Best Interrupting Poems
Cleaning out my refrigerator, an ice cube slides to the floor
startling the cat, and interrupting a locomotive of thought
that often tracks me down in a beam of light---
Today it streams through a window, where everything seems marred,
by doubt, and dust, crusts of ice and sticky jello spilled on a glassy shelf.
Oh, not the first time, this revelation of light,
I've had it before while kneeling on the floor as I do now,
and many times that I've knelt on a floor,
to clean up my messes,...
praying for help, praying for light, praying for forgiveness...
and now on the floor to sponge up melting ice, water and tears
Raising a young family...a life so demanding...
Caring and nursing...two sides of the coin...
My father and children....my husband caught between...
It wasn't the impossible...but was never enough...
The time took a toll....why did it seem cold....as cold as the ice?
Could I have held out?.... Could I have been stronger?...
A little while longer....
I shiver with memory,... or is it guilt, and regret? Regret, perhaps shame?
Is it only the chill of the open fridge door?
Or is it more?... So much more?
Hmm, interesting metaphor, "a open door"..........
did I leave it open long enough,... wide enough?
Did I do all I could? All I should ? Was I patient enough? Was I all I could be?
Was I tough enough to watch someone linger,
lingering on, I ponder it now...
Difficult years......but a fraction of life, is how it appears,....
Now looking back.... black fades to gray..
but it comes back in spades, to haunt me today
A little while longer.....
I could have been stronger....
_________________________________________________________
The little mouse is scrolling
as the ocean waves are rolling
and they beckon me to come down to the sea
The screen before me glowing
while outside the flowers growing
have a fragrance that is calling out to me
The keyboard keeps me busy
at the same time I am dizzy
yet the birdsongs out my window sound so sweet
While the gigabytes are loading
my poor eyeballs are exploding
and the circulation doesn’t reach my feet
One last video, I say
then another makes its way
interrupting my intentions to go out
One more minute, then I’ll quit
one more hour, here I sit
I’ve forgotten just what life is all about
There is work and there is play
but somewhere along the way
all my play times are so few and far between
Push a button, L O L
while my spirit goes to hell
as I live my cyber life upon a screen
“The
children
are always
interrupting.
You never have time
for me,” her husband whined
as he dropped his dirty clothes
right there on the floor by the bed.
Trying not to roll her eyes, she gave
this quick response to her disgruntled spouse:
“The kids, chores and mishaps have me spinning,
and you tell me you feel rejected.
To have a blissful home takes two.
Consideration is key.
I’m also missing you!
To be successful
in our bed, take
time OUT of
it. . . for
ME!”
A Double Etheree written May 27, 2012
for David Williams'
The Three H's Poetry Contest
I
An ode to the courageous hummingbird
The tiniest bird, but bravest of all
He flits about without saying a word,
When most unexpected he comes to call
Fluttering gossamer wings rapidly,
He graces the feeder in an instant
While hovering in usual fashion,
His colorful feathers preened nattily
The ruby at his throat most dominant
--Epitome of avian passion.
II
His coat glistens with iridescent hues
Most easily seen in the bright sunlight
He’s glaring at me from his fleeting views,
Interrupting his bold, erratic flight
I look back at him with determined poise
Enraptured by his slow backward retreat
With rare aplomb think him taken aback,
I hear his delightful low humming noise
As he refuses to admit defeat,
Comes quickly to my face, spiraling back.
III
Oh, sweet little fellow so loved and prized
Topic of bird-lovers conversation
Yet when you appear, I am so surprised
Enamored with your gay presentation,
Wanting to hold you to my gentle breast
To say I have made you my little friend
Your colorful beauty so astounds me,
So far surpassing Mother Nature’s best
Lovelier shades always make up your blend
Love you, hummingbird, my pleasure to see.
[NATURE]
Submitted to: "2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 2" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
June 15, 2022
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written April 28, 2022
Syllables check with HMS
written for "O Form - Ode - New Poems - Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Constance La France
#4 on BEST NEW POEMS LIST
Poetry Soup
May 27, 2022
There is so little space I could give in my skies,
Every moon has left a whole cluster of clouds full of lies,
I cannot unclog a product polluted in disguise,
Don’t ask me to lay in your web you chose to improvise ,
I have seen too many oceans being mistreated for wastelands,
So don’t call yourself something that is drowning deep in quicksands,
When you are surrounded with the wind and all it’s forgiving hands ,
Don’t disrupt my diligence by your Petty demands,
Don’t even think about interrupting my silence ,
When all I could hear are traits of unforgiven violence ,
When all I did was extend some guidance ,
And all that lacked was to walk in patience ,
So let’s not speak of the truth ,
The truth which you failed to gift ,
To gift wrap in deceptions,
Deceptions mistaking my kindness for trust ,
Trust lost in your idea of confusion,
Confusion named as “issues”
Issues engraved in broken perspectives,
Perspectives from your cycle of imagination .
