems
Or fireworks
Or stars in the firmament
Of our selves
***
Meme by Mel Leach
Quote by Jason Williams
Poem by Darren White
November 24, 2016
The whole of my life is rather mundane, endured only until those few minutes gained; Yes, granted reprieve from this daily drudge, and allowed for the nonce, even if begrudged, to hold a feather,very sharp, to write with the tip. Slow and steady like a man taking sips…from the water of life after a long weary trip.
When all the gears are lubricated, operating efficiently, and the needs of the world weigh on someone else, the mechanism of creativity connects with the crenelated cog of self.
Dominoesk works cause my hand to haltingly write. Heart to mind, mind to body, body to hand, hand to quill…okay, so it's a keyboard, alright.
Emotion, like sand after a beach trip, pours forth from places usually dark, not seen, unlit.
Using that water of life and the sands of emotion, I build my castle with words and notions.
Intricate battlements, portcullis, bailey , and arrow loops. Protection from arrows of interruption, darts of responsibility, and soldiers of the Soup.
Until, Inevitably the drawbridge is breached, the end of my time finally reached.
Slowly I surrender my feather sword, in this messy, mixed metaphorical world.
The oven timer beeps and the phone rings, bringing me back to my life of mundane things.
In low tones we chatted
On the steps to her porch,
We talked of the decades
Since I’d carried her torch—
Of love we knew nothing
During young naïve years
Of kissing and fondling
‘Til I left her in tears,
For the navy enticed
With ships and adventure:
I sailed away keenly
Aware that I missed her,
Each ivory cloud roiling
I watched sculpt her face,
And the foam in ships’ wakes
Emulated her grace.
How her leer glowered down
With each floozy I’d bed;
Her glare did accost me
From the face that I wed.
But that marriage was fey,
On a short vine it died:
I had loved only once
So to find her I tried:
Thus we sat on those steps
Last night swapping stories,
We confessed of our lives,
Our failures and glories …
And the kiss that welled up
While lightning bugs popped,
Led haltingly bedside
Where our slack clothing dropped.
We then gripped and embraced
Through a torrent of mirth—
Time relented at last
And our love found rebirth.
October 22, 2016
1st place: Long Distance Love Contest/October 19, 2016
For 1st Place Only Poetry Contest
Laura Loo
My body, small and crooked,
Twists and turns, can't walk.
But walks through life with humour,
And grins, haltingly talks.
Within his eyes I'm perfect.
In him lives love alone.
And when we melt together,
His eyes do bring me home.
***
Honoarable mention in contest: Brief Memories.
Sponsored by: FJ Thomas
October 9, 2016
November 8: Phrase also needs to be in poem body.
Completely missed that, oh boy! Only seeing it now.
Ah well, I love my little poem anyway! Good luck judging :)
Each day in the lunch break he saw her,
Across the quadrangle, sat on the wall.
Her lunch box beside her, staring into space,
And no one in that crowded space,
Seemed to talk to her at all
Was it her own choice, that solitude?
Was she happier to be in isolation,
Or did it hurt her deep inside
Every day to be denied
The chance to join in other’s conversation?
So what was it that set her apart?
Why had she not been welcomed there?
Was she perhaps from the wrong side of town
Her skin too deep a shade of brown?
Or was it that they did not care?
On Friday, in the lunch break, he joined her.
“What’s in your sandwiches? Mine are cheese”
She shook her head, “Please look at me.
To understand I need to see
Your lips. And speak slowly please.”
They talked, albeit haltingly, throughout the break
Sharing sandwiches along the way.
He learnt from her about the curse
Of her silent universe
And the challenges she faced each day
And so they met up daily after that,
There on the quadrangle wall.
Oblivious to the crowd around,
He blocking out the buzz of sound.
They had no need of them at all
Soon he started learning signing
As their friendship grew and grew.
And as soon as he’d begun,
He taught himself an easy one.
It was the sign for I love you
Weak and tired I fall on rough cobbled stones.
Blood oozed down my face across my cheekbones.
My knees are bruised and pain spreads from my brain,
The wooden bar hurt my back again.
Man must learn as I accept my bad fall.
The time must come for you to confess all.
I fall but sinless I still bear your sins,
Get up, repent and a new life begins.
Still, I suffer as lashes hit my back,
For soldiers hate and like a wolfish pack
They just wish me to arrive up on the hill
Whilst Pharisaic zealots curse me ill.
Yet I speak not one sole word nor complain.
I suffer pain and pray all are not in vain.
Sturdy hands roughly urge and lift me up.
Gives me my cross, and I drink my bitter cup.
I came to save humanity from hell,
That I might see you all in Heaven dwell.
Haltingly I trudge on the cobbled rocks,
Die on a cross. O happy paradox.
Tossing and turning after a heavy economic loss
The shock shattered my peace of nights
Hugging my pillow tight with unshed tears
The sorrowful thoughts trudged haltingly
To my grandma's antique sewing machine
Lying impassively in the cluttered store
Guilt shook me out of my sluggish memories
Over the dormant treasure dearly ignore
Up and about I barged into the basement
I carried it upstairs carefully with loaded adulation
Dusted and oiled my reborn ardency
Connoisseured my eyes with twinkling love
The art of neatly stitching hearts was taught
By granny silently as she held onto its handle
While the machine's needle and shuttle
Would treadle my ripped and torn today
Retrospecting over the many inheritances
Of love she left her favoured grandchild
A few stressed lines ironed out my brow
The silver forks to hold on to love
And the knives to cut out the wasted crusts
Her crocheted scarf for my winter warmth
When she saw her child had no such style
Amongst her voguish teenaged peers
A gold viking insignia with my initials embossed
Was loosely chained around my neck emblematising
Her overwhelming love must have oozed profusely
When she rocked me in her tender arms
Gazing fondly at the next in line to her posterity
Her marriage ring she gave on my wedding
Which the thieves much mistook for their right
Emptying stores of my sentimental potpourri
The wealth was stolen with rancour
But not my granny's fondness that was
Reigning still in the depth of my heart
I continue living with my antiques of love
The gold viking pendent had inadvertently
Slipped from the chain to a safer corner
The silvern cutlery smiles at the table
Smirking at the ignorant fools
For undervaluing their worth
The handle of the sewing machine
Moves at my command silently stitching
Nostalgic memories with empyreal pride
October 26, 2016
For Broken Wings
Old Jewellery or Just Old Things
APROPOS THE REFUGEE...
