Best Housed Poems
A field of wheat cloaked in dewy silence
the orchestra tunes up with avian arias
bullfrog basses and a choir of cawing crows,
xanthic sunflowers turning their heads to better see,
the daylight trajectory commencing with lazuline layering,
a breeze glissandoes on harps of oak leaves
tomorrow is now today,
and I am grateful.
An officer of the law taps on my door
my breath and heartbeat screech to a sudden stop
preparing for the next-of-kin speech, or
where-were-you-on-the-night-of-the-23rd interrogation,
instead she informs me my car is ten inches in the red
and with a smile suggests I move it before I get a citation
pulse resumes as oxygen reunites with lungs,
and I am grateful.
A mask sitting by the front door; my ticket to commerce
the media replaying riot scenes, lockdown measures,
sporting event cancellations, worship restrictions,
death tolls, closed restaurants, and drive-by graduations.
Yet I am virus-free, housed, gainfully employed,
surrounded by family and electronically socialized,
I have my necessities: I am well-fed, well-loved,
and I am grateful.
written 30 Aug 2020
women of dusk and dawn
who love to feast on their senses
in a banquet ripened by love and courage,
chilled to last till the moonlight
bequeaths more hours for stories
about earth's flesh...
oh, let the first drone of music
praise the female spirit voluptuous
as hips sashay in gaiety wildly wet,
empresses hunting for the eyes of god in men
softly flowing in veils of mystery
that hover in the fragrance
housed in chambers of rich legends
and reality: taste their tears,
cuddle the apples of fertile breasts…
yet no one can touch their essence
or own life’s primeval wombs;
women are women like their children
defying any explanation.
Contest of Chantelle Anne Cooke Favorite Free Verse
2/4//2019 Repost
Revenge sweet turning with hate
a brother rises striking blows
landing hits brother in wicked deeds
evilness within mans own soul
Cruelty crawling inside desires
suffering greed of nations they plea
Rise up against nations man at war
tearing asunder God's creation
People slowly murdering loveless
Pride a sinful act of violence
laced with pain destroying pure love
everything that once stood out housed peace
so fine cut beautiful, good sharing
caring free, in this one, big show rolls
Keeps turning, the wheel of hope
whom will speak, as we all become part
of his heavenly dust in the end
or burning remains of hell's fire
The sun shines again
for he smiles.
The indeterminable day no longer flees or hides
for its end is sought, as is its beginning
for he smiles.
Confusion though abiding
must wait the laggard servant
scolded by the Mistress Aphrodite
for he smiles.
Want must find a different dwelling
for the moment un-housed by sweetest joy
for he smiles.
The sun shines again.
OF SAGE LEAVES AND SWEET FLOWERS…
While flowers may be deemed
The sweetness of nature and life,
It is the leaves of her trees that are
The essences of life, death, and rising:-
It is the leaves of the tree
That feeds and nourishes her;
That ensures her branches’ bearings;
Photosynthesizing her peace and love:-
While living flowers are plucked,
Vase-like buried, and housed until death,
They are later thrown away—forgotten.
But fallen leaves reflect resurrection:-
Yes, in nature, trees shed their shading blades
And for a while, stoically stand in nakedness;
Piercing skyward to the coming resurrection
Of their green and rainbow colored leaves.
Thus, I’d rather be a leaf than a flower;
All trees bear leaves; but all don’t flower.
Leaves—nature’s resurrection symbols;
Her saged bristlecone pine allegories:-
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
.
I thought of the pass of I
flooding
your eyes
your strong arms lowering
mine casket
I thought of the daze
days
you would sigh
Of the prose and rhymes of
the me
you would cast
Yet here
now
are my prayers to
Jehovah God Almighty
In Jesus Christ name
to
relieve the burn
in mine eyne
*Nathaniel my dear nephew...
sleep peacefully ;
*ya know, when Nathaniel wuz the young soul,
he would belt out(what iz known now'uhdaze
az "Rap")wordz which housed from hiz dreamz,
unto; the future, for what man he understood
wuz sowing...though i'm not the fan uv the style,
i listened intently to hiz werdz<-he know'd it ;)
My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong.
