Best Handcrafted Poems
“You try to be faithful
And sometimes you're cruel.
You are mine. Then, you leave.
Without you, I can't cope."
Rumi
in the kingdom of love,
nothing is simple,
not even musings,
so tell me:
in your annoyance
do you still think of me
or am i just another
common cliché
in Rumi's philosophies
for cosmic connections,
must we be a
contradiction of circumstance
when our story has been sung
beyond the reach of stars,
so despite the dystopian demons,
i keep hope in the invisible
golden harp strings,
yet to compose our swansong
oh mistress of medusa
in splitting seasons,
when serpents spit venom,
your British horizon soul,
coupled with your
climate change heart,
procreate porcelain patience,
where rhythms of rage
lead to breathless silence,
but i never forget you
it can be tiresome
battling against
ebony lashes from
metaphorical daggers
when vertigo eyes
hunt for their prey
and i wonder if i
was at shooting distance
would you pull the
trigger to rip my
heart like shredding
secretive documents
but despite bonfire breaths,
my samurai spirit has
become immune to
momentary flames,
adopting a mermaid mind,
finding sanctuary in
deep waters until
the last ember dies,
as at the end of each storm,
when rainbows reappear,
i resurface upon your
ivory shores,
for what am i,
but a sea urchin and
you the empress of the sea,
so each time you are cruel,
i wait for the return of
tender gestures,
as i know it is your
veil of vulnerability
you hide from the world,
but in the intricacies of conflict,
i am still the moonlight
glowing upon your ripples,
as i know the code to
your handcrafted heart,
floating in wandering waves,
as you still ignite intimate spiritual
sparks of soothing sensuality,
so never abandon me - forever
in the imperfections of love,
in my abundance of flaws
i know you adore me
internally and externally,
for we are refuge and
safe haven for the broken,
like a masterpiece of
alliterative adjectives
glowing like gems
in topaz textures upon
mookaite mosaics
I know I'm no
Leonardo Di Caprio,
I've never been as
romantic as Romeo,
so love me for
what I am today,
I am not your past
of wasted sunsets,
so ascend with me like
tomorrow's sunrise
Categories:
handcrafted, love,
Form:
Carpe Diem
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she pass?
The way she looked into your eyes,
Moments before she said goodbye
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma,
She will always wait for you.
Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night
Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer?
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf
Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane she handcrafted before she left
Hello, grandpa, it's me again!
My tears have soften now,
knowing you will soon see her again
Take your place with her in the sky
Please, say hi and give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
I love you grandpa
~*~
Categories:
handcrafted, beautiful, care, death, grandchild,
Form:
Free verse
A familiar aroma wafted towards me,
As I looked up into blue azure skies,
And far beyond, a golden horizon.
I could barely see the shapes of an old
Man holding a young child’s hand,
The man wore a long white robe
And was smoking a handcrafted
Pipe, and the spiraling smoke from it,
Triggered a memory, who was this man.
He didn’t speak much until
I asked him who the child was, He
Granted us a short encounter
The old man said,
So that you can briefly meet.
Tears rolled down my face
As I took the child
And held him tightly in my arms,
For an everlasting moment, a miracle!
We are your guardian angels he said,
Taking back my bundle of life,
And gradually disappearing with his
Charge, leaving behind a trail of smoke
The aroma of which was distinctly the
Tobacco my father smoked. My father
Holding my child's hand, his grandson
Who died when only five days old,
And whom I had never met,
Celestial beings permitted to appear,
And just as quickly disappear,
Their message I believe, that one day we
Would meet, in the presence of His love
Within the realms of heaven above.
Poem of the Day - 18.9.2021
Categories:
handcrafted, angel,
Form:
Free verse
They don't speak
those walls
only absorb
scraps of life
the stench of urine
lucky pennies
desperate art
and a ringing clamber of voices
that move with every rush of air
down winding subway tunnels
here life collides
in status
and in thunders
those walls
bear witness
to many miseries
and many wonders
on this day
the subway walls
mesmerised by a sight
never seen before
lamented
the death of beauty
as it passed thousands
gracefully
and ignored
rushing
skirts, pants, collars, cologne
rushing
fingers, slender, darting in a blur
hollow
minds, tempers, hellos and goodbyes
hollow
music, echoing, not a soul does it stir
lost
man to the intricate beauty of pattern
lost
eyes of passerbys to the empty roundabouts of life
fickle
strings snapping with the stress of exertion
fickle
ambition, love, expectation and strife
they were all mixed together
in a bowl of concrete walls
they whirled
six of Bach's greatest works
a handcrafted violin
from 1713
played by one of the greatest
violinists
in the world
he played incognito
only six people stopped
20 gave him money
and then continued
to walk
a three year old boy
was drawn
to the sound
his mother let him
listen
his eyes wide
and astound
but watches soon tick
and they tick too loud
and they drive
the crowd forward
as if stopping
is not allowed
Joshua Bell
let his bow fall limp
as the last of his music
was swallowed
by the whitenoise
of life
and screeching
metro trains
the only sound
of applaud
soon stolen
by a new rush of air
the subway walls
silent
reflect
people would find peace
in the thick of life
if only
they would
connect.
