Best Latches Poems
His bleeding heart
Was flustered from that torn parchment
In their leeching chapter
Pushed aside
As if “friendship” was aggression’s bull
Running through crowded cemeteries
Under quartered, sapphire moon
He sipped pitied shots of century-old whiskey
With a dusty glass of pomegranate w(h)ine
“Why isn’t she coming back to me?”
“My heart will make empty declarations until her return!”
As he childishly latches onto recycled yesterdays
Praying for God to give him
White picket gate’s access code
Writing lavish, debt-ridden sonatas,
In whiplashed curiosity,
On why she chose to forget him
Unbeknownst to decrepit author
That he
Could simply
Return the favor
©Drake J. Eszes
As I pass through time
in my physical vessel
I connect the rhymes,
balancing them on my mind's trestle.
My consciousness detaches
from emotion and commotion
and intricately latches
onto an outstanding, expanding notion.
At twenty-three and so onward,
with every new midnight,
and every new songbird,
my mind escalates to a new height
brilliantly brightening my eye's light.
The novelty of these audibles
inclines life to be anything but probable.
Voluble are my audibles,
relieving my eye of it's monocle.
I focus and listen
to the cosmic sounds physics has given.
Seeing the sounds, all the compounds
do abound and surround
everywhere amongst these grounds.
Strategy is imperative when dodging the chaos.
Seek those audibles which avoid pathos.
Embrace the novelty, embrace the ambiance
for the moment now is all transience.
~
The stones were many,
though still he climbed,
dismantling the mortar crusted wall,
leaving rubble in his wake
as he made his way to the top
Breathless, this world beyond
the border clung to its silence,
imprisoned by apprehension tightly
binding a heart fearful of opening,
like a clay jar of secrets,
brittle but sealed tightly
in the deepest cavern
of temptation
locks fastened as he
descended the other side slowly
taking in his surroundings
In the distance he could hear
the defined thud of the bolt
sliding snuggly into its chamber,
the click of assorted latches
in brassplate and silver
midst echoed sighs contemplating
wished for moans
as delicate hands trembled
What would come of this stranger
peering, traversing the maze
sculpted of thorned hedges
and meandering lies heard
lingering of past encounters
Would he bare truth,
could he be the one
to break these chains of uncertainty,
rusted of worry
but loosened by desire
When there he stood
in the gateway, shrouded by iron bars
of ornate woven design
draped in a cloak of confidence,
defiant of fear, gallant in approach
Not bearing jewels nor golden trinkets,
but offering honesty,
words of love in truthful promises
lined with forevers
once unimaginable
and she wept
for the sun had risen,
an amorous glow of crimson
and amethyst blinding the sadness
on a once forgotten horizon,
proclaiming a new day…
and she could see it,
she could feel it
and as he took her hand
she knew as they
walked towards it...
she was free,
at last
Happy New Year everybody!
~
Memories of the good times
Haunts me back to reality
Thoughts of the dreams and promises
Like a gust of wind
Everything gone
In the wake of a new beginning
The past latches on
Feeding on my hurt body
Toying with my mind..
Realization of my mistakes
Hit a brick on me
Oh why did I trust you?
Why did I love you
Nothing matters here in this game
A game of unfair turns
I trust you
You break me...
Is it all a Hades' curse?
That burns me with its hate?
The pain you offered
Had me breathless...
The stab to my heart
Killed the belief in you.....
Too hard to retaliate
The venom you spat
The ignominy
It was all just a play...
The mask you wore fell off
You're demonic side welcomed
With a devious smirk
The brawl has ended
And you're savouring triumph
Defeated and weak
I limp my way to the dark
Rivulets of tears showering...
The weight of friendship
Off my shoulders..
With a wave of my numb hands,
I say,
Goodbye Dear Friend..........
by Michael J Falotico
curtain covered heart.
slowly opened to a light.
love comes in and warms.
locked window to soul.
opened latches to create.
heart and soul now write.
a man lies asleep.
while dreams awaken inside
I now run with words.
New city street
With the wink of an eye
and a shuffle of feet
We wandered about
down a new city street
Where vendors wore blue
with a tangerine sash
In hopes to look good
with no chance it would clash
Their carts were adorned
with ribbons and beads
And funny designs
made of cantaloupe seeds
They hollered and bellowed
and beckoned us near
And when we did stop,
they let out a loud cheer
They offered us products
like peanuts with cheese
And daffodil handkerchiefs
in case we sneeze
Belts made of feathers
with buckles in red
And weird little cones
you could wear on your head
We bid and we haggled
but always were nice
To get a good deal
and a much better price
The street lined with houses,
most two stories high
With windows like shamrocks
reflecting the sky
The balconies all featured
ribbons and bows
That hung from the railings
such colorful throws
Where women were calling
to neighbors across
For clothes pins and hampers
they hoped they would toss
They spoke in a language
so funny to hear
For what they were saying
was not always clear
The men were all mending
and tending the place
Their hats cockled sideways,
a grin on their face
The knees of their jeans
were all covered in patches
While they polished the brass
on the handles and latches
It seems they were singing
an old fashioned song
We tried to join in
as we walked right along
We laughed and we giggled
so much fun was had
But we had to leave
and that made us both sad
So we promised each other
that we both would meet
Again very soon
on this new city street
Pounding at the resonant head
of my chest—he of hunger
latches his fangs just beneath my jaw—
not to sever silence, but to pummel poison.
