Best Intersected Poems
In the land of spring where hope was born
it's gift - release of winter's hold.
The sun of summer lost its luster
following some how., days take a low bow,
streaked trials all but lost.
Now the days shorter than a lit match' dream.
a moment caught in light tho' weak, just a ray.
Dark hooded and clothed in a fallen snow,
Christmas always wished it just that way.
Hand sore from barbed wire's wretched greeting,
on a winter's walk I wandered on.
Pink glow of youth' robust cheek, sure of foot, still searching
time's meaning of So long.
My father's stride now recognized,
though stronger than in memory's glow..
intersected my own low stuttered step
printed before me in light gathering snow.
Will landscape of winter's white recall my feet,
as I walk the trail where foot steps converge again.
Years on, still hold my children's hands..
awed in perfect artistry of falling weight and wind.
Tell you once in awhile, while lookin' away..
just at a whisper when you're near,
thanks for bein' here..
Christmas always wished it just that way.
Words would remain caged as her eyes gazed at mine
She resided in my Maths and Science book back in Grade nine
She visited me in my sleep; my dreams were no longer mine
According to my mom, my grades were no longer fine
She solved simultaneous equations for me with her exquisite smile
Took over my Trigonometry, I was Sine while she became Cosine
Theta became love to this heart of mine
Selfishness took over; the strategy was to make her mine
Formed new Laws of Physics, the attraction I could no longer hide
Dark brown watery eyes that made my feet lose a straight line
She remained the X Axis and I the Y Axis that never intersected her line
I could claim that she eventually became mine
but gravity took over as this love intertwined
I fell so hard but I was fortunate to be rescued by this pen of mine
I guess she will never know, Phumlani Mthethwa
Poem as depicted here.
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CIRCUMLOCUTION was inspired by the poem, Him & Her Intersection, by Brian Bilston. In the 2015 Great British Write Off, he won the poetry prize for this poem disguised in a Venn diagram. My interpretation of the intersection poem scans differently to his as the intersected part is to be read in a loop, as suggested by the title.
The Venn diagram poem is an interesting intersecting visual poem written inside a two-circle Venn diagram.
It could be written on any subject where a contrasting viewpoint is key to a successful intersection poem. The idea is for the two outer sections (the opposing views) to be read independently taking the intersection into account, for example, xxxxxxxx X / X xxxxxx (the lines don’t have to be of an equal length.) This intersected piece ‘X’ should flow in a logical statement from top to bottom—I aimed for imagistic prose.
We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Timothy Levi Hicks
Living in the Middle
Rules of life restrict us from infancy.
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson,
a cynosural guide to success, an urge to forget
those practices made to thwart happiness.
Spare spending habits, avoiding the seven deadly sins,
passages, and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Until, true love, that mystic carriage to what may be;
the chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery.
The inevitable enduring of drudge before we fly.
We are living in the middle, you and I.
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings.
What if we had never met? If our paths had never
intersected or, if they did, we failed to connect.
Missed the perfect moment when the sky was right
to usher in romance, the laws of allurement
that shaped 'Plaisir d'amor' in magical renderings.
The ardent awareness of simpler things;
Brilliant colors, ambrosial kisses and heavenly perfumes.
The harmony of mutual understandings
between butterfly beginnings-ethereal endings.
The eager phase of dreams, of promises made,
getting used to things- some expected, some not.
then the arduous art of forgiving.
Our consent to cherish common objectives.
Was it happenstance our love succeeded - or was it
Because we overlooked each other's flaws-
What we expected in the moment?
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord;
that a chance encounter could be the cause.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we rèad.
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years,
standing fast against misfortunes we emerged,
shaped by caring and forbearing hearts.
Refusing to imagine life devoid of one another,
fighting new adversity with every sinew.
Nothing earthly, or in heaven, can measure
this small eternity we have made ourselves.
