Best Jettisoned Poems
You are far away now
Off in fields of gold
Dappled with evenings hot velvety light
90 degrees of separation has dulled the sword
eased the pain
The grasshoppers chirp in unison to your labors but they no longer ache in your solar plexus
Nor mine
What sweet sorrow is loss and gain
I now walk down the very paths I have always so longed for
the dark rich peat paths of happiness
contentment oozes from these fingertips as I write and I wonder if happiness is poetry
Or does it preclude it all together
The night sky fills with stars
The stars fill with fire flies that burst out of them like infinitesimal lightning bolts
jettisoned to my soul
he and I chase storms on decks swirled in smoke
We banter and bay at one another
you are in a field of gold somewhere
or beside
a river bed
The smell of the wet earth of shore beneath you reaches me… but momentarily
dismissed as the ash of the bonfire of a week ago fire or the grill of last night’s
unbelievably tasty ribs he concocted from air for me and me alone
but then we shared with so many
dinners
Lingers on my lip tips…the bottom edge
I kiss him and mean it with all I am
A being
a re-being
Super beings are we
all
and our colors wash
upon the canvas of my life
melding into one great magnificent us
Spectacular are we
the creatures who so love life
we give our only begotten selves to each other
and never ever forsake
us
Categories:
jettisoned, fire, food, grave,
Form:
Free verse
E.E.CUMMINGS AND I
I remember a beautiful, Spring
day in Chicago.
Sitting on my lover's lap.
His eyes as lovely as the spring-
green trees tapping gently on my
living room windows.
His lips velvety as the roses on
Montrose Avenue, that day in May
And, I, reading him, E.E. Cummings
poem, "Since Feeling is First."
That one single poem my life did
change me, forevermore!
"He who worries about the syntax
of things, will never truly kiss you."
Ah~ how right E.E.Cummings was.
I was and I still am ecstatic with:
"Wholly to be a fool in the world,
my blood approves."
"And kisses are a better fate than
wisdom, lady, I swear by all the
flowers."
How very true we were that day
to E.E, Cummings line:
"Then laugh, leaning back in my
my arms"
God Bless you, EE!
"For life in not a paragraph, and
death is no parenthesis."
My life jettisoned after that day.
Forever, am I lost in a love capsule.
And hoped a poet, I would one day be.
Panagiota Romios
11/7/2019
Categories:
jettisoned, chicago, emotions, inspiration, longing,
Form:
Free verse
blue jay
jealous jester
your jabberwocky sounds
jettisoned across the grove through
jack pine now rebound, jack hammering the
warning “junco, fly away! This,”
you jeer, “is my feeder!”
unjust you are
blue jay
Categories:
jettisoned, animals, blue,
Form:
Rictameter
Gripped by transgressions in life of destitute
Withdrawn she lived in deviant troubled youth
Orphaned long ago by her own living parents
When in substance abuse she buried her soul
Distancing benevolence as church-bells tolled.
Abdicating love, she traded for buzz of lust
Forsaking trust to bolster deceptive purpose
Relinquishing sapience to forces of insanity
Finding her pleasures in discarded emotions
Someone volunteered on disgruntled streets
At midnight hour agog in tumultuous alleys.
Yet, her vacant heart was soon transformed
When jettisoned chorus found her repertoire,
As she spent nights singing hymns of joy
And read stories aloud in her mother’s voice
Cherishing how she swayed in her father’s arms
As the song of her own womb sung of a new life.
From place to place she went scouting spots
Where kind-hearted people lived downtown
And there she went when the church bells rang
As she said a prayer after a very long time
Asking for blessings as her newborn baby cried
On a stranger’s porch near a posh high-rise
Hiding long enough till someone took notice,
Swiftly thereafter from the town she vanished.
June 17, 2020
Placed 2nd: Thesaurus – Abandon or Abandoned Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Based on true stories in the United States
Categories:
jettisoned, baby, emotions, mother,
Form:
Free verse
Yesterday, I took out my new quill pen and
a bottle of ink.
I sat down at an antique table,
lit a half-burned candle and dipped my quill;
I wrote on a yellowed pad of calligraphic parchment.
Swiftly jettisoned into the past as,
the room began to change;
the table appearing to be brand new,
sported different legs.
The candle sat burning in a silver holder
instead of a cheap aluminum one.
This had happened before;
this visit to the past and
I had found an ancestor there.
This time, I found myself;
a writer in a past life;
penning olde English…
imagine that!
Categories:
jettisoned, identity, introspection, literature, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
These days of changing values can be hard:
What once was just, today's considered wrong.
Some things encouraged now at one time jarred,
Abandoned now are values once held long.
Unquestioned rules and customs are eschewed,
And standards jettisoned yet not replaced.
What once was fixed has now become unglued,
While words which all revered are now erased.
