Best Heft Poems
She rests beneath her willow’s weeping rain,
As autumn strips them bare behind its theft;
Of slender leaves and tears, they stand bereft,
Yet sorrow, like the wind, begins to wane.
For all that falls to earth won't fall in vain,
And what escapes our sight has not yet left;
Though heavy hearts must carry now this heft,
It's how we know what’s lost to still remain.
And from the tears, the grieving willow weeps,
Its twigs and leaves descend to softened ground,
Reclaimed by earth and soil from which they grew.
For all that's ever buried merely sleeps,
And what we mourn as lost again is found,
When spring returns, and life begins anew.
Categories:
heft, autumn, birth, earth, faith,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
“The death lasts an average of 49 days, starting from the day the deceased realized his death”. Bardo Thodol (The Tibetan Book of the Dead)
I beg you, death, pour me the final sip
of your elixir of the dreamless sleep.
Oh, strongest wine of darkness in the glass
I’ve dipped my lips just seven weeks ago,
which bitter sweetness promised to bestow
upon me an oblivion. Alas,
the everlasting boozer comes around.
He’s mortal as of now, he is bound
to see another one anemic dawn
of consciousness among the smoking ruins
of non-existence. Curse you all, the brewings
and the distilleries of death! The morn
of a new life is painful. The hangover,
the nausea, the ache - that's all what's left
of my sweet void. Oh, the internal heft
of being!.. The phlox, the marigold, the clover
on my fresh grave are still in bloom but I
am born again to suffer and to die.
Categories:
heft, birth, death,
Form:
Rhyme
Sisyphus. The Might.
Death now humiliated,
chained by mortal king,
will you remain with the dead ?
No. This is not yet your realm.
Sisyphus. The Craft.
Hades now outraged,
outwitted by mortal king,
do you yet deceive the dead ?
Yes. Such remains your realm.
Sisyphus. The Hill.
Zeus, now intercede,
chastise the mortal king,
will his eternity be spared ?
No. Such is not his reward.
Sisyphus. The Heft.
Might fades, craft fails,
contrite the mortal king,
is the futility to endure ?
Yes. Such is his reward.
Sisyphus. Now Fall.
19th July 2020
Categories:
heft, analogy,
Form:
Verse
Three Sonnets tell a story, in sequence.
[From the narrative poem, "Don't Go to Wyoming Alone"]
I. Natural Instinct (Chivalric Sonnet)
He saves a wad of cash and designates
the stash to finance trek in far-off land
in hunting boots and custom gun he built
for me with love and hope for trophy grand.
"Is this a trip I've dreamed about?" I ask.
"Can I enjoy the hunt, savor the kill?"
I contemplate the danger in that land -
will heat, dry thirst and bugs defeat my will?
Might this be atmosphere I cannot stand?
Excitement builds as I heft gun with ease
and find the answer soon on target range
as my bull's eye displays my expertise.
Though I have no inborn instinct to kill,
my reason tells me not to waste this skill.
II. Lost Vacation
Our trip is planned, we'll soon be on our way,
he's called and found the perfect spot to stay.
The husband leads you out to hunt the wild
as room is cleaned, clothes pressed, wife cooks gourmet.
Alas, things change, his current bent is new.
While Mom and I go west without a clue
he flies the skies to satisfy desire
from Air Force days where first the hunger grew.
But circumstance forced him to stay aground,
our funds were tight and kept him budget bound.
Since children now are wed and off the corn
he's free to choose to play or bum around.
When we return from trek out west by train,
he's spent vacation cash to buy a plane.
III. New Dimension (Couplet Sonnet)
What fun we've had in years of golden age
as we, in freedom's row, our thirsts assuage.
We climb above the ground in utter glee
and view the earth below from Cherokee.
We join a pilot's group and meet new friends.
We travel now as time and space portends.
Each time we fly we bring two more because
two empty seats invite our friend's' applause.
But soon we build a smaller home down south.
I close my ears as words come out his mouth,
"The plane's for sale, I need a tractor now
to plow off snow and grade the road." It's how
our trip to Africa, in quickened time,
became a tractor. Surely, that's a crime.
