Best Leveled Poems
My head feels like it's being squeezed in a vise. Eardrums must have blown out from the explosion since I hear absolutely nothing, not even my own breath. Slowly rising to my feet I survey the damage. Left arm gone from the elbow down. Flesh hangs from my right forearm exposing bone and sinew. I don't even want to know what my face looks like but my cheeks are burning white hot.
Suddenly, I am keenly aware of the immediate surroundings. The twenty story office building I call my second home is utterly destroyed. Smoke and haze are everywhere. An acrid odor fills my nostrils with each breath. Scanning the vicinity I see body parts strewn about. The urge to vomit overwhelms me. Afterward, I begin to shake and sob uncontrollably. My God, why?
Home is five blocks away. My wife, my daughter are they alive? No idea how many bombs were dropped. Must get home. Each step brings excruciating pain, but the adrenalin pulsing through my veins impels me forward. Finally reaching my neighborhood, it quickly becomes evident that it too was targeted. Rubble and debris surrounds me. In the distance, what was my house, leveled to the ground. The cries, the screams of others sifting through the debris make me question my sanity did my hearing return or are the screams in my head?
Reality sets in coldly as I discover the bodies of my family, partially buried under the rubble. I have no more tears in this moment. Instead, my mind drifts back to former days happy times. Myself, Najwa and baby, lying in our back yard on a comfy blanket, staring up at the stars, watching the fireflies softly flicker in a dreamy, summer night sky. We had peace then. Now there is nothing but bitterness and hatred in my heart. I gaze at the sky, now black as sin. All the stars are there. But the fireflies they're gone. I can't help but wonder, what will become of me?
Flicker flicker fly
Stars above to light the sky
Angels weep goodbye
waiting
with diaper on
for this woman to get up
off the kitchen floor and
stop bleeding while a man
hovers over her with grimace
and clinched fist
waiting
for our first-grade teacher
to stop crying
over the P.A. announcement
that the president
has just been assassinated
in Dallas
waiting
on the spirit of Christmas
to return days after the news
that mother's favorite song "You Send Me"
had just been shot and killed
a few blocks from our home
waiting
in the backseat of a Packard
for the policeman to stop screaming
at my father as urban soldiers
toss fire from their hands
in our neighborhood just outside of Watts
waiting
at LAX for Wilt the Stilt
to come back and finish
signing autographs after
some idiot just called him a freak
waiting
for the bowtie and scowl
to let go of my arm so I
can shake the hand of
the Greatest of All Time
as he starts his comeback
with an exhibition bout
in East Los Angeles
waiting
with eighteen-year-old trembling knees
for that sheriff deputy
to remove his pump action shotgun
from my temple
waiting
in the delivery room
for the wrong woman
to have my child
waiting
at a motel
for the right woman
to find the time
to slip away
waiting
on the side of
the ninety-one freeway
for a motorcade to pass
shortly after the funeral
of a former president
shamed by the Watergate scandal
waiting
and looking
while holding onto
the entry gate at 875 S. Bundy Dr.
