Best Latching Poems
You Are Not Invited
--Latching onto my soul without an invitation--
Elements around my shore expose more than air
--Playing with fire is not a game you will win--
----
Silently she swarms in like a leech,
Feeding and sucking from the wounds my pain left behind.
She came inside: "Uninvited!"
Here have a drink, and die!
Taste the water drips that sail across my lips
Plodding vigorously in the open air of her unwanted hostility
Forbidden as one, I noticed her aura a sickening light
Imprisonment that haunted smoke around her own imperfections
The hate and envy, she lives in resides airborne
The sound that she have summoned up hunger
Brought me near the edge of everything
Feel my pain, a touch of impurities
Tainted, infected, poisoned passion, her face disguised
Surrender toward serenity, the lighthearted woman I am inside
She will never take, my full eternal grace
It’s time to reveal that blazing fire I hide
Drown her from the false flown sorrows of gust
Hold her hideous head under water--- burn her false fire out
Never will I turn my back and watch her muster them broken lids
Lungful of lies poisons the wind that flows from her snake like voice
Maneuvering the skies, scheming that snatch in
Like a viper twisting its unmatched curves,
I strike, like a pyromaniac --A burning match
Allowing her to taste a part of the air I breathe
A waste in the breeze her insecurities
Trying to destroy what she can't be, what she can't see
At the end, blustery weather will remind her of the sea inside me,
YOU! The Angel, who crawls around like a shadow
Gorging its way into the heart with a charm of greed
Twisting reality hoping nobody sees its true sick identity
Slandering my name as the master of evil and manipulative
Marking my territory, warning others of a cold draft
Grasping the beauty that glows from my soul
There it stood on the ledge UNINVITED
The devil walked and took my shoes
:)
Drawn by subtle intuition
I follow a winding path
into the heart of the woods,
emerging in an open glade
where feeble sunlight falls
upon a moss covered wall.
Isomorphic intimacy holds
me in a trance; latching
the present to the past, as
nostalgia flirts with mixed
emotions. Resting my hand
on the stone slabs I caress
the rough texture with affinity
sensing the agony of collapsed
aspirations, decayed dreams,
and the utter helplessness
of the irreversible.
--------------------
This poem has been published in a PoetrySoup Anthology:
“Reflections on the Important Things” Nov 2023 (print)
"Wall in the Woods" contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Placed 3rd
© 11th October 2020
"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."
This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution
I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.
Testament verses
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning
There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders
I was surrounded by shovels
Ransacked
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench
While I
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics
Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…
…
…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath
Simply
Searching
For B-rated serendipity
Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Turning away from windowed afflictions
Ready
To step towards gratitude’s breath
Outside,
No longer looking in
How good it feels.
Yet, I still miss my friends.
©Drake J. Eszes
Oh translucent the body takes it's ovoid shape,
An amalgam of life from inside it's bloated state,
Pro choice and glistening,
latching in a confined space of creation,
As outside light penetrates to it's depth and core,
Taking energy blessedly to it's segmented form,
Steady development throughout the course of time,
White connecting with the embryo as the blastoderm grows,
From a yoke source of life in the balance and throes
Great challenge in this incubation period,
With passion for life and birth,
A deep search for air cells breathing the first inhalation of spacious scenes
We've crept through evolution with the same stages reached,
We step past our dreams shell shocked we walk on by,
Casting this shadow over death like we are all god like,
No type of crack shows how perfect certain skins can be shed,
Blessed with new life like hatching from an egg
He was unreliable in many more ways then just the one,
Stretched his black wings and left his family for fun,
Now his life is complete as he sits at a computer screen,
Leading others from God with *********** that is obscene.
Latching on to the innocent and those who are pure,
Hand in hand with satan to coax and then to lure,
Nothing worthy beats in his black little heart,
Throwing horrible contests to rip the sad apart.
The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.
Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.
It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.
Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.
Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”
Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)
Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.
Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.
And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!
Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015
Mommy, don't be upset
When they say how you should stand, sit and eat
While I munch on your blood and meat.
Just don't be upset
When they advise you on when I should be fed.
You alone know when my tummy needs bread
Mommy, don't be upset
When they say I was born lean or bulky, dark or fair
And force home remedies and weird aftercare
Just don't be upset
When they judge you for the cuts on your belly
Or the amount of milk generated by your body.
Don't be upset
When they rebuke you for keeping me on diapers
Or nag about your choices right from mittens to rompers.
I know how you guarded me for nine months
Every time I kicked from inside, your heart went nuts
When my poor latching has hurt your nipples,
I felt the wetness of your tears on my nerves.
We ate and slept together
We screamed and sang together
I was in your belly and you were in my blood
To meet each other, we worked as a team and laboured.
Now, who are they to make you feel low?
No, whatever they say doesn't help us grow.
Just don't be upset, Mommy.
We'll do only that, what is best for us!
It's beautiful, the whole dam business, the circle,
the new and distant friends, the words formed,
which blow away; like Zeek and Ike and Calloway;
and the dark sky, rests; and I find a jilted tree, not
far from the buzz, and the busy blue-breezed, hussy;
the chicken on the step, persisting its gibberish neck;
but, heavy in eye, I melt into the lavatory; with its
pirouetting flies, and dark satanic skies, of cracked
vermillion tiles; nonetheless; this is my life; thank
you for the friends, the words, and my wonderful wife;
the sweet afternoon-wind kisses, my old locks, and spent
near-misses; and the quality, rhyming-time ; and I can’t
disguise my reprise, my dread-locked naked smile, and
goatee-spilling beard, latching on to the fertile, busy-breeze,
and its warm fertile ease; but despite all this; I’ll wait; I’ll wait
for the borrowed lies, the perky anchor’s, version of the news;
her treated, trusty lemon skies. I'll wait.
Each night I dutifully latch the door
To keep intruders firmly without.
I retire to bed feeling blissfully sure
I am safe from what they are about.
Then one night, the latching complete
I thought of threats already within.
Stroke, heart attack, foes at my feet.
How to bar them, where to begin?
It quickly became hauntingly clear
That mortality assures no defense.
Lethal outcomes are perilously near,
And latching doors is only a pretense.
I must give them Love,
And Love only
Can you stop me?
Will you be ashamed of me,
Or exasperated, angered,
When my neutrality resembles bestilled water,
Undrinkable, observing and flowing…
As my choice becomes iced with silence,
And non-action?
Every atom screams,
Hate them
Speak your tumultuous mind
With passion and purpose,
Speak and forget your disillusioned place!
Be their instrument of scorn,
Break them down,
These builders of fabricated walls
These grabbers for attention
These leeches latching onto
Every power they can get—
Feet planted in the swarms of stings
Erected to last—to suffer vastly
The sacrament of melancholia, let it
Find you,
And fill you with hate,
Disgust—for their
Impenetrable impotence!
Break them down,
With what you deem right
A spirit sighs, says,
Be a companion,
Be a meek friend
Be a listener,
Let them speak,
Do not be so quick to condemn
Allow their hurt
For how can you stop it?
Just like you,
How can they stop you,
From feeling, silently feeling
What they cannot grasp…?
Just as you feel,
Let them also feel,
Let them be,
Wait, just wait…
Their hands clasp my throat in searing iron grip
My eyes tear from the force,
Blood collecting in my world-heavy head
Do not be silent, they say!
Speak, you proud, religious bigot!
You are no better than I—nor him—nor she!
Speak, for tomorrow you die…
But I cannot even reason when you say….
Choose your way! Choose your way!
They probe—they force—they complain,
It is okay…it is okay….
I will not steer your life in the embodiment of my lens
I can only give, I can only pray
That the answers of truth will sooth your days….