Categories:
handcrafted, art, introspection, life, music,
Form:
Free verse
her shadow, fallen,
beneath the weeping of emerald fields-
barriers of broken wings never held her,
they only left her breathless
she longs for redemption for transgressions
not her fault-
for youth stole her innocence and she is
left one day away from never ending solitude
laden in restful slumber she dreams
of fallen angels that should have saved her-
they vowed to protect not neglect;
she sat by the shattered sill and waited…
WAITED FOR LOVE
adrift the ivory snow is where she lived,
above the hillside yet below the mount-
seeking the winter chill to ease the heat
of loss;
ignited in blazing embers of hope burning,
no longer safe inside the visceral temple
she handcrafted so long ago
she knew not how i felt for her-
if only i could rest her head on my chest
and we could be us...
one more time
i say farewell under the twilit harvest moon-
walk away from her grave
-once more-
26th of January 2020
Categories:
handcrafted, angst, solitude,
Form:
Free verse
"We are moving fast towards an age where people will be lovers of self, lovers of
money, self-seeking. Self-gratifying, laying aside morality, spirituality, family
values, and God, for self-preservation, self-gratification, and a cheap thrill.
2 Timothy 3:1-5
Beautiful, Black, Precious, and Complicated
Nothing else like it has ever been fabricated because the recipe stated the
ingredients are outdated. And the original chef barely got credit when He made it.
So without sounding antiquated, let me tell you how I'm rated:
My Beauty is my quality that offers pleasure to the mind or senses. It gives me a
conspicuous essence to remonstrate the world's false pretenses. My temple
becomes a domineering visual aspect of grace, radiating a Saint's best quality
on a child-like face.
I'm Bold, Black, and Original of course. I stand with full force and demonstrate my
strength with no remorse. It's a color of authority and power as stylish and
timeless as an extraordinary and eloquent flower.
I am Precious, Gentle, Sweet, and Simple. I make all my flaws seem accidental.
A treasured soul that can't become nothing less than monumental. It only makes
sense that my ingredients are kept confidential.
Sophisticated and Complicated I remain, yet such a *****, audacious bird.
Professionally e-nun-ci-a-ting every word and ar-ti-cu-la-ting every verb. Inquiring
about uncanny intellect which remains unheard.
My aura and my persona suggests Royalty among most high. Promising me a
productive future and a thrill of a ride. So the next time you happen to stumble
across me, the child of a King, I prefer to be referred to as MISS QUEEN in your
dialect of linguistic strings.
Categories:
handcrafted, faith, inspirational, life, me,
Form:
Free verse
I look at the green crocodile balls placed in handcrafted bamboo basket
They look ripe and tempting.
The snake skinned vendor looks at me with hopeful eyes
His turtle legs skin with every vein visible is a testimony of many days of hunger
He wears a wrinkled robe of silk over them
His brahminy blindsnake skin glistens in sun
An amazing will power to survive despite odds keeps him going.
I know he will gladly give me a huge discount for his meager earnings determines his dinner
Filled with pity, I buy a kilo and hand over a thousand rupee note to him
He looks at me puzzled
"I don't have change for such a big amount"
"Keep the change", I say
He flatly refuses
"I will have only what I earn
I am not a beggar
I will get change from nearby shop"
"You give me whole basket", I respond
He displays his moony teeth
His face gleams in joy
I am reminded of full moon night
He quickly packs my fruits
offers free home delivery
I lack strength despite good food
He is strong despite hunger
I feel sad and depressed at times
He inspires life is meant for living happily with smile in face
As I walk back home
I resolve to be happy
I have no right to be sad!