for some sign of what really
happened that night
waiting
along with F.E.M.A. and the Red Cross
for the distraught woman
to come with us to safety
days after the Northridge earthquake
leveled her million-dollar home
waiting
at the hospital
for my first grandchild
to be born while her father
who's been convicted of battery
is nowhere to be found
waiting, waiting
seems like I'm always
waiting
Manger Shadow
A shadow lurks behind the manger bed
Swaddled by indifference,
Creeping behind
Lowing cows
And
Bleating sheep,
Power without power raising up a hoary head
While in vanity dim shades attempt to weave
A gloomy thread into the scent
Of frankincense
And
Myrrh;
Endeavoring to cover ears of prophecy,
Encouraging ignorance
With busyness in crowded streets
Of travelers taxed,
Bowed down with burdens;
No Gloria’s heaven sent
As shadows pass in front of starlight
On highways straight
Deserts wild
Mountains leveled
And star-struck strangers
Asking only for directions;
Where flowers,
Blooming in the wilderness,
Lay trampled
Beneath pilgrim’s feet;
Trying to drown out
Amen
And
In Excelsis Deo
Shouted out in triumph
To wide eyes
Keeping watch
Beneath olive trees
Rather
Longing to smother a baby’s breath
With a snarl,
Rejoicing only in the anticipated silence;
To leave no room at the inn
For goodwill
Or
Shalom Eternal
Yet cower in a nightmare’s chaos,
Breath held in,
For a kingdom lost by victory
Already claimed;
Futility, the unwelcomed guest,
Birthing fury
That pounds upon the chest of truth,
Stalking the Word protected
By holiness,
Claiming dice unfairly loaded
To howl
In rage
As justice and as peace now kiss –
As swords and spears
Rise up
As plows and pruning hooks
To tend the vineyard of the King
Then sing out the great glad tidings
On a mountaintop
Where people walk out of darkness
Into light.
Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let’s pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage’s
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
Why?
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
Hell bound.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The power of nature has ravaged the Japanese shore,
Leaving in its wake devastation and unimaginable gore.
The mettle of this gentle people has been tested, it is true,
But next spring, they know that cherry blossoms will bloom anew!
Alas, whole villages along that rugged coast were torn asunder,
As the raging tsunami raced inland gobbling up its plunder.
When all hope was lost and they thought they'd surely meet their doom,
They were cheered knowing that cherry blossoms once again would bloom!
This stalwart people who'd suffered the ravages of falling shell and bomb
Dropped from silver birds, faced another holocaust with great aplomb.
With little but hope they vowed to rebuild their lives ever keeping in view,
The cherry blossoms that would bloom come next spring with dainty hue!
Alas, the 'quake leveled schools, ancient temples and magnificent torii,
But this patient people will restore them once again to their former glory!
They will persevere again and again as surely as the rising sun at dawn,
To enjoy another season of delicate cherry blossoms 'til their scent is gone!
The brotherhood of nations rallied as one to provide succor with speed.
It was neighbor helping neighbor in keeping with the Master's creed!
Even though the nation was rocked with misery, shock and searing pain,
Out of the depths of disaster the cherry blossoms will bloom once again!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 8 in Deb Guzzi's "Tribute To Japan" Contest - May 2011
As you know, dear one
I border emotions that perhaps are an enigma to you
You look up to me at times with the highest respect
When you and I both know we are leveled
I dedicate to you a speech above the most precious jewels
My words surely don’t climb among or above the highness of great
But I can tell you straight—I am proud of my feelings
I am proud to have you here on earth with me
You know, when I wrote those words, joyous bells began to ring
I heard them in harmony, for they agreed
Indeed, I had the council of music in meeting
And we all averred that you are a part of me—a rare ligament that I truly cherish
For years you have devoted yourself
Fearing that someday I may leave your side
Oh my sweet, beloved friend—how I have!
I do not wish to degrade you—forgive me!
Allow me to further explain
I have left many times from the comfort of your embraces
Blinded by the enigmatic pangs I so desperately conceal
But these moments of solitude allow me to candidly feel
And as I have said—I am proud of my feelings
For they have led me straight to the epiphanies I shall now reveal:
I saw you amongst the wild horses—amid the paragon of temperament
Their nostrils flared at a presence; like confused soldiers, their eyes darted about
I was crazed into fear that I would be founded out
In meadows near from grasp of humanity
You fled but kept me in eyesight
Wondering and wandering—nearly touching the brink of my world
The bells drew you near—for they were apples to your eye
My laughter reached the highest height
You knew that I was not jeering you
I was delighted by your phantasmagoric magnificence!
