Best Harnessed Poems
Where on Earth or far beyond do we poets go, you ask.
My thoughts willingly stretch my imagination with this task.
I would reply...in any direction our ink chooses to flow.
To the light of dawn or to dark telltale shadows of Poe
There are no boundaries that could rein in a poet's mind,
even if we have the mournful misfortune of going blind.
A poet is not harnessed by sight like a horse to a carriage.
From memory our vision serves us in a sort of marriage,
a bond without rings and vows that gives us wings to fly
among stars, or to realms a common man cannot descry.
To know sin's sorrow, we would walk through a fiery hell
if it would give us the insight that living could not quell.
Inspiration is our weapon, feathered arrows we shoot,
aiming for the rhyming words and chasing in hot pursuit.
Though our muse flees, and crumbled pages lie at our feet,
our mind struggles in unrest but will not concede defeat.
On ventured missions, traveling where our hearts will lead.
Among distant galaxies, where we collect poetic seed
to plant in fertile delta land or in sandy deserts on Earth,
cultivating cogent lines, to which our scribing gives birth.
Fathering or mothering verses from infancy to fruition.
Editing until at last, our brainchild is worthy of submission.
We see far beyond mundane realities of life and reason.
Writing from the heart, rebuking the penalty of treason.
We wind through mazes of each personal poetic anecdote.
Exposed is our nakedness in each lyrical line we ever wrote.
June 20, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney.
Dedicated to Timothy Lee
Joy harnessed from soft internal lightness
was pulse promised with attraction’s might
and sealed blissful bound by our first kiss …
with lips our hearts found their home address
Our emotive blessings deafen my questions
and ease my perception’s limitations
for you are my parceled Eden freedom …
our haven structure is couple completion
I chose marbled strength upheaval plans
that thru change I might someday know your name
and realize you like I breathe in nature …
no matter your season, it reaps my pleasure
For the first time in my heart’s entire life
I’ve no need to incite change thru strife’s design
and limp again within my dreams scorched rubble
to find my soulmate while my pains struggle
Whiskey on the rocks, advised by my doc
combats dementia, so bring on the blocks
no need for a glass; I'll have me the bottle
with a big bowl of ice this baby I'll throttle
The whiskey's gone, now a brandy'd be fine
my inside's on fire, there's a hoop up my spine
swigging from the bot comes at a price
I'll temper the fire with whole blocks of ice
The flames have been doused; rum, if you please?
my head's in a clamp; ice will loosen the squeeze
now, be a sport and pile on the ice
two bowls or more I think should suffice
Three bottlesh down, all on the rocksh
my tootshiesh are shtarting to curl in my shocksh
my shmile is chemented, my lipsh glued together
my fashe the feel and texture of leather
Twishe left, thrishe right my head ish shwinging
short, long, short, long my earsh are zinging
either I'm crosh-eyed or my brainsh have been fried
elsh why are my legsh by three multiplied?
I'm freefalling on shixh feet firmly earthed
alternating twixht lower and then upper berth
vocal chordsh tangled, shizhably crimped
I'm walking with a lishp and talking with a limp
I'm teetering-tottering or tettering-tortering
I've no clue which ish which and given up wondering
the world ish a blur; I musht be plarshtered
the liquor went down well; ishe warsh the barshtard
On all foursh – nay, twelve, I reach the bed
now I'm pondering and shcratching my head:
am I waking up or about to retire?
I shimply topple over, my whole being on fire
In the Land of Nod I'm harnessed by tether
in comely dreams of cowboys and leather
when plagued by a swishy feel in my bladder
swelling as fast as a pregnant puffadder
Abruptly awakened when a stream emanated
unable to move, still intoxicated
stuck to my bed and severely drenched
nausea ensued in the encompassing stench
How my stomach reacted I'd best not relate
suffice to say it was a full freight
soiled and hung-over, a word of advice:
liquor's fantastic but steer clear of ice
Sometime, in July's budding charm
when the harvest of earth's clay affirms
that which exposes a content heart,
I remember a glimpse of rare delight
accepting the slow exposure of one morn
when daylight warms Grandpa’s hands
soaked in earthy glow on his farmland.
