Best Instants Poems
regrouping
i take a deep breath
like nothing else matters
owning the moment
basking in its magnificence
relishing in the focus
the intensity of being present
the pulsating rhythm of consciousness
and synchronized openness
making peace with time
letting go of the past
of what’s ahead of what’s next
experiencing life in segments
having sublimely discovered
the secret to stretching time
measuring life in instants
and gaining a feeling of…
if not control at least harmony
as it becomes a way of life
showing me what’s most rewarding
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~MINDFULLY~ 2021
AP: 1st place 2021, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on May 3, 2019 for contest HONORABLE MENTIONS WORTH MENTIONING sponsored by RICHARD LAMOUREUX... For a workaholic with constant time constraints, it is a big step to finally find the power within to slow life down. - RANKED 4TH
Originally submitted on February 8, 2019 for contest MINDFULNESS sponsored by CHANTELLE ANNE COOKE - HONORABLE MENTION
Bits of every consciousness does live on
Transported through cosmic thought energy
When the whole of self is nearly now gone
Deep down inside where nobody shall see
Some could call spirits back upon command
When one wants to hold on to endeavor
Just for those inspired instants once so grand
This way, we should surely live forever
Karmic kindness in glowing auras shines
Glimpses of all can come alive again
Like little film clips chiming in our minds
Melded interminably well within
If there is one soul still here on this earth
Many can live on, for what it is worth
By every image spoken,
her mind and heart were broken;
the given and the taken
sought their grave for things forsaken.
Belief and dream dissolving
to a point beyond resolving,
sinking painful instants after
in a hiss of serpent laughter.
Mythology sent packing,
fading image grey and lacking;
wasted time drained in seclusion,
mourned the rag and bone illusion.
What a fool, somehow believing
in the words, denied deceiving;
now alone with smiles resigned,
her orphaned love, no home to find.
When the opaque nights were starless,
and the depressing days desolately cloudy,
the journey through the tortuous valley of life
wasn’t easy as it was meant to be.
When the wilted flowers turned pallid,
and the defoliated trees tarnished tawny,
I lost the tantalizing trail of the garden path,
as in the unshed tears of toil hapless hopes sank.
The jagged pathway of listless life I traveled,
was sorely winding and the time finite.
At the end of the tormenting tunnel
I didn’t see the glitter of the guiding light.
When in stormy nights I was in the wasteland wilderness,
the surreptitious destiny designed for me,
the shards of my splintered sky fell asunder,
I forlornly envisaged strewn all around me.
I didn’t question the supreme designer’s motive,
and His ways of mundane manifestation,
but prayed for the sparkle of the sapphire nights,
and for the shower of the sunny days’ shine.
Without complaint I endured complacently
the transient time’s turbulence as His gracious gift,
waited for the spring to bloom the divine flowers,
and grow the emerald trees to enliven the blessed me.
When under the ruins of the fallen sky
my broken dreams were in the debris of despair,
I traveled within crossing the dark corridor,
and in the soul’s precinct I discovered the heavenly light.
In those precious moments I totally surrendered,
and remained subservient to His omnipresence.
I got the inner strength to hold up the falling sky,
and those enlightened instants kept me going.
"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
Your ancestors had built me, brick by brick, with devotion,
I withstood the sun and shower and earthquake commotion;
Your birth in me, like a little doll, gave me immense pride,
How I cherished your creeping, crawling, and dandy horse ride...!
Your sleeping, rising, walking, running, singing, and dancing,
In your reading, writing, drawing, and painting advancing;
In Your eating and drinking, dressing up and making-up,
I have taken pleasure in your bird-like nimble, quick sup...!
Your first school, first satchel, and first fancy materials,
Your graduation, first job, wedding, and such serials,
Each event of your life, O child mine, I'd been witnessing,
Never at any of your steps, you found me grimacing...!
You have grown, now, physically and psychically, much,
In health, wealth, learning, and love you now lack nothing as such;
For the sake of your dream palace, you have abandoned me,
As though a ghost, my very face you do not want to see...!
I am not, yet, frightened of my loneliness and neglect,
Though day by day, I am by winds and storms and tempest wrecked;
I just want to feel your presence within for short instants,
Lest an acute ache eats me up and ends my existence...!!!
