Best Minutes Poems
You go about your daily life, but do you even care ?
That one day you will wake up and your earth's not there
And what I'm about to tell you may come as quite a shock
But it's only two minutes to midnight on the Doomsday clock.
In nineteen forty seven the worlds scientists did all agree
To create some sort of symbol to show the end of humanity
So an imaginary clock was made for all of us to see
And when the clock chimes midnight, it's the end for you and me .
We're in the nuclear age now with climate change as well
And some of our world leaders are ringing our death knell
When they test their nuclear bombs the big hand starts to move
What in the name of God I ask, are they all trying to prove.
There won't be any winners, we'll all cease to exist
All of us will be vaporised in a cloud of nuclear mist
The ozone layer, the Artic ice and the forest's too
Are all slowly being eroded, but what can we all do.
Well you can vote for people, that can help mankind survive
And if they get in then there's a chance, we'll get out of this alive
There is still some time though with two whole minutes to go
But please don't say you weren't warned or that you didn't know.
Written on February 4th 2018.
( Entered into , The Doomsday Clock 2 Minutes To Midnight, poetry competition and sponsored by Emile Pinet.)
Poetry convention is now convened
attendance must be asked and seen
Eve - Present
Jan- Present
AnneLise -Present
Santa Claus- Present
Shakespeare -Present
Greek Ghost - Dead
Jesus - Three days late
Bach - Stringing things along
Poets all
dance and sing
paint, draw and hold purse strings
ah but some poets claim such glory
Why then do they cheat
upon Gods glory?
All in favor
clink our glasses
red wine and friendships
heaven exists
in bistros
of
honesty
Diamonds scrape the surface of my skin
Leaving cuts that shine red ruby blood that follows
So addicting, beauty, what lies beneath us all
We search for this illusion
You stand an illusion yourself
Ticking time bombs rest at the bottom of this bodiless ocean
Take me higher, rising to the surface, waves crash, changes pull me under
Over and over I fall, over and over I fall
Like it's never happened before
I breathe in this water you call death
I'm surrounded by a sea that forever drowns
Even the moon couldn't pull me from this current
And I wait, I wait
At the bottom of this ocean
Apathy, oh apathy, no hate, just apathy
We all fall down
Now seeing blue skies
Open me up, breathe me in
My lungs full of smoke,
Breathe me in, I'll take you higher
Pull me out, I'll take you higher
I am yours to keep,
Take me higher
I'm not your ev'ry day old fuddy-duddy
I know a dude who's my got-yer-back buddy...
And I'll send you for a plunge 'ore the falls of Niagra
(After my appointment with Dr. Viagra)
Of course I don't NEED it (I don't mean to boast)
It's just extra butter on top of my toast...
Then with renewed vigor AGAIN it shall greet-ya
(With a wee bit-a-help from Mr. Levitra)
The sunset's just light leaving here
8 minutes just to watch it disappear
Just a ball falling into the mouth of the sea
But when I'm with you and you are with me
It's like closed eyes seeing for the first time
We're both getting older and wasting time
The sunset's like the light of the day
8 minutes just to watch it fade away
Though it always comes around
As soft as love without a sound
A collage of colors raging to fill the sky
Like a beauty always changing, destined to die
It makes me think of me and you
Live and learn and begin anew
The sunset's like the moon driven tide
8 minutes just to sit and enjoy the ride
Low to the ground hoping to be found
The sunset will always be just a sunset
Without love in your heart to let it
Always come back around
For Gail Angel Doyle's
A Ripple In Time Contest
NOTE: It takes approximately 8 minutes for the light from the sun to reach our eyes. When you see the sunset it actually set 8 minutes before.
Solitude be damned to a final emotion
When we are puzzled by the mystery of life,
Inspired by misgivings in a distant memory
Touched by thought and opinion
Contemplate the meaning of passion and want
When the sun escapes to darkness,
And presumed is the want for wisdom possessed
Here in a shadows conviction;
Until the loudest sound came from quiet voices
Let the mind accept what our eyes imagine,
Until the solitude of inspiration is lost,
For meanings we gathered are soon forgotten
Here in the specter of thought
But oh to death is our journey bound
Down a road to kingdom come,
Where all is held to the quiet of its end
And judged by the silence within;
Until the loudest sound came from quiet voices
Dear Life,
that betrayed the heart-shaped shells,
breathing colors of coral caves in slow cadence,
I’ve surfed through whirling waves of woeful rhymes,
to navigate tides of tormented tercets,
to cleanse my stained soul with briny bliss,
to illuminate the bruised blues with vibrant verses…
Yet, time revealed the fragrance of frosted farewells,
how moving minutes mourn~
the maleficent melodies of inhumane humankind,
while nurtured nature was played in sheer ignorance…
And as the last drop of ink spills~
upon the crystalline canvas of troubled turquoise,
I whisper to the moon-pearled skyline in soft rose dialects,
remember these words as my penultimate prose.