A rumbling wind turns amiable,
as bamboo drifts along lush curls
glossing the husk of our fond whispers,
oh, it is as simple as that:
his gaiety becomes an answered prayer
tasting the bliss of simple favors
bestowed by a yield of cornfields
reflecting the thrill of labor harnessed.
In a flash, I watch Gramps' hat flying
like a kite across a wispy sky,
my innocence releases a laughter’s dance
playful and blithe at age seven,
while he, born from fruits of life
ripens still, on his golden year with ease.
Rob Carmack's Golden Days
4/3/2015
Financiers feel superior to farmers
and pundits have it over poets.
All to the good because if you think America's
doing just fine, don't skip to the poetry reviews.
Our enemies are barbarous, our allies duplicitous
but our smart bombs are smart - that's how they found you.
Dad said all wars are resource wars. Follow
the money. The world needs more order, nothing
less than Nazis, never may the anarchic man's thoughts
be my thoughts, each shove sends a ping,
shields urge on shields, helmets helmets, we can be
the reigning kings between the last empire and the next
or implement a vision of collective deliberation
and binding agreements. Can China's navy
be harnessed to ensure free passage through
the South China Sea? We'll see how
things work out in the next generation.
In the meantime should I read Henry Kissinger's meditations?
He who thinks poetry's effete
probably considers Darwin a geek and Einstein
a postal clerk. Containment means leaving space
for the passionate and zealous to face themselves
and giving them missiles that don't work.
Slowing everyone down until one thing's done well -
governance or sustenance or brotherhood.
When violence comes to the neighborhood
the hierarchy will hold or fold, it is then the peace work proves relevant.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space
for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
By that what is meant. Sitting still and thinking deeply
on the relation of anger to coercion,
systems for correcting the decisions of earlier presidents.
We're required to report incidents of depression
to a doctor because you're a valued member of of our community
or so insignificant no one notices or cares.
How necessary the interface of war and poetry!
Life greeted Death
with an epoch
from the depths of dusk
with a dawn,
the sun rose lucid
with it's soft spotted infant rose
now awake,
hanging heavily harnessed
in the steaming swaying sky,
the sun's aura
lit the sands of the silent Sahara
liked an aged ocean of butterscotch beauty,
and the starch strung clouds
maneuvored like vanilla lace
avalanching outward
kissing the hips of the woven horizon,
my sight probed to ponder
the powdered blue glow
of the desperate distance,
where the shadows
of the dune's palms
insult the posture
of the ivory sanctuary
that sat balanced for sake of Bethlahem,
I sat megerly meditating,
watching the subtle creases
in the Meditterraniean Sea absorb the sliced brass shingles
that weave the waters wealthy,
as the morning properly transcended Westward
manipulating nature's maturity
by rambling roughly to the seas
for wandering waves of bolted blooms of blue
for the twinkle of a jewel
which sits on a stool as a star
as far as North,
soon the violet velocity of night
approached the set,
electrifying the ending day,
and the Sister of the Sun
landed on the sky's chest
like a sheild on a knight,
as I listened lightly
the Moon politely announced,that evening is back to stack
the black symphony -
J.A.B.
Behold the sun of two thousand twelve go
It rose on January one with pomp and show
Like dethroned Presidents of many countries whose
National wealth decline and personal grow
Two thousand thirteen ushers in
On it the people and nations their hopes pin
One more promise one more hope
Spain and Greece will climb up the slope
Portugal will once more its glory regain
New York will not be devastated by rain
Rulers and kings will perform such feat
The year will poverty and hardship defeat
Taliban and Al-Qaida will meet their doom
On the heads of Syrians death won’t loom
Deprivation and misery will rule no more
Greed and lust will see the door
Religious intolerance would be words unknown
Skies won’t see the flight of drone
Kashmiris and Palestinian’s plight will end
People would rally and freedom defend
Victory of justice protection of rights
Lust harnessed that misery invites
Human souls saved from hunger, disease
World will witness life expectancy increase
This will prove a different year
Hearts will know no tyrant’s fear
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long truncated railroad stop
humming still within a surrogate reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
employed again by the magnetic
echos of an iron labor.