There is nothing left here
for death to claim; even hunger
has abandoned the swollen bellies
and parched skin of the walking dead:
eyes of gigantic pupils sunken deep
into desiccated cranial caverns.
In this fenced graveyard of waning life, flies
soar to and fro---depositing metaphoric maggots
in the midst of the festering wounds of despair.
In this God forsaken place, the flame of hope
grows dimmer with the wrinkling nipples of the breast
of time---her hourglass---haltingly emptying its self:
There is no refuge here
for the refugee.
Oh, such captivating concupiscence ...
I am lost to your thrall, your virtue's vassal
You are the perfect impish angel - raw sensuality, incarnate
You are hunger, insatiable and wry, and I your food
I watch you speak, breathe, speak ... phrases matter not
Chili pepper lips part to tempt me, as if in slow-motion
Plump, dewy, spicy-smooth, and salacious - fun-fruits, ripened
Unblemished sugar-cube teeth nip your lower lip and hold it
Mouth corners turn haltingly up in a vexing smile
Eyes sparkling, mischievous, coy, demure
Tugging like a lost puppy at my heart, spirit
Core, attending and rapt ... close, closer, closer still
Your eyes close, (mine stay open - I want to watch, NEED to)
Adoringly, I place a bent index under your mink-soft chin
Gently pull it up to mine ... the chilis part further
You release your sexy nip on them, mouth slowly opening
To the dance of a sweet, pink, bubble-gum quarry inside
It seeks mine out even before our mouths meet
Licks my lips as if ice cream, and they part to taste you
Tenderly, as if unknown, your soft blond tresses fall between
Mixing in our nectarous and esurient feast
Is there any candy yet as sweet ... as compelling and sublime??
Were it not for the life-sustaining needs of the human condition
Or the requirements of responsibility and motivation
I would lose myself - us - forever, in your clasp
In the exquisite, licentious, pure, and carnal enchantment
Of your consummate and delicious mouth
Locked away in the round-tower of your appetites
Slave to the flawless ecstasy that we create ...
With our love ... with our kiss.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Love Poems for Her (That Special Romantic Interest) Cash Prize" Poetry Contest, Team Poetry Soup, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Slave To Love" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
A mood as dark as a winters midnight
Haltingly adrift, she is rudderless
Bound to a coastal route
As she nears the quay, she cries out
But emits no sound
As strong currents
Guide her soul
To deeper depths
And perils
Where light has no importance
A salient angle away and afar
She collapses in upon herself, like the Black Hole
Black does not describe its murkiness
She is lost to humanity
INSTRUMENTAL INFATURATION
The piano man stopped playing when you walked in
And that’s when I heard the brass begin
The flautist was taken aback by your grin
And then I heard the voice of a violin
The drummer stumbled over his beat
As I bumbled over my feet
Then a sax and the trumpet came to meet
And suddenly the syncopation was complete
I heard the shrill of a single piccolo
Played sweetly and haltingly low
The mellowness of a melody began to flow
As the band put on a thrilling show
You were a bigger star than the guitar
As the bass and bassoon began to spar
The rhythm was hotter than steaming tar
As you and I made our way to the bar
Your sashay got an okay from the crowd
And the singer’s song was not too loud
Dancing with you made me so damned proud
Pride born of the beauty with which you are endowed
Suddenly the song was over and done
As you smiled brighter than the summer’s sun
The story of a song had, at once, been spun
And even the band knew I love you more than anyone
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
A poor example,
this haiku haltingly made,
my first attempted.
In low tones we chatted
On the steps to her porch,
We talked of the decades
Since I’d carried her torch—
Of love we knew nothing
During young naïve years
Of kissing and fondling
‘Til I left her in tears,
For the navy enticed
With ships and adventure:
I sailed away keenly
Aware that I missed her,
Each ivory cloud roiling
I watched sculpt her face,
And the foam in ships’ wakes
Emulated her grace.
How her leer glowered down
With each floozy I’d bed;
Her glare did accost me
From the face that I wed.
But that marriage was fey,
On a short vine it died:
I had loved only once
So to find her I tried:
Thus we sat on those steps
Last night swapping stories,
We confessed of our lives,
Our failures and glories …
And the kiss that welled up
While lightning bugs popped,
Led haltingly bedside
Where our slack clothing dropped.
We then gripped and embraced
Through a torrent of mirth—
Time relented at last
And our love found rebirth.
October 14, 2016
Long Distance Love Contest
Nicola Byrne
.
She laid poised
'pon mine bedroll
Eyne beaming
lips
displaying
with sweet wide smile
hern pearls
My kneez were buckling
whilst mine eyne slithered
her twisted torso
‘Exposing with relish she wuz
hern hale haunch
Cocksure’
What lover uv write
Would ignore
This share
Uv i
“mine two digits
tap tap
tapping
‘pon this machine
Whilst mine other
duke’s two digits
pulled
Haltingly with excite
her
bikini bottom’s bowed
string”
*Cocksure: overly confident
Hale: sound; free from defect