27 May 2023
Writing Challenge - C Quotes - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
time stops to slip in ebony night,
emotive clock freezes
eternal pathos in congealed instants,
silhouetted in the shadow of past,
smears the strata of darkness,
designed to disguise perception lattice
it’s in every little thing we did
the micro details throughout the day
the ones no one would understand
these are
the moments
i miss most
i remember my life as
mini minute minuscule instants
each filled with love for you
how now every
microscopic beat
has me longing for you
through warm lingering fog
i’m somehow forging my way
blessed with the memory of you
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
To The Kids In The Back Of The Bus
To the kids in the back of the bus:
(With the warmest regards)
Stop screaming
Why do you feel the need to scream when every time you sit down?
Why do you feel the need,
the need to sit there and the need to yell and curse and spit and cry out crude and foul language that could ruin a thousand lives in a thousand instants?
Why do you do so?
To the kids in the back of the bus:
People matter, so be quiet about things your pea sized brains don't understand
To the kids in the back of the bus:
Your jokes, are not funny
Your lies, not satisfying
To the kids in the back of the bus:
What happened to respect?
What happened to kindness?
What happened?
To the kids in the back of the bus:
Why is it that every time you make fun of someone that they laugh?
Why do you laugh at the jokes that are meant to harm?
Why is it, that every time I say that you're wrong, you persecute me too?
Dear Society:
(With the highest regards)
Why have you taught us to be like the kids in the back of the bus?
TAP TAP (A Writer's Contemplation)
Tap, tap. I promptly turned to view.
and felt somehow it could be you.
Where have you been, I tersely cried?
... 'Here' just here' -it seemed she lied.
'I was afraid! Where did I go wrong,
that you, your twin were long time gone?
Silence. Like a slumberous dream
I held back from a silent scream
Without you, life is hard to bear.
You brighten days with ideas to share.
Why do you come from nowhere seen,
to tempt me with your wiles extreme?
Then fade away to my lament,
I know it was not your intent
to have me struggle so.
As my thoughts so slowly form,
without your help, can they be born?
Or just languish in a potless stew ,
sunk to the depth of bitter brew.
You rise and in an instants flair
remind me that you're fully there
with a tap tap so lightly put,
like a kitten's soft insistent foot
upon my reverie.
Still I should thank you if I must
although it seems a breach of trust
When I need you, you're not here
and with your sibling disappear.
So please, please stay I must implore.
I'll keep for you an open door.
for you my mistress, inspiration
and your twin muse imagination,.
C.A.K. 1-5-2012 Revised 4-12-2013
The blue hour takes root ...
There is the dark wing of the steamer,
Which takes the open sea, and carries away its regrets,
Tiny passengers, waving handkerchiefs
And the seagulls passing and passing again.
Heavy rusty chains, in heaps on the edge of the quay,
Puddles where the clouds pass,
In which dead leaves are diluting.
The evening is maritime,
The sun is still clinging to the cranes of the harbor,
Which seem aimless,
And on the summit of the trees.
The freshness already slips on its silver soles,
And it remains a few moments, on the water
The wake of dreams.
It doesn't wait to dilutes itself in oblivion.
The boat came out of my field of vision,
Perhaps a point, hidden behind the buildings of the mole.
The wind knocks at my window.
A bus goes up the avenue, almost empty.
The silver stone of the moon rises from the horizon.
The muses escaped.
The blue hour takes root,
I put a disc
And from the piano, Chopin chords.
These are the "Nocturnes".
They soon overtake the reddish mists:
Ultimate bursts of a day that goes out.
---
( translated from french )
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original text:
----
L'heure bleue prend racine...
Il y a l'aileron sombre du paquebot,
qui prend le large, et emporte ses regrets,
des passagers minuscules, agitant des mouchoirs
et les mouettes qui passent et repassent .
De lourdes chaînes rouillées, en tas sur le bord du quai,
des flaques où passent les nuages,
dans lesquelles se diluent des feuilles mortes .
Le soir est maritime,
le soleil s'accroche encore sur les grues du port,
qui semblent désoeuvrées,
et sur la cîme des arbres.
La fraîcheur glisse déjà sur ses semelles d'argent,
et il reste quelques instants, sur l'eau
le sillage des songes.
Il ne tarde pas à se diluer dans l'oubli.
Le bateau est sorti de mon champ de vision,
peut-être un point, caché derrière les bâtiments du môle.
Le vent frappe à ma fenêtre.
Un autobus remonte l'avenue, presque vide .
La pierre argentée de la lune monte de l'horizon.
Les muses se sont échappées.
L'heure bleue prend racine,
je mets un disque
et du piano, s'égrènent les accords de Chopin.