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.
My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.
Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.
It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic.
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.
In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.
Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.
Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?
Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.
Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.
The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.
Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.
When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.
I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.
© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
If I had a dinosaur I would be insanely happy.
If I had a dinosaur I would be the best me of all.
If I had a dinosaur she’d be named Matilda B. Snappy.
If I had a dinosaur I would feel twelve and a half feet tall.
If I had a purple dinosaur, together we’d be so deliciously sweet.
If I had a dinosaur I’d go to grandpa’s without a fight.
If I had my dinosaur I’d follow every rule, and stay out of the nasty car-infested street.
Matilda B would be company, keeping me from escaping from my window every single night.
If I had a dinosaur you could take all these tiresome toys out of my room.
If I had Matilda B. I’d stop being afraid of the monsters in my closet.
If we housed a dinosaur we’d sleep without electricity, by the light of the moon.
Saving us money, Matilda B. could teach me to fix the broken sink, and leaking faucet.
If I had a dinosaur, I’d be the best child in the city, the state, the world, and the universe.
Matilda would have my back as I’d apologize to many kids for pushing them down and pulling their hair.
If I had a dinosaur, I’d brush my teeth, and give back all the stolen things, even Auntie’s red purse.
If we brought Matilda B. Home to our family, do you honestly think I’d behave any worse.
[Please note: while this poem may seem harsh, my mother-in-law did much good in her long life, more than I expect I have. It was prompted by the 'shock' that death has the power to take even those with the fiercest of wills.]
How could this...thing have been her?
Lying shriveled and small on the bed,
as those who loved (and feared) her
gathered in the bereft hospital room
to let their shock and grief melt and
mold itself into its own atmosphere....
Her body seemed never to have been real,
never to have been a woman,
never to have been young once, and surely,
never to have been a mother....
And if it had been a body once,
housing a small dragon who could lash out fire
solely with her harsh and brutal tongue,
keeping those who loved her at bay and
the rest of us wary, aware of her power,
her terrible gift that seemed to shrink your soul--
then where did she go when her mouth froze open
as the last breath of a long life left quietly,
silently, without fuss or rancor...?
Still, though imperfect as you or I,
she was loved, mourned, honored....
If God only housed saints,
think how terribly lonely He would be.
An empty shell,
abandoned
am I left alone?
left to sigh?
I once housed
a caterpillar
an ambitious
butterfly
Now I miss
my old cocoon
and still
cannot fly
Come pick me up
soar the skies
create turbulence
with you
Leaving behind
our worn-out lives
morphing into
something new
***
September 19, 2017
Copyright © White Wolf and Darren White
"It was a mistake", she said.
A tiny life swiped in seconds as
gods creation is rendered a
mere cluster of cells.
Returned back to heaven
hoping the return policy
wouldn't deny.
It was a mistake; a stifled cry
A lifetime of progress,
innovation, and memories down
the drain.
The notorious "what if"
squashed with plan b; no hopes
of a future.
A stifled cry
She could have cured cancer or
delivered world peace.
She could've fed the hungry
and housed the poor.
She could've been a Honors
Harvard medical school
graduate and your pride and
joy.
None are the magical christmas
mornings, first days of school,
or birthdays.
Terminated are the memorable
first steps and momentous
coos calling for "mamma".
No more possibilities. Now a
stifled cry.
"It was a mistake", she said.
A moment of carelessness and
selfishness translates into a life
lost.
Permanent.
Sent back into the arms of god.
An easy way out. A stifled cry.
*Image of Julius Caesar by QDT.
