Best Languor Poems
I’m listless as a lazy river
barely lapping at the shore.
I wanted once to find the ocean,
but I don’t care any more.
Would I even make a ripple
if a stone were tossed my way?
Even with the frogs and fishies
I no longer wish to play.
I’ve lost my course and lie inert
inside my riverbed.
Had I legs to help me run,
I think they’d be as lead.
So spiritless and dull am I.
I’m like the kite I see
motionless each breeze-less day,
stuck and hanging from a tree.
Languor sure did overtake me,
for this humid, hot July
sucked out all my energy.
I think perhaps I’ll simply die.
Posted Aug. 3, 2022
For Hilo Poet's Simile Poetry Contest
Submitted Jan. 31, 2023 for Julia Ward's
Your Favourite Rhyming Poem From The Second Half Of 2022 Poetry Contest
oh, my precious child!
let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night
(stars whispering their ancient lullaby)
swallowing not, the western reach
but merely giving pause to the day, waking
so that the grateful star of morn
should adorn its burgeoning bosom
let not the salty seep of your cheek yet trill
such certain and elegant inequity there be
should a stain darken that pinafore, pressed
a scandal be my name with thy mother
should those eyes dampen your Sunday best
and surely not for the sake of Luna's languor -
oh, such dire dalliance, that!
I adore thee, my wee lass
Boundless are the ways -
Echoed in your mother's smile
There, so deep your gaze
'tis true, his aged face did blush, fleeting
dipping his dusty chin to the sea
but it was for Sol's regard only
(their goodnight kiss - pressed tender, a-cheek)
and no misfortune was spun
we shall return, my child, sooner than soon
and you will bear witness their recurrence
your old man moon will beg company again
with his patient aspect beaming
shimmering bright for your veneration -
soft, soft, so daubs the moon
soft as bluebells blooming -
wan on skin to softly swoon
e'er a dream's consuming
yes, I vow this to you, my daughter -
you shall dance again on this shore
bound and prance, my tiny ballerina
you will twirl in the breath of evening, I am sure
lit by the gangling glow, star-ward
and tonight's lament will seem a silly song
you shall see and be heartened, my little one
and should I yet kiss that weep away, too?
ah, but joyous, those tears...
and as the heavens themselves
(and the best born of a father's heart)
how immeasurable their number …
oh, my darling, precious child!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your Choice (4), Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 18" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
You arouse the nascent
poetry of my trembling Psyche,
homing the heavy heart of
calm constellations
within this conscience,
teaching sleepless silence
between my sky and your river
to speak the lucent
lexicon of languor ~
I felt you amidst unvoiced verses,
and I k i s s e d the
music within your mind
from a plethora of petals away,
as the truth undressed me
to cleanse the confusion,
while hope embraces
the vulnerability
of being seen ~
the closing of the arms of gloaming
and the opening of the eyes of sunrise…
I breathe metaphors
into the mysterious mists of midnight,
embrace the beauty of darkness
that once drowned my spirit,
for I learned that healing
cares not for the heinous heat
of the Stygian sun,
burning the ink that feeds
the desire to dance
free from the faceless ghosts…
I am the rebloom of the light
I feared
was l o s t in the
landscape of lament…
I choose to bathe
in the warm waters
of jasmine elegance,
sipping sultry star-beams
as my aura flowers ~
a cathartic sanctuary
where your pulse
becomes the life
that ebbs and flows
in sync with the sacred incarnate
of ripples reaching for the
soul beneath my soles ~
reminding me
of the rhythm of resilience,
to no longer allow
time to tear
the written chronicles
that even distance
couldn’t resist.
It’s in the stars; it’s our destiny.
