Best Narrower Poems
_________
The sun-yellow house seems smaller somehow,
viewing it now, after all these years...
The street seems narrower, and the trees have grown tall..
And where once open fields spanned both sides of the road,
there are small tract houses, where fences have bloomed.
Neighboring orchards have all disappeared
But, somehow we knew the house would be there....
As if seen from a distance, edged by seasons, yet clear
There's the path that we laid one hot summer day,
in the yard of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew....
Someone else left their footprints that lead to the door
There's a rusty-red bike, and a skate left behind
by the squeaky old gate, that tomorrow will find.
As suddenly as wind will spring from the dust
thirty years fell away, and flew into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise,
like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
_____
...Our first Christmas trees, and our first holidays...
Anniversaries we spent with just pizza and wine
The place where I cried long into the night,
as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...
Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
_____
Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white trim
Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun
The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
Just a small yellow house, with its snow-white trim...
that sits 'round the bend, where the sycamore grew...
I do it often,
drag a perfect morning
in through the front door of myself
and make it a reluctant guest,
replace its colors with my own
dour palette, drown out
its soft voice with noise.
It has become a habit, trying
to confine the morning's
width within my space,
hold its edges so it doesn't stretch
beyond my reach. Its freedom
is almost an anathema to me
for it exceeds my own.
How small my world has become.
The distance from one side
of myself to the other is getting
narrower, the little room left
is depleting breath by breath.
The light squeezes through
ever smaller windows.
And yet, as it came upon me
this morning, I was met
with a bright abundance
that had gathered at my door,
carrying forgiveness
for my habitual ignorance
and an invitation to step
outside myself, once more.
In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
A million million life forms. And silence in the library.
Dr. Who: Episode - Silence in the Library
THE SILENCE S.O.S.
the rasp of a metamorphic voice.
is boredom in chase? the stillness a shape?
does genius inhabit this dark room?
the click of cobblestone echoes in the chamber,
narrow and narrower, restriction —
is this where a poet sprouts?
the fine doctor hears the silence,
doesn’t ever remember
how the dark shoots off its words.
a-musing, the silence, the silver bell
that cock-a-doodle-doos until noon.
in Central Park, his arms around my shoulder,
the silence feeling colder than my heart,
the guitar a-beating — the plunder of a crowd,
the splash falls gently from the inkwells.
there’s a space between us,
yet we grip each other’s hands —
the planets hug
in the universal silence.
fifty years later, the thumbing
of a cell,
people disappear on silent screens.
7/24/2019
The Sound of Silence Poetry Contest
John Hamilton
Poem Title would not let me use dots between SOS
It's A dark and lonely road now
The road use to be wide
Fitting all your hope and dreams inside
The road seemingly getting smaller every year
throwing out my dreams at will
The road is closing but not completely closed yet
The road get narrower by the seasons
I'm just waiting for it to get rebuilt
Months, years, centruies felt like past by
As I sat my road close crushing my hopes and dreams inside
I have one last effort one last attempt but now
I am to weak the road is closed
and now I'm at a dead end
“to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature” William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1601
+++++
The house seemed smaller, seen with older eyes...
The street seemed narrower, the trees taller..
Where once were open fields across the road
New construction had bloomed
The small fruit orchard had disappeared
But somehow we knew it would still be there....
Strangely different, ...yet the same
There was an unfamiliar small red tricycle
On the flagstone path that we laid...
In front of this little house that lies
Beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...
Suddenly, thirty years faded into that autumn day
And quickly had become a springtime of our lives.....
...of first Christmas trees,..of first anniversaries...
...a place where I cried night after night when mother died...
...and spent long, starry nights holding newborn babes....
Yes....it is all still there, in the little yellow house
Funny, but I'm glad they kept the yellow...
It has the same white shutters...
The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
That sits beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...
++++++
4/20/11 Submitted for Constance La'France's Contest "The Tree"
By Carrie Richards
Not Be Another
No matter what may be Patriot's Play scheme,
None if it ever would spoil Seahawk's dream
And what appears to me to be amazing
Is having a football that people were hazing.
What unpleasant things to a football could you do?
Making it take a bounce not known to be true,
Or suppose something to football you applied
Which made ball slick after it had dried.
How about discovering a doctored up baseball;
Started to curve and then downward would fall,
After surface someone started to scratch;
Maybe for me they might make up a batch.
What if my basketball was underinflated?
And for a while longer we all had waited;
Ball now was much narrower each shot I took
Even if a free throw or could be a hook.
Who me my friend have an unfair advantage;
To my cruddy character apply a long bandage.
And when in Super Bowl, Series or World Cup,
Should never again be another cover up.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
http://www.story-telling-around-the-world.com/Military-Memories.html
PS. Check out military memories above.
Deep in the forest was an inaccessible cliff
that soared high above the tall tree canopy.
People had wondered for years what lay beyond
yet the landscape was so inhospitable none dared
to try to reach the impassable cliff and scale it.