His mind is dark,
like a night sky without stars.
Doubt sits upon his shoulders,
poking at his face,
irritating his mind,
interrupting his thoughts,
outrunning his words -
laughing at him hysterically.
Demons slay his self belief,
echoing like mountainous valleys.
Playing with his insecurities.
Manic voices vibrate in a percussion of shrieking,
like jesters juggling with his sanity.
Sweaty palms and heavy feet,
leave his tongue cemented,
like a block of concrete.
Curtains ascend slowly.
Microphone has no mercy.
Silence awaits,
as audience anticipate.
His petrified eyes attempt
to ignore hundreds of faces,
focusing at him.
He fumbles and mumbles
apologises and starts again.
Closes his eyes,
to find his special, sacred place.
His hidden spirit roars, as audience gasp.
His soul rises like king Arthur's sword,
releasing the thunder, trapped inside.
Doubt plummets to the ground.
His words strike like lightening,
defeating demons into silence.
Audience applaud in elation.
For a moment he smiles,
but then doubt and demons re-emerge.
Bullying his self esteem,
murdering his short lived joy.
He sits in silence,
wondering what is the point...
Simple Musing
Silent One
25 July 2020
Wrath
Do not be angry with your fellow friend
It tears you apart
And, it puts stress on your heart
Greed
No need to own more than you already have
Resolve your passion for those in need
Step up and be the one to lead
Sloth
The Truth of the Word is written
Take heed so you will not it take lightly
For the Words are not meant slightly
Pride
God gave us two meanings
We can choose to be more than we should
Or make better choices to not be misunderstood
Lust
A powerful emotion this is, takes control
Thoughts in the mind are intense and disrupting
Prayer to the Higher Power will be the only way to interrupting
Envy
Submit not to it
No concern of others’ wealth, you have what you need
With that, you will succeed
Gluttony
Waste not your food, drink, or belongings
Those who have nothing, distribute your supply
Chances are you will get by.
©Holly P. Moore
November 2012
Scrambling over each other, trying hard to be heard, interrupting, yelling out, being yourself.
We knew how to do this when we were two, and three, and four, but they socialized it out of us.
So we grew up un-learning our naturalness, un-learning our playfulness, unlearning our potential.
Sure, they say, we are going to help you with your potential, but as we fit into the lines, conforming,
Winding our real selves into the pretenders others accept, we lose our potential, because it is
Not ours anymore, it is your idea of what ours should be. When we break ranks, and run for it,
You lament that you cannot control us. Thank goodness you cannot, for the leaders, the ones who have
Stood for hundreds and thousands of others have learned to scream their truth from the roof tops,
Challenging those who think controlling others is normal. There is nothing more abnormal than that.
Keep silent before Me, O islands and let the people renew their strength
Let them come near; then let them speak; let us come near together
To judgement. Isaiah ch 41 verse 1
March the 13th 1996, I was driving along, thinking of how some people were affected by traumatic events in childhood and how some overcame setbacks to become role models/leaders even, the thought made me 'feel hope' this was after years of denial, that there was a satanic influence in everyday life yet now I was facing.and considering the idea that such events could be of satanic motivation in order to stunt or even deny 'the world' of helpful statesmen/women & role models.'
Very shortly maybe seconds after,this very thought; the radio station I was tuned to announced they were interrupting the schedule to breaking news of a terrible shooting at the
town of Dunblane, in the primary school, as more details emerged I pulled over and although stunned
and dismayed, I was hearing the way this was being viewed in a sanitized way, a matter of fact thing, just a madman.' I punched the dash tears were in my eyes, I felt an evilness I could almost taste, pulling my thoughts together I realised if I believed that which I was thinking on moments before the news flash, I must pray against this act, and as well as praying for all there, I wanted the Lord to bring all the children being
brutalised here, through this, and those who were destined for greatness to reach their potential.' I knew this was why? a relatively 'obscure school' rather than a prestigious one was attacked.. My thought was 'who' was in there that was the specific target.'
I prayed intensively & above all; for that child,
Another Heroin dancer
On the street today
Dodging, weaving, tempting death
Out of things to say
Interrupting traffic
With nowhere to go
A senseless waste of human kind
No seeds left to sow
Another Heroin dancer
Crossed my path this way
Prompting pause to reconsider
The price we have to pay
For being apathetic
To those who are so lost
And finding means of helping
The ones which life has tossed
For everyone among us
Whose story is unknown
Can teach us, help us understand
How hopelessness is grown
That no one is immune
And judgment is no place
To start, to heal or contemplate
A world all can embrace
Ants are known to be industrious,
Bustling about the anthill
In lines and arcs and freeform patterns,
Intent on some important insect mission,
Minding their own business, thank you.
Of course, sometimes ants have to be exterminated
If they’re likely to bite a small child,
Or interrupting the flow of one’s flower bed,
Or just plain in the way.
After all, they’re only bugs,
Small and inconsequential and expendable.
