Best Narrowing Poems
Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.
The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea.
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.
When forced to consent to the lessening of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination,
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel.
An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky,
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.
Faith is really hard to find, even in the best of the best of your so called best friends.
Finding faith is more difficult than trying to locate a needle in a gigantic pile of hay.
Faith is common in dogs; however, faith is the toughest to find in *****sapiens.
I guess I made it clear that true loyalty is definitely not a luxurious buffet.
Bestowing and retaining trust gives us a wholesome purpose to live.
When you realize the power of faith, isn’t it greater than gold?
Trust is something only valiant people get, and in turn, give.
Devotion not only looks good on you, it’s healthy to hold.
No matter what anyone says, faith will always be hip.
Nope, it won’t die off, it won’t make you asinine.
Dedication flowers out of a valid relationship.
You’ll know when it makes you divine.
I hope you can see with your eyes,
I’m trying to narrow it down.
You see, I haven’t found it.
I’m using the philosophy
Of others who I admire
To hunt it down.
And I can
Tell you,
Anything
Is easier
To find
Than
Faith
A world once wide, once free, once vast
reduced now to a room; a corner
shrinking ever smaller, closer,
nearer now's the end of this past
A past once grand, once oh, so bright
a life once new; as new as hope
now ever dimmer, ever darker
slowly grows this once clear light
A heart once vibrant, once ever proud
a beat's now softer, fainter, gentler
no race to run; no hills to climb
alone now, parted from the crowd
A seat, now empty, a lonely space
eyes still look there, hopefully
towards a corner; a remembrance
of a past now in a heart's embrace
I had about 4 candidates for my next boy friend. One was an old crush that I could never
forget. I haven't seen him since Junior high school but his memory still sticks in my mind. He
isn't really a candidate just a maybe. A maybe that sometime in the future we will cross paths
again.
My next candidate he was a real looker. The type of guy that had woman kneeling down and
bowing because of his suaveness. A player for real could break my heart into two but for some
reason that makes him all the more appealing.
Another candidate well he was younger than me, had that same quietness about him with the
sexiness mixed in it. I catch him eyeing me from across the room sometimes and even though
he is younger he seems old. Maybe experienced or just wise.
My next candidate well he's older than me and has a job and is going to college he is doing his
thing. He knows just how to make me smile and his sexiness is just on a whole another level.
Our connection is not just physical it's something mental.
As I look at all may candidates I can't help but laugh. The choice should be really simple but
than again it's not. How am I going to possibly figure out which one is for me and which ones I
can discard.
Grit flies from spinning rubber,
the traffic is edging through roads,
narrowed, by the plowed and pushed aside.
Curb-side snow remains; solid humps turn brown,
in an un-melting light.
A lone chicken hawk circles an iced-over acre
of snaking roadway,
its black track attracts the birds eye,
as if it were the contrail of an elongated rat,
stretching into a bolt- hole of frozen sky.
At one time,
(a time-scape so broad
that it knew no ownership),
the world was wide,
there were no nations, no distinctions,
just humans in a well clothed landscape.
Progress found a way to be prosperous,
agriculture could feed not just families
but many others
they built walled cities
to keep their prosperity safe,
and every wall was a demarcation.
The clothes they wore
became status symbols,
and so, not to starve,
the poor had to clothe the wealthy.
The world began to fracture,
the wide open
became the over-populated narrows.
until one side of a street
could wage war against the other side.
Free people still existed,
but they lived on the margins
surviving only at the tacit consent
of the crushed hordes
crowded into the narrows.
If a person really tried to be free
the people of the narrows
would make TV shows about them,
pretty soon
the free became curiosities,
trapped in ever narrowing images,
forced to be viewed
inside an edited picture frame,
in a landscape that was once frameless.
A picture postcard of narrowness
can now be purchased
in any city, while the few
who still live outside such walls,
with handmade knives, they whittle for pennies
the wooden effigies
of warring narrowminded gods
suspecting they are no longer free,
but only carving out
just another form of narrowing.