So listen
~ meteor magic ~
O dream-reviver ~
my passion, scripted;
the angels sing of you and me,
lyrics of luck
and love-laden lore…
within the catastrophe awaits a notion
a hook, a thread, an unfurling devotion
forever falling - cascading in time
to always be his and he always mine
sometimes we follow a fading star
find stories in its essence about who we are
about-turn and unravel to expose the substrate
temptation not required for emergence of fate
take a gamble to force the reveal
let go of languor, add tension we can feel
step off the edge and await pure black
find ourselves at the beginning of the very same track
I know him, I've known this but let me dive deeper
uncover the secrets not even known to their keeper
embrace the objective, move ahead of the curve
be inside the slow dance, but simultaneously observe
view backwards, race past predestination
objectively witness moments of true captivation
see from a distance what cognition requires
show me the equation that explains our desires
for we circle and cross and create maps in the sky
bound on this path and I need to know why
there must be wisdom to our blinking pulsation
a purpose that explains all of creation
let me learn of the spark and effervesce in the trail
become one with the meaning as you lift the veil
let me overload and explode into glorious ash
to immerse and burn out in final rapturous flash
I dream that tonight I am a raccoon
And it is here in this body that I store the notion
That my sadness will last forever,
In the treasury of unclaimed awareness,
Where pits of the peaches could never re-sprout...
I dig deep into the indent of a Denver ravine,
Gnaw knee-high into the hollow ridges of hominids and their homelands,
Belly-wade in bottomless mud waters west of wherever they don’t go, though
Lurid in my languor now, I laminate my slick turf onto Continental limestone slabs
And, then, all-at-once, at noon, just like that,
I call it a day.
A tired little raccoon
Can’t bear without a rest
Through the midday...
I arise as the coon falls under.
Reclaiming Human Sorrow, my Wrong-Headed Brother,
Waxing thunderously, now, in the mind’s cluttered cage
In this day of coffee and chit-chat and left-turns,
I’ll dream tonight I am a raccoon.
So that we may both get out and roam.
(I couldn't talk about it so I wrote a poem)
Predator
Heartbreak comes in many ways.
The first one will haunt me for all my days.
My every nightmare and dream has your face
to ignite my screams, my heart beat haste.
Time won't heal this shattered trust,
the lies you told of the future “us”.
You used your power and prominence,
used the pulpit as your lance.
You claim God's voice was your own,
“His” words from your lips like honeycomb.
Sweet to the ear, a seductive flow,
still just a child, I didn't know.
Just like a sick soap opera or Lifetime movie, you set your sights, began to groom me.
I feel so foolish and naive looking back …
at seventeen, innocent, easy to attack.
Like the lame and young ones trailing the herd, predators take the straying,easy kill first.
How patient you were, lying in wait.
You took careful steps as if I might escape. Sneaking up on me in plain sight
until your touch, familiar, I didn't fight. Spinning this elaborate fantasy, our destiny. Ordained by God, you made me believe.
Then you struck, like the viper you were,
after years of a patient petting, persistent purr. A velvet vice, an auspicious anchor,
held me captive in false love’s languor.
Then the poisonous venom began its work, you used me in ways that only hurt.
I was a willing, if deceived, participant…
so in love, no evil intent.
Then some wisdom from above,
in the form of family and out of love.
The truth so evident with blinders off,
some won't believe me, will only scoff.
Five years of his amorous attentions,
with promises of forever never failing to mention.
The patina of youth and vicious game of prey, his sick desires for me, began to fade.
You found a limping, more vulnerable gazelle, and knowing this my family tells.
Although I find it hard to trust,
my faith in God is deeper and thus,
He's used this pain to help me find
peace and truth, leaving the past behind.
For my faith is no longer in any man,
and gratefully, never will be again.
Justice on this earth is not guaranteed…
but from his wicked spell I am freed!