The majority grazed on
But your dreams were meant for me to hold
At least only for a little while
For in the bells of laughter and music we were one
Cantering all the more closer to the sun
We felt not the burn, but the warmth of friendship
As life flew on in its graces and disgraces
We drew ever nearer
And soon—as was inevitable—
We felt the sear
As you were familiar with them, you took it like a god
And longed—from me—to take it
Instead I concealed the flame
Because the tame are accustomed
To chastisement, fear and incentive
Oh, My Dear Walter, how your words have slayed
Humbled me, broken me, molded, remade
To taste of your world, see above or below it
Wit of a wordsmith, wry pith of a poet
To so construe love without using the phrase
Scrawl the sinew of war, yet delight in the days
To yawp of the grass - journeywork of the stars
Help heal a nation, attend to its scars
Find grace among horrors, sift beauty from death
The soul-pull of tides - briny kiss of their breath
To habit us all ... to the dazzle of light
Celebrate ourselves, bequeath us the night
Ask recurring questions of romance and life
Of presidents, boot soles, and moldering strife
Demons and mockingbirds, Paumanok's dunes
The pale, horrid witness of unstinted moons
'Twas sad-blown, a bugle, convulsed, was a drum
Yet exquisite, the dirge for a soldier and son
The sorrow of clouds in a ravening sky
The weep of a child should the Pleiades die
Knit airy-fresh words, with uncommon phrases
Draw Apollo and Neptune in all of their phases
Be there adoration as hapless as mine
Yet no soul more ardently leveled, supine
No writer has reached deeper into my heart
Idioms and phrases ... such allurement, impart
Ah, yes, what I'd give to have just one chat
With the rare human being who afforded all that
And maybe I'm biased, if perhaps to a fault
But the name of MY Captain, O Captain ...
Is WALT.
" Imagine a place where there is beauty, bliss and plentifulness for all. It is nothing short of utopia. Though we are far from realizing it, isn't it thrilling to imagine a version of the world different from the existing one where all disparities will be leveled and happiness and freedom are made the birthright of all? Now such a world is enshrouded in mist. But who can say it won't emerge suddenly from the blue in some distant future"- By Poet
Though, utopia is merely an illusion,
Or a chimera born in the womb of our whims,
I shall take you to a near-utopian land,
Where, peace and beauty blossom like the cherry in spring
And trees grow like the cedars of Lebanon.
Come on, my Love! Let us move to that land,
Where the sun resurrects anew,
Where darkness gives way to light,
And life renews itself every morning.
It is our dreamland paradise or interim utopia.
Let us go into that Garden of Delight.
Look to the East, my love, beyond those crooked hills,
Where poplars grow tall in line
And a gentle breeze susurrates through the foliage of leaves
And wild weeds hem the edges of pathways,
Where bunnies and squirrels hop and jump
And run around whistling bamboo reeds,
Where the laughing cataract leaps down from the rocks
And flow along in silvery rills
Where the languorous breeze plays upon the leaves.
This place has all the beauty and bliss of utopia.
Away from the tumult, far from the bustling crowd
With the pandemonium of the world hushed to serene silence
Let us walk together to that sequestered glade,
Where we shall sit by the side of a rustling stream
And dance across the flowery meadows.
In this place of perennial greenery and sunlit groves
We shall walk hands locked and hearts singing as one,
Till the bright day gives way to a dusky night,
Inhaling night air in scented perfume.
Under the stillness of a star-spangled sky, we shall roam,
Through moon-blanched woods, enigmatic and mysterious
Listening to the sweet whisperings of our soul
And ‘drinking life to the lees’ from the chalice of love
Oh! Come on, let us not tarry….
Let’s move fast to that Utopia!
St. John gave its pupils arithmetic
I glided through these
Like breeze of Belize
Los Angeles City College leveled me
Algebra had me on my knees
YET
I clamored to Cal. State, Long Beach,
Where Information Science sacked me
I fought back on campus lush lawns
Lingered crossed-leg in summer sun
WON
My grade was not an F
I graduated and felt blessed.
*
With women the heart argues, not the mind.
