Best Neatly Poems
Shadowed in the silent room, the daylight's nearly gone
Dusk climbs in through window glass, with one last ray of sun
I start the task, climb on a chair, reach up to shelves so high
to mother's boxes neatly stacked, and dust gets in my eyes
I take one down, to look inside and sit upon a chair
I find some musty linens, laces needing some repair
Discovering old photographs, the year was '42
Her face was smooth as porcelain, unblemished, young and new
Old documents and letters, a history unveiled
Her letters, torn and yellowed, such stories they would tell
The next box held small china cups, so lovingly embellished
And then I found a book of verse, inscribed with poems she relished
Some dresses stained and wrinkled, their fabric thin and tattered
Were once a thing of beauty, as if they really mattered
Her jewelry, gold and silver, some lovely rings and brooches
A warm sensation circles me, her presence now approaches
I sense a change come over me, and fleeting leave of gloom
The darkness of the evening lifts, as sunlight fills the room
She wraps her warmth around me, her fragrance in the air
My loneliness is free to go, I know that she is there
Among these things, I find the last, the smallest box of all
Inside it are the baby clothes, I wore when I was small
A letter there to tell me that she knows the tears I've cried
Her words of love that never died, they fill me up inside
These treasures speak her words to me, and now that I am grown
She wants to tell her story, those parts I've never known
I've heard her voice, while sitting here, among her china flowers
I"ve found such peace, she's next to me, to spend these quiet hours
____________________________________________________________
Written 6/8/2008
Submitted to Contest: "Old Jewelry or Just Old Things or Old,
Old Poems/Poetry Contest "
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Categories:
neatly, loss, love, me, mother,
Form:
Rhyme
Springing free from glistening
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above
A distant lark now hangs in
Flight.
Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls
Into ripening bean fields
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.
Do now these gentle Slopes
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted
Thoor Ballylee.
Sweeping briskly past a tors
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...
Now, joyfully sporting in gushing
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.
Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.
Harken then to the feathered
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on
Ye!
For few men know of what he
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths
Forever lost within Innisfree.
Categories:
neatly, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
There was sweat on my brow,
beads of them as I approached her.
I was a young man, still green.
She was a mature woman
like the long blades grow free
in the lush of nature.
My hand in hers
she took me
into her warmth.
Nervous, shy
you could hear
grass grow
in the quiet
of my fear
in the silence
of my lust.
I knew nothing.
As we rolled in the dew of sex
as I fumbled and groped,
I
in some instinctive wisdom
entrusted myself fully to her.
She set our bodies in a fluid motion
my virginity now neatly cut.
We spent days
as I explored
the fresh sweet air
of 'us'.
It was then I became a man.
Learned
how you hold a flower
how you manicure the stem
how you water the soil
how you delicately hold the petals.
It was then I became a gardener.
A gardener
worthy
to tend a garden
so vital.
It was then I learned how to love a woman.
30~12~2014
Armand
Categories:
neatly, love, lust, romance, romantic,
Form:
Free verse
"Here is my secret. It is very simple: one sees clearly only with the heart.
Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."
"Le Petite Prince"
Antoine De St. Exupery
touch me and
i'll touch you
we don't do this on a whim
measure twice cut once
but always from the heart
some use words rarely used in conversation
let these wonderful poets tickle that market's fancy
there are those
knit you a scarf from yarns of clouds
warm your day with a smile reflects
the clean heat of a nineteen nineteen sun
others who write you a poem you can share with a child
visions painted in words
cups of hot chocolate with those teeny weeny marshmallows
children's grandiose proclamations of love with every sip
for them the ambrosia of Gods confirmed by their laughter of joy
you see hopscotch squares loosely drawn in chalk
you see your daughter hear an echo for the first time
some poetry does that conjures a thousand pictures of pure innocence
also poetry that sings
with rhymes that are natural,
neatly placed in the story being told
or
sometimes the kind
occasionally trips on the page
love doesn't demand conditions
sonnets neatly metered
roll off the tongue
or
even if it twists a bit leaves you with a knot
stick it out and laugh it straight easy as that
we're here for each other
people before words
let's love each other just because we can
touch me and
i'll touch you
we don't do this on a whim
measure twice cut once
but always from the heart
Jan 14 2016
armand
Categories:
neatly, art, beautiful, beauty, blessing,
Form:
Free verse
oh how i love the color red
red is love and love is red.
i painted a moment
used a palate with every shade of red,
only red.