No matter how circumstance may try to spin you,
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Suzanne Delaney
A Glosa
A living thing she was...she graced our land...
three hundred years and more, she stood with pride.
A focal point to meet with friends, we'd stand
or drive the intersected roads beside
the wall that sheltered this, our blessed tree
we thought long-standing for eternity.
The 'Heart of Balmville', certainly was she...
so many grew up in her view's embrace
and took for granted that this vision be
forever etched within this Balmville space.
Inside the small historic park, she stood
preserved for years in her dear ancient wood.
Her statuesque magnificence now gone...
our hearts are saddened, missing her great limbs.
But with her stump, might memories hold on
as the sight of her leaves and branches dims.
The 'Heart of Balmville' lives within each heart...
Dear Balmville Tree, sweet homage we impart.
It was a rainy Wednesday, a lonely night. I was sitting on a wooden chair inside a coffee shop, savoring the aroma and the taste of the newly brewed beans of my Affogato. As I looked outside, the sky was caliginous, no hint of sunlight was found. The clouds were as heavy as my emotions. And slowly, tears began running. Both from the clouds and my eyes.
Before I lived in
A dark and awful planet
'til the day we met
The bell rang. You opened the door. The squeaky sounds your wet shoes created got the attention of everyone. And when you tried to escape embarrassment, you stumbled and I knew you were panicstricken. Our eyes intersected, and for once, I found myself laughing at you.
You ordered a Macchiato. And because there was no available seats anymore, you asked me if you could sit with me. Without saying, without approval, you sat opposite to me.
From there, our novel began. You were the paper, I was the pen. And the ink, the ink was love.
Every Wednesday was our date. In the coffee shop, in the third table on the first row. I would order Affogato and you Macchiato. Everything was always like the first time we met, except the skies were filled with colors of the rainbow. And from there, it made me believe, that every after rain there's always a rainbow.
We are like colors
Glistening when touched by light
Shimmering in sight
And thus, our relationship continued. From months into years, we almost hit a decade. Almost.
If only you didn't lie to me that you're already married. If only you didn't lie to me that you already have two daughters and a son. If only you didn't make me feel like a mistress chasing you. You made me feel what we had was like a rainbow. That even though we had fights, at the end, colors would still shine upon us.
Like rainbow in sky
Every after rain we see
Fades simply, slowly
And so I was the pen and you were the paper. You're already lacking, and the ink that kept us together was already blotting.
11/21/2015
Sexual Employee
It clocked in at 7:02 am
No orifice in sight
Placed the time card in a slot
Made its way to a metallic table
Blank white paper on the top
#2 lead pencil, covered yellow, appeared
One hour later the employee began to draw
At the center of the paper starting at point “A”
A thin line was drawn from there to point “B’ on the page
Horizontal, naturally
Below that, one hour later, another line was formed
Starting at point “C”
It too was a thin line drawn and continued on to point “D”
Horizontally, of course (the two lines never intersected)
Vertical lines could only be drawn on Fridays
Diagonals were not permitted
They were perverse and went against the laws of nature
The employee had no discernible features worth mentioning
But, it does come to work each day though
With two buttons built or installed into its side
It rolled over to the clock at 4:02 pm and punched out
Placed the time card in a designated slot and left
Went home with the push buttons still installed
One red. One green. Always the same
We never questioned
It is not our job
"Eric's Second Fundamental Theorem of Love"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Love is....two minds plus two hearts
It's you plus me to the first power, there's no division in this part
It's the sum of two Souls, this equation is the best
It's the quantity of you and I, minus all the rest
It's respect and compassion over spells and potions
It's when you divide all the negatives, and integrate the quotient
It's the only thing that's given in any ship's relation
And only a well-calculated attempt will balance It's equation