I was once inspired by the silver ring of lotus lunar;
now I struggle to carve my thoughts into coherent metaphors,
as halcyon hues of my muse refuse to collaborate and curate,
and surging currents of existence ripple with runes of rhinestone ruins,
reflecting the aching darkness of midnight musings,
for I’ve long been clothed in shades of dusk and dawn,
carrying pain in scented silence and solitude.
Tonight, I’ll forgive the sun that forgot my name,
rest my bleeding pen within the unconditional love of my beloved kin,
as I fashion a bronze casket of black daisies and withered promises,
to forever dream in lucid lilacs and lyrical lullabies.
Remember, I’ve waltzed through the weary wilderness,
danced beneath dwelling dreariness,
now preparing to set sail upon seraphic realms of eternal serenity,
where everlasting evergreens of Eden~
shall calm the chaos within my eclipsed psyche.
There the wind shall steer my silhouette to where she belongs,
a meadow of jasmines and dahlias,
emanating thirty-nine twists and turns of tuneless memories...
The hour is late in this death-defying world,
the Reaper is singing now....
he has made melody of the many sorrows,
of the creeping immoral harmonies,
of the wars without end,
and bullets and bombs made by the bushel ---
his voice booms louder and louder in the great halls of men.....
Was it all for naught ---
those who sacrificed,
and gave their love ---
their life,
that they should cringe peering down from the heavens?
The world has become a graveyard for the righteous,
by the day what was once sacred ---
laughable for dark men ---
with one finger on the big-bomb-button,
lips licking....
for they see Babylon rising from the ashes;
and quash the Phoenix of Man ---
for he shall not rise,
lest he forsake his appetite for destruction,
and callous restraints..... ---
and bloated bank accounts.....
lest he see truth,
(and become blind with guilt)
the doomsday clock shall chime louder than all the ages....
February 19 2018
***For Emile Pinet's contest 'The Doomsday Clock: 2 minutes to Midnight'
When I see my day in chunks of fifteen minutes
It’s impossible to feel overwhelmed
I feel blessed with newfound freedom
Take a bath
Read a few pages
Walk to the corner of the street
Take in a few sunrays
Stop and listen to a bird chant
Take a photo or two of an awesome bloom
Appreciate the cloud up in the sky
Marvel at the ant’s herculean feat at my feet
Give a quick call to my mom
Take a few deep breaths outdoors
Sketch the graceful lines of an orchid
Count the raindrops as they hit my window
Dance to a favorite song
Call a friend
Hug my lover
When I see my day in chunks of fifteen minutes
It’s impossible to feel overwhelmed
And I feel blessed
AP: 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2022
How long are eight minutes
it's centuries-old
rusted chains
clamped to throats
whips burn-in flesh
criss-cross scars
Bodies tossed overboard
spoiled cargo
sold commodities
left hanging on trees
fresh scents
for the dogs to chase
Bones of the dead
buried beneath slave walls
after crows
have plucked out their eyes
The death of eight hundred thousand
the price of the word freedom
whispered in the North
never spoken in the South
left to vanish
in blood-soaked battlegrounds
Spit on, beaten, go away
no votes allowed
not this water fountain
not this restaurant
not this seat
How long are eight minutes
long enough to end injustice
long enough to break the racial divide
long enough for a brave heart to have acted
long enough a cruel heart grew in its cruelty
long enough not to breathe
long enough to murder, unconcerned
long enough for understanding to be born
long enough to finally be heard
6/7/20
inspired by Richard's contest
not for contest
When the tar-soaked rain cascades from ominous clouds,
And the oceans roar with Poseidon’s might,
As the screaming ground heaves beneath your careless feet,
Will your deadly heart remember the last 39 minutes of my life?