MATTHEW ARNOLD, Merope
1. The stand of old growth Melalucas, graces the lowlands of our farm.
For over fifty years, accumulations of leaves have formed small soft islands.
“With selective clearing,” my husband says, "larger areas of grassland will grow.
More grazing for the cows and less hay we’d need to buy in Winter."
Inwardly, I lament, not wanting to lose the beauty of these trees
with branches that rise like huge broccoli bunches against bright blue skies.
My husband, much harder, by necessity, over-rules my sentiments.
2. Conveniently, earth-moving machines appear early on the first day
of the New Year. They cut a long swathe
but on the dam are left a large row, marked by me,
for sanctuary.
They cast reflections on the still water.
3. The felled trees are piled into rough heaps. Prophetically, the car
of the Inspector for Primary Industries appears.
“You must know, these are protected trees.”
He asks for permits (not granted) and orders a ‘cease and desist.’
His scowling looks are an indictment.
4. For months the operation was on hold
and, then the rains came and the floods—almost our undoing.
Flocks of water-birds occupied the flats, nesting on the islands
formed by the grassy hummocks. When these waters receded,
an overgrowth of young melalucas sprouted, where the old trees
had once stood. A network of roots underground had signaled
a catastrophe. New nodes erupted along all the root-ways.
Dumbly they announced their guardianship of the swampy land.
“Give us back to time,” they said , but the un-relenting slasher
leveled them again, so grass could grow.
5. I go back into my house now, secretly pleased the trees are speaking.
The topaz flames from the fireplace, warm my bones.
The hoary frosts have come. The envelope containing the D P I’s
decision waits on the mantel shelf, propped by a row of grazing, ceramic cows.
From the window I see our cows enter between the Melalucas.
They graze on the new growth pasture.
I warm my hands, as the flames lick firewood.
The scent from Melaluca smoke haunts me.
Suzanne Delaney
365 words
Black clouds bury the blue skies of Bama overhead
as monstrous winds wipe out towns of southern plain.
From historic antebellum it left a path of dead
in the midst of hail and drenching down-pouring rain.
Ten hours of terror that held the sweet south in its grip
not yielding to warnings since wind motion was quick.
Leveled houses and buildings with just one long dip
leaving nothing to relish of mementos or red brick.
Toys and papers scattered with the dying whirl twist
sending debris to nearby states in massive claws.
Disaster covers barren- lifeless- ground in hail and mist
while residents view destruction that harshly gnaws.
Blind darkness filled the night after the storms once seized
bleak clouds clung, still forbidding stars or moon to shine.
Lives spared but tattered beings were left quite uneased
and not rightly sure where tired bodies could now resign.
Despair fills many counties hit by a ravenous wind
that changed a million lives in a fleeted moment.
Winds of majesty can transform, bringing life to an end
along with frazzled minds and souls in much discontent.
Although lives have been altered and turned inside out
friendship and well wishes are given in great abundance.
It will take patience to rebuild quaint rural towns, no doubt
with God’s and friends help, we still have a fighting chance.
“Sweet Home Alabama, you’re home sweet home to me”!
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Tsunami
People watching
Small waves rolling,
Sea birds chatter
Seeking shelter,
Tsunami approaching
Island sanctuary.
People fleeing
Water smashing,
Buildings leveled
Trees uprooted,
Bodies floating
Out to sea.
Tsunami!
Survivors
Counting
Blessings.
They have been wandering for decades
Journeying to the land that was promised by their forefathers
A land that would seal the faith of future generations.
They rove night and day guided by a single pillar of light
Looking for the land that was just minutes within sight
But faith had them wondering and pondering
Meandering up steep hills and giant rocks
Roaming around mountain and caves
Looking for that sacred spot.
But they could not find their way home
The road that leads home was covered with tall thick giant grass
Blade as wide as the palm of my hands overshadowed the path
And the visible eyes could not perceive it
Only the spirit of God could reveal it.