It's emotion and devotion intersected by stress and pain
And It's only calculated naturally so it always yields a gain
It's a bi-product of lust or sisters and brothers
And It is always squared in the eyes of a mother
It's Faith Times Forgiveness, The Product Of The Word
And in It's simplest form, the bees and the birds
It's my blood, sweat and tears raised to the power of you
And since we both give it to all, it is inversely received by just us two
It's the rate of instinct, the highest power of dedication
It's The Derivative Of God, our Angle Of Elevation
To me, It's only known as you, the constant known as my better half
It's not hard to figure out, are you ready to do the math
Every struggle in my path
And the horrible aftermath
How much longer can I stay true
I can't hep feel like im loosing you
Temptation is everywhere I face
I dont know how much more I can take
sometimes it'd be easier if they pulled the trigger
because I cant stand how the guilt just gets bigger
So just pull the trigger
the sin is so much greater
it's so much easier to die than live with faith
I just dont know how much more I can take
These outcomes are so curropted
sin has always interrupted
it feels like my life has come to nothing
always falling for something
Wishing to go back to the good old days
When I was following God's ways
but sin has taken every part of me
forgetting the innocence I used to see
So just pull the trigger
the sin is so much greater
it's so much easier to die than live with faith
I just don't know how much more I can take
Thankfully God has intersected
My sins he has corrected
I deserve none of this
but he welcomes me with open arms and a kiss
He gives me the strength to make it through
With Jesus I am made new
Smooth, mapped roads
intersected with red-eyed
nights, quivering
nerves, fists pounding air.
A nightmare
descended as a phantom
snaking black shadows into
ebullient corridors
of light.
A hulking foe crowded his way in
uninvited.
Sun rose with belly chuckles,
banners, and presents,
touched the earth dipping
below the horizon like a
balloon leaking helium.
Chortles rang like bells.
Hero’s cape waved on
the back of a boy
like a flag snapping in the wind.
Legs pumped air, feet
thumped linoleum.
Birthday wishes tied up in
dime-store bows.
Red, yellow, and blue paper with
comic book heroes
piled in a corner.
Balloons, streamers, confetti
flew.
Family, friends,
and bouncing children
flashed white
teeth and upturned
lips gushing
unbridled
mirth.
The birthday song belted as
clashing keys rippled
flames on five
wax-woven cords.
A cake—
vanilla with strawberry
slathered with buttercream.
Superman soared above
candied skyscrapers and
whipped clouds.
A brackish, biting drink
drenched lips and tongue,
gorged up from the inner dark throb—
of marrow and bone.
A river of vomit like scarlet ribbons
out of a swollen, six-year-old gut,
He gagged— spewed.
Wide-eyed gasps and screams
of guests filled the room.
A foamy stream christened
the cake dousing burning candles.
Plunged into a crepuscular abyss,
a blank page filled
with scans, chemo, needle
pricks, caps topping
a hairless head.
A devouring tumor
inside a child— hiding,
savagely growing, slowly killing.
With razor sharp deception,
you seduced my trust and intersected my protection.
Ripping open my ribcage,
you mastered the art of unfaithfulness
and slaughtered my love with your unyielding rage.
With your surgeon gloves on;
you took the beat away from my cardiovascular,
and left me with joint and muscular pains
around the circumference of blood vessel that felt awfully peculiar.
No words could explain
the moment I fell to the ground; clutching my chest,
realising my princess was more of a pest who had left
behind our whole relationship in a mess.
While laying on the ground;
misguided feelings were all I could think about,
as the sympathetic voices rang out
to overload my mathematical ability to count.
Still, it was paramount
I gathered all my broken pieces to dissect the events,
that lead up to my intense state of suspense
over comments that had left my love truly incensed.
You said you cared for me like no man before,
but instead of investigating her statement to make sure;
I was foolishly assured, my security was secure.
Processing looks that could kill, you grabbed your utensils and cut me deep
in the space you called your operating room,
with broken promises and neglect in hand; my sadness loomed
while you unravelled your bitter cocoon as the clock struck half past noon.