Occasionally, small rough and tumble boys,
Full of bravado and challenging each other,
Will desecrate an anthill recklessly
Just for sport…
And to see the ants run frantically
In response to the destruction of their entire world
At the whim of a dirty-sneakered foot.
They look so small from up above
Scurrying about like ants
Tiny and insignificant from the height
Of a skyscraper, or a ski lift,
Or the windshield of a fighter pilot’s plane.
Tiny, and in the way
Because, as we all know,
Sometimes ants have to be exterminated.
S - tart by finding your own happiness in life
P - oliteness to others is always important
R - emember birthdays and special occasions
E - ye contact and smiling encourages others
A - nd listen to someone's problem without interrupting
D - on't ever judge people just give them a chance
I - nitiate conversations even with strangers
N - ames make people happy so use theirs often
G - ive to your community with donations and time
H - appily share your skills, like teaching poetry or art
A- nd laugh because it brings joy to people you meet in a day
P - raise and compliments are uplifting so give plenty
P - ut together some care packages and deliver to the sick or poor
I - nstead of bad news spread only good news
N - othing spreads happiness like kindness so always be kind
E - ven to that bedraggled homeless person begging for money
S - pend time with family, friends, and even strangers
S - how your gratitude, say thank you a lot
________________________
March 21, 2023
Poetry/Acrostic/SPREADING HAPPINESS
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1532-997-21
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, SPREADING HAPPINESS
sponsor, Anoucheka Gangabissoon, Judged 04/15/2023
Third Place
College students today are a professor's worst nightmare
They come to class late, with ripped jeans and purple hair
Without a word of apology for interrupting what's going on
They proceed to bury their heads in their infernal smartphones
Texting and tweeting and checking out Facebook
They don't give a soul in the room so much as a look
While if asked to participate in an activity or discussion
They grumble under their breath and commence a-cussin'
As far as breaks go, if they're given fifteen minutes
The classroom's still empty after thirty; no one'll be in it
They regard homework assignments as affronts to their dignity
A test or an exam --- Why, that's a cancerous malignity
These arrogant airheads of asininity
Shout down those not of their affinity
But come the end of every semester
They all expect "A's" for their sanguininity
December 16, 2018
Entry in "Let 'Er Rip #2 Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: John Lawless
A silk sheet of black covers my head while I am sleeping and seeps into my skin,
Reaching my brain and interrupting dreams that are far from reality’s reach.
Slowly, surely, on soft feet.
Creeping up on me, unexpected.
Chasing me through dark forests that once held flowers without thorns and birds that sang on the many Sunday mornings of spring.
Heels sinking into weak, helpless soil as it gives in to the pressure that pounds upon it again and again like a never ending migraine.
Toes scratched and bleeding from sharp, jabbing rocks that hide themselves and wait for their next victim,
And leave them with scars to line their flesh.
At night the hurt will sit with their legs crossed tight underneath them as if they are protecting them,
And their cold fingers will trace the scars upon their toes
Over and over
In a rhythm, a melody of sorts that only sounds beautiful when it can be understood by the ones who know it best.
I turn corners and pass trees that loom over me,
Old and wilted,
Threatening to fall on top of me and crush me
So I am molded into the ground below it,
And no one will find me because no one cares about the trees that fall,
Or the plants that die,
So why would they look under the fallen tree to find another girl,
Lost and thrown away in the process of trying to run away?
They chase me still as I run so fast that my legs want to detach themselves from my body and leave me lying limp.
Leaves fall into my hair and the thought to pull them out does not occur to me as the soil squishes between my toes, the wind stings my eyes and ears.
Every time I look down,
Beneath me seems to blur,
and I cannot see any of the branches that threaten to trip me as they know what I am running from.
I will fall and be stuck as weeds wrap around my ankles and wrists and prevent me from rising back up,
They will hold me down as if I am a child throwing a temper tantrum,
Restricting me from kicking and screaming.
They want it to catch me and take me away,
To conquer me,
Control me.
But maybe,
In a way that is unknown to me,
A plague that infects my body piece by piece,
Maybe it already has taken over.
`
Slandered wavelengths
from an old worn out speaker
cracking with each unbalanced bass note
Finding my brain on overload
and a slower heart beat
out of tune
Static becomes the union,
tuning dial gone, volume at high
glowing in the corner of cobweb melodies
lingering on a distant shelf
now sinking lower in this
roadside armchair (Where are the earplugs when you need them)
An empty bottled fortress
protects the pain at my feet,
brown glass soldiers stand guard,
bottle cap mementos flip
like dancing beans on a folding table
at El Mercado
One more for the road
(like I need this)
along crooked dotted lines, weaving nonsense
two at a time, smirking
snickering like children hiding from a babysitter,
mimicking the way
Still the static, white noise,
drowns out the joy and the trees cry,
when birdsong of night haunts with a sound
interrupting the dance of the
beer bottle chorus line
and I tap a painful toe