A hunting party got led astray as they tracked
after a herd of mountain bearded goats.
The chase had been long and very hard
as their elusive prey kept far ahead, tempting
them ever onwards. Now with night approaching
they were caught far from home with no shelter.
They searched along the cliff base for a cave
finally one spotted a narrow track.
With trepidation they followed it into the cliff
it twisted and turned getting narrower,
darkness coated them almost smothering them.
With brush torches they plunged ever deeper
into its midst, the rocks covered in green slime.
Which gave off an odd luminous light that
distorted everything in the strangest way.
Giving rise to images of long lost creatures
that flicked and danced in the eerie light.
Along way ahead they could see sky
and odd trees on the distant horizon.
Finally reaching the end they looked
out on to a very different world.
Everywhere they looked were new plants.
Wondrous plants with enormous fruits
and strange multi coloured birds
that flocked to them without any fear,
settling on shoulders chattering away.
Deer came up and nudged them gently
seeking their pockets with wet tongues.
Flowers spanning six to nine feet
made for the perfect resting places.
Cosy and bouncy the weary hunters
were soon fast asleep and woke invigorated.
The stream bubbled by contentedly.
Its waters were crystal clear and sweet
and enormous fish lazily swam by.
They spent a few days there exploring
all the treasures that nature offered.
Reluctantly they made their way back
and excitedly told friends and family.
They scoffed at their tales with disbelief
until in frustration they led them back to the cliff.
For hours they searched in vain for the trail,
They looked at each other incredulously
Had they just dreamt it? We will never know!
Hidden among
thick shadows
of sin
man's ancient
world is seen
the lost path
to paradise
home
is worth my
swayling from
this worthless
dome.
I defile sin and
all it's lust
i realize here on
this quay am
lost
away,far from
father's land
av'e strayed
wasted on
dying earth
av'e stayed.
My old path
have gone so
narrow
narrower than
the wings of a
sparrow
crucked with
thorns and
thistles
yet when
pathways turn
to bushes
i shall with
jah's help be a
-pathfinder-
Walk down the streets and roads past closed doors.
Many with curtains or blinds that are drawn.
Study the various facades as you stroll by.
Give each house it's own story, big or small.
The one over there with the yellow door,
such a tall narrow house with blinkered windows.
Are the people living within the same?
With narrow life's and narrower minds?
This one here beautiful with elegant lines,
surely its owners must be someone famous as
they dress in latest fashion with presence
that shouts, look at me, I am someone important.
Next is one that is squat and rather ugly,
untidy grounds that shout of neglect.
Kids running around shabbily dressed
stunted in growth from a lack of food.
Pictures that may or may not be true,
Yet each with a life all of its own.
Impressions that linger in the mind.
How close to the truth is your vision?
Dawn's, Softest Breaking Hours
Dusty, worn road where tall trees are made,
further ahead, within emerald forest crown,
Nature in its great wisdom creates a palisade
and softer beauty that rivals earth's starry gown!
Shaded woods, my soul would dare to reach,
beneath a rocky mountain reaching blue skies,
If only this majestic scene could forever teach
that Nature's truths conquers mankind's deep lies!
What of this mass of earth, plants and stone,
teeming with life on such an grand, epic scale,
Dare we marvel, we of lust, flesh and white bone
in our castles so dark, where often our sanity fails!
Shall we find that which our ancestors lost,
gems of wisdom, mounted in reality's towers,
Nature parades its majestic beauties the most
during each golden dawn's, softest breaking hours!
R.J. Lindley
April 9th, 1979
Note: This old poem I wrote at age 25, right at
a point a few rays of light had been cast upon
my empty plate. With still a long and weary road
to travel, this truth kept me on a narrower path- at
least for a time..
From my private journal, a poem I once swore would
only be read by others after my death!
A liberal mind for love
seeks Earth's nurturing nest origins
astoundingly opportune for producing healthy ego-nutritional eggs.
A conservative risk taker,
faced with ego's opportunity
to fly away from mortal risk
to autonomous long-term, or at least short-term, self survival
or fight to WinEgo/LoseEco-Other pyric victory,
thereby sees ego's Win/Win in-between opportunity
to produce future cooperative eco-eggs
of self/other-perpetuating identity,
A narrower, conserving, view
of Earth's universal health opportunities
and a widening interdependent liberal love potential.
We might become both
ego and eco healthier,
more left non-insula nature embodied
and right amygdala co-passionate spirit soaring
to imagine
and support both physical/metaphysical views,
held most lovingly together
as WinWin eco/ego-centering integrity,
symbiotic nonfight/nonflight opportunity
for cooperatively mentored solidarity
in health/wealth mutual service
Negotiations BiLateral
and/or internally BiCameral;
Conscious
and/or UnConscious;
ReConscious memory
and/or PreConscious imagination.
Square sensible head.
held together by a thread..
Gypsy moths in the corner
have been there far too long
I saw one bearing Saint Peter's prayers
the other day.
