Best Hereon Poems
She lay with gloom upon the bed
as outside blinked a garish red
which found its way into her room.
Upon the bed she lay with gloom.
She lay with grief; she lay with rue,
with shabby walls a gray milieu
and circumstance the unmoved thief.
She lay with rue; she lay with grief.
As neon flashed, she lay and thought
of coming west, how hard she'd fought,
and how her dreams had all been dashed.
She lay and thought as neon flashed.
She lay with shame; a thrust of fate
had left her with a wretched weight
and stole her hungering for fame.
A thrust of fate. . . she lay with shame.
Behind closed doors she'll take each john.
She lay with one, and so hereon
she's joined the order of the whores.
She'll take each john behind closed doors.
For the Contest of Black Eyed Susan
Categories:
hereon, sad,
Form:
Quatrain
As death mimics love itself and clutch a throbbing heart,
kindling consolation to savor flight, farther and farther
beyond the inner yelps released as vibrating soar easily,
stimulating stress to execute its portion and naught idle,
merely trounce its climatic claim with an uttered gasp.
Exhale nor inhale as a soul embarks anew venture upon
a road that seems less traveled, albeit, a much-traveled
road, nonetheless, deliberating back to that grey hued
frame, thoroughly placed in peace, smiling at once was a
vestige of their former self as hands clasp naught wave.
The hours, the days, the years, all appear as if time itself
is naught placed on hold, but practically be nonexistent,
then again, seeing the circumstances unfold, obviously,
one will be able to grasp that there is no other direction
of a skyless opaque mist, except a harmonious presence.
As distinction advents and all be so unique and naught
strange, more and more a glide into the everlasting light
and that the glorious manifestation established hereon,
whereby, one came upon Steinbeck as he was sitting by
vines, beaming, as he was writing, The Grapes of Mirth.
Categories:
hereon, death, destiny, happiness, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
QUIET FIELDS OF YPRES
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
These fields are quiet and silent there is little sound
Dandelions and wild flowers cover the ground
The grasses are tall and green. The soil is soft and damp
Stillness belies the sanctity of these fields.
Ten decades ago great acts of heroism happened here.
Men risked and sacrificed their lives to save a brother
While simultaneously killing and maiming each other
Grown men were reduced to tears each day
As their comrades were buried or carried away
No one won anything except a few trinkets and ribbons
Images in blood and gore that nauseate the senses
The newer generations have restored these fields
The trenches have been filled and barb wires removed
All those combatants are gone now but scars remain
What were they thinking, the whole world was insane
Thousands of widows and orphans were created here
The whole of Europe was living in constant fear
Families displaced, communities torn apart
Sickness and hunger were all part of the plot.
No man in the house for a generation.
To rebuild and restore the devastation
Men directing the war were awarded status and fame
While thousands of crosses were staked lacking a name
.
These fields have earned their silent serenity.
Paid for by those who hereon entered eternity
nunquam iterum
Categories:
hereon, conflict, dedication, french, history,
Form:
Free verse
A canticle I think I'll be,
A rimed thought, hoary and ancient,
Stinking as the dust heaped up empyreal on the hills of
The Judean sands;
And as dulled and dimmed as an archaic coin tarnish'd.
This is what I think I might be.
I'd as lief be this as any other you might care to name.
Valid is this, my remote and removed claim,
And it all began hereon.
O, that was an age ago, that remote and bygone time,
Rimed with hoar-frost and the whitishness of ancientness,
When as blood-soaked, cruciferous hills remote and circumvallatory or else
Perhaps circumferential to the great, walled city, itself circumvallatory;
When all this began.
When this particular beguine to which we've all been dancing lo this many score of years began.
It was as a woman bedecked in black on a Sunday morning newly kissed by the auriferous dawn,
(A goldener dawn than even that on which she met the man whose coffin she was now appointed to follow in a moribund processional, a macabre and solemn, ceremonial dance of death,)
Going down to the fixed graveyard.
That day was as the day on which I first deigned to join this,
And adopting unto myself the sobriquet, shibboleth "A canticle I think I be"
(For I was not permitted to use the full appellation I wished to apply to myself,
Owing to some stupid and recondite rule regarding and regulating the use and due conservation of characters: Yet not those as those of the mainstays of literature, no! I mean to say the characters that are synonymous with words and spaces and punctuation and the like,)
And here the tale ends, though 'twas not Moschean nor Noahide as
I perhaps meant it to be.
Oh, well: All's well that ends well.
(For was this not an idiotic tale, yet a harrowing one, whose lightest word would harrow up the young blood of any and all who saw it, read it, perused it?)
Categories:
hereon, absence, adventure, allegory, anger,
Form:
Creative writing is for those
who like to make us ponder,
their meanings can be hidden,
cause our feeble minds to wonder,
esoteric pieces puzzle,
leave us with uneasy feelings,
better that we entertain
and trash the doubts and double dealings.
Humor is the best medicine,
limericks are sure to please,
especially when we're mired and stuck,
and need to set our minds at ease.
I have written words... O jeez!
just cast your eyes on my 'Ennui,'
a twentieth century group of deadbeats,
not soulful creatures just like you and me!
