Best Lairs Poems
Take my heart and carry me
to where all dreams are born.
Into loves arms, oh such a place
that's always safe and warm.
Away from such deceitful lairs
where blackened virtues swarm.
into a light where peace must shine
and grants us pardon from a storm.
High above the mountain tops
or low as low can be.
Makes no difference where we are
a wondrous lyric calls to me.
Singing of your splendor
like a miracle performed.
I'll stay with you to find the port
that grants us pardon from a storm.
POTD 03/03/2018
The umbra of my Soul's eclipse,
Stellar dweller cosmic ships.
Solar flares and lunar lairs-
Blackest Holes and deep abyss...
Photo gamma satellite,
Telescopic magnetite.
Anti-Matter fusion shatters
Super-Nova afterlife
Gravimetric poly-synthetic-
Nano vortex optic aesthetic
(Overloaded circuits exploded!)
Isotopic pseudo-frenetic
Electromagnetic static compulsion;
Subatomic particle propulsion;
Supersonic chronic convulsion-
Microscopic mega emulsion.
Toxic, caustic antiseptic,
Hyperactive epileptic;
Hydroponic telekinetic-
Quantum neuro cybernetic
Paralyzed by all the Lies,
Erratic, manic muffled cries...
Catastrophic chaotic logic-
Conflicted, afflicted--dies!
No pagan crown of fossil lairs
Of him I write no verse nor song
T’is not a soup to stir nor share
When lending strength, to something wrong.
Seconds cloned from darkest matter
Mutated minutes dredged by fear
Mind confusion as reason shatters
Innocents lanced by emotion's spears.
Flowers edge the steps and fences
Prayers are uttered near a shrine
Notes of love, as grief commences
A vigil wrought by hearts sublime.
Picking up the scattered pieces
Light must shine to crack the dawn
Support can smooth the furrowed creases
Only hope can make their spirits strong.
Dark Night – City Streets
A dark night on city streets
soft yellow glare of streetlights
outlining slow creepy things.
Scents of cooling kitchens
and boiling excitement
tickled the deepening thrill.
A rising tremor of frightful glee
slinking through the streets
mocking the shadows lies.
City streets crawling with anticipation
window shades peeked through
doors held ajar in preparation,
For they would come – as always
on this, their night, utter again
the monsters mantra – Trick or Treat.
Flow in wicked waves of want
seek the lowly sustenance
of the sticky sweet tribute.
Short, weary legs of demons
tire easily - and slowly
retreat to comfort of warm lairs.
Window shades are straightened
doors closed and locked
streetlight shadows calmed
As monsters – cleaned and preened,
hugged and nuzzled in their nests
sleep, and dream, of Halloween.
10/24/2015
Panting in low moans
Meandering through dense brush
Shrouded by evening sky above a forest
Crystallized by frozen branches
Oaks, maples, pines
Coffin wood encasing icy earth
The amber-eyed predator’s fur
Damp and matted
No prey in sight as hunger grows
While creatures huddle with their clans
In feathered nests and sheltered lairs
She trekked on frozen leaves confused
Longing for the comfort lost
She couldn’t understand her plight
Life had once been kind
As dawn dispelled the sandman
A cry I heard outside
Weak and wanting tones of desperation
A child lost? A babe who strayed?
Anxiously I donned my coat
Fearing what I might find
On this late December morn’
Listlessly she scratched and sobbed
The glass door kissed by thick ice
But when I turned the knob
And pushed the panel forth
Her tragedy bit hard and sharp
Her tender paws, raw with dried blood
Infection had sealed one eye shut
A bony spine, frostbitten ears
So fast I took her in my arms
Cradling this wayward soul
Reaching for a blanket, sharing salmon
A faint purr was my thanks
For warmth and love and food
Peering at her one good eye, I wept
Overcome with pity and grief
I realized the selfish act
That led this sweet one to my yard
College youths on Christmas recess
Left her on a nearby road
Before they joyfully headed home
I found their tiny cat today
Abandoned, nearly dead
Stung by an act of thoughtlessness
Fear not; the one-eyed cat will live
A refuge I’ll provide
But do not ask me to forgive
The sin that made her mine
For P.D.'s Pet Contest.
Dedicated to Katie Cat, my pet of more than 20 years.
