Best I Have No Idea Poems
Blindfolded, he takes me from the car through the humid air of August. He holds my hand, and then surrounds me with his arms, when small obstacles appear. He brushes the hair from my forehead, gentling me like a shy colt. The silk rectangular scarf, I had folded and tied about my breasts clings to me. My cutoffs ride up further exciting me, as he lifts me onto a wall. Shushing me, he says. “Sit still, honey.” I have no idea where we are but, his voice and footsteps have a slight echo.
the wail
of a harmonica:
moonlight serenade
Vibrations tingle across my skin, raising the down on my arms. A bead of sweat mixes with baby lotion and follows a shiver down, from cleavage to navel. Seconds become minutes, as the song caresses me. Oh, how I love him, this long tall drink of water with his huge hands and slow drawl. As the last note hangs in echo, I hear him approach. He lifts me high and traces the droplet down to the top of my hip-huggers with his tongue. I am still blindfolded when he places me on the ground. I feel his breathe upon my mouth. The tip of his tongue plays across my teeth. Ah, I remember him, his face, his hands, his taste, and that night at the empty skating rink…but, sadly, not his name.
the scarf
falls from my hands:
the drawer closes
First Published by Contemporary Haibun On-line Winter of 2013
help mrs. muse is gone and my mind is shooting blanks
my friend called inspiration is trying to walk the plank
motivation just married mr lazy
and confidence started acting really crazy
cousin common sense is on vacation out of town
and aunt intelligence is nowhere to be found
uncle rational is at the casino gambling his life away
and my best friend happiness never wants to stay
my neighbor opportunity doesnt knock on my door anymore
and my girlfriend love is really just a whore
my partner pride is always full of himself
and sister sympathy is busy with someone else
grandpa wisdom is smart enough not to say a word
and grandma compassion is seen but never heard
the only friends that ever come to town
is anger and disgust and they always hang around
my high school sweat heart infatuation doesnt really call
and my childhood friend imagination doesnt exist at all
I wish I’d had the courage to ask you
why you treated me so differently to my sibling
You gave her private education at Norland -
yet I did the same course but at the local technical college
You purchased a house for her -
yet I had to save up with my husband to buy our own
You paid for her driving lessons, bought her a car
whilst I had 5 casual jobs and paid for my own
You gave her money on tap
yet I’ve have had to work for everything we own
At the end of the day
you never treated me like I was your daughter.
Since you died …
Mum’s intimated you weren’t my father …
I wish I’d had the courage to ask before you died
NB Neither myself or mum have grieved in the five years since he died - as for my sister I have no idea, as she cut all contact with the family after she inherited part of dad's estate from me and mum.
Norland is a private college in Berkshire - it's where the Royal Nannies come from
awarded poem of the day 9/10/20
awarded trophy 9/29/20
Previously received n/a in courage Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cook
09/09/20
Nirveda (sansk.) - aversion to existence
"The existent there is no cessation". Bhagavat Gita, 2.16
Addicted to existence, I may slain
or, maybe, they may slain me. I may die
a hero or, unknown, die in vain.
I may live righteously, I may abstain
from sins like Abel. Or, vice versa, I
may overstep the laws of God like Cain.
None of that matters! Destined to exist,
scourged by two demons, life and death, I plea
for non-being, nothingness, for sweetest tryst
with dreamless dream. Oh, woe is me! Deceased
or full of hateful life, I have to be
until I understand the very gist
of cruel, God knows whom invented notion
that long drained streams must flow into the ocean.
aba, aba, bcb, bcb, dd. I have no idea what this form is called. If not called yet, I hereby anoint you a Terzonnet)
"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
And I intend to end up there." Rumi
In search of my beloved,
my supernova soul was born,
floating among gardens of glistening galaxies,
adoring heavenly hues of sapphire,
amethyst and emerald constellations,
where efflorescence butterflies,
fluttered among elysian scents.
Yet I still yearned for her forbidden fragrance.
Cultivating the art of transcendental romance,
euphoric emotions wrote an amaranthine aubade,
hoping the universe would hear my call,
as my love is a timeless lunar lullaby,
lingering like a flute echoing moonstone melodies,
where passion travels with each
nocturnal note composing a cosmic chorus,
ordained from an orchestra of galactic halos.
At twilight, in a playground of primrose promises,
millions of pulsar pearls appeared.
Silent and still, sentimental stars shimmering,
listening to the desires of my heart,
but at dawn they were always forgotten.
In my hallucination of loneliness,
fatigued from evanescent entities,
I awaited to hear her halcyon harmony,
until echoes vibrated from the moon,
so I became a slave to moonlight -
but it too, abandoned me at daylight.
Must I forever be the victim of selfish sunrise?