that is the color of our love,
of pain
of lips
of blood
of skin
all and more is our love.
used a palate of reds
painted a moment
painted you,
and with depth of color
i captured you.
perfectly!
i never spilled a drop,
my brushes,
my knives,
my hands,
my eyes,
they all served me well.
moments are not easy to create.
how precious they are,
difficult to inhale fully
but even strained
i would always take you
all in.
the fullness of you
all in.
i would never spill a drop.
me?
i'm all in.
my creation takes form
stands and walks,
i follow,
paint,
not a drop
do i spill.
when you offer gifts
they need to be special
they need to be - well thought out.
oh! how well thought out you are.
oh! what moments we have shared.
life,
so kind to us,
the time we've spent.
if a philosophy teacher,
if one asked me,
"what's it all about"
i would say
"you"
i would ace that test.
nothing exists in its full majestic glory
until i experience it with you.
i would lift the sun every morn
draw it down every eve
illuminate the sky fantastic.
every morn.
every eve.
a lover's night
under the moon,
part the clouds
if like curtains
they blocked our view,
if like a wall
they blocked our light.
now,
my moment painted
i observe.
my hand nowhere to be seen
it was you guided this piece.
you and me my love
surrounded in red
against a red background
and not a detail unclear.
our hands holding.
our lips touching.
you are my breath
the beat of my heart
neatly painted in red,
perfect!
it is us,
our love is red
every shade
and every tone
is we.
05~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Categories:
neatly, romance, romantic,
Form:
Free verse
Just because your voice reaches halfway around the world doesn't mean you are wiser than when it reached only to the end of the bar.
Edward R. Murrow
don't teach me how to think
when all I want to know
is how to live
a self-crowned sparrow perches up on high
a song he sings slowly swirls the storms
as if life itself weren't already wrong
like him, extols are the only norm
fly now where the cliffs are bare
where sullen is your sacred air
for beats of the heart dare move
under undue distress
fly away now where the nest is neat
and fledglings fall upon your feats
rise me with a ruse of wit
where simple doesn't merely fit
with trills of tripe and finer grit
something fresh and neatly writ
I don't need your force fed fodder
I need to live or why even bother
Categories:
neatly, life,
Form:
Free verse
I flew over Bryce Canyon my wings fully spread in a gentle glide
as I marveled at the view below. It wasn't the first time but it always
felt like it. I flapped my wings to ascend even further and consume
even more of the landscape. The weather chiseled rock that always
reminded me of sandcastles children sculpted at the seashore.
I loved the fragrance of the pine trees that neatly grew amongst the
rocks and the white and golden blend of colors that jutted here and there
against an ever changing sky. I suppose if they could see me - humans
would gasp at the sight of an Angel and me well I still gasp at all that
God created for the pleasure of mankind.
22~12~2014
With Love
Maurice Yvonne
Categories:
neatly, giving,
Form:
Prose
I don't need to remember what it was like to be a kid
I don' t need to memorize where all the fun had been .
It was in the unique moment of a first-born spirit
without obligations and responsibilities .
A Brief moment recalled and lived in a dream.
Immersed in the body of a little brown-eyed girl
How I danced with the flutter of a butterfly ,over and over again.
Dressed up neatly in a white collar shirt ,and a navy blue pinafore dress,
How I ran , breathlessly , in evergreen fields
full of yellow buttercups, dandelion buds, and almond trees
which barely blossomed through the eyes of women , and men .
How I jumped like a frog earning its freedom , doing my utmost to catch the sky,
to reach the soaring hand-made kite ,which kept moving far and high.
My left -hand never letting go of that special red balloon ,
Mama's reward , on a windy afternoon.
Each following morning, feet too tired to get out of bed
but that lasted only till' I saw Uncle Frans'hat.
How happy I was to sit on his lap ,, and listen to bible stories He read.
How happy I was , to lick early fresh raindrops running down
my cheeks,so different from the ones
I feel when I'm out of my sleep.
Moments to preserve. ..
There on the back seat of papa's olive- green car ,
Our Chitty -Chitty Bang- Bang , travelled so far.
Mum,dad, my brother and I ,face 'gainst the wind,
Open mouths , Indian sounds , humming along ,
waiting for birds'wings to flutter as they sing.
What a moment , of hide and seek,musical chairs ,
Of midnight mass and Christmas prayers .
I lived them all ....
Splashes of waves, shovel and buckets on sands ,
Autumn's foliage , picnics with cousins
uncles,aunties ,and friends.
