Best Noticeably Poems
Alone in loneliness
Amid forever nights
And these four walls
In faint, whisper soft your name
I beg out loud to the nothingness that remains
"Please not another nightmare, no more storms"
But, answers are merely glimpses of light
From lightening...
Filtering through the pane
Empty sheets...
Cast empty shadows on the wall
Of places where you used to be
Eyes wide open
Now asleep, afraid I am to fall
Trapped within this never ending dream
I cling to all the memories that I have
Spinning me closer to where you were, in parallel on the edge
The thoughts, like imaginary rubble, comes tumbling passed
A fire for you still burning inside
Why can’t I let go of the tragedies last
And silence your unrescued suicidal screams
Or is it only the rain falling faster as it taps harder, and harder upon the glass
Or is it of your wandering spirit
Mockingly knocking?
Haunting with its vindications
Of "why’s" I can never seem to grasp
All this amidst lost stares into black windows
Where gutters overrunning, burdened by the strains
And I swear I see your reflection
Among the flashes, tracing out illuminations about your face
And for the first time
You are noticeably absent of all the worldly pains
And your lips releasing out a comfort that for so long I've been seeking
As I hear the words echo within my stormy heart "That where you are everything is okay"
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
You wear your death well
When I met you
The two exes in your eyes
Were anything but a surprise
You couldn’t walk but
The fact that you glided
Across the floor without using your feet
Didn’t blow me away
Don’t try to cover up the black under your eyes
It’s so pretty on dead girls
You are so noticeably lovely
That I almost forget that you can’t breathe
Form:
That is Some Hydraulic Brakes
One day at a food shop,
I met a man selling cakes,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some hydraulic brakes.
"Got any hydraulic brakes?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No hydraulic brakes here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely marbles,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some barbels."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally cunning,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call stunning,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit slim.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty skim.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the food shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."
"Cakes, hydraulic brakes, you shall find.
Marbles, barbels, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Barker's Market.
So to Barker's Market I decided to go,
In search of the hydraulic brakes I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling cakes,
Apples in many shades.
There were even stalls selling rakes
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather slim
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all skim.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some hydraulic brakes!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some marbles and cakes.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the hydraulic brakes she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
The will to win will ebb and flow throughout our lifetime.
Where the will to win settles is determined by the purity of the heart and mind.
The will to win can be compelling, stout, and awesome as a redwood tree.
The will to win can be insignificant and unimpressive. The size of the will to win is individually controlled by you and me.
The will to win can move with grace, dignity, and magnificent fortitude.
The will to win can be noticeably clumsy and overbearingly rude.
The true, respectful, and heartfelt will to win may bend, but always refuses to break.
The will to win may crumble from the least bit of negativity, losing all progress it has made.
So, let each of us make a vow that will be etched in stone for the duration of time.
Our will to win must never falter or descend. Our will to win must always radiate, by being nothing short of sublime.
Al Johnson, aka Alfredo Leon
What sibilant consonants
conjure his image: angular, Germanic,
uttering phrases and grunts, monosyllables
forcefully spat into air alive,
filled with his vivid verbal assaults!
No saccharine sentiment for him.
He lets fly with steamy staccato
streams of purposely purple prose,
unblemished by boorishly banal
concern for social civilities.
Squeamishness never slept next to him!
But notice (not noticeably, please)
how his eyes seem furtively to flit
from yours, to gaze down at his hands,
pale and strangely delicate -- graceful!
And his cheeks are dusted with a blush,
under eyes not steely blue but liquid brown.
There once was a pansy named
Fancy and she was as pretty as
could be.
She would stretch high above the
other flowers as tall and straight
as a tree.
Raindrops made her petals glisten
like stars in the sky at night.
Perky little leaves tucked in tight.
Then one day the gardener seen
Fancy's beauty noticeably clear,
So she reached in her basket for
her flower shears.
Oh! Please don't clip me from the
lovely garden here.
For I would surly pass and my beauty
would disappear.
The gardener in amazement touched
Fancy's little face and promised to
keep her there in the garden until the
last of her beautiful grace.
Dawdling outside the house tightly clutching the brown paper bag
Full of penny candy my father had purchased for me with a quarter
I heard mother calling
Supper always spoiled my sweet delights, but I didn’t mind
Homemade biscuits with jam ever ready to take their place
The first time I ever noticed dads hands was at the kitchen table
Strong enough to work a garden, build our modest home,
Yet gentle enough to pat my back when I excelled
When there were no jobs in our Louisiana home state
daddy would take our family of six and find work elsewhere
Texas, California and Colorado...state of my birth
I watched my dad’s hands as he cleaned the fish from our weekend excursions
camping on the river; boat tied to one of the Cyprus knees
Hands that were never still...always busy
They picked me up when I was hurt, I felt their strength
Hands that guided me...gentle hands...calloused hands
Daddy never considered his way perfect, but fair
Never worked to gain great riches,
but always made sure we had everything we needed
Today is his seventy-ninth birthday, he always says he doesn’t need anything
My siblings and I will be taking him out to eat tonight
I will notice his hands once again, now calloused and noticeably wrinkled with age,
We’ll cherish our time together
Form:
There was a gunslinger with a quick trigger.
Folks nicknamed him the town’s grave digger.
One day while setting his watch
He shot himself in the crotch.
Now he is noticeably missing his vigor.
That is not my elephant
High-stepping in the basement.
Ardently preparing for her pachyderm placement.
Tapping her trunk on the window’s casement.
Instantly intriguing, oh, the fashion statement.
Surprisingly sprightly swinging resplendent pendant.
Nonchalantly swaying as she strolls, compliant.
Opulence sparkles one gorgeous graceful giant.
To top it all off, her temperament is pliant.
Metrical motion moves this perky pageant entrant.
Yesterday’s wildlife intellectually scathed though brilliant –
Ella is my elephant; she wears casual raiment.
Laughs and eats spaghetti, always thinking, ideas salient.
Endlessly explaining the elephant’s Bill of Rights, relevant!
Protecting second graders from every evil social rodent.
Heart-fully relating principles, she is strong and poignant.
An awesome able activist against any aggressive tyrant,
Nurturing each nascent one, noticeably effervescent.
Tenderly flapping her ears, because of pure love’s placement.
© January 15, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Form: Acrostic with monorhyme and alliteration
The Cunning Stranger at Dragon's Lair - A Narrative Poem
One day at a comic shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.
"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money (wow)."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
This ain’t no zoo or pet store!
"We've got some interesting comics,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some ergonomics."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The store owner said I got Batman # 7;
The man said I’d rather have rabies.
The man seemed exceptionally energetic,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call acetic,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit cunning.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty stunning.
In his hand was Spider-man # 5.
In mint condition worth $1.000.00, what a fine;
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the comic shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."
"Cats, bats