The Ides of March
Spun spells pummel our Earth ... as a Sun scanned absence swallow,
vacuumed blues taxes light once deemed eternal ... plus righteousness,
escapism from existence ... edges evacuation,
Birth ere the latter days ... ventured the laurels that were Rome,
the incarnation of iniquity ... masquerade innocence,
like clovers and thistles ... lure eyes above the common grass,
Furtherance besought ... midst tossed bone for multi contentment,
parades that paralyze souls ... usurp minds to sweeping abandon,
celebratory hails the seasoned ... emblem of power,
The gods and goddesses' palms of warring pulse ... 'tis peacetime,
nonetheless ... tributes adorn the temples of Mars in abundance,
'tis time of awash hands of mere grimes ... toxic suffers freely,
Citizens housed upon Palatine ... the triumphant hill,
felicitations honorable legions ... protectors of Rome,
promissory constants ... declared Remus per Romulus,
Roman Senate played a chess game ... Caesar kept them in check,
every move was scrutinized ... made vulnerable and powerless,
autocracy trumps democracy ... seeds gangocracy,
Plans are planted within plans ... schemes are shrouded inside schemes,
the beast entrails read ominously ... Spurina forewarns the marked,
timely debts to be paid in full ... matters to be settled,
At the Courts of Pompey ... the assembly awaits for him,
armorless donning senatorial garb ... metals pierce a man,
till mute ... last recalls *haruspex, "Beware the Ides of March".
*Haruspex; reading of omens from the entrails of sacrificed animals. The subject of Shakespeare's title play came from his thorough accounting of Plutarch's writings.
2022 March 30
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 11
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 April 22
*HMS; 14,16,14 syllables per x 8 stanzas
Haudenosaunee ...
translation: They made the house
But who painted it
the colors we now see ---
Red, white and blue
Let's go back in time shall we,
and observe who cut down the first tree
in the eleventh century
Five Nations ...
called by one name, Iroquois
A French given name
Separate nations who agreed
to live under the same
Great Law of Peace
Signified by the Great Tree
that housed all five families
under one roof
Haudenosaunee ...
The long house was proof
that all nations could come together as one
under one roof
A novel idea, way ahead of its time,
the first North American U.N. of it's kind
That was a nice trip back in history,
but the question still remains: who painted the long house
the colors we now see ---
Red, white and blue
The answer, perhaps you never knew
Even so, you never thought about it much, did you
Mohawk red ... a lot of spilt bloodshed
Onondaga white ... a lot of innocent loss of lives
Oneida blue ... a lot of human souls traded too
Cayuga red ... a lot of totems toppled on their head
Seneca white ... a lot of war whoops in the night
Iroquois turquoise blue ... a lot of ancient land taken by someone new
Seems two coats of war paint wasn't enough,
too bad they didn't first try the color of love
The battle between body and spirit
Housed as I am,
in this earthenware vessel
I witness,
the raging between body and spirit.
My mood- sullen and morose,
a telling sign-
a flashing indicator-
pointing to a weakness in my will,
a slow debilitating decline in my convictions-
indicating a buttressing of my resolve-
is urgently needed.
This paroxysm has been a body blow,
and my spirit is reeling.
I am cloistered, incarcerated now these three years,
having served a portion of my sentence.
What is my crime?
These four walls,
such contemptible, wretched creatures-
mock me, taunt me, deride me
as weak and worthless;
but I know better!
I am shackled to the two evil twins-
misery and myalgia-
myrmidons- secret agents of the devil
serving at his pleasure.
Hell-bent they are on a wicked crusade
raping and pillaging the golden storehouses
of my treasured faith and hope.
Sacred vaults protect my integrity,
my zeal is still intact.
As I wrestle with my afflictions
I throw tantrums-like a feral beast
charging towards the drawn sword.
However, I succumb to the inevitable.
I sense the folly of the fight and submit,
although-unwillingly to this intransigent,
auto-immune disease.
How do you fight an enemy who is
entrenched in your marrow?
This enemy is coercing me on this death march
and it is unrelenting in it's insistence.
The gates of Sheol* beckon to me to enter,
I resist the clarion call, although the gravity
draws me ever closer to my sealed fate.
I see visions of paradise, here on earth,
where pain is no more,
and all suffering is a distant memory
until eternity erases it from my mind.
Unfortunately, for me,
looks like I'll be taking the subway,
instead of the train to paradise.
December 17,2018
For Misery contest Edward Ibeh
*Sheol Hebrew for the grave.
Not hell as a burning place of torment
as is commonly taught and believed.