06.08.2021
For Emile Pinet imagism contest
Categories:
handcrafted, 10th grade,
Form:
Imagism
Oh! to be among trees, mindful of silent power
in mountains hallowed trails walked by Muir
snow still filling nature’s deep kept secret bower
breathe a bounty of sweet air clear and pure
the rush of streams in springs ever rapid plunge
music played to my footsteps beating drum
water dripping into the grounds wet sponge
snow melts as flowers start to thrive and thrum
he set about recording each feeling, plant and rock
tramped trails knowing there was hidden a clue
we roam the mountain as one of his unknown flock
interlace our souls in a weave that’s as old as it’s new
what words can be found dropped into this silence
when distraction is nothing more than a birds wing
no screens to scream about the daily violence
just lessons of earths sacred bounty worn like a ring
where your eyes meet what has lived serenity bound
falling trees that heard the soil cry with sympathy
decays gift of life as the circle comes to meet around
aligned in time to hear its own life of pure symmetry
caught in a fast web of our own handcrafted design
we can let go to journey upon a mountain path
what Muir saw as seasons to be so innately divine
we carry within our spirits in an inherited shared bath
So! On to the forests and into the depths of green
wear visions of blue sky caught in the white giants lure
adventures drift into the dreams that you’ve seen
on pathways not hallways we answer our cries cure
Categories:
handcrafted, mountains, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
My monocle, please,
or if you please,
my spectacles so
I
can attempt to eye
a book with both irises
and which book
to attack first:
the gigantic book of fashion;
it’s
not a lap animal, vegetable
or otherwise;
and the floral pages -
both have large print,
I think.
Oh, yes,
and speaking in tongues,
that is
the craft of language;
a book (oh, yes, quite funny)
on trees (aren’t they the funny things
that we write upon);
and murder!
Murder, you say?!
…those found in the bible.
“What!” say you…
First the death of pleasantries or
pleasant trees (funny, right?)
Then sibling rivalry to the extreme.
‘Thou shall not kill,” did Cain know this one?
or ‘thou shall not covet…?’
All of these emotions, quite the spectacle,
spectacularly so… So what is in fashion today?
Do we like a good murder, on parade…seems
too many do. Jesus flipped the script -really,
he handcrafted the language of love. Love
God first; and love
your neighbor as you love yourself.
Sins brought to the surface.
Love covers a multitude of sins.
It is a sin not to go to the library
and bring home so many friends
that you can listen to.
Don’t kill the messenger.
My monocle please!
Categories:
handcrafted, books, love,
Form:
Free verse
I am a dandelion and my world is a big meadow.
I'm growing on a cliff-side, I like to live on the edge.
Just blooming away, soaking up the sunlight beaming at me.
Needing a purpose so I can be everything I was made to be.
I was handcrafted, not a mistake.
I was placed on this earth, on the edge of this cliff to show others that I'm not afraid of heights.
To show all the people that ever put me down for being a weed,
That I was made for a reason.
Maybe to choke up plants, sure. But this weed has feelings too.
The burrs on my stalk hold me down. These furry things, I don't know what to make of them.
I seem to grow more and more and I can't get them off of me.
I'm trying to grow higher and higher but they're holding me down from my potential.
I see my fellow dandelions,
they're naked and happy.
Nothing holding them down.
They keep telling me about this breeze. A strong wind to prick the burrs off their stalk. And then an idea comes to me. So now...
I'm just waiting for a strong breeze to come pick me up and cast away all my fears and worries that I call dandelion seeds.
Categories:
handcrafted, imagination, nature,
Form:
Free verse
It was you from the moment I seen you.
I knew in my heart I would be the one to rescue you, but in the end you ended up saving me.
I see in your eyes the pain that lingered inside.
From your past relationships your pride was on cloud nine.
My theory was to put your fears aside.
You feel like I am like all the rest, so you continuously put my love through a test.
Why won’t you let me love you?
My love is a virtue, forever lasting external statue.
It was you my handcrafted imbue tattoo I cling to.
If you only knew how I truly feel about you.
I was sculpted only for you my sahib, I am your rib.
You’re a reflection of me desperately wanting love, but scared of the many risks that come with it.
Love should have come with an asterisk.
You’re my only weakness causing infectious affection.
It was your personality that spoke volumes to me, showering me with chivalry.
Persistency kept me where I wanted to be.
Let me be the one you need, all you need is faith as tiny as a mustard seed.
Abundantly this love will be an adjustment for you, and me.
If you should have a nightmare just know I will be there.
If you’re hurting and need to cry, I will be the one to wipe your eyes.
For my love only identifies.
I fell in love with you, not for the things you’re able to do.
It was simply you…
If you should happen to get laid off work, I will be the one standing in the door.
The only one you brace oneself for.
Your personal landing gear, I am whole heartily sincere.
I will be your rocking chair.
If the time comes and you begin to lose your hair, baby I will be your favorite barber chair your personal concierge.
It was you that introduced your love voodoo.
Only wanting you timeless déjà vu.
You made me love you; you are my lifetime band aid.
Now let me be your brigade, your right hand grenade.
You’re forever nursing aide.
The sharpest in your drawer knife blade.
The one and, only ace of spade your jack of trades.