So I will try from hereon out
to enrich this happy place,
indulge my failing sense of humor
fill you up with style and grace.
Are belly laughs permissible?
you bet, the more the merrier,
I will test your funny bone,
so you'd better WATCH THIS SPACE!
Categories:
hereon, humor,
Form:
Verse
Dreams continue as he pursues and fits into those new life shoes/
Steams of old morose songs singing sad blues in dark venues/
Has his hold paddling multiple life canoes/
His eyes mold maddening views of how not to use or misuse /
Less issues to load tissues and blow revenues /
He construes the con’s cruise how he’d abuse and throw a fuze /
Irrelevant spoofs but now he refuels and will refuse /
To lose how he broke a fuzed fool loose into bomb grooves /
Explodent raising the roof with booms and more proofs /
Next go sent is praising a nerd goof’s blurred sluice see through /
An Oxymoron to use without suboxone, oxycontin or any proxy plottin /
That’s rotten like heroin in pill form not an option /
From hereon in I’m building and recovering /
I’ve beaten my cranial region and more covering/
It’s a pain in the neck and the back sore hovering /
Pain multiplied by the passion is what caused action /
The symptom is contamination leaving one ultimatum /
Create a new life curriculum to cure ick-n-glum
Categories:
hereon, addiction, angst, conflict, courage,
Form:
Rhyme
A silly superstition enwraps and grips me,
It holds me and will not loosen its vile, crushing deathgrip:
It is a numerical one, this foolish superstition to which I have my subscription,
For this is the numerological sorcerous fallacy to which I've subscribed:
That, as I have yet published a baker's dozen of poems hereon,
(Though this poem or that preceding it, might have in fact made it fourteen),
I must exceed the number somewhat, and do for today the writing of
Four poems, yet the dilemma in which I currently awash,
This quandary, this conundrum, this balk and qualm of mine,
Is as follows:
In my troika of notebooks and journals and leather diaries I've earmarked
For poetic use, the tally of poetries I've written therein today is but two,
Thus I would not reach the somehow sacred number,
That numerical goal I've set for myself of seventeen,
Unless I were to write two more poems, extra-notebooked ones:
Being ones beyond and without the notebook,
Beyond the papery, lined realms of the manifold pages of my
Threefold notebooks.
So to solve the insoluble, and resolve it, what was I to do?
I tasked myself with reaching the putative goal of seventeen,
But how would this devoir I achieve?
Only by the conception and composition of a pair of extra poems,
Thus, to accomplish that total, this poem and the one that preceded it.
So, have I paragraphed this page thus, in the manner most befitting
That of the poem.
And now this emptiest and most filler-like of my poems yet, it be done.
Categories:
hereon, age, allegory, allusion, analogy,
Form:
For what has dawned my eyes
I will not disguise
This is what I have seen, A friend die
and in this poem I will not be shy
He yelled I don't want to live
And s**t I don't give
He yelled I want to die
and that's not a lie
I said your drunk
Thinking he was just in a funk
He stormed off to his room
with an angry look of gloom
And what happened next, Click Click
So I took off to stop this trick
Got to his room, swung the door open
Only to have my face frozen
Shotgun in his mouth, finger on the trigger
To yell NO was all I could figure
With every emotion across his face
And a life in which he was about to erase
Then with a pull of the trigger he was gone
now a future without a friend from hereon
Left with nothing but nightmares in my head
And visions that are blood-red
Now with tears that continue to shed
And thought that I dread
The thoughts of the path he chose to travel
Has my mind quite unraveled
One that I have walked , but not to the end
One that has you only descend
And with that, Jay my friend
It is brotherly love to the end
Categories:
hereon, death, depression, friendship, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Upon this fairly scribal yet oversize,
Very squarish or rectangular tablet,
Do I scribble and scrawl these very words,
And those of the completeness of at least a brace,
A twain, a pair of poems, though
These are, after a fashion, hardly meet.
Albeit, they are not so ill-fitting for all of that.
They are good poems, those I've today
And herein written;
Yet to themselves, they ascribe all
Manner of different motives,
Emotions and motifs.
Yet I purpose not hereby and herewith to delineate
All the consequent, attendant minutiae compassing those
Works; no, my purpose herein is to
Fashion a poem much less circumspect,
Summary, and oddly essayistic
Than quondam ones, yet in so doing
I've partly failed-no matter.
Yet this poem and those indited formerly,
They weren't inscribed beneath some large,
Tyrannous, blindingly refulgent
Saharan sun;
Nor were they beneath the caliginous caul of the night
Scrawled hereon, nay;
It was my oddest delight to compose these at a time of day
Quite interstitial to those abovementioned.
Yet some inky darkness even now depends
And lends its crepuscular, darksome weight to the entire tableau:
That of a poet-writer over his tablet,
Head bent low. Yet, a dichotomy, I find, crops up
Herein, as a more modern meaning of tablet coexists
With that upon which I actually, diligently write
This: Which is merely a glorified book of notes.
