Best Lurching Poems
The Haunted House
Driving with my date at midnight, looking at the August moonlight,
lonely road, no one in eyesight, searching for a place to park.
Off the road a mansion ‘pearing, in the woods, back in a clearing,
all alone this mansion fearing, stands deserted in the dark…
the mansion stands there in the dark.
Vacant now for many ages, rotting as her time turns pages,
legend of her haunting rages, haunting ghosts that oversee.
Eerie winds around are blowing, in the window soft light glowing,
curiosity is growing, soft light beckons us to see…
the soft light calls for us to see.
Feel like we are strangers poaching, on this haunted house encroaching,
front porch creaks as we’re approaching, and the front door open wide.
Through the door now we are heading, on the inside odor shedding,
musty air with dust is spreading, leaving us red blurry eyed…
the dust makes us red blurry eyed.
In our ears there is a droning, down the hall we hear a moaning,
sounding like an old man groaning, leaving us to wonder why.
Down the hallway we go searching, knowing not what evil lurching,
through the door we see there perching, skeleton from days gone by…
bones sitting there from days gone by.
On the floor there is blood pooling, ‘neath the ashen bones so grueling,
such an eerie sight befooling, tell my date to turn and run.
Chasing close behind I follow, for this fear I cannot swallow,
felling like my life is hollow, thinking that my time is done…
I’m feeling like my days are done.
Wake up in a forest clearing, in the sky, sunlight appearing,
from the night my mind is veering, how I got here I don’t know.
Leaving now my gut is churning, don’t think I will be returning,
evil place my mind discerning, wrought with spirits from below…
the evil spirits from below…..
this haunted house has got to go.
August 18, 2018
Covered by cloud the out-of-sight tops of soaring towers,
Buckling under their own weight, beginning to topple from
Those airy heights;
The gaping breach - the once impregnable outer wall!
The inner keep ablaze with greedy, insatiable flame;
A thunderous cacophony of crashing cymbals and blaring
Horns;
Wide-eyed lurching panic desperately grasping at the fleeting
Moment...
And the whole World immersed into madness.
Hauled above the line of the high-water mark
The bleached, gnarly boards of the depleted Longships;
And when hurriedly stripped bare of brine-drenched hempen
Rope and torn white sail.
The golden sands burning with all the brilliant radiance of a
Million candle lights;
And below a shattered sky...an enormous, disintergrating Sun
Collapsing into a hissing sea!
And now you come to tell me that Agamemnon is dead.
Dead? Is that how you say it: "Great Agamemnon is...dead."
So..all is done then. But is one death nearly enough for the
Cruel and needless sacrifice of gentle Iphigenia?
Every remaining last God to be brought to this place...
Summoned together, here, today; and this in itself...
A dreadful thing.
For never can such be given up to us again.
I watch anxiety play across her face
my heart lurching
my insides upheaval laden
somewhere in the misty consciousness
it dawns
she carries my heart
and I weep
for there's no room to keep
the worry at bay
"I just think...this world is too hard a place for me."
I hear my own words reechoed
from a younger voice
a younger version of me
how can it be?
how can it be?
I thought she had more of him than of me
his calmness
his laissez faire fanfare of confidence
"let things happen as they will" exuberance
The..."don't obsess
no internal mess" productivity
It's not to be....
she carries my heart, I see
her voluptuous figure eaten away
to a size she's always wanted
but not from diet discipline
or extremes of exercise
not this time...
"I'm anxious, Mama."
What can I say?
My carefully crafted confidence in her
for being a stronger woman
than I've ever been or could ever be
is hit at the core...foundations shaken
Oh...why must she be
so much like me
and in secret, I weep
for the daughter who must keep
a heart
too sensitive, too weak
for a world
belligerent....bleak
"I'm anxious....
I'm anxious, Mama"
And I'm left with a week
before she goes away
to pull my wits about me
to know what to say
to fill her with strength
pulling on the reserves of sanity
still left to me
to set her free
Oh...to set her FREE
and let that anxiety
settle....settle...settle
enshrouding not her
but only...