Suddenly a bulldozer appears,
And a little man holding the levers
Reversed it back and forth and leveled the dense path
That leads to a dead end spot in the middle of the town.
The bulldozer could not handled the thick mass of grass
That forms little mountains on that anguished path.
Determination kept the bulldozer rolling along.
It pushed and scraped until it leveled the towering grass
That connects the main road to an asphalted road.
Without warning the bulldozer blade broke off in a circular hole
And the little man came from behind the levers and peeped into
the hole and grumbled that he has strained his back.
All of a sudden two men with machetes appeared
And start copping around several mounds
Close to that very spot potato vine sprouted
With blossom forming an archive in the air
potatoes ready for reaping hangs from
vines that juxtapose with blossoms.
Be quiet!
The machete man exclaimed
Stop chopping!
He peered at vines and leaves above
And discovered that the abandoned path is guarded
By a gigantic wasp nest with thousands of wasps standing guards.
They hang from branches and form clusters
that appear as brown potatato blossom
Laying wait in silence to attack their preys
in the patch of bush that surround the mounds.
But they were exposed and dismantled
just before the break of dawn.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Though I have moved back and forth
so many times throughout my life
I have forgotten half of all the
many lines i have crossed
And the countless relationships and
friends which I have lost in between to
my own cost
So much so, so many things are barely
dreams without a frame to be seen
though they still remain
In the many space's in my mind that
i have left saved tinged with regret
I just can't let go
Only the faces of the people seemed
to have changed and aged as have I
as time flew bye
Like some of the many places where
I grew up now bring a tear to my eye
when I pass bye
So much so i prefer to take another route
as there is hardly anything left worth revisiting
My memories and childhood home
progress has stole and nothing can replace
the hole that it has left
The old playground and pub where we
met the alley's down which we used to
dart and make our getaway
School and cinema the hospital where
I was born and mother worked the
heavy industry factories that spewed
out latent smoke
The tram line's leading to the underground
with several stop's along it's way has seen
it's day
It's only stand's today as a crumbling monument
in testament to the end of the line a bygone time
It is all so sad and all for what will it or can
it even be explained
Why this was once a thriving living city
in the Ukraine that one day Russian
Armies came and leveled to the ground
This simple fact cannot be changed
though crumbled building can be rebuilt
The oh so many pointless lives and loved
ones lost cannot be brought back
What's done is done it's set in stone
Pile on high the rubble bury the bodies
turn this travesty info a morbid tomb
And curse the God's of War into an
eternal damnation pit and all who
trade and profit from it
For death the only spoil should they be
deemed worthy to inherit and made to pay
Never lest to rest nor forget
Behind, left in dust, of the old gravel road
is a faint trace of Marlboro and a soft summer wind
Skies burn orange and amber, and a blazing red sun,
that is filtered by a windshield, that's never been groomed
A radio station, has more static than tunes
and the song of the work day are tires, worn thin
The sun's going down, where the road never ends
There's a bend near the hill, where a windmill spins slow
and where dozens of blackbirds create ebb and flow
They dapple the rain clouds, like bats out of hell
then will perch pole to pole, plucking heartstrings, as well
Headin' home there are doves, that will bend every limb,
sittin' high in the cottonwoods, while cocking their heads...
Where a hawk circles low over fields, leveled plain
waiting for thunder to bring home the rain
She waits by the door, beneath light from the porch
It halos her hair, like a torch that she's carried
from the day they were married, in a little white church
that has baptized a newborn, asleep in the crib
He drives an old pickup, with a paycheck so slim
He has sweat on his brow, and grit on his chin
He is bringing home flowers, his heart and his grin
There is smoke in the horizon, from a fire within...
Not far, there is heaven where all reason begins
______________________________________________
"Sing Me A Country Song" Contest:
Resubmitted for Skat's Contest: Premiere Contest: #9
Written : 10/12/13
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