Best Merest Poems
Bluebells in chime are shadows in training,
beech trees rising in a sheltering sky.
Sunlight peeks through, the merest of raining,
to guide the mauve buds to darkness close by.
Wind in the forest wafts in refraining.
Violet implores the young they must fly.
But until they're ready fledglings must wait
to one day assume their amethyst fate.
1st Place
Early July Standard Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
7/4/17
When Ravenous Wolf, Prowls At Our Home's Open Door
Of beauty, paintings, flowers and smothering Art
Dares not the innocent truth- ever the race start
Or prisoner, trapped lamb- shear its own white fleece
By all the vanished gods, Death's hands embrace Greece
And dawn's beauty loses its most radiant glow
Whilst blighted forests listens to cackles of crows!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Down in the dark valleys, poisoned rivers freeze
Beasts above, seek delicious prey with such ease
Alas! Dare we in futile wish cry tis no so
And in fanciful dreams -beg that peace and love show
Within hope of tomorrows, believe such will cease
For we recall, magnificent heroes of Greece!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Life and Love must walk through darkest days hand in hand
In this our thought to be enlightened world we stand
Not as sheep to be slaughtered at merest of whims
If we fear ravenous sharks in seas we'd not swim
Or during pitch black nights we would cower inside
And miss seeing the heavens and moon's golden ride!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Such temerity would joys of life thus abolish
Do we allow world its false mirrors to polish
Nay! We prove such hatefulness we will not abide
While in arms of love and truth, we with grace reside
Shall we pray that ever greater Light gift us more
On us all, God's sweet mercy Heaven softly pours!
When ravenous wolf, prowls at our home's open door.
We must take action and not its mercy implore!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-13-2021
Dark rhyme,
( We may only keep, that which we are brave enough to defend )
This poem was born from blessed inspiration found this morn
While I was commenting to a friend, a very fine fellow poet….
...Apologies to Heraclitus and W. H. Auden...
We, defeated by the merest things,
in defeat, endure...for now.
No abiding truth in faith:
origins and destinations
we cannot differentiate,
all random, unguided
by any prescient power;
but, not illogical
(there is no illogic.)
We impose all universal order,
influence what subsequently occurs,
to learn, or not, through endless repetition,
endless failure...and we are
but a current iteration,
here for now -- in constant flux,
defeated by the merest things.
Courage and nobility derived
from continued confrontation,
continued endless struggle,
let us show an affirming flame.
I see this perfect moon-lit night
with million heart-shaped stars in sight
ill-clad with none but drooping leaves
a fig-tree fraught with a disease
its beauty once majestic spoilt
in battle lost ‘gainst arid soil
Against all odds with all its might
a lone fig struggling to the light
I near the tree with footsteps sure
and marvel at perfection pure
a beauty of blue-blooded type
abstained for years I match its ripe
Then common sense lets turmoil in
footsteps once sure now uncertain
like Eve had been that first aeon
I’m gripped twixt hard rock and a stone:
like angels do, with caution tread
or foolishly go right ahead?
I gaze to heav’n the slightest while
a star winks with the merest smile
I wink back once, fig’s beauty draws
no human born without its flaws
entranced, I reach to nature’s art
a softness settles in my heart
I’m awestruck by my juicy dish
on first bite I will make a wish
I pare my find with great aplomb
perfection glows within its womb
I wish upon my luscious feast
well soon I too would be deceased
The love was pure twixt you and me
from knee-high way past puberty
your final gift bore on bent knee
aware your last meal it would be
our fig we shared with great delight
first you, then me, alternate bites
Heart’s softness hardens, deeply torn
a lone tear in each eye is born
they multiply, become yet more
in memory of our days of yore
this perfect fig brought none but pain
no fig will pass my lips again
************************************
On the rug down by the fire
I place butterfly kisses on your neck
Devoted eyes devour you
With each and every peck,
As I hover above you
Flames flickering in the grate
Our lips the merest touch away
From the kiss we eagerly await.
We feel the passion building
As ever deeper grows our kiss
We feel the urge to tear at clothing
but expert fingers will resist,
Shirt and blouse buttons popping
Fuel our passionate intensity
Now there can be no stopping
The spark that flies from you to me.
Like a favoured steed I'm ridden
With a slow but sexy skill
I'm content to do your bidding
As you ride me harder still .
Breathless whispers encourage
My stamina is unsurpassed
Until that sweet and tender moment
At last , At last , At last.
I think I know the reason
For passion such as this
The secret lies in knowing
The power of the kiss.
There was once a king who decided that for him - beauty was silence.
He issued a decree that all sound was banished henceforth and that his land would forever more be as silent as snow. To enforce this impossible law he sent countless envoys to every corner of the land. Every creature was informed. No birds can sing. No dogs must bark. No man, woman or child could speak their needs and must now make them known by signs. Even the very thunder was ordered to be mute.
The penalty of course was death. Few were able to obey.