Immersed in the body of a little girl
with long noichettes french -braids swaying in the breeze ,
Playing hopscotch,running wild in vacant cobbled streets.
I do not need to remember what it was like to be a kid
I am there, in the dream , I had lived .
I tasted pure honey before I'd been kissed
Before years took their toll , wiped off
sugar -frosted pink from my innocent lips .
Categories:
neatly, growing up, happiness, kid,
Form:
Free verse
These are two etherees that will be put together side by side to form ONE complete poem having 11 syllables per line, so I thought i would show how it is done. It's like fitting two puzzle pieces together to form the poem for the contest at the bottom!
(Etheree #1)
Two
cats now
occupy
a space that is
my home, their kingdom,
with beds to hide beneath,
and with closets, stairs and chairs
small pets like to explore and where
comfy, side by side, they doze. Two cats,
now a part of me, show me daily. . . love
(etheree #2)
Cute new friends, no longer foes, but sister
companions, share common spaces and
a place even more important:
the heart I give, along with
the place they frolic in,
with sofas they climb
and desktops where
they perch. Here
my joy
lives.
(I have put the lines of the top etheree in parentheses so you can see how neatly they fit together with the reverse etheree #2)
A Home with Two Cats
(Two) cute new friends, no longer foes, but sister
(cats now) companions, share common spaces and
(occupy) a place even more important:
(a space that is) the heart I give, along with
(my home, their kingdom), the place they frolic in,
(with beds to hide beneath), with sofas they climb
(and with closets, stairs and chairs) and desktops where
(small pets like to explore and where) they perch. Here
(comfy, side by side, they doze. Two cats,) my joy
(now a part of me, show me daily. . . love) lives.
Hope I explained it so it was understood how I did it!!
For the Pet Contest of Francine Roberts
Categories:
neatly, baby, cat, , cute,
Form:
Etheree
The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection
I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour
Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation
He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum
So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair
The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed
A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror
A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection
Categories:
neatly, betrayal, depression, evil, ireland,
Form:
Verse
On that fateful day He went away,
His disciples hid, full of fear and dismay.
His family gazed through tear filled eyes,
At the man non believers had despised.
The veil rent in two, which man could not do,
The sun was eclipsed when His time was due,
The guard at the cross was filled with awe,
As he realized finally, the son of God he saw.
He was laid inside a gifted tomb that very day.
Before the Sabbath time came into play.
Sunday morn the women came to prepare,
They found the stone rolled away, he was not there.
He was not there but his grave clothes were,
Folded neatly on the cold slab of his rest.
Mary cried where is my Lord? Help me please,
The "Gardener" said "Mary" and gave her ease.
This revelation hit her very core,
To the others this news she bore.
Disbelief was her reward for this news,
Until in haste to the tomb they flew.
They now knew what he said was true,
He had risen to save both me and you.
He came among them in the upper room,
To show he had left an empty tomb.
He told them to remain in the city ,
He said to them, you must not depart.
For when I go to my Father, I will send,
The Holy Spirit to fill your heart.
© Dave Timperley 20/04/2019
Categories:
neatly, celebration, christian, easter, god,
Form:
Rhyme
I sit with the wall against my back. The wall refuses to move despite endless requests.
The door opens and closes its mouth, it wishes to say something, but nothing comes of it, only its letterbox chatters ceaselessly and without any deep meaning to it, drops hints every now and then.
The wall is annoyed with the door, but I am fed up with the noise. I stand to try and look out the window, but...
This place hushed in shadow. If only I can remember where I went this night, they did throw me in, away from light.
I roll up the walls like a Persian rug, smother the clatter of the metallic letterbox that tries to say goodbye in a thousand words. I hear its muffled apologies. I see a hundred neatly white, folded paper sheets fall at my feet, covered in coloured sentences.
I throw shadows at the wall, words at the door, colours at the ceiling; demons increase my estrangement in the small room, then the walls suddenly turn soft and white, my arms are bound behind my back.
Fog dissolves in faithful whispers. Demons grow faces and white clothes. Mouths with broad smiles talk in tongues (heard, understood), carry syringes and multi-coloured pills.
And day begins.
***
May 1, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
neatly, allusion, anxiety, mental illness,
Form:
Narrative
I attended a large gathering and took some time
to observe the great assortment of shoes stacked on the racks
I saw new shoes, pricey shoes, and shoes not worth a dime
and shoes that seemed to have crossed many paths and tracks.