The brown weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its guts a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate
a faraway flight,
A mid-day heat
thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its world
had not disembarked forever.
You’ve seen what I would do for You,
I’m reminded that You always knew.
It’s not about me, it’s all about You
so it matters not what You lead me through.
It matters not what You lead me through
for all of my days are to glorify You.
If to YOUR plan I will stay true,
there’s no telling what I’ll do for You.
Adversity is harnessed and used of You
but those who know this truth are few.
Others think harsh correcting is what You do
but in reality, they just don’t have a clue.
You came that others know what is true,
that they see life from Your point of view.
Then, the life that they never knew
would be there for them because of You.
There is nothing left of life
that death cannot resolve,
times velocity spins on stolen lips
and minute pieces of adamantine
pierce the edge of soles
worn with pain
----
Right here,
Where night and dawn merge
the membrane strains
cleaving, as shade blackens blue
for mere milli seconds
Standing in the hollows of night
still, watching forever shimmering
in the shadowed corner of my eye,
I, me, always a curious creature
swallow bricks and mortar
tasting truth
In my head an orchestra plays
the symphonies composed of my life
strings wring my heart with melodies
wrought in pain and self-loathing
shame and eventual surrender
to the beat
But,
in the beauty of renewal
in the peace of your reflections
I've wondered at the universe
memorizing the mysteries unsolved
ever tantalized neurons smashed
awakening ever and over again
Sleep has been a foreign land
settled by the fortunate
longed for by the tortured
spirits of my mind
Yet in these dark magnificent galaxies
when snores softly sigh in peace
or monsters haunt your dreams,
I have watched millennia of mourning
shatter the promise of darkness evermore,
I wondered as sunshine held a drop of dew
and as light of hope captured the ghosts of night
banishing them forevermore, or until nights edge
I am a watcher and a teller of tales
Singer of forbidden songs and tragedy,
downtrodden, I rose to fight again and again
with a schizophrenic mind harnessed
within the beauty of a single star
and the promise of humanity
in the kindness of a strangers touch
Now at the end of all journeys
my final battle lays in that
which I know not, shackled
that foreign land whisks me away
again and again, dreams cease
as moisture rolls from my brow
---
Slowly, slowly, slowly
winding down into nothingness
Gently, gently, gently
I will lay down your cries of grief
My words aren’t never-ending
my breath will someday cease
Yet true beauty and wonder lies
in the wondrous infinity of peace
just look into these eyes overflowing with pain
know !! there will be an end, even that shall ease ...
With a shade of colourless eyes
Have I looked upon a world of discrimination
My nature is a rare form of uniqueness
And I defile every race by description
Golden hair on pale silver skin
An African white woman of Timbuktu kin
I have danced to the tune of my mockery
With teary eyes have I smiled at victory
Sharp edged stares may pierce me daily
Yet I walk head high and step most steady
Though the sun remains a foe that tortures
Still I conquer it with protective amours
I scowled at the honey tongues of lying lovers
Professing love only to taste my rare fairness
I read through their lines but read in between better
For this fragile,ignorant creature was fully harnessed
I have been belittled, scoffed and shaken
And redefined by several ethnic culture
I have been judged,ignored and broken
I have been worshipped,feared and obscured
But I created the burning hero in Me
And won my inner battle the greatest battle to be
For i embraced my deepest weakness
And savoured every drop of success
I am that nature's mysterious creation
A shortsighted being with farther vision
I betrayed my timidity and trampled its shell
I am a story and this story I tell
By: Adams O Elizabeth
Lizdiamond World Of Poetry
Dare one impose upon the primitive soul,
Revolving around solitude—a savant hold warmer than the sun
Entranced by every ideal—loving many and no one
Would they hesitate to break the sensational sway…
As petals of tiger lilies fall upon its sunset eyes
Tremulous sighs and exhalations—dedicated to wisdom