Flocks of birds were shot from the heavens. Dogs were slain before their master’s eyes. All the trees were stripped of leaves lest the wind should sigh through them. Brooks were frozen so water could not splash or gurgle down the stream beds.
It was like a permanent winter with bare trees and frozen ground.
Children at play were wiped out without mercy. Cows being herded were bombed for lowing. This unmerciful killing went on for many years.
The merest sound so angered the King that he ordered atrocious punishments for offenders that he did not kill.
The talents of artist were in great demand as they painted cards for all occasions for people to flash. in lieu of speaking. The effect on the population was to cause the formation of many covert societies where secret meetings, when betrayed, were raided and countless murders committed by the ‘silence’ enforcers.
The King was greatly feared by everyone and dubbed “Snowman - the Silencer”
Generations of good people were wiped out. Countless noisy species were hunted to extinction. Music was never heard or played.
Silent clocks were invented. Sound-proof rooms were built. Some desperate parents, to protect their children, opted to have their babies larynx-es removed at birth.
The King was surrounded by silent apathetic, joyless subjects.
The King’s obsession had effectively destroyed all the people, the life and the environment around him.
How much easier it would have been, if he, in wanting silence had only thought to destroy his own eardrums.
Rebellious hearts won fame and infamy,
And knew black nights of burgundy.
Then resisted we the merest tyranny;
For we'd so long longed to be free.
So hip and wild and young--
We touched tongue to tongue.
And to our dreams fiercely clung;
Children of the flowers we frolicked among.
In an age of such degeneration,
Blossomed the youth of my generation;
Who had a penchant for creation,
And caused very much diversification.
We graced museums with pop art,
And sang pop music from the heart.
Memories of scarlet evenings won't depart;
Naked lust never kept lovers apart.
All the world was young when I was!
Seems even the bluebird had a cause.
Our actions gave authoritarians much pause;
We broke the most rigid rules and laws.
Breath to breath, flesh to flesh, toe to toe;
Baby, tell me, where did the years go?
Of smoky rooms, black nights and disco,
And the rosy mornings of love's afterglow?
At Once Into Blind Empty Space, At Once Into Her Arms
How can it be
Something so unwittingly described
Can break me
Remake me
Turn me to the sorriest of fates
And still fill my heart
With this happiness of late
How can she wound me so
Yet heal all the injuries I have ever known
With her existence
But alas, not her presence
Which sifts its way so tenuous
So tender through my thoughts
The merest pin prick and point of a feathers touch
Settles such a succinct telegraph of love
Nestled sleeping it was
Always in my heart
She wakes me but shakes me to wishing dreams
To disregard the alarms of early birds
And curl forever in the warmth of sleep
Where I lay always next to her
How do I survive without her
When everything I am
When everything I am is wrapped and entwined to her
Though I live and breathe
The indrawn falls upon my empty
And every expression, which defines me
Troubled and at peace inside me
Soars on every possibility of her
How can I fly so high
But still be dashed and dragged to these rocks
How do I fall so shattered
And yet still be constantly reborn
Struggling through a morass of unrequited kisses
Yet gliding free on the ripples she sends
With those same unfelt and untested lips
Parted so, yet her spirit prevails
I feel the wish of her lashes softly closing her eyes
The sliding soft comfort of her embrace
As she takes and holds my empty hand
And all the caution in the world
All the alarm of early morning birds
Cannot halt my rushing head long
At once into blind empty space, at once into her arms
How did I have a heart
Without you
What life was there
Where soul
My love
Who was I
Without you
And though I live and breathe
I expel each breath on the empty
But every expression which defines me
Is bursting with firework delivery
Colours in the night so laughing
With the unknown embrace of how you love me
And how I so desperately love you in return
( My friends
The soft and compliant daggers of love
I know you know so well
Sharp cuttings of tears
And the ever expectant solace of their smiles )
VI
Transcendent in that unparalleled
Attire!
I confess I cannot help but admire,
And always did,
What all other men should find very
Much
Irresistible in her;
It is as if,
With the merest uplifting of that
Proud and arrogant chin,
The outstretched hand, it's slightest
Touch,
She effortlessly could defer
The uncertain fate of whole nations.
Suddenly, at the corners of the
Mouth, that insidious little grin...
And I am left wondering, again, what
Now for these new deliberations?
"What is beauty? Where is it to be found?" the pessimist mused.
"Beauty? - 'Tis to be found all about you!" the optimist enthused.
"For example, nothing will warm the soul or better yet beguile,
Than the beauty in the purity of a little child's smile!"
"But that is such an ordinary thing", the pessimist declared.
"Ah, but simple things hold untold beauty", the optimist shared.
"Look upon the beauty of the earth after a gently falling rain;
Do not the flowers bloom, enhancing the beauty of His domain?"
"I'll grant you that, but tell me more", the pessimist stated.
"Look for inner beauty in others", the optimist related.