Upon the elegance of an ethereal eternal eclipse.
the last star wept sacred stardust on autumn leaves,
which glowed as they withered from scarlet to saffron.
In Nebula's November cull of death,
I fell like a comet in a meteor shower,
betrayed, falling into a quasar black hole -
lost forever.
Without interstellar lyrics,
I no longer illuminate,
maybe some light is too bright.
But, I know there is a rustic rose,
blossoming upon vintage shores,
so, every night I look up to the sky,
wondering where you are?
In these realms, within which I roam,
I watch each star suffocate
from the suppression of affection.
Seems no spectral spirit is selfless enough
to ignite this symphony of silence.
Maybe I was born a cosmic Casanova.
Maybe I'm just an intergalactic Romeo.
And so you dust the book that's me
right off the shelf called LOVERS
You have found the others not to
be as enthrallingly intense
caressing the gilded pages,
you take a moment to admire me
through the layer of dust
with eager fingers you try to pry my cover
I will not let you open me again
those lines of love and rhymes of passion
encrypted with your name
will no longer be available to be read
consider this book, archaic
Put me back on the shelf
for I'd rather gather dust
then be poured over
by your careless fingers...
fingers that have traced other lines
eyes that have viewed other plots than mine
Leave me alone
for my mysteries were beyond your understanding
a book not for the novice in love
but for the mature
the secure
read the other volumes
more slender than mine
less complicated
more frivolous
entertaining
devoid of depth of meaning
devoid of passionate climaxes
and intricate subplots
Come back to me
when you hold me as a sacred volume
of love and life
the only sacred writ to fit your needs
then I will open my covers
and let you devour
the secrets of my essence
the mysteries of your universe
you will need no other book
to live by
to learn by
to love by
except this unabridged volume
of poetry
that is
me.
Eileen Manassian
I was reminded of this poem that I posted on September 2016. I often look up my name on Google to see where my poetry as gone, and I'm so thrilled with my findings. My poems have found their way into books, blogs, school programs, internet educational and gaming sites, Instagram posts, Facebook posts, and as a Tattoo on someone's body! Someone has done a dramatic reading of this poem on Sound Cloud. I quite like it and thought I would share it with you. I have no idea who this person is, but I like what they've done with my work.
Here is the Sound Cloud Link: https://soundcloud.com/allouthelter/no-other-by-eileen-manassian-ghali
My original poem is found on this link: https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/no_other_826957
This picture is of the Columbine flower by John Denver.
(He was dead long before the shootings at Columbine.)
In my life, I was so blessed to meet you.
You cherished all people, nature, and I think
God designed His glorious sky just for you, too!
Besides your music, I know you cared about
all the hungry folks on this earth.
And you started the Hunger Project wherein
people could plant from our God’s fine earth.
You sang of God’s creation, which is far more
than I will ever do.
What an infinitesimal thing a POTD is, well, John,
when compared to your tunes.
I am so glad to this day, I had a personal chance
to talk with you.
You were as humble and beautiful as the twinkling
stars at night we love to view!
I have no idea why your plane crashed so-suddenly,
with you into the dark sea..
But here is one of your photographs, that is as beautifully
created ……as thee!
6/26/2023
I can hear the echoes of footsteps,
at times the rattling of iron bars,
but my thoughts are too loud,
repeating in this dim and disturbed mind.
My rage used to punch all four walls,
hoping concrete would crumble,
but broken knuckles only left crimson stains.
At least they offer a little colour to the grey.
I have no idea of time nor date.
Twenty three hours flow too slow.
Too much time to dwell, wasting away,
horizontal, upon a worn out mattress,
but the sliver of light offers some respite,
as I wait for that one hour of restricted freedom,
escaping this stale stench of sweat and mildew.
I think about the lifeless souls before me.
Sometimes, I turn to God, but only the Devil replies,
adamant I should join him among his bonfires,
but there is no rope nor any sharp objects
to end these sleepless, tearful, deep sighs.
America, trillions in debt
gives to many nations!
Alas, what for, we are seen
as a selfish nation?
Homeless populate the streets
of LA.(thanks to governor Newsom)!
Yet don't you get it, we have
no extra money to pay.
No hidden vaccines do we store.
But all nations yelling...
More, more, more.
We are not a vaccine store!
I have no idea why we ever
helped our allies?
They do, to this day, forever
despise us
I would not come on an international
site.
Insulting any nation, as though what
they had, was my right.
We are on the road to becoming
Venezuela, two.
People waltz in here, like
we owe them a living, too.
Besieged with Covid at our
borders.
Thousands for a free monthly
check plus medications, such
hoarders.
There are people legally, wanting
to move here.
Overrun by gangs, the Cartels,
who have no fear.
I grew up in Chicago, quite
international.
Relatives, legally arrived when
LAW was still fashionable.