We went to the zoo that fine summers day
Seeing many an animal in captivity play
From all over the world, five continents all
Where many are thriving, and many will fall
I find it ironic when we view and we stare
For outside we slaughter, in their dens and their lairs
The above line tells me that the zoos are the place
To save her gems whilst us humans lose face
As her marvels diminish, we praise these acres of land
And salute those who cared and drew up their plans
For the zoos they created are their dreamed thoughts ahead
Without these few acres, many species would be dead
So next time you visit, either a zoo or a park
Look beyond their boundaries, as you stand in the Ark
Frisky, gray squirrels scramble
Beneath a massive, old oak tree
Gathering the best acorns they see
Their fluffy tailed, lively damsels
Opossum wobble on short legs
From their laurel sheltered lairs
Toward the thickets where there’s
Vast bugs and spiders in their webs
Gentle, soft haired rabbits assemblage
Onward, seeking out grassy fortresses
Where they might discover tortoises
And additional special kinds of foliage
Black and white stripped skunks
Bob out toward their furry friends
Reassured they will make amends
So they will help them over tree stumps
Russet colored raccoons with charming features
Searching for their favorite pine tree expansion
Scrambling up through the long branches
To havens above all the other creatures
Big, black bear grumble through woods so eerie
Checking all around for beehives or cherries
Hoping to find a bit of honey or sweet berries
To munch on before the weather gets dreary
Tan and bronze deer clamber up cliffs that deliver
To the meadows where they’re stopping together
To chew long grass and weeds found whether
They make their trek toward the gently flowing river
Forests are thriving with these unique beings
All the different beasts living there from across
Pine, oak, birch, locust, laurel, fern and moss
God’s gifts to us who love this place so pleasing
Let Me Watch The Sun Go Down
Let me watch the sun go down
The end of a life giving day
The flowers tightly curl
Hiding their beauty until the light returns
Breezes slow and fade into stillness
The scents of the day drops onto the moist ground
Animals crawl into their lairs
Do they dreams of open fields?
Or do they watch the darkness
Eyes straining into nothingness
Looking for the moment of their deaths
Their babies cuddle beneath a dense thicket
Clinging close to their mother
Waiting, hoping for the morning’s light
Let me watch the sun go down
Watch its beauty as blue turns into gold and lastly black
Night comes and the world finally sleeps
And still I watch
Miss Ocean wears her blue-green dress,
Sprinkled with tiny crystals beads
That sparkle in the morning sun.
She shakes her ruffled petticoats of white
And shows off for the passers-by.
She dances on the jetty rocks
With seaweed hair that streams behind
Before she dips her head again
And swims far out to greater depths
To play with dolphins, whales, and fish
And mermaids in their hidden lairs.
She sweeps the ocean floor and brings
Her treasures to the sandy shore,
A trove of scallops, slipper shells and
Mussels clinging tightly to the kelp.
Empty conch shells, pink and clean,
Pearly stones and worn green glass.
Miss Ocean wears her blue-green dress
Embroidered with tiny crystal beads.
They sparkle in the morning sun.
Time and events chisel and shape our lives,
an unknown sculptor blue prints your life plan,
a knock here, a cut there, we think ‘not fair’
we journey along through ridges and lairs,
rewards flow in that we relish and cheer,
count our gains in terms of money we earn,
real reward is that we don’t understand,
the gift of wisdom that comes with failures,
the gift of forbearance that comes with grief,
the gift of love that comes with family,
the gift of happiness comes from sharing,
the gift of compassion helps us wipe tears!
from end of life we look back to admire,
the road map of our journey now much clear,
brothers, sisters with parents and teachers,
have guided my life to what it matters,
enemies who threw at me their arrows,
helped me strengthen to counter my sorrows,
every defeat made me that much smarter,
thanks to many foes for playing their part,
If my life had been happy and easy,
I would have ended up a useless slob!
2nd placement
‘It is a part of me’ Poetry contest!
Silent One
Written 15/11/2020
10 syllables each line
rhyme not intended!
22 lines
"No, I won't read you, no matter what!"
"Even if you get a POTD, I will keep my heart and pen shut."
Such a terribly, nasty state of affairs.
When they associate only with top poet lairs!
I had enough POTDs to already know who would prefer death! (by name).
Than giving me a soul squeeze,golly, they may run out of breath?
I take it all in,with a big grain of salt.
Better that, than getting totally drunk on malt.