When tears stained my scarred cheeks,
And I cried out to the heavens, scrambling for your hands,
But you ripped them away, leaving me to stand alone—
Knees shaking, feeling so frail,
Begging, pleading, breaking.
I can no longer taste hope,
Nor feel the warmth of light ignite my dreams.
Darkness swallows me, piece by piece.
Still, I called out your name, but only silence reverberated back.
I could feel Death's bony fingers wrap around my neck,
His black cloak covering every bit of my flesh,
Barely able to utter a sound,
And only the dying color of my eyes piercing through.
I look in your ruthless direction with fear,
But you turn your callous back toward me,
Letting me succumb to the pits of despair.
As my heartbeat stops and death takes its toll,
My spirit curses your unforgiving soul to eternal damnation.
They said you have three minutes to write a me poem.
Each line started with I am, and there were ten lines.
I needed less than a minute.
I am creative.
I am an artist.
I am a poet.
I am a cartoonist.
I am a dog-lover.
I am a grandmother of ten.
I am fun.
I am happy to be alive today.
I am grateful to my friends.
I am me.
A busy wife and mom, she always seemed late
But she didn’t know why, at times she would wait
When a sense of urgency was of great import
Especially to those waiting, most in need of her support
For those of us wondering, “How could she always take so long?”
Since it wasn’t obvious why, oft was heard a car horn
But many times I noticed, even as a small lad
There was intent in her lateness, usually to aid something or someone who had
A need greater than ours, or those we were meeting
Like our dogs needed water, or the horses needed feeding
Or, stopping to talk to an elderly neighbor
Who had just learned of an illness that caused them great labor
There was the time when she stopped the car to explain something of import
We got to ask many questions, she never cut us short
I also remember a stressful day, one where we were late for carpool
And an irate father took it out on her, very un cool
Later that night I could hear her crying as we went to sleep
And I prayed for an angel to visit and tell her not to weep
And to show her how her small decisions to be late
Greatly affect people and other’s lives, which then go on to create
Such a wonderful world for us all to enjoy
If we just keep in mind, that if all of us too employed
A sometimes-slight hesitation, a thought of others before plunging ahead
We’d all get to experience a life with more threads
That fulfills that promise to our creator who asked
Only that we fill our lives with greater weight
And maybe, just maybe, it’s because we’re a few minutes late
Room 5 – that’s where it starts
It is always 14 minutes from being nowhere
You can settle in for liquid cocktails
Ordered up by an oncologist and pharmacist
The mixologist has 10 years experience delivering the Red Devil
No mucking about. She knows how to get you where you are going
And get you there in one ragged piece of your self.
You’ll walk out but your mind and muscles are punked out pieces of meat
It’s like going ten rounds with Ali. Punch drunk from a float and jab
You will watch his feet float like a butterfly and his jab sting like a bee
But you are always 14 minutes away from being nowhere
People will speak, their mouths will move like slow motion action
You will see the spittle and the tongues wagging wildly but again you are still 14
Minutes away from being nowhere
No one understands
They all care
Or at least they say they do.
Drum roll please!
Strike the drum smartly Ed.
Lower it to the ground
Room 5 – is always where it starts.
And it damn sure is 14 minutes from being nowhere.
IN THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES
The angels are rushing and running left to right,
they are careful as wounded-soldier eyes plead
as thirty-five minutes ago...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Earth-quaking are the sounds. On the dance floor
is a number of halcyon Romeo and Juliet swaying smooth
under an umbrella of blinking lights: red and green.
Clinks! Clinks from tossed liquor filled glasses
with loud chats and laughter crowd the air when---
tenacious shakes strike and slip their ground.
Spiky trembles trip on spines, pounds grip hearts
as the mad shaking earth beneath brawls and growls.
They wanted to jet fly but they are tight trapped
to a web of disaster. Satanic is this villain.
Outside, sleeping pipes spurt! Shocked current wires fire!
Anxious buildings cracked! Worried bridge fell apart!
Disturbed waves began their tidal rolls, higher and higher
as they land the shore. Thunder and lighting rule the skies,
sad helpless clouds cry and cry flooding everywhere...
Passed the thirty-five minutes, stinky is the breeze
ragged dirty doll-like bodies are strewn all around...
_________________________________________________
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name Death and Dying
++Placed 3rd++
O.E. Guillermo
9:27 pm, June 28, 2015