But we are expected to take all in,
as if we are a bottomless money pit.
Don't you understand, we've
surpassed our money limits?
Stop lying and saying we are
hoarding vaccines.
You are listening to the Cancel Culture
station, in itself, worse than the disease!
3/16/2021
~3~
I went to the dance, all alone and shy
I sat in the corner, I have no idea why
They all seemed to be laughing and high
Dancing and having good times
As I sat in the corner, singing like a mime
I saw her over by the exit door
Tears in her eyes, sadness for sure
I saw in her heart
The loneliness that was mine
I understood at once, this was my time
To be a gentleman and do what’s right
So I took her slowly into my arms
I said so softly
Put your head on my shoulders
I held her in silence
As she drained all her tears
Then the song ended and I let her go
She smiles so sweetly and said thank-you dear Joe
Leaving me here, to dance alone
I have to confess it felt very nice
To consol a sweet gal
Even she left me with no vice
Giving it seems, is its own reward
Even for the lonely, my happiness restored
Bonus Stanza 1
Thirty years later, as I arrive home
I kiss my love on her enticing lips
Her blonde hair waves with her lovely hips
I love her still, like long ago
When I said so softly
Put your head on my shoulder
Bonus Stanza 2
A place to cry
Put your head on my shoulder
It doesn’t matter why
Only angels need to know
That you are special
This is simply so
Notes
This idea came to me reading one of Dave Woods poems, listening to Paul Anka and a poem called “A place to cry” by Kathryn Ramirez. Three completely unrelated events into one poem. The BlueRay version has more Bonus Stanza’s and is available for the low price of 99.99 per copy, Oh and also this is just a poem, there is no love for this dark poet
Lets start with DO (Dough}
Then go RA Me
I’m hillbilly as you can see
Little fa and a great big SO
LA is forever in my soul
TI as in time it is getting late
Do as in don’t forget your fate
DO
RA
ME
FA
SO
LA
TI
DO
Put a w at the end of dough
D to b and you will have a bow
Since I have no idea what I try to do
A little shape in the middle for you
Start with it deep - End with it high
Find the sweet spot - And reach the sky
Dough on the bottom - Dough on the top
Master the scale the Dough doesn’t stop
The inventor of Solfege don’t you know
Is a beautiful person with a delightful soul
For Izzy's contest though I have no
idea at all if this is even in the ball
park at all.
To share a painful dive
deserves credit
I was terrified
Police groped blindly in this chase -
a psychopathic serial killer
A cold knife blade against the body
is in every way a mental abuse
Even if you're trying to gain control on all
the pieces that are missing in the moment
Run ... run ... run for your life
Beads of sweat drip from the forehead
taste of blood in the mouth
I have no idea where the forces came from
had to fight from start to finish
in this life-threatening situation
Run ... run ... run until you are exhausted
I did not have much strength left
But the alternative would have been horrible
The world suddenly turned black
I woke up in the hospital one day later
No one can distance themselves from this feeling
The experience is forever in my backpack
10/08/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
INFLICTIONS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
- a fictional poem :)
I picked up my pen and tried hard to write,
words simply failed me and I drew a blank.
The harder I tried the worse it became
Where are the syllables when I need them?
Not a limerick or rhyme will appear …
my muse has gone on her spring holiday -
when she will return I have no idea!
I’m sad, how can I enter a contest
that I have little chance of placing in...
Oh well, I guess its another N/A
to add to my expanding collection.
N/A in contest finalised on 6/2/16
05~31~16
People say my anxiety is cute.
The way I wring my hands, stutter over my words, jump at loud noises, and blush easily.
The way I wring my hands, because if they weren't holding each other they'd be shaking, or even sub-consciously digging into my skin on a bad day.
The way I stutter over my words, and stutter myself into a panic attack because I have no idea what the person on the opposite end thinks of me.
The way I jump at loud noises, instantaneously filling with anxiety and the unshakable need to hide, survive.
The way I blush easily, the redness of my cheeks signifying the onslaught of tears that wish to come, but never are allowed.
How anxiety has overcome me to the point that even my own shame at my weakness can not coerce me into coming out.
The way I'm so afraid of living.
...Adorable.
How can something come out from nothing
When nothing can come from nothing?
So nothing isn’t nothing when it results into something,
Because by then, it would’ve been something and not nothing,
Since something must always result from another thing,
but never from nothing.
Because nothing is not anything and something is anything.
Nothing can never be something and something can never be nothing.
So what is this business of something coming from nothing?
Nothing…because there exists no such thing.
** 2000-- ummm I'm still trying to grasp this grook, haha
and my attempts at it are fizzling out so I'm going to be
sneaky and just submit this, lol
please bear with me I have NO idea if this old write of mine
can even classify as a grook! Sorry Charles...will still try to
come up with something though...