Categories:
heft, africa, farm, flying, travel,
Form:
Sonnet
I'd rather not relay on heavy words
to weigh the beauty in a proper way.
A third of human languages, two-thirds,
nay, all of them would never outweigh
the heft of weightless beauty on the scale
of ruthless time. Eternity will measure
a downfall, a moon, a nightingale,
a hug, a kiss, a tenderness, a pleasure,
an unexpected daybreak. Farewell,
my poor weighted love. Abiding time
is going to put its deadly spell
on every stanza, meter, form and rhyme.
But you are an immeasurable form.
When beauty comes I wonder where from.
MAY 2019 PREMIER 4,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 14(F O U R T E E N )Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Categories:
heft, beauty, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
An old poet yearned, for a freedom not earned.
Watched as his world burned, as a beating heart churned.
A hate raging, against his malicious captor.
A war he’s raging, chapter by chapter.
He’s screaming in agony, yet none can hear.
A mind filled absently, year after year.
A battle rages, yet it’s hidden with a smile.
He’s filled countless pages, though he’s suffered for a while.
A true heart shown, that finally set him free.
A love that’s grown, how can this be?
A loving embrace, envelopes his soul.
A touch like lace, completes him whole.
A summers breeze, closes over a bitter chill.
No silent pleas, with her strongest of will.
Though time stops, for a short while.
His heart drops, as he hears a voice so vile.
A bitter sound, envelops his thought.
A tourniquet wound, for the battle he fought.
She’s leaving him, he feels empty again.
He’s trying to swim, in a current of sin.
He’s drowning alone, he’s accepting the fate.
A failure was shown, only demons can sate.
A hope is all he has, a hope is all he knows.
Nothing as good as, a kiss during his final throes.
“Come back to me”, he pleads with a sorrow so true.
“Come back and you’ll see, I will not fail you.”
Though she’s already left, now his mind broken and bent.
The price was heft, and out of his life his true love went.
Categories:
heft, depression, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
It was a Wednesday;
a day woven
into prison blankets and dish towels.
A day to assess hours unnoticed.
A time of trivial hungers.
The hard heft of earlier times: -
not fitting into anything,
teenage fluff and huff. Heartbreak,
rearing and loss. The fallow traipse of age.
The clinical clunk of clay feet.
Making room in a grave-yard moon,
for faces mislaid.
Those hard rows were all well hoed.
Washing a closed face in a misty mirror.
Listening to the coffee percolator.
trying to shave before its last burble,
ears catching the dark drops of a winter rain,
he creeps again too close
to a hole in his mind.
He should not be doing this still,
but the hole keeps tugging him.
He must keep throwing raw meat
into that roaring silence.
The hole is deep, and the end of it, is no end.
He wishes he could at least,
install an elevator.
for his ghosts to ride up and down on.
It would give him time
to drink more coffee, and write
some polite, well-adjusted poetry.
Categories:
heft, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse
We wear this earth
and bear the heft of stones,
glacier-galled, polished by
eons of slow crawl
toward far-too-distant views
which call us from
our blue thin-air shell,
this shallow soil where, weak,
the hold of roots restrain.
We struggle to break free
from such restricting strata --
and to expand, as bubbles rise and glisten --
to throw off
this world -- to emerge
new-born from natal egg
and -- freed -- to flee among the stars.
Categories:
heft, adventure, allegory, change, character,
Form:
Free verse
The Athlete’s Denial
By Elton Camp
Bulging biceps and great power
Made Jock the man of the hour
As a model of good sportsmanship,
Recognition sent him on an ego trip
Long-standing records broke right & left
Made easier by his impressive heft
But meddlers wouldn’t let it be
“This looks very suspicious to me”
Accusers arose to testify he did it
In fear, they conspired and hid it
At least that is what they all say
Jock claims it wasn’t that way
“Why such drugs I’d never use.
It’s to be liars those guys choose.
Jealousy since I’m better than they
Now the league won’t let me play.”
“If an asterisk is put by my name
My records won’t seem the same.”