......me
Eileen Manassian
Mind marooned in complexity
Intricacy singular in each living
The psyche shapes unique entity
On alien attribute it won’t cling.
In reserved recess riddles hide
Sub-conscious search can’t find
Probing plea of the world outside
Can’t contrive the closed mind.
A pining prisoner of own making
A cocoon in introvert isolation
I see all the faceless faces fading
Me wedged in web of self-adoration.
My morphed mind turns Nemesis
Makes a mirror of mirage for me
I look into it lurching to the oasis
It is only me that I always see.
In self-veneration, a false perception
I notice Narcissus in me lonely lurk
A secret switching over to obsession
Lies latent, languishing in the dark.
____________
February 10, 2023
For Brian Strand Upto You Contest
The feline is stalking
without any talking;
her silhouette walking
in temptation.
On prowl she is searching
for someone who’s lurching,
or prey that is perching
in frustration.
Her raven hair shining;
her looks so refining;
her thoughts are designing
on sensation.
Her green eyes are peering
with looks that are leering
for someone appearing
in fixation.
At last her eyes spying
a vision complying;
a gentleman trying
for flirtation.
Exchange of small talking
without any balking,
and off they go walking:
culmination.
Pieces of sunlight
Indiscriminaely scattered
Amid dappled green
Change places with
Latticed shadows
of emerging silence
Cheerful birds song
Chirp, chirp, chirp
Mingle with
Gently rustling leaves
Morning's musical companions
The flaming muscle car rears
Screaming lurching to a stop
Nose diving, braking hard
Deep throated mechanical bark
Shatters stillness
Belching tail pipes thunder
The assault splits the air
Chopping stillness to pieces
After awhile birds sing
And the trees are still green
We could smell blood everywhere.
Sitting crouched against white,
Lifeless marble,
Our violins to our chins
As crusted black blood
Stuck, pleadingly,
To our music sheets.
We were to summon beauty in hell;
To compel the murderous to tears
And the dying back to life, but,
I could smell blood everywhere.
My heart gave out in a
Lurching throb.
My bow swam against the hair
And I, in mind, among the countless wasted.
This could happen anywhere.
And this happens everywhere.
Beauty in hell.
The fount of flowers in the black.
The smoldering sickness
Against sweet-lacquered intentions.
Blood is everywhere.
As we hunt blindly, stupidly,
For the grace of gauze.
Shall I liken you to a corpse bouquet?
You are certainly ripe and more fetid.
The fond zephyrs of May waft your decay
Up the addled noses of us wretched
Hordes famished for flesh, lurching on the moor,
And me amongst them clawing to your scent
Putrix beyond the spitty chum’s allure
Propels me well beyond routine ferment
To you, though Fate’s sickle blade shall flail
My congealed member’s once firm resolve,
And fire inflames us just shy of the pale,
Our passion will continue to devolve.
Ever, shall she be my prime cadaver,
O to undie again, and to have her!
What was, is gone and what is- but a moment in time
I used to help mother in her lush green garden
but the pendulum stopped its lurching
and she was gone . . .
now I have a garden of suspended beauty
of my own . .
what was, is gone and what is- but a moment in time
from a tall long stem, a delightful pink Windflower is drooping
tomorrow, it will be bedraggled and dead . . . time
Lovely clear blue, Balloon flowers so delicate and enthralling
are flopping on invisible threads- the pendulum of time rocks
in the shade, Bleeding Hearts are dangling in their special place
oh, the Day Lily with her suspended beauty of today
fades hanging her head with tomorrows dawn . . .
what was, is gone and what is- but a moment in time
what was there, is gone forever . . .
Oh the Roses- nothing can compare to their weeping loveliness
hold those flowing petals and feel their velvet
I gather their beauty quickly . . .
taking them to mother's tomb to lay with her
the next day, unseen, they are tattered ruins on her grave
what was, is gone and what is- but a moment in time
and the pendulum of time and place swings, endlessly
________________________
May 18, 2017
Free Verse/"Time"
Copyright Protected, ID 901502
25 Lines
Brian Strand
10th line
At last days start to lengthen as onward marches the clock
Now things will begin a new cycle as the boat reaches the dock.