Ce sont les « Nocturnes ».
Ils devancent de peu les brumes rousses :
ultimes sursauts d'un jour qui s'éteint.
RC
I am bird thinking about nothing
Seeing this freedom while I’m well flying
Can’t stop to flap my wings and feel this breeze
Seizing this moment like I’m all well freeze
I see those mountains soaring to skies,
World is better without beautiful lies
Gazing those rivers running silently,
I’ve heard those old trees shaking visibly
I see hundreds of people roaming with pleasure,
Enjoying the instants of His good treasure
Looking everywhere and see cheerful smiles,
Witness everything in just few miles
I’m a free bird seeing this wondrous place,
Just keep on flying in this widest space!
God made a sweet nature for someone like me
It’s a land that is certain for everybody!
?*** Given Eyes to See and Truth to Feel ***
“Yes. Yes, sweet, dear soul,”
my promise speaks
Once again
Of agreements created, sent
Into the rippling, “Amen,” resonating
Prayer’s progression
After a mid-night’s congress:
the self poised ~ bowing down —
the stillness
in heartfelt
Journeying
Mirrors
revealing the left-to-learn ~
Visions
Needing capture.
My definitely determined resolutions
To think, to focus on motions
leading, braiding compassion
end to end;
Alongside each and every one living other;
instants to moments
Seeing the felt…
Aligned
Voyaging Truth beyond the mists
shrouding our lives. all
— side by side.
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(c) sally young eslinger 3/3/2023
Thanks be to God…
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Today
Today
I noticed a small leaf float from the lush canopy and land on grass
then vanish to infinity
I sensed a primal need to amend outcome of events carried within
ominous clouds of ambiguity
I painted a virtual picture of tomorrow exorcizing enmity for amity
nestled amid spheres of possibility
I pondered a rational cause and effect of iniquitous acts as pivotal
moments silently succumb to anonymity
I aimed a magic dart at a wounded heart liberating its final breath
annihilating sufferings incurred from inhumanity
I tamed a wild squall then ask sky goddesses to remedy a tragedy
where naivete had awaken to a confounding dichotomy
I egged a crystal ball to right flawed perceptions of an alien entity
responding to hard unrelenting questions demanding clarity
I chased a black hole moving at the speed of light like gamma ray
driven by the force of weightlessness and in my being a nonentity
I dreamed a dream that annul obduracy making my visions reality
unveiling unknown horizons giving humanity a passage to eternity
I deemed a sleep did not befall; I was just imagining what may be
while sunbeams vanished during the most vital instants of the day
then planets skillfully danced with the night as stars wander freely.
Today...
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"Miniscule seeds planted as dreams...in every imaginable reality"
08/10/2022
2:28 P.M.
Aboard cruise liner:
Rhapsody of the Seas
That Secret Place That Glows
Now alone she ponders the persuasive reality of emotive vulnerability
The stranger vanished while magical moments persisted and lingered on
Sleight of hand is a nemesis obliged to invoke the dynamics of incongruity
Undeterred are elements of rapture like sand dunes on a distant blue lagoon
Instants in retrospect revealing acts of what transpired provokes no surprise
Depicting scenes of tough roller coaster rides and confrontations with woes
Seeking solace from failed endeavors the heart harkens to own the prize
Courage trump defeat leading her love to that secret place that glows
Penned:
08/03/2016
West palm Beach
Florida
USA
A MEANING FOR EACH DAY
The long-distance run begins again
From its dawning burst upon
The route of each unique day —
Evolving, exerting, energizing, elating.
The far distances: a crossing from
Vague inspirations to verses, persisting
Like the birds that squawk at treetops,
Wondering how their cousins sweetly sing?
The deepest longings prayerfully
Reach up:
thought to motion,
With the blessed guidance to rise
Out of self:
from kernel to cosmos—
Like a Phoenix springing to a marathon
Flight across continents with
sea waves mirroring the soar and
Gracing spread wings
With strength for the unfolding search.
Our earth-born lives, bearing
our spirt quests may
Bloom into a growing of faith,
and to a consequential want
To follow in Christ’s deliberate,
Loving footsteps…Fully perceiving
Others while the run of hours
…pauses
To touch the Shepherd…
Learning that starting points and finishing
Lines are neither one beyond us…
By inches or instants,
Wearing our inherited,
ancient, wind-lifted capes, our
Every step taken, and hope given teaches:
Meaning is the bed
of the very paths
we choose to walk.
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(C) sally young Eslinger 1/22