But while injustices should be redressed,
Iconoclasm can exceed all sense—
When free expression finds itself suppressed,
Then tolerance becomes a sad pretense.
For though things change, some things stay valid still:
Light is not dark, nor yet is good now ill.
This sonnet has received an Honorable Mention in the Society of Classical Poets 8th Annual Poetry Competition.
Categories:
jettisoned, change, conflict, confusion, integrity,
Form:
Sonnet
I gotta whole lot of emptiness,
a vacuum full of void
With no more heart problems around,
I’m not beset
by any sadness or regret
To tell you the truth,
I’ve got plenty of nothing left
There’s only an empty chest
of bittersweet memories ... less bad than good
Could things have worked out better?
I’m sure they could
But, I love feeling light as a feather,
blowing a kiss goodbye to all my troubles
I have a big balloon full of emptiness,
floating up, up and away
A vacuum filled with no more distrust,
zero gravity are my heart problems
Getting jettisoned into the void
is the best personal space burial
I’ve got plenty of nothing left,
no more bottled up heart problems
kept hidden high on a shelf
I gotta hand full of emptiness,
enough to grab plenty of nothing that’s left
Only wanna let go of my hurt exhale;
open my empty heart and breathe in,
then fill up my heart with love again
There’s no more heartache left,
simply need to exhale and take the next breath
No more stress from wondering what’s next
I’ve got plenty of nothing left
Now ready to dive into the pool of love again,
so full of anticipation
... no more wet dreams of emptiness
Ready to take the plunge even deeper —
How long can I hold my breath?
Categories:
jettisoned, emotions, feelings, how i
Form:
Bio
She waits,
eight black spindles joined at one end by a pivot, a compass.
Each pinpoint balanced at the intersections
of self-drawn polygons.
Legs jointed like the fingers of a skeleton,
deft, dexterous as a harpist.
Body in two sections with ample abdomen,
the African who carries the water jug on her head.
Or an Indian, the untouchable with her caste mark,
the microscopic grains dropping through the hourglass
like drops of blood.
Blind, she has the surrogate sense of a seismograph.
She would feel a disturbance in the web
were it only a thought.
Never mind she lives in a dark corner
as devoid of light as she is of personality,
she needs neither.
She does not look as the wrapped body of her cannibalized mate
as at a gilt-framed photograph of the dearly departed.
The egg sac is not a silk-lined bassinet,
the hanging ornament
to all her future hopes and dreams.
She is absent of frontal lobes,
moralizing modifiers,
second thoughts.
An instrument of logic,
mate=food
sac=young,
syllogisms minus all prepositions,
additional excess cargo to be jettisoned
as the dried shells of devoured prey.
No welcome mats on the front step,
no settees in the parlor,
no cunning seductress with scarlet claws.
Only a modem waiting in the spaceless black.
Categories:
jettisoned, future, insect,
Form:
Imagism
I NEEDED
“Boldness – If I choose to loiter in this day I will lose it, and tomorrow will be the same, and I will end up lamenting the lost days” -By Wayne Wyder.
I needed a person who would cook my [spoiled] goose when my train was about to derail and he would fix the shocks.
I needed a fellow who bothered to know that before the Italians could cover my feet I had cracked heels. I needed a fellow who will know the origin of all the scars on my body, I needed one who knew why I engaged the services of a bespoke tailor – that the main reason was because my body was shapeless at some point.
I needed a fellow who knew that “my brother is a reflection of me. I can’t fly if he is falling”. I needed the one who understood that when I was with him we were neither strangers nor club attendees, nor colleagues. I am saying I needed the one who knew that he is not my leader but my vein.
I needed the one who was willing to walk alongside me all the time.
I needed a fellow who lived beyond his feelings but knew that as a brother we would always carry each other’s microscopes in order to zoom our blood. I needed a fellow that knew that his emotions/feelings could not build both of us but could provide either of us with a tent.
I needed a fellow who had his pad when the other fellow was jettisoned by his own plane because he had allowed today to pose as yesterday forgetting that today cannot be tomorrow.
Yes, I mean I needed the one who also had a pad when the misnomer was introduced into the other fellow’s plane and fermented the other fellow’s gum trees thinking they were impressed trees. I mean the one who knew that we are both together in this and he allowed me to have his ear when we walked, I mean the one who knew to listen to reason.
Categories:
jettisoned, best friend, betrayal, divorce,
Form:
ABC
It sure took me a while to get the hang of that bat.
The grip just wasn’t right.
With a friends’ help, I swung and hit;
probably, hundreds of times.
In the end, I felt that I could,
smack a mountain and send it sailing for yards,
with that bat.
Softball was a blast, when I was a teen;
Every swing of that bat; every ball that I smacked;
swelled my chest with pride.
A dusty slide into home base;
Jettisoned me into ego-space;
oh, it took awhile to come back down to earth.