Tissue parts with wet reluctance,
he with need more than malice
burrows into the larynx of what
was once controlled, fearful sound.
Nameless, shapeless he who
with shark-possessed teeth does not ravage—
but infiltrates—peeling cartilage from confession,
mining marrow-thoughts clogged in
curse-traversed trachea.
I am a conduit split open—
voice extracted in ligaments,
fibrous and twitching,
stripped from the cords—
myofibrils separatus tendon.
Nameless, shapeless he!
How does he so musically reshape
what I cannot say?
How does he gut syllables
I do not recognize—
yet still, convince me
they are mine?
With his guiding talons,
my breath comes out red,
heavier than blood—
tastes of steel-bitten soul—
boiled vowels
that never knew air
but somehow rise.
His incantation:
Spiritus somni!
Spits into my mouth—
a blessing—not!
a summons—not!
but a shameful dream behind my teeth
like bruises that speak sermons.
Nameless, shapeless he…
He says I was never mute—
only sealed for some latter doomsday…
And now, with my throat laid open like a shrine,
he listens as I blaspheme
my dream.
In a field
Lies all our hopes
Ancient case
Filled with pure gold
Opens hard
With old latches
The dreams of a lifetime sits
Whitney 2 Contest
Written September 5th, 2017
Verse
3/4/3/4/3/4/7 syllable count
The Dilettante Diaries: "The Bumble Bee Big Blue Sky Boston Two Step on Love Street"
She said, "Pffft Bumble Bees Rule,
No Bees, no World
Shy Little Hearts
Big power
freedom wings
realised
dreams into reality
unfurls
Who’s to write that story?
She’s just a girl
In a Boston Two Step World"
He said, "Stung, once bitten twice shy..."
She said, "The Devil’s in the Details -
the real deal is swallowing
“The Whole Beautiful”
Big Blue Sky
and opening mouths
tongues speak
transfer a lush kiss
shared wealth
Icarus flies out
Sun in his mouth -
It's a sinch..."
He said, "Lady Bird! Lady Bird!
Your House is on Fire!"
She said, "Long ago maybe,
the Empire now strong in unified minds
unfurls to The Town Crier
A new Kingdom
Love
Power
rising higher and higher
Ok tiger, maybe a spark now,
Not yet into bonfire"
For a Woman
that once was a
Butter would melt
in mouth Girl
dreaming unreachable
bigger blue skies
She irreverently
turns keys
in hearts
A Fire opens latches
Lacquered Chinese
puzzle boxed
pheromone trials
and strange
very odd matches
Carniolan whispers, “Bring it on”
She now smiles
and captures...
Judges 14 buzzzing bees 8
Air thick with flying honey
All Along the Watch Tower
She opens the Gate
Hendrix’s Bumble Bees speak,
in hushed reverent
unified tone,
"It’s never too late..."
(Lovejoy-Burton/September 2018)
1.
https://genius.com/The-jimi-hendrix-experience-all-along-the-watchtower-lyrics
2.
"If the doorbell rang in her apartment, she would say, 'What fresh hell can this be?' — and it wasn't funny; she meant it." You might as well live: the life and times of Dorothy Parker...
3.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Icarus
4. hmmm, interesting, ah that Dark Bee...
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carniolan_honey_bee
5.
Secret "Bee Spell", a riddle, inserted into this Chinese Puzzle Box. Much Love, LUX VITAE x
The Blue Stones/Be My Fire
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znOA3xCtHfk
Too much is on my mind and
It's haunting me like a bad dream.
Making it tough to sleep and,
When I'm wake when it's effecting me.
A form of fear that won't let go of me.
I wish I could run away,
But it catches up to me
And latches on with authority.
It makes me mad that no one understands me.
Imagine speaking to a deaf person,
Who doesn't know how to read?
Or walking blind with no one to lead.
I'd hate to find out what they really say,
With heads turned the opposite way.
Talking in code like reading hieroglyphics,
I need someone to rescue me from my insecurity.
I hate what stress is doing in me,
I'm in a dark place and it's killing me;
I hate what stress is doing in me.
Whether staring at my eye lids,
Or Eyes wide open in the dark;
It all looks the same,
The color pitch black is all around.
I'm trying to keep myself,
Together and in check.
Great at balancing many tasks,
Without really breaking a sweat.
At times it can become too much
Like overloading a circuit with too many plugs.
Overpowered and burned out,
I need someone to help me out.
The fear of being alone and stranded,
Has got me lost looking for answers.
The weight of fear is falling heavy now,
The colors of death are clear now;
Help me turn away from my path,
Before I go too far on this track.
I found a colorful, wooden trunk in the
attic today. It was old and gathering dust,
all tucked away.
I knew this old trunk held some history
and it made my heart astatic, and I
lowered the trunk ever so gently to the
floor of Mother's attic.
