Best Huddles Poems
My
breath
shivers under
a rug of loneliness,
a sleepy heart huddles
against such memories
of togetherness and not of
goodbyes, hating to disperse
the fiery rhymes of your lips,
as well as the warmth of its
sweat...tastes like red wine,
then it beats...and beats
gently, as it envisions
you, in an early
misty
s
p
r
i
n
g
Pick a Title – Wild Is the Night – Sponsor: Edward Ibeh 1-9-25
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Wild Is the Night
Night wakes
In atonality of imploding infernos
Stretches,
Tossing matted tresses,
Throws off serene quilts
Of winter’s full golden moonlight
To thrash about with bare feet
On icy floors,
Tripping over the remains of dawn
Where shreds of crumpled thoughts,
Like shards of icy hailstones,
Claw at windowpanes
Clothed in nakedness.
Night shivers
As jumbled fangs of hunger
Rattle chimes and unbroken stares
When gusts of darkness ravage lullabies,
Gnaw on jawbones of savaged dreamscapes,
To race through hairpin curls of obsession
Night huddles
In tempests of dead ends,
Decorated by fixations,
By graffiti of the grotesque,
Where despair masquerades in cyclones of deception,
Storms of mania as solutions.
Whispers of wind driven earworms hatch,
Step in front of Heaven’s voice,
Cutting into Heaven’s heart
With blades of infected gales;
As the blood of angels stains doves
Anxiety floods in downpours
When the litany of the hours tosses and turns
In explosions of black noise;
Wild night paces in midnight,
Caught by scurrying tornedos,
Waiting
For the first light of resurrection.
the box of Crayola’s has fallen to the floor
like pick-up sticks they lay, crisscrossed
and I without a partner or a pair of jacks
rolled paper named & swirled in ink of black
periwinkle and puce displayed
side by side the candied rainbow huddles
like children whispering at play
lilac and orchid cuddle
see the rusty red and the crimson lay
grin and giggles surround the paper pages
as the parents are kept at bay
lemon yellow is the sun
and saffron the flower in the bay
pink the fingers which grasp and pile
the colors so arrayed, by the fallen box
of crayons in the golden light of day
4/12/14
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as the clouds dip into the sea.
A kiss from that rose as the waves fall,
over the beach to a rose kissed me.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as we wrap in lovers embrace.
A kiss from a rose as homeward we go,
to a bed clothed in satin and lace.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
with passion and warmth do we grasp.
A kiss from that rose that blossoms and blooms,
my hand in her labour pain clasp.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
that wanton and curvy young bride.
A kiss from that rose that huddles our babe,
so loving, in motherly pride.
A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
without whom I'd not share my life.
A kiss from that rose who selflessly filled,
the place of my darling rose wife!
(c) A M Docherty, 2013, Pembrokeshire, Wales, UK.
(c) anaisanais - A M Docherty - Wales, United Kingdom. (7/8/2013)
Remnants have been stained the color of
The blood moon
Hidden beneath the boulder that is Western
Civilization
The glory of sunrise has been buried
With promises of eternal light
Fruits of darkness lay crushed under
Waves of chanting the righteous
Path
Many trails the night traveller takes
Lead to love
Every hand is needed now to sow
Forgotten remnants to every corner
Where fear of darkness huddles
True love bears fruit even under cover
Of shadows
Do not be afraid
Joy will come to you who has no
Fear of receding light
Love will be your
Reward
01/01/15
© All Rights Reserved
Perhaps I’m facing pogonophobes?
Apparently wore the wrong face.
Age-hardened wiry wisps forge
post-pubescent platemail -
protect strangers
from my truest fleshy pores, protect me
from the xenophobes of the Winter Conference.
It’s all pitching and coffee breaks
In a hall too grand for these meager mergers
Silent hecklers - likely clean-shaven -
likely Twitter-blasting about
an awkward pitch
and bitterness.
A beard grows opacity over my ebullient disinterest,
feigns sophistication amidst sophists,
and harbors microbes – an entire ecosystem –
Bored, I wonder;
Do they hold conferences as well?
Share stories around a follicle?