"Gaze upon the beauty of our elders, their faces lined with care;
Is there anything more glorious than their silvery crown of hair?"
"You strike me as a learned philosopher", the pessimist allowed.
"No, I simply search for beauty in all things", the optimist avowed.
"Like the water's hymn as it plays its theme upon a flowing creek,
And the beauty of life and love - these are the things I seek!"
"Tell me, is it too late to change my view?" the pessimist sighed.
"Nay, 'tis never too late to start anew!" the optimist replied.
"Beauty and treasure abounds awaiting your full appreciation,
From the merest to the mightiest of God's magnificent Creation!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I'll tell you where I've been
and I know you've been there too.
From the edge of the woods
we'll walk as deep as we're allowed.
We'll be given a path to the middle,
that is where you'll take my soul.
In the middle of the woods
I'll show you the graveyard I found.
You'll seem as surprised to see it
as I was when I found it.
We'll roam between gravestones
and read of past lives
and perhaps we'll read
of the departures that followed.
Here I read my gravestone,
I tried to read my gravestone,
but my eyes failed me
and I could not discern the words
but I knew the grief all the same.
And the chain has tightened,
the merest release, a single link,
will likely be best for us both.
Just one link. Loosen one link.
If a corpse is bound that tight,
how can you hollow it out ?
3rd October 2019
The Snowflakes Precision
What a cruel and un-compassionate fate you bequeath us
A million years of the mediocre and paltry garnish of faith and hope
Given for the consumption of these generations
How uninspired and habitually in denial
We have become
The lost worlds of dreaming
Left waiting
For better times and in a better place
Plied by consuming the majestic expectations
Of living
In the eternal wake of emptiness
What an unloving and unforgiving creation
We have come to exists within
Full to the brim
With uncompromising seconds
And not even in the grandeur of nature’s scenic beauty
Not in the snowflakes precision as it floats
No
Not unimagined complexity of form and chaos
No not even in a perfect chord
Does the merest or slightest of clues
Become existent or reverberate to us a voice
Which whispers to us of our truth
We are bereft of guidance
Untutored in this colossal magnitude and vacuum
Between the myriad stars
Tiny insignificant is this of our awareness
A planet a world
Part of an unending silence
So alone and so self absorbed
So material in the murderous evil
We have done to each other
So disunited in the dark reaches
So solitary
And yet we did not gather the family of man
No not even to look after of ourselves
The cottage near the wood is crowded in blooms,
Its creamy facade is enlivened with many hues;
And large vases of flowers grace several rooms.
Joy throughout the days with the delicate fumes,
and legendary exotic, natural splendor issues.
The cottage near the wood is crowded in blooms.
Redbirds sing gold sunshine, or of pearly moons,
Nature creates beautiful at the merest excuse,
And large vases of flowers grace several rooms.
Summer appears early, in all the mellow Junes.
Blue and mauve butterflies flit floral avenues.
The cottage near the wood is crowded in blooms.
In such lively colors, encroaching beauty looms,
Green scenes in each window, sunshine suffused,
And large vases of flowers grace several rooms.
All the endless days bold tangerine sun looms,
and rabbits and the bees gather woodland news.
The cottage near the wood is crowded in blooms;
And large vases of flowers grace several rooms
When birds sing sweetly ,
bright notes fall on deaf ears.
My sightless sockets
no longer watch the setting sun descend
in orange splendour
behind purple hills.
My fleshless limbs reach, suspended
in un-returned embrace,
and hope sleeps in earth’s damp bed.
I once walked in your place, above,
treading soft amongst the stones,
my mind fixed firmly on the stars;
warm wind stroked my face,
framed by a pale blue sky.
I gave no thought to those below;
long chains of lives laid out in rows.
I brushed aside insistent whispers,
growing louder year on year;
Time’s breath at my back,
closing in an ever-shortening shadow.
I am so close I could call out to you-
stretch up to grasp your ankles as you pass;
but my soundless cries are impotent
as dust on stone
scattered by the merest breath of air;
all thoughts dissolved
in earth,
and flesh to grass.
High on remote cliffs,
wildflowers huddle
between
wind scalped boulders,
heads kept down,
their roots weaved
into crevices
where a little soil has been
won from rain wash
and wear. They grow
surrounded by a constant
howl, just above
the clawing fingers
and thrown up fury
of waves.
Deep
in their creviced home,
they snatch only
a brief, upward glimpse
of a passing sun,
life confined more
to a damp sliver of shade
sandwiched between stone.
No broad vistas
but a claustrophobic crush,
a cramped space
from where they gasp
for freedom.
For centuries
they have lived like this.
Generations have come
and gone, the living
nourished by the flesh
of the dead.
Countless human wars
have been fought, lost
and won. Year after year
they bloom, yearning
to be noticed, fed
on the merest ration
of light shed
by a merciless sun.
Thank you, they cry,
Thank you.