Looking to the sky…a vast wilderness of celestial light
Fixated in the center of star-drafted darkness
The wheel of its heart turns smoothly
Oiled with only the finest knowledge
With brutal truths seeping into the empty spaces
Not even the most charming can break its stance
Feeble smiles melt away into frustrated admiration
For not one could dare embark upon her spirit
Without looking first deep within himself
Tearing apart the pride that so recklessly razes
Ensnaring all that behold him
All but one
Had one selflessly walked into the midst of this fraction of heaven,
He would watch faithfully a sunrise on the legs of endurance
And the embracing, smiling arms of patience
If one only left their guard for the Sanctuary of Obscurity
The skies of white light upon dark would open in reverence
The lips that are so fixated upon moist discovery
Would have their gentle hold on mortal purity
To allow such a moment to exist,
Kindheartedness must coexist
And hovering humility harnessed deep in vicious sincerity
3 holes Hut on Cubbie
Yep me an Sow the wild pig were,
Under the low set hut, yessir,
I was 12 months old, I be,
Nappies were short, so I had none see,
The piglet kept me clean,
Did he…
The old hut is now a fallen down,
Where piggy an I would wriggle around,
I only came out, when she needed to see,
When mama fed the fat piggie,
Then I’d crawl and bound,
1946 I say it was,
under the one room hut of cos,
we had no lectricity,
and cooked outside under a tree,
brown boredrain fed the pig an me,
till civilized I got because,
I needed to be,
Tommy Hook he came to me,
A lousy Jack, one legged he,
Noisy family bird was, see,
Great chatterer, quite featherly,
A talker of the bush,
We came there by sulky,
with an unbroken horse,
it had the blinkin blnkers,
to maybe force,
it not be frightened see,
by the sight of a close sulky,
across the watercourse,
so harnessed up and circling free,
at the canter it, came round for me,
when mum threw me up by force,
an poppa caught me in the sulky,
one hand was free, I got caught,
she sprung aboard next circle brought,
and off sailed the family,
to old Cubbie, yet of course,
to the stink of wet Gidgee,
after rain, the smell so coarse… Don Johnson
Yes Joe...8
Yes at a year old i needed a friend,
so a wild piglet came and then,
was a pet of the family,
brought by my pig chasing dad for me,
from a brood that an old Sow had when,
he found em in the thin Lygnum bush old friend,
in the shade of a Gidgee tree...
In an effort to immortalize you,
I gilded ocean size frames in gold leaf
and painted your portrait with peacock feathers dipped in oils.
I spelled out your name in bumble bee wings
still quite attached to tame bumble bees
hovering in obedience and formation in the sky
I built a piano from felled red wood trees
and carved your likeness on each key
which I then filled up with ebony and abalone polish
I traveled to Old Russia to the Crimean forest
and pulled every wildflower up by it's roots
and replanted them just for you, on the cliffs, overlooking the Black Sea.
I tamed a black leopard and rode on her back
'round the world, with a banner, a list of your accomplishments
flowing in silk for miles behind me, past onlookers reading your life.
I sang gypsy music, as a siren on the wind
while I wept and flooded each street with the depth
of one tenth of the emotion you harnessed and kept at bay in your infinite quiet.
I started with one person, your granddaughter, with your blue eyes
her sitting on my lap, looking at me with a maturity past 3 years of age,
and imprinted every memory of you in the air, for her to grab.
You are not immortalized in portraits, or wings, or notes.
You are not immortalized in flowers, or banners or sirens.
You are immortalized, forever remaining, in the humble prayers of this innocent child.
He Weeps
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Holiness harnessed haughtiness.
Heaven's honor hallows humans.
Heavenly hopes happily hail.
Enemies, earnestly enchant.
Endless errors evoke evil.
Exhilaration empowers.
Wait with God while wild wiles weaken.
Whisk away wrath and wretchedness.
Weep whenever wonder withers.
Enemies endeavor evil.
Empathy erases errors.
Exalted ethos enlivens
Endure. Esteem eternity.
Enjoy ecstasy endlessly.
Exalt essence everlasting.
Prideful prancing produces pain.
Particularly preceding
Pretentiousness pomposity.
Sagacity seeks soul's sagas.
Subliminal soothing sojourns.
Sweetest souls’ salvation survives.