I saw dainty sandals and flighty high heeled ones too
I saw sporty sneakers and rough and tough trainers
I saw both the laced and the leathery buckled shoe
Then I saw the humble yet hardy pair of slippers.
I saw pointy shoes, furry shoes and flatties as well
I saw flowery ones and those studded with trinket gems
Some stacked neatly in pairs, others thrown about pell mell
Some recently repaired, some coming off at the hems.
I saw long boots, rubber boots and
there were glittery Indian styled stilettoes
I spotted fragile glass sandals and metallic brass sandals
and soft comfy ones for comfort of feet 'n' toes.
And while I was thus lost and engrossed
in watching the great assortment of footwear
The old caretaker, to me, a cheap pair tossed
saying, ' here's an extra pair if you've lost your shoes.
She was too busy and distracted to be in my shoes of muse
So I'd to slip out thinking of some quick excuse
She didn't even notice I wasn't actually barefoot
So I had to take them elsewhere, both my muse and my boot!
Ah, and long ago when once we could afford only a 'shoestring' budget
I once hadn't enough bucks to replace a worn out pair of shoes
I was sad for not having even a good goody two shoes
Then God showed me a wayfarer's shoeless pair of barefeet
and then one hapless one with no feet at all!
So I could imagine life being in their missing shoes.
(Footnote*
Wonderin where I saw so many shoes off peoples feet? Well, in our religious gatherings say for prayers in the mosque hall or even the religious lecture hall, we've to enter barefooted and sit down crosslegged. So that's where you come across all kinds of shoes on racks provided in the cubicle.
Actually in the Disney movie, 'THE PRINCE OF EGYPT', i marked that even Moses took off his shoes before talking to God.)
Categories:
neatly, humor, inspirational, social,
Form:
Quatorzain
Heart's memory of sun grows fainter,
What now? Darkness?
Perhaps! This very night unfolds
the winter.
-- Anna Akhmatova
I remember the summer
of yesterdays, folded neatly
like little leaves just waking up to life.
Ours were colored, all the days
hanging together on one twig,
glistening amidst the morning dew
like love's own eyes waking
beneath the passion of dawn.
The redness, so we thought,
could never fade to colder days,
nor leave us chafed from winter's wind.
We were the only breath of air
shared within the expansion of dreams.
We never dreamt of sunset skies,
yet, we watch it now, fading slowly
across the horizon of night's rise,
questioning eye's own darkness,
wondering, what does the truth behold?
Categories:
neatly, lost love, love,
Form:
Free verse
Walking toward His grave, the cool air nipping at my nape on this chilly Nisan morning, feeling disconsolate. The sun has just risen over the Mount of Olives, while the magnificent temple basks in radiant light just beyond. I used to view the holy place with such reverence. Everything seems different now, at least for me. My head is still spinning over the events we witnessed this past week. The most compassionate man the world has ever known is no more. My spirit sank as they spat on him, hit him with their open hands and fists, beat him mercilessly with bone-braided whips, taunted him, cursed him, then accused him of being a blasphemer and seditionist. To the leaders of my nation he was an outcast, spiritually diseased, the Devil's offspring. And yet, the things we saw him do...
leper messiah
execrated pariah
nailed upon a tree
As I near the tomb where he lay my intent is simply to pray and pay homage, nothing more. Birds are singing sweetly, oblivious to the pain I am feeling deep in my heart. What will I do with the rest of my life now that he is gone? What will Peter and the others... Wait!
MY GOD! I cannot believe what I am seeing. Two guards lie on the ground before the tomb, as if dead. The huge stone, sealed with mortar at Pilate's command, has been rolled to the side, leaving the tomb wide open. What in heaven's name is going on? I glance around, no one in sight. Cautiously I enter. What I see now compels me to drop to my knees. In the place where his body was laid lies the garment that he wore upon the stake, bloodstained and rolled up neatly. Tears fill my eyes as the wonderment of what has happened, or might have happened, breaks my heart. Has his body been stolen? Has all of this been some sort of ruse? Just as I am contemplating recent events, two men in white robes appear beside me and say: "Young man, who are you looking for? This Jesus whom you adore has been raised up, as he explained to you on many occasions. Now go, He is waiting for you in Galilee." As mysteriously as they appeared they vanish before my eyes. One thought consumes me now in this sobering moment, I must spread the word. The Messiah, HE LIVES!
sweet sacred sunrise
dawning of a bright new day
birdsong fills the air
* See my companion poem - Golgotha
Categories:
neatly, jesus, remember,
Form:
Haibun