At last the icy river starts to melt, water flows freely under the lock
which in turn leads to our boat steadily climbing past the heavy block
that controls the amount of water beneath the lurching waves that rock
against the next gate allowing the boat to freely move on through lock.
Steadily upstream it passes the signs of warm weather that follows behind
allowing us to drift along dreaming of flowers, of the smell of bacon rind
wafting in the air. The sight of buds opening on trees gently waving in the wind
Now as winter releases his grip slowly We have time to dream of orange rind
and fruity smells. Dream of young love and other things spring to mind
as we ready ourselves for new things and Peace starts to lead from behind
Sea Glass 7-11-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sea Glass
On strands and shoals, waves of rolling tides,
Neither pro nor biased,
Tumble castoff vessels, emptied of purpose,
Into scattered shards of sharp amber remnants
Piercing tender soles.
Bits of blue and green edges,
Rub up against mica’s pearls,
Refined by fool’s gold -
Brokenness in metamorphosis
By stoic tidal pulses
And lurching tide’s undulations.
Discarded gypsies from bonfire’s passions
Laughter, nostalgia and desolate strolls
Gestating in a matte chrysalis,
Life’s thesaurus honed into shapeless dregs
By gritty fingers rising
From the cold fire of the abyssal plains.
Is there a difference
In January
Between a crow
And his shadow?
Lurching in flight, so slow
And low
Threading
The snow-glued birch trees
That stand,
Wound in wind
Like barber shop poles,
The crow’s
Shadow
Glancing
The pearly floor
Below
As oily-black
As his own feathers
Ruffled upon his back,
Married
Like a yoyo
To the unusual sun
Strung
To the Earth,
Landing
Upon himself,
Claw
To neck
As if he was his own prey
Cheek to cheek
In black dance,
Uniting
Like a charred spoon
Scooped
Into the cream of the snow
In search of berries
Buried
At the bottom of the bowl
Then
Up
The crow
Separates
Again
Skating above and upon
The glimmering winter forest floor,
The real bird,
His beak,
Stained red from is juicy feast.
skeptical swollen soles
tracing dark toes
on vying veins
of tactic trains:
lofty lousy limbs
etched in ink
drastic dances dripping
on seeps scrunching
in jumpy jolly
mystic melody birthed
embroidered with will
virtuoso concerto crunching
sumptuous soles stretching
la-de-da limbs lurching.
19:12:29:09:27
You try to make sense of what happened
But it’s always the same
Bad news hits hard
The cruelest part
Is the lingering doubt
That things could have been different.
In your heart
You know that
You need to hold on
You’re running out of time
Like a drunken sailor
Lurching
From one disaster after another
None of your own making.
Alone, at night your imagination is on overdrive
Nerves stretched tight
Restless
You want to do something
But there is nothing to do
You evaluate your life
The first thought
Is outright denial
Of what has happened
Followed by anger
Regret
Then an uneasy acceptance.
Life, which so often disappoints
Could have been better
Perhaps if you worked harder
Or studied longer
It might have been different
You have fallen down so many times
On the long road of longevity
That you smile
At your own stupidity
Reasoning
That it could have been worse
Or it could have been much, much better
But who is to say?
You survived
Wind
Rain
And storms
Life was not perfect
It was what it was
As you face the winding roads
It gets a little easier
The rough parts are behind you
Your life has already taken shape
And you could not call any of it back
From your life of long ago
Or sense how badly you missed the days
When you were young.
I have seen the feelings of Love
I have seen the feelings of Love
I have seen the feelings of love
Lurching from the eyes
When the winds of March
Began to touch
The inner core of heart.
When the smell of Mango flowers
Get mixed with the changing season
And it began to flash
On our mind and heart
In its most enchanting form
On every living creatures.
The colors of the feelings of love
And its shades are not different
When it touches the human heart
And it began to show its wonders
Forgetting the age, places and path
When this smell spreads
The joy of love began to ooze
Spreading its intoxication
And the heart finds it difficult
To live without inhaling
The spreading fragrance in the air.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 15th April 2013..... to be concluded in next