To those who are here, to a relative newbie.
I prefer love to disingenuous snooties!
***************
@And hugs to all, who do read me. M.L Kiser had it
right.
"Are you here to collect comments, or are you here write poetry?"
The answer is clear, my dear.
Thumbs up, M.L... Thank you for saving my poetic life!M!
Hugs...Pangie Romios
The Rocking Chair That Keeps…
Up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that keeps creating an eerie, dreary air:
for the darkness is greedy
as it smothers a world of mystery,
a century of family history,
all boxed and cased
in a crust of rust and dust!
Pictures of Dad as a sprightly lad,
Gran with no wrinkle, just a youthful twinkle
and bits of me bagged and forgotten.
However, it is the empty, rocking chair
that reaches out with a squeeze of….. unease.
Yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that offers, a bite of fright and a dreaded dare:
as pipes snake into secret, cobwebbed lairs
and wooden beams stream like overhead train lines
while the excitement of discovery hides in the past.
But it is the empty, rocking chair
that grips and grabs at my attention
as I sense ‘something’ harbouring its wooden frame.
Oh yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that keeps, nudging and grudging with a gloomed glare:
the room suddenly trembles, my heart holds tight
but it’s only the wind galloping by at night.
Immediately a watery giggle,
gurgles the length of a pipe
increasing my midgets of fidgets.
I turn and an aged mirror offers a face of fear
but I breathe again – for it has only borrowed mine.
Up in the attic, there’s definitely something or someone
that keeps, me uneasy, even queasy, each time I am there:
for the darkness is greedy
as it smothers a world of mystery,
a century of family history,
all boxed and cased
in a crust of rust and dust!
But now…. something far more shocking,
a lone rocking chair that keeps.…rocking!
Ian Souter 2025
I.
desert stillness shrouds
their adversary lairs
twilight's muted thunder
betrays the nearby
stealthy moon
II.
the chalky moon
creases midnight clouds
blue shades of lovers
walk a powdery sky
chortle at the other's close proximity
III.
pale gold ribbons
fiery soft skies
sea haze streaks
a thin mountain path
as day begins
IV.
kitchen pans, pity, pungent cheese
and garden lace -- the matriarch
dripping decay with
her mild gentility
V.
winter snow, ice
slow spring melt
rain-drowned torrent
ocean bound flow
placid river drift
debris of desire
VI.
drifting memories of lakes
water lapping against land
heartbeats floating on the breeze
the water reflects your face
look away
We have hurled to heaven
a polished golden disk
inscribed with symbols of our race.
And night and day we beam
a stream of radio waves to space.
We broadcast diffuse and scattered signals
from here to where(?).
We also listen long and hard
for whatever we may hear.
In our attempts to span the void
what should we say to humanoid
or other minds that we might find?
Should we speak of rock; of crow of cock?
Of the once-fiery cores of stars -- collapsed
and denser now than densest stone?
Of light that's darker far than any
depth of night; of pulse; of tone?
Shall we speak of lairs, and air? Of hints?
Of lava, seeped or spewed from vents?
Of sea-borne or of plains-born zephyrs?
Of hanging plant or swaying palm?
Shall we touch upon the calm
of thin free ions strewn
through much of soupy space?
Shall we chat of heat and ice;
of energy unleashed? Of spark and flash;
of mean and nice -- of atoms, or of Eve?
Shall we speak of cosmos and of bowers?
Of farm? Of flowers? Of yours and ours?
Of nothing? Of zero or of hero?
Of evil and of good?
Shall we talk of hate and haste;
of love; of taste -- below; above;
around? Of iron and of wood?
Or should we stick to lectures on
celestial navigation and our tools?
Can we talk? May we sing?
Will our phones ever ring
providing good connections,
bringing news that pretensions
all aside we're not the universe's
only singular and lonely fools.
The trees expand right over the water
Bringing awe, perfect brightness to the sound
The free-flowing brook moves swiftly over
Eyes can capture the young feelings abound
I enjoy the emotion that’s around
Loving of nature is proudly encased
Moisture by the emanating fog's sound
Towards a peaceful life that’s interlaced
I will always go cherish this day here
No other time nor place can sure compare
And my heart will always exist right here
Forever I will swim these fields and lairs
Tenderly open your eyes towards me
So when I come near, you can surely see
Russell Sivey