I stand-
gazing at the weathered door-
beautiful the knob is old brass
foliage dark and green
protects it
an assemblage of butterflies
lilt and move musically all about
fluttering and it's
lovely
at the weathered door beautiful
and I look behind me at the whispering
foliage dark and green
a labyrinthine of twisting memories
a long path strewn with tears
woebegone and sorrowful is my journey
as I
gaze
at the weathered
door-
beautiful
and the knob of old brass beckoning
from
foliage
dark
and green
that protects
and I
step forward to open
but tangled vines
cling to me-
around my legs and arms
holding me back
and butterflies
lilt and flutter musically
a beautiful assemblage encouraging
and the past
is whispering and hissing
surreptitious
of a manuscript written
where I languor listlessly and weary
oh the murmuring memories
that hold me locked in the past
my journey to the door a struggle
but oh I love them the memories
each one
weeping I must break free of the tangled vines
of the past so I take each beautiful
tendril off each clinging vine
and lay them gently on the ground
with a kiss
and step forward frightened and quivering
placing my hand on the old brass knob
and
I open that door
the weathered door beautiful
protected by
foliage dark and green
and step through
that assemblage of butterflies
flutter musically through the opening to
a lush and green sumptuous beginning
and I follow
them
into a future
mellifluous
________________________
June 18, 2015
Free Verse
Written for the contest, ...And then I opened THAT door.
sponsor, John Lawless
First Place
oh, my precious child,
let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night,
stars whispering their ancient lullaby,
swallowing not, the western reach,
but merely giving pause to the day, waking
so that the grateful star of morn
should adorn its burgeoning bosom.
let not the salty seep of your cheek yet trill
such certain and elegant inequity there be,
should a stain darken that pinafore, pressed.
a scandal be my name with thy mother,
should those eyes dampen your Sunday best,
and surely not for the sake of Luna's languor -
oh, such dire dalliance, that!
I adore thee, my wee lass
boundless are the ways -
echoed in your mother's smile
there, so deep your gaze.
'tis true, his aged face did blush, fleeting,
dipping his dusty chin to the sea,
but it was for Sol's regard only,
their goodnight kiss - pressed tender, a-cheek
and no misfortune was spun.
we shall return, my child, sooner than soon,
and you will bear witness their recurrence!
your old man moon will beg company again,
with his patient aspect beaming -
shimmering bright for your veneration -
soft, soft, so daubs the moon
soft as bluebells blooming -
wan on skin to softly swoon
e'er a dream's consuming.
oh, I vow this to you, my daughter!
you shall dance again on this shore,
bound and prance, my tiny ballerina!
you will twirl in the breath of evening, I am sure,
lit by the gangling glow, star-ward,
and tonight's lament will seem a silly song,
you shall see and be heartened, my little one!
and should I yet kiss that weep away, too?
ah, but joyous, those tears...
and as the heavens themselves,
and the best born of a father's heart,
how immeasurable their number!
oh, my darling, precious child!
Just one more time,
just one more breath,
just one more moment to remember the past,
lull in thy memories,
breathe in thy essence,
to look upon thy face,
to know you still care,
to know what we had was special,
to be preserved in preferred memories.
Where I am going I know naught.
Floating as if in limpid water currents,
languor reaching but finding not,
solitary enraged soul longing for one more kiss,
one kiss whence naught.
Malformed monsters feast
upon the vermin ravishing mine soul,
my tender heart loathing sunset’s rays enfold,
nighttime beseech me, broken heart unfold.
Another night shine through tears,
summoned by memories a hundredfold,
putrid time consumes life;
Cruel Life Sleeps.
Come to me in a dream tonight,
Tip toe in your gown so white;
Come with ribbons in your hair,
With eyes so blue, your face so fair.
Come to me when midnight’s blue,
But hasten for the hours are few;
The day is done with all its pleasure,
Memories stored now there to treasure.
Soaring in flight with angel wings,
Wearing crowns and precious things;
Tasting the honey of romance,
In fields of gold where daisies dance.
The fleet of foot has given chase,
Into to the arms of love’s embrace;
To drink the languor of a smile,
And still the pulse of the heart awhile.
To lie on a bed till rays of morn,
And search the sky till day is born,
Will hold the dream that glows with light,
And take the soul to stars in flight.