But he was burnt like the rest.
The clock's hands have never motioned less
and the sun has ran out reasons to be kind.
the sun hurts my eyes.
maybe by coincidence the sun
hurts my liver..
The waxing sun fills my kidneys with a glorious
crimson candescence.
ohh well its just blood anyways..
I must quit looking for beauty here--return to the hospital
rationa corners.
still lines lengthening down the hall seem so cold.
so I Cleanse my skin in the bathroom and
flush water down my esophagus.
I must bury in my throat forever the
terrible sayings of the gypsy moth.
His yellow cocoon is hollow, the weaves
of fiber have scratched his eyes.
Never thought we would be here now. never thought to see you like this..
How
empty time slows and narrows.
I pass by mirrors with painted angels on them scribbled prayers in cursive seem so disgusting.
Alcoholics remain anonymous and offer repetitive
prayers that fit on tiny mirrors.
I reflect narrower as the day passes
my fingers grow so thin.
My hands fail, the clock on the wall fails.
Behind every thought
I stare at the mirror
The road I walk keeps getting narrower
The line is drawn
Before weary toes
I feel the hot sand burn my blistered soles
As I crash down
Into my new cast
I return my present and begin a new past
I lie in my shadow
Oh the day’s so dark
My footprints in the dust of life’s last kick
As I always arrive
Just a little too late
To be truly alive around a twist of fate
Life has to write
Every entry received
God has to right every life of sin conceived
Weak to gravity
Are tired eyelids
I’m finding my tears in the bottom pits
Facing forward
Eyes looking back
I’m collapsing inward like a fallen shelf of books
09-19-2015
Tbang
Life is fuuny and cunny,It's not a good thing for anyone to pass through my path way in life for it is meant only for the strong and bold.I don't know where my strenght is coming from each day but i manage,
It's not easy walking through the path i have walked through and still walking through.I will never pray someone else walks past close to my path way in Life uptill now,never should anyone get it.its been STRONG my dear friend and brother
very STRONG,
I am just stocked in a single place like a piece of paper on a dry ground surrounded by both water and fire.if i change position,i either get soaked and torned off or i get burnt and loses in thin air,
Sometimes i stare at my path way in life both past and present,I see that i have travelled too far but not so far
I tend to wonder if travelling this path is all about staying at a single bus stop.
its really frustrating and sometimes wonderingly uncomfortable to notice that haven travelled a long path in life,you find yourself starting from the very begining where you started from,
its kind of annoying and may give a weak mind some chances of blaming his creator of which at times i do but may God forgive me for I am just being human.Listening to FOOLS and illitrates whose mindsets are blocked with ignorance and mischief makes my path narrower and tight,
well,well just keep doing your thing my brother and God is with you.as for me,I'll keep walking my rough path in life till my God makes it glaringly straight and easy for me,
I realy feel so down man,so down and confused.I feel real down.Yeah I know about my faith,I know about my God and I know everything is possible with him but i feel weak after passing through so much in life His strength has been and is still keeping me going but i need more,
I need to get to the stage in life where i can start doing what my heart yawns for.As it is said in the bible,"Train your child according to the ways of the Lord so that when he grows up,he will not depart from it",
Hope you get what i am talking about even if you are not around or beside my path way in life to witness the reality of it.But we must keep things we have in a continuous and pospective way where we can see developments in the near future even if it aches my back,throat and heart in a very bad way.Well,well I just keep my path way in Life and until then,i keep praying...
When your night seems longer than others
The cloud looks thicker than ever
The storm sounds stronger than others
When your way turns narrower than ever
The tides tends tedious than others
Remember He who calms the storm
Wait don't murmur
When the sun and the moon
Are hidden from your sight
And only the stars raise your hope
For a new dawn
Wait don't murmur
When the road tends rougher than ever
And thorns adorn your path
Leaving you with so many scars
When your mates are ridding in so many cars
Remember the head that was crowned with thorns
Wait don't murmur
When darkness covers your path
And uncertainty describes
the prospect of your steps
As you trudge along the path of life
You dash your feet against unseen stones of life
Wait don't murmur
When wounds from falling adorn your legs
Remember He was wounded for your sins
Fears from cares all around you
From the silence of the mid night
Going gets tougher, stopping becomes criminal
Even at a saver terminal
Going seems into despair
Wait don't murmur
When the past keep pulling
The present keep pushing
And in your heart you asked
What holds the future?
Where lies the fortune?
When every ringing tone sounds faulty
You feel more haughty
Sure i know you are not naugty
But almost choked with the pressure of the trio
Remember the one that holds and shapes the future
Wait don't murmur
Yet press forward
Into the future unseen but real
When you are there
It shall be unfolded
Seen and real
Because the same future
Is not as far-away
As you thought or were told
But the presets and the re-sets
In the present
Just remember who was and is
And who is to come
Wait don't murmur
Murmur is the mother of
murder