How uncomfortable
the itch of capitalism,
This profit pilgrimage
huddles us together
for that sickness to spread.
Free meals, networking with the estranged -
connect vacuously over downed drinks
and political action.
Shallow words spread thick
on the biological superhighway
bacterium feast freely.
The Winter Conference;
a microscopic windfall.
CONTEST ANNOTATION:
I’ve attempted to employ alliteration (‘post-pubescent platemale’), ambiguity (‘…for that sickness to spread’), double entendre (‘free meals’ and ‘bacterium feast freely’), imagery (‘my truest fleshy pores’, ‘Age-hardened wiry wisps’), paradox (‘ebullient disinterest’, ‘networking with the estranged’), and parallelism (‘likely clean-shaven – likely Twitter-blasting’). Not sure I’ve nailed every aspect of these devices - love the contest format as a way to force us in new directions!
ON RESCUING AN INJURED PIGEON
I.
sliding screen door screeches, pigeons scatter
thump of wing against breast, shockwave breeze
more frequent than in the past, shimmering necks
soundtrack squirrel zig-zags, new-green lawn
perches like the pigeons, await my departure
II.
he appeared in the night, a tattered statue
grey as the rumbling skies, white patch on his back
must be hurt, too painful to move, teal collar
my compassion swells, how can I help?
leave him seed and water, natural healing
III.
red-toed demon leaving bird-turd on my deck
can barely walk let alone fly away, railing perch
rain or sun sits most of the day, ruffled feathers
hit his head or fallen, maybe a scuffle with a cat
wants to be part of a flock, I move closer
IV.
day three I made him a coop, Bucky by name
Becky if it’s a girl, I’m not checkin’, won’t go in
moving better, flies a little, short bursts
still prefers my perch, watch him sleep, still
hours to days, nothing seems to change
V.
the four-legged’s have found the coop and feed
I become my grandmother chasing chipmunks, futile
Bucky likes grass, hacksaw walk, double-banded
looks strong enough to fly, abandoned racer
wonder, is it psychological or could it me?
VI.
trail of seeds brought him to the edge, coop and me
as I watch him he watches me, wide ruddy eyes
huddles in a ball on one foot, freckled vest
finally, twice today he found his way to the coop
sad he can’t go home, sheltered but dispossessed.
VII.
animal rescuer Howard came with a net today
tried clumsily to catch him, lift and accelerate
over the treetops he flew, circled back to land
from the rooftop he smiled down at us, relieved
proof time heals all wounds, in rock pigeon world.
Aug 30/18
Cloud lifts
Haze drifts
The drowsy earth looks freshly cleansed
Bone chillness can be truly sensed
Light dew
Bright hue
Fine view
Rain falls
Wet walls
The sun goes hiding behind clouds
Drops drip as dark aura enshrouds
Muddy puddles
Water muddles
Crowd huddles
Snowy flakes
Frozen lakes
Sashaying in robes of white array
Winter's cold breath blows me away
Ice skating
Skis waiting
Snowmen creating
01.08.21
For Joseph May's "Trinet" contest
They started married life so much in love
and such eager expectations.
The future was theirs to live with verve,
while tasting of the world's treasures.
But then the secrecies began
along with raging words of anger.
The days all ran together as
time closed the empty pages.
Gone is the sweetness of the past and
gone as well her ardent lover.
She huddles in a darkened room,
hoping she won't be discovered.
He's quiet now, she rises
to bathe her swollen eyes.
He'll awaken of course to say he's sorry
but she's heard it too often before.
Their happiness in the past,
was perhaps only a wishful mirage.
Her love has turned to pain and fear
that can't be borne forever.
Swiftly she packs an overnight
to slip away while he's still sleeping.
This time for sure she tells herself,
she won't go back again.
For John's "Jaded Love" contest
Soldiers marching buy gun shots from outside.
We have to run into darkened corners just so
We can hide.
But they have found us in huddles we are stood
It's pointless to try and run as that would not
End good.
Walked to a train station I think we're out of luck
Stripped of our belongings and loaded into a
Cattle truck.