There were, cheers from the bleachers
and the smell of popcorn,
hot dogs and soda pop permeated the air,
like a winter fog.
Perhaps it was those succulent scents, more than the cheers, that kept us winning.
Categories:
jettisoned, fun, games, poems, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Already the leaves are staining red,
Blood, too thin, seeps through taut skin,
Capillaries weak walled and weeping;
Dying Summer bows proud head,
Emptied of green glory;
Filled, fiery cauldrons blaze red-orange,
Golden flamed tongues glowing.
How harsh that she must fly
Into the great beyond,
Jettisoned like a human soul
Killed before its time.
Letting go, whether fast or slow,
Makes no variance in the pain;
Numbingly, it strikes the heart
Over and over again.
Passionate, she would linger,
Queenly in her floral gown,
Regaled for stunning splendor;
Sympathy never his approach,
Time beats a strong percussive stroke
Unstoppable, dispensed in quick cadence.
Valiantly she struggles, clinging,
While wild winds hew each leaf down;
Xylogenous lichen sparsely veils
Yearning limbs laid vulnerable and bare:
Zephyrus and Chloris frolic there no more.
Note: Zephyrus, the gentle god and personification
of the west wind, the bringer of light spring and
summer breezes in Greek mythology; he abducted
and fathered children with the goddess Chloris and
gave her the domain of flowers.
Xylogenous - living on or in wood
Copyright, August 15, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
jettisoned, beauty, bereavement, death, summer,
Form:
Abecedarian
We're feeding twelve cats
Each jettisoned at our house
Age induced softness
Categories:
jettisoned, cat,
Form:
Haiku
A conscious effort
by the constrained
creates nothing.
Devoid of inspiration,
enraged egotists find
fault in selfless pursuit of
glory.
Hampered by the
infancy of others,
jettisoned memories of
ketamine disassociation allow
lies to fester.
Myopic interludes of
nihilistic pleasure
only serve to
profundicate the
questionably sane
revolver in my hands
sublime speech on world peace.
There is no sense left
under the cross.
Violins are broken,
weapons formed while
xylophone keys shatter
Yale’s prestige as king of the
zoo.
Categories:
jettisoned, absence, age, analogy, april,
Form:
ABC
The deep and sonorous voice of
his defeatist self-talk was paternal,
and torturous,
reinforcing the force fed message,
"There is no happiness,
only gradients of misery,"
leaving him indifferent to the present,
careless of the future.
Reared in the shadows of perfection,
parental conflicts played out
as the "self-made men"
of a fathers' generation chased ambitions
beyond the cramped lives
of their own youth.
Affection and approval,
bestowed and withdrawn
by the performance scale;
he was a sundial
numbering only sunny hours,
with little of consequence to say,
a lucid, inquisitive and fertile mind.
His native endowment
a vivid sensibility for the beauty
of words.
He learned woman from
his quint-essential sisters
yet remained profoundly ignorant of women;
if love were happiness
it generated a loneliness
made all the more desperate
by the intimacy of severed connections.
Psychic numbness, and fauxbia,
yes, he feared being false,
had plunged him into darkness,
with his vision
of a minimum level of connectedness,
the raw ache of personal loss,
the empty feeling of helplessness.
Forced to live as that outsider
trapped inside a familys' feuds;
being bonded to survivors,
learning to live with the understanding
he would be jettisoned for others to survive:
emotional dishonesty became
necessary for survival.
Denial was the best defense
since he could change nothing
and repression had long since
ceased to offer relief;
he was too articulate
for that lie.
The tightly packed crowd
contained inside his head was
momentarily frozen by the question
"How to unlearn the lessons of his youth?"
To love and be loved, a necessary condition,
a prerequisite to a happiness
that could not exist?
Now, he works,
and writes,
and trusts in simple verities;
chaos, pacified by distance and routine,
serve to mitigate the sting
of realitys' reminder -
he'd found that so urgently sought,
only to have lost it in the finding.
Categories:
jettisoned, introspection, lost love, love,
Form:
Free verse
I spend two hours of most every day,
With the tending and feeding of cats.
I never imagined my end of life this way,
It causes most of our marital spats.
It's not a Kitten's fault for being born,
Nor their choice to be jettisoned on me.
It's taxing doing what's right each morn,
To a dozen cats we've became a trustee.
The cost of feeding is now out of hand,
And Vet bills are becoming all to frequent.
Then another little Kitty arrives unplanned,
Seeming to always come in sequent.
Adoptive homes we've found for a few,
Still others have tried stopping a car.
But doing our duty we'll not eschew,
On my marker just write "The Cat Czar"
But "my woe is me" changes nary a thing,
And I've too much invested to run away.
So I'll continue praying for life's upswing,
And tending unwanted cats another day.
Categories:
jettisoned, cat,
Form:
Lyric