The gentle kiss that lulls to sleep,
Finds time to linger on a mouth to keep
A tender kiss and contented sigh,
Within the arms of sleep to fly.
There is something magical about the way a sunset can
make us feel at peace, grateful, and alive all at once."
~ Morgan Harper Nichols.
Alone, I sat quietly upon the bay's southern shore
as sunset faded into twilight with a sense of languor
Too soon, of the sun's warmth there would be no trace
But until that moment, I would savour its embrace
Sanguine skies, sea of blue, sunlight reflected in gold
It was like a painting on canvas, one worthy to be sold
From towering height of mountains to the rippling sea
Nature was proudly exposing her glorious beauty to me
Is it possible tomorrow morning's sunrise could be lovelier?
Thorns upon a wilted vine
hidden within my flower bed
Through and about they do twine
From my flesh, the color red
Hidden within my flower bed,
my emotions do languor
From my flesh, the color red
weeps, yet I feel no anger
My emotions do languor
Though the ancient Willow tree
weeps, yet I feel no anger
No flowers do I see
Though the ancient Willow tree,
through and about they do twine
No flowers do I see,
thorns upon a wilted vine
In the morning I heard the tea pot singing,
With the amber liquid sizzling,
Saw spouts of vapor ejecting,
With a sweet aroma tickling.
While pouring my cup of steaming tea,
Adding some cream, a little sugar and stirring it
I thought of the magic effect it brings,
Reviving us on every morning and keeping us fit.
As we sip it while we scan the news paper
We feel the early languor being lifted,
Keeping us hydrated throughout the day,
With our cognitive abilities liberally assisted.
I feel there is nothing like a cup of well blended tea,
For a tired soul to enliven his body.
It’s delicious taste and delicate fragrance,
Make it everyone’s lovesome buddy!
It’s a heavenly drink for the torpid minds,
A beverage brewed from the best of leaves.
A magic potion for the feverish lips,
Which in tiresome hours, everyone craves.
Sure, teatime is the most pleasant family time.
How we babble and burble over a cup of tea
Drawing people closer and cementing relations.
Certainly, it’s a time to look forward with glee.
Written: December 11, 2023
____________________________________________
While drudging impresses to cease,
Within the ethereal forbearance of night
And the cosmic vast space is stormless,
From the hour of darkness until daylight,
And anxiousness is ultimately formless
Imbrication is referred to as "Peace."
Imbroglio, languor, and hidden disarray
This parade of nimble cued is wordless
This will never genuinely be worthless,
This is increasing beyond nerveless
This spinning wheel is reverseless,
The periphery of the panacea display.
I have a garden where roses and colorful orchids bloom and blush
Petunias, begonias and flaming euphorbia on each other brush
Where jasmines perfume the air and chrysanthemums flourish
They adorn my courtyard giving my eyes a joyful treat
They survive the season, braving summer’s blistering heat.
With their beauty and scent they conquer every sensitive heart
When watering them, all they do is nod and shake
Some dance upon their tiny toes, when from their languor awake
With crimson bosom bathed in dew, the roses gently quake
Desert roses with their scarlet flowers and fat bellies stay,
In tiny pots where they are fated to remain all their life at bay
I see their lips parting in pain, complaining in a dumb way
At the center, stands a bougainvillea plant in attention
It grows wild with its branches spread in all direction
Though I try to prune it often to prevent its insurrection
Nonchalantly it continues to grow forming a wild bower
It carries many a bunch of red and magenta paper light flower
Which glide down with every passing breeze in scattered shower
Oh flowers, with your loveliness, all tired eyes you brighten
With your matchless beauty, our joy, you heighten
With your radiant smile, all cares, you lighten
Alas! You vanish fast as the setting sun’s slanting ray
I will be in pain if you are not there to brighten my day
So kindly stay....! Please do not wither away!
March.11. 2022
~Placed First~
Garden Inspiration’s Poetry Contest
Sponsor- BJ Legros Kelley