Standing for hour only tears there's no smiles
The day turns to night we must of travelled miles
Some with no hats or coats some with no shoes
On their feet.
Old and frail dropping down begging for food
To eat.
This was the start of the end 6 million lives lost
This was the beginning of the bloody
Holocaust.
Half a mile from the shore
boats turn into diving fish,
the sky roars by
derailed by the horizon.
The Lake Erie ferry
skims the crashing crests
rises as a seagull,
scooping up the flying spray.
We passengers go below
abandoning the deck
to the scouring winds.
Children are gathered up
into protective huddles.
I catch my reflection,
my grin is fixed and stiff.
The skipper calls out:
this is normal for the time of year!
The tense mood of the cabin calms.
My jaw aches
for the rest of the day.
The selfish thoughts in your mind take up arms…
Moving through the inner chambers of your thoughts.
Your ego, sharp and frosty as winter--
prowls among others, leaving its mark and sneering.
Patience huddles in the corner…
folding her hands and cooing ;
“We each go back to the earth when our hour finally closes.”
The ordinary moments lean close ,
laying their hushes against your ear.
Kindness leans in, pressing a hand to your shoulder,
watching Pride storm past.
Understanding walks at your side ,
its steps measured… its counsel sure.
Breathe in slowly and remind yourself:
“Goodness moves with me into every moment."
written 12042025_Don Mueang
We seem to have it all
As we want for nothing
In the darkness of the womb
We are evicted into the light
Sadness, then happiness
Unaware of the looming doom
We seem to have it all-
Sadness, then happiness
Cloudy-vorfreude abloom
We hustle, we jump huddles
We cry, we hate, while loving
Then the reaper to the tomb
The Man In The Moon
Follow the crooked path
through a frosted gate
And hide in the shadows,
where the streets are straight,
Look for me in a doorway,
it's there that I will wait,
Marooned in the same darkness
that will, one day, be my fate.
Imagine a light shimmering
and distant voices muttering
As I carve the brick built skies
with flimsy silver guttering,
And there I am, a halo'd face
upon a heart, a fluttering,
Imbetween the chimney stacks,
gasping, choking, spluttering.
I am the mumblings of a lunatic
forgetting what to recall,
Memories of you distorting
despite the thrill of it all,
I am lost among the shadows
that are holding up the wall
So I'll pause for a moment
to let another empty bottle fall.
As it rolls down the sober kerb
like an eerie, muffled scream,
I hear my own hollow footsteps
echoing in a dream,
I am the man in the moon
and upon your eyes I beam,
Lighting up discarded wishes
just to watch your essence gleam.
Appearing and disappearing
in the windows and in puddles
Where all my loves once gathered
in their cruel and taunting huddles.
Where I am often found confused
in a myriad of muddles
Suffocating, like an unwanted child
in a world of loveless cuddles.
My eyes will still shine as bright
as a winter's fearful stare,
Reflecting in my melancholy
as if I wasn't there,
Not wanting to embarrass you
nor indeed, do I mean to scare,
Just to blind you with my love
if I could only dare.
Yet my icy breath is hesitant,
the dawn has come too soon,
To whisper to you sweet-nothings
or to catch you if you swoon,
And there you are, such beauty,
in your summer bridal cocoon
Never to love, nor know my name,
I am only the man in the moon.
© RJVHorton2015
A Homeless Child
By Elton Camp
Destiny doesn’t live in a country far away
She’s a child born and living in the USA
Destiny and her mother have lived alone
The child’s father is not dead—just gone
She doesn’t understand why he’s not there
“Mother, why is it my daddy doesn’t care?”
To explain to the child, the mother tries
But she can’t keep tears from her eyes
“Your father just wasn’t ready to settle down.
Someday soon, he says, he will come around.”
The mother worked hard for very low pay
But her company had to shut down one day
Their life then became endless helter-skelter
Most nights they spent at the homeless shelter
Destiny misses her home along with all her toys
Wishes she could be like most girls and boys
Instead, she huddles against her mother in fear
As another scary night on the street draws near
(To see the supporting picture, go to http://www.scribd.com/doc/78236749/A-Homeless-Child )