I give them Love, and will the rest,
That swear that the responsibility lies on me—
I will the rest,
To the shades of better trees
Longing….
For their trunks to reach greater altitudes,
And their voluptuous shade to spread upon
These soiled, troubled souls
The choice is not mine to make
With love—with pain,
I wait for His reign
depression reduces me down to my knees,
cant seem to see the woods for the trees.
Allways on edge with a sence of tension,
paranoid thaughts to vast to mention.
Inside my head my mind runs riot,
allthough i percive a charictor of quiet,
forever picking faults with ones self,
a deteriation of my mental health.
to punish myself i began to self harm,
rape my exsistance and cut my arm.
latching onto any act of kindness,
but vunverbility insuing blindness.
looking for love in all the wrong places,
hiding behind so many false faces.
a losing side of a game of chess,
more frustration as im trying my best.
looking at life as a glass half empty,
while reviwing others lfes resentfully.
Alienating myself from human traffic,
isolating for months its that dramatic.
Everdecresing downward slide,
but this is no funfair ride.
I love by latching on too tightly; I thought I could hold you in the palm of my hand for awhile, the way I used to catch the wind, or tried to, when I was small. Hands hungry and determined, I placed you high up on the candelabra, and did not understand when I found you out of reach. And unable to hold you, or feed you, each little weep-drop of wax was a grain of sand, counting every second to a certain end.
But choking fire has its way of leaving chokers burned, and in salvaging my heart and hands, I loved you with my eyes. You never burn to make the room blush, or to sway the sex of lovers. You burn for warmth, to warm and be warmed, and dry the tears and frost and rain from the stricken, in the hopes that one day, someone will ease them from you. Through misery comes compassion, freedom through walls, and you and I are not the only things that crumble. And when I am gone, you will burn; when you are gone, you will burn, and I will be glad not to have been the death of you, so I let you burn.
The sky is now dark,
nothing but the moon and
stars provide a source of light.
Everything appears still as
though life has been consumed
by a creature of uncouth nature.
The ground is bare, not even a
rat scuttles across the muddy
path.
A wolf howls in the distance
disturbing the spine-chilling
silence.
Nothing moves and nothing seems
to live in this once bright
town.
Slowly a shadow grows from
the depths of hell, like
an obscure plant growing from
the dry soil.
It slithers like a snake along
the muddy path in search of a
innocent life form to feed
upon, fuelling its unbeating heart.
Suddenly it strikes with almighty
strength, latching on to the purest
of skin.
Slowly blood pours down its once
dry throat creating pleasure
of unimaginable intensity.
Its victim struggles endlessly,
fighting for dear life but its
efforts are futile for life has
been drained from within its
pitiful body, now grey
and sombre.
Another life has been taken
leaving nothing but an empty
shell upon the muddy path,
the hunger has been quenched
but until the next time the
veil of darkness drops the
shadow will return from the
depths of hell.
Latching deceased life
Mineral depredation
Mosses vital spark
Nathan Bane Leccese
© All Rights Reserved 05/24/2009
When night falls and stumbles into slumber
reshuffles memories and tumbles crumbles
minds and mines of coal dust into icing sugar
it transposes trifle tribulations and awakens
Where evening stars and creatures of the dark
mix and mingle myriads of constellations shine
lunar aspirations convert converse in quiet sleep
they silently expose fake impositions of delusion
Why and how and for what reason a cruel world
in guise of rationalised temptation in quite some cheek
and bum and bottom line prescription untangles in
the solace soul and solar comfort of caress eludes
We may be well advised to choose between and
well beyond advancing torturous flagellation of
fool’s false impression misguided paradox reality and
walking sleep catching dream latching over and above
When evening mist and dusk beholds no further
prison walls of misconception’s assault on sanity
imprints no further coffin nails on human nature
the radiant twilight unfolds to tell the story yet again
08th February 2017