Rushed to hospital in an act that was not an accident but more an emergency,
all I could see was the colour burgundy
as my soul tried valiantly to see past the bruise of dishonesty.
As the nurses tried to disperse the curse of bitterness
and coerce me into feeling a sense of relief,
I was resigned to suffer disbelief at the thought of my utter grief,
recalling the brief time it took you
to come into my life and steal away my kindness like a thief.
To be continued...
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Somedays, I wake up and my mind is a buzz with the low hum of drunk bees. Other days it's the homicidal scree of the Purge siren meets the absurdity of Happy Gilmore. Those days, the mood stabilizers taste like tic tacs dipped in acid and it spills out of my gaping mouth into my previously placid pen, turning it to poison. My notebook becomes a study in disease, pock marked and creased with roller coaster highs and lows and the frizzing mania inbetween unfolds like an old moth eaten static charged blanket covering the gouged pages with foul temper, brutal honesty, utter despair, and doomed flights of fancy.
It's a curse, like a lesbian lost to menstruation...shes paying rent in a house she doesn't live in, the lonely walls sing or scream it all depends on the dopamine. Sometimes, I want to draw these breath stealing fiends, but their shape eludes me, they slide over my fingers like the rainbow slick of an oil spill, tangible but unable to be captured, just enough residue sticks to my fingers, daring me to try and paint the face of it on the sidewalk.
Somedays, theres jet fuel in my veins and my hands are brushes and my skin in an untreated canvas; the cool pigment dries and hardens inti crackling waves of war paint. My yawp shakes the trees and the birds and the needs, yes THE bees startle skyward into patterns flung by the breeze, stippling the sky in polka dotted relief. These days burn like untreated leprosy. Because, as bits fall away, I know the meat underneath is really me. I come crashing down to earth face first, eating my teeth so that the gaps in my smile are the map of a picasso and so my veins spew blue and my face twists upon itself like it was trapped in one hell of a vacuum, but you can still taste the salt of my tears and hear the howling of the out of tune guitar weeping in my uneducated fingers.
The area between the twp poles is the buzzing radio wormhole radiating lazy circles impaled by tight frantic circles, intersected by crazy 8s and venn diagramed with healthy doses of rage, creating a vomit inducing masterpiece of optical illusion bubbles swelling and flowing in wiggling vertigo. Illness is art. Art transforms illness. It's not always beautiful. Sometimes beauty is in the intersection of fascination and revulsion.
I heard a black bird’s song today
He balanced high on a wire
His dark coat purple in reflection
His voice high and sweet
above the ocean’s roar and
the hum of traffic on the beachside highway
So pleasant, melodic,
not unlike a tune to be stolen by the Mockingbird
He called out so clear and soft
Was it a springtime love song?
A call for a mate only spoken at the end of winter?
Or had I never heard the delicate song
of a creature whose like surround me
as I walk through the grass each day?
Hello, he cried
So far above me on that wire
in a moment we shared together
as our lives intersected
for just that instant
in a departing winter
and an awaking spring.
I was traveling along my life line,
when mine line intersected with a peculiar guy,
In a time and a place,that was not unfamiliar to me.
He stared at his reflection in a mirror, and chanted,
“Me,My,I.”
This was a peculiar sight,
so I couldn’t help but pry, “Are you all right ?”
He replied, “My life line has taken some sever curves and Steep dives !”
I felt compassion for this peculiar Guy’s plight , and had to pry,
“Have you considered inviting God to help you straighten out the sever curves and steep dives in your life ?”
He replied, " Yes,every time I look into a mirror."
“Me,My And I.”
Written by Stephen J. Vattimo April 19 ,2011
I-10 sings its lone soliloquy
Along the desert stream
That flows on 18 wheelers
Flying to another world
Beyond this intersected boundary
I-10 sings its lone soliloquy
On wings that croon and woo
Each lonesome passerby
Heading for another world
Beyond this intersected boundary