I dusted it off completely and carefully
opened the old latches. In the corner
of it sat a box of blue matches.
There were blankets and pictures galore
and a completely sealed cigar inscribed
"It's A Boy".
A picture of two young people hand in
hand, looking full of hope without
demand.
What a lovely picture to see, Mom and
Dad, and baby makes three. What a surprise
it had to be; It was a girl and the girl
was me.
I came upon a lady with a charming basket
it was full of fur and tiny ribbon latches.
I reached in and pulled out a friend
and I named him patches.
Two greens eyes and a pirate smile
I knew he would not be meek nor mild.
I cuddled him close as I could and took
him home with me and fed him good.
Now he is fat as can be and all he does
is smile and cunningly winks at me.
Often wondering what he has been up to
sleeping in my hat or playing in my shoes.
A true friend he has been to me and I
am so glad that the lady brought her basket
and opened it, for me to see.
Hatred walking tall in the streets
of the hearts of our
GENERATIONS
Blood spilled painting the
ground red
Making the evil not to feel bad
but as VIPs Phela they now are
walking on the red carpet
The cries shed turning into
the welcoming melody as
they enter the gates of hell
Drowning the happiness of this
world into a very deep well
The money gave birth to
uMUVHANGO
That constructed hell on earth
The burning flames of
greediness
burnt families down to ashes
when death knocks at your door
it breaks down all the latches
It doesn't matter which rout it
took
it can come via your relatives
your blood can one day be a
catalyst
to speed up the witchcraft
reaction
as to give birth to wealthiness
I feel THE NEED to set free my
fears
and let them walk tall in the
streets
of your minds with flyers
proposing unity
Let's all stand up in search of
dignity
How I long to live life vividly
In your heart as hatred intrude
on your knees fall like you just
had a heart attack but in your
prayers
Include also the victims in his
list
The soil swallowed the souls
of THE YOUNG AND THE
RESTLESS
The brave ones that stood up,
ducked and sucked bullets
Into their bodies for our
freedom
with nothing but stones in their
hands
The freedom implanted laziness
and greediness in today's youth
we are not xerophytes,
we can't survive in this dry land
we need to fight
your journey has brought you
into
this very dark life you are in
Wake up your mind, open up
your eyes
there is hell and there is heaven
you are at the junction, make
yur choice
The right choice will give you
honor
But the wrong turn leads you to
horror
The Carrion Crow
Crows abound in the
neighborhood and around the
yard. Often in early morning a
great, noisy caw-fest occurs.
A carrion crow
sat on an oak, fol de rid-
dle, lol de riddle…
Only tiny oaks sprout here and
there, as planted by industrious
blue jays. Crows sit in the
neighbors' incense cedar,
redwoods and other
miscellaneous, unlooked-after
bushes.
Watching a taylor
Shape his cloak; Sing heigh-ho
the
carrion crow, fol…
Crows are very smart, it's
known. They can pick latches,
love to collect small shiny
objects and are good thieves.
Wife bring me my old,
bent bow, fol de riddle, lol
De riddle, hi ding…
Crows in this neighborhood are
urban crows. It may be this
makes them smarter than their
country cousins. Nevertheless
they are well nourished and
sleek for living on the city
streets.
That I may shoot
Yon carrion crow; sing heigh-
Ho, the carrion…
Crows often crack a walnut by
dropping it repeatedly from a
street light standard. There's
an instance in town where a
house down-spout was clogged
with too many shells. A crow or
crows opened nuts while on the
roof.
The Taylor he shot
And missed his mark, fol de
rid-
dle, lol de riddle…
A crow across town enjoyed a
left-over, smashed-flat-in-a-
parking lot, bag of French-fry
and hamburger leavings; held
the paper down with a foot and
picked it clean.
And shot his old sow
Quite through the heart; sing
heigh-ho
The carrion crow,
Fol-de-riddle, lol de riddle, hi
ding do.
Wife bring brandy—in
A spoon for our old sow is
In a swoon! Heigh-ho…
twas a cold and cloudy day
nippy in nature with trees in sway
that time in winter when days were short
the kind of day when a grave digger
would take a snort
to warm the bones, so to speak
a few more snorts to make it neat
but dig the grave ready for the next day
and the grave digger would earn his pay
it never bothered him that he made a living
digging graves
sometimes he wondered why people were afraid
it's just a place where dead bodies are laid
as long as people are dying
there's money to be made
on his way home singing a song
living in a world where nothing was wrong
or so it seemed
but while he was walking'
one of the thorny briers latched
on to one of his shoe latches
and in one step the bow was gone
unknowingly the grave digger
kept moving along, singing his song
like nothing was wrong
unaware that he could slip
never minding that he could trip
the old grave digger singing his song
without a thought that something was wrong
he reached in his pocket
for a pipe that was'nt there
and was sure that he had droped it
somewhere back there
his search was so intense
it took him all the way back to the grave
but just before he got there
he steped on his shoe string
there was nothing he could do
falling head long into the grave
where a broken neck was waiting
and also his pipe laid
so we'll end this story like Esop ends his
there is a moral to the story
for all the growing kids
smoking is bad for you