Categories:
hereon, art,
Form:
Creative writing is for those
who like to make us ponder,
their meanings can be hidden,
cause our feeble minds to wonder,
esoteric pieces puzzle,
leave us with uneasy feelings,
better that we entertain
and trash the doubts and double dealings.
Humor is the best medicine,
limericks are sure to please,
especially when we're mired and stuck,
and need to set our minds at ease.
I have written words... O jeez!
just cast your eyes upon my 'Ennui,'
a twentieth century group of deadbeats,
not soulful creatures just like you and me!
So I will try from hereon out
to enrich this happy place,
indulge my failing sense of humor
fill you up with style and grace.
Are belly laughs permissible?
you bet, the more the merrier,
I will test your funny bone,
so you'd better WATCH THIS SPACE!
Categories:
hereon, humor,
Form:
Verse
The issues here, the me, mine grant
encountering the costs regress,
if I am able, be it manned
to overrate would not be best.
First land, then water, deportees
are waiting to know where all stand
the water flows, the earth submits
now people have to fit esprit'
They lost their space, then forced to flee
food giants fixed the till to pick
the best of country, labor, plea
now children are at risk to fit!
A President knows not what to state
the corporate bow once more needs wit,
apologize thinking for your fate
a person's feelings contradicts!
The media not invited here
what will this verdict nation's pit
a friendly grace would not be clear
the anger so attuned predicts.
Just let us go ~ the contraband
mars freedom, from a free man's hand
the controversy loses scan
trust's had it ~ from hereon stays damned!
Categories:
hereon, betrayal, corruption,
Form:
Monorhyme
If I may, to my fellow would-be poets,
Hereon pose an imperative query
(Yet mostly destitute of the greatest urgency),
Then I who, in the gross majority of my inditings hereon,
Am of quite a Shakespearean and Miltonian bent:
Yet in the years succeeding the terminus of my schooling,
During the everlasting course thereof, I learned many a thing
Indeed an immense preponderancy of such,
And among these congeries of learning, there can be accounted
Even a myriad of the manifold precepts of poetry
And the fiats and decrees, commandments and
Ordinances governing it;
Yet for all of the sufficiency and yet preponderance of
Poetic enlightenment and enrichment, I recall nary a thing
Thereof!
It may be inborn, inherent,
Ingrained, innate...
But do I, who is of a Shakespearean ilk,
To my fellow aspiring poets, writers, and poet-writers ask:
Is this, or aught of my other poems, in anything
Remotely likened to the metrical sort that he and Milton were
Wont to use?
And an it be so,
Beteem me to learn its name,
And an so, is't truly termed by that sobriquet
Known as "iambic pentameter"?
Is it in this that I write?
Are all my poesies thus enwritten?
Categories:
hereon, age,
Form:
Creative writing is for those
who like to make us ponder,
their meanings can be hidden,
cause our feeble minds to wonder,
esoteric pieces puzzle,
leave us with uneasy feelings,
better that we entertain
and trash the doubts and double dealings.
Humor is the best medicine,
limericks are sure to please,
especially when we're mired and stuck,
and need to set our minds at ease.
I have written words... O jeez!
just cast your eyes upon my 'Ennui,'
a twentieth century group of deadbeats,
not soulful creatures just like you and me!
So I will try from hereon out
to enrich this happy place,
indulge my failing sense of humor
fill you up with style and grace.
Are belly laughs permissible?
you bet, the more the merrier,
I will test your funny bone,
so you'd better WATCH THIS SPACE!
Categories:
hereon, humor,
Form:
Verse
If you pop off like so Duh you’ll get carbonated by the greater leader/
Who’s lewd and balks will infuse and let loose the Dr. pepper/
True shrewd walks through new hues shake up and fizz out/
Who knew soft drink talks brewed late would diffuse and flatten down/
A few could have caught a case while flapping around/
There’s a new juice to use as you grew your own fruits /
To improve clues to truths of uncouth abuse /
How you’ve misused the news and stayed true to loops of untruth/
Life continues in new shoes with cues to choose moves for your crew/
Lives renew his aiming from hereon in we’re here to zero in/
Peer on in at the position I’m a hero in /
I’ve never been as near or within a jeer on sin/
Freer I blend gas and gear up a poster man for my own loved ones/
Disband from that brand with new planned action no acts spun/
Just realism with no love from realization of the matter of faction
Categories:
hereon, adventure, care, character, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
Creative writing is for those
who like to make us ponder,
their meanings can be hidden,
cause our feeble minds to wonder,
esoteric pieces puzzle,
leave us with uneasy feelings,
better that we entertain
and trash the doubts and double dealings.
Humor is the best medicine,
limericks are sure to please,
especially when we're mired and stuck,
and need to set our minds at ease.
I have written words... O jeez!
just cast your eyes upon 'Ennui,'
a twentieth century group of deadbeats,
not soulful creatures just like you and me!
So I will try from hereon out
to enrich this happy place,
indulge my failing sense of humor
fill you up with style and grace.
Are belly laughs permissible?
you bet, the more the merrier,
I will test your funny bone,
so you'd better WATCH THIS SPACE!
Categories:
hereon, humor,
Form:
Verse