Equivalent to money your love is symbolic.
A polished rocket you’re extraordinary, and solid.
Biologic process but simply flawless.
If I am getting off topic I might be losing conscious.
Thinking of you makes me forget my surroundings.
My heart starts pounding echo sounding.
I automatic start smiling, it’s simply astounding.
You knew it has always been you.
It was you.
Categories:
handcrafted, cute love, devotion, first
Form:
Light Verse
"Are you Quill?," She asked abeam.
"Yes, of course! - mostly - when the Muselle`
visits oft'n'r upon, as my wont!
"Well, here!, this will surely help at the Magic...
And IT, Voila!, was in hand, a thrust-unmistakable!
Blunt, bulbous & sleek, a slick Recife,
this Turquoise and Silver stick.
Is IT "Blue?" Is IT "Black?"
Pray, "Blue-Black!?" Wow! -
A Sole instrument for Playing in the Indigene,
Soul Colors of the Earth! - I nearly crack to Self.
Swirled-embedded, b'neath the haute Baekelight-Crystal
like a LavaLamp-Entemp. IT's messages of ambidexsrait-
Threads, Mola thru splayed fingers. O' Charitable Mage
You have brought to Life!... I Write Handcrafted!
H.e.m.
5.1.MMvii.
Solus
Categories:
handcrafted, happiness, imagination, introspection, love,
Form:
Free verse
I am from bobby pins and countless bottles of Aqua Net hairspray.
From yellow blankets and pink satin, Russian Pointe shoes.
I am from the yellow house with the brick red roof on the corner of the street.
I am from the sprawling orange tree and its sweet smelling blossoms and the mile-high Oleander bushes housing hundreds of pesky orange caterpillars.
I am from annual Thanksgiving reunions and southern belles. From Gaetano LaMarca and Prince Pasta.
I am from “When I was your age…” and the Thanksgiving talent shows that Aunt Laura always seemed to coax me into participating in.
I am from “Tomorrow is another day” and “5…6…7…8!”
I am from the body and blood of Christ and the musty incense of Easter vigil mass.
I am from sticky and sweet monkey bread and unbearable, soggy, and glutinous southern casseroles.
I am from the WOP’s of New England and the Jet Ski that sent my grandmother tumbling into the ocean and the origin of Prince Pasta Wednesdays.
I am from towers of elaborate handcrafted Clarice Cliff china and the antique armoires that hold a million memories of the past and a million more to come.
Categories:
handcrafted, family, memory,
Form:
Free verse
Optimizing my essence-verity
being a contributor to ecology’s beauty
since for such I was created* by the Almighty…
allow me now to advertise my blessed bounty
as the lone surviving specie’s variety!
Have you tasted me with my offered "palatability?"
I was once a staple food in yesterday’s society
packed With antioxidant-capacity
along ready availability, and not found guilty of toxicity…
savour now my nutritive values of beneficial generosity!
You can’t belittle my ornamental products’ magnificent quality
revealing artistry marked by partnership-flexibility
of nature’s simplicity engaged with human’s dexterity
for handcrafted gifts and tokens of precious sentimentality…
check now my financial participation to workmanship’s intensity!
Bidding adieu calls for prudent sobriety
and I indeed believe that I have successors with integrity
to sow seeds of grace, kindness, and love’s purity
against extinction, greed and survival-of-the-fittest tenacity…
thus; now, I still see my family thriving with fruitful “acornic” stability!
*Genesis 1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
April 29, 2020
Personification in Monorhyme
Honorable Mention, "BRIAN'S CHOICE A,any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/13/2020.
Categories:
handcrafted, appreciation, creation, environment, god,
Form:
Personification
Some would call me a lost cause,
but I only see myself as lost with no cause.
We spend all this time worrying about what others think of us,
when in reality there are billions of other people thinking the same thing.
This universe is only a small speckle in the entire galaxy,
and we have the audacity to believe that we are worth something.
Now that's not a bad thing,
because all society ever tells you to do is make a difference in the world.
All we hear is "you're special in your own way" or "you really do matter",
but the matter at hand is, do we think that of ourselves?
Science says that there are 400 billions stars in the Milky Way and 7 billion people on Earth.
Both the stars and the humans each handcrafted by a supernatural being we like to call God.
Ever since I was a little girl, I was raised in the Catholic church.
And I was taught to fear God and fear The Lord.
But as my schooling went on, i learned so much more about science.
It is always emphasized in public schools not to mix science and religion.
So which one do we believe? The logic or the morals?
Science and God don't go together in my mind,
and I think that's why I'm so lost.
Categories:
handcrafted, god, religion, science, universe,
Form:
Free verse