The truth of the matter I don’t know
But find it rather disturbing, though
Categories:
heft, sports, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
Thankfully number two, she’s contented with it
Hides when the landlord comes around to feel smart with the game
Endless calculations and planning, giving unfaithfulness a honey taste
Master strategist in creating spare time no matter how little
In order to steal and passionately enjoy what she doesn’t deserve
Shares the comfort and heartbeat of another without any bother
Theft of the body and emotions, becoming another woman’s problem
Romance becomes raw, athletic with the flavours of adrenaline
Emotions may set it, then the pleasure gradually progresses, she
Sows immensely in trying to beat the actual owner
Seemingly to stop being the accessory, the sharer and the spare.
Categories:
heft, character, emotions, evil, fantasy,
Form:
Acrostic
Through grass heft casket white
where green waits to swallow hard
the dreams of lovers and friends.
On a day the wind bullied clouds
skirts waved goodbye over bended knee
of hurt prayer and plea.
I saw the one whom knew
what none above could:
Peace.
Categories:
heft, death, prayer,
Form:
Elegy
I sampled my first one in Israel
And instantly fell for the taste,
Devouring one then another,
While adding some heft to my waist.
That happened way back in my 20’s,
When quite a bit more did I weigh,
So though I’m not quite as indulgent,
I still love to eat them today.
Sliced up and tossed into a salad
Or mashed up for dipping some chips,
They’re healthy and filling and yummy;
Just one won’t add much to your hips.
But eaten with some moderation,
They’ll add to a meal some pizzazz.
Your taste buds will groove with sensation,
Each bite smooth and silky like jazz.
Categories:
heft, food,
Form:
Rhyme
Rusted blood, a shot-put heft
Is shot from chamber's side
What treasure stores are in my chest?
What stores can heart-valves hide?
Categories:
heft, self,
Form:
Quatrain
I watched as they acted as though they were God themselves,
Proud like a peacock with their diplomas on the shelves,
Always looking down their nose at the lost, thinking they themselves held the only key,
Like the Pharisee’s of old, these are the ones who need to take a knee.
But they were so full of their selves to even have a clue,
And forgetting that they themselves would be judged just as harshly as me and you.
I guess some things time never seems to change,
Just maybe the names and faces look a little strange.
Then there are those that really seem to care,
And go to great links to help those in need and really try to share.
And these are the ones God blesses and sits aside their rewards,
As they are put to the test sometimes fairly easy but on the average their tests prove
pretty hard.
These are the ones that seek out the lonely, the needy, and the spiritually lost,
And it’s not a one time thing, it’s ongoing and they absorb the heft of the cost.
These are the shepherds, the peacemakers, that gather in the flock,
They hired on to do a job and their timecards are punched in on our Fathers clock.
Categories:
heft, lifegod, god, time,
Form:
Verse
Pantoum about Ernie Petersen,
Trader At Rose Prairie
Fur Trader
The buyer and trapper jawed trade
“What’s fur fetching at the Winnipeg auction?”
At Rose Prairie the deals was made
At the wood burning stove with caution
“What’s fur fetching at the Winnipeg auction?”
Cold winter makes pelt with heft.
The buyer fingers a beaver with caution.
“You’ve got four winters of debts still left.”
Cold winter makes pelt with heft
He checks account ledgers for bills overdo.
At jawing for credit the trapper was deft
“I needs credit for more than just stew.”
The buyer checks account ledgers for bills overdo.
The trapper needs wire, bullets, sugar, sour dough.
Doesn’t think of account ledgers or bills overdo
For a night with Maxime he’s in need of some dough.
The trapper needs wire, bullets, sugar, sour dough.
The buyer pours the brewed coffee and stokes the wood stove.
Says synthetic fur drove the auction real low.
Celebrities protested before the fur market dove.
He pours the brewed coffee and stokes the wood stove.
They chat about beaver, lynx and grey fox.
He tops up the mugs from the whisky alcove.
Talks of kids, dogs, and women and child lost to pox.
They chat about beaver, lynx and grey fox.
They share season from cabins, and tales of trap line.
They share bannock and bacon and butter from box
Of seasons they talk when barter was fine.
They share season from cabins and tales of trap line.
The buyer gives trapper snuff dark and sweet
Closes the deal with a ball of tough twine.
Then he sharpens a knife to serve some moose meet.
The buyer and trapper jawed trade.
Categories:
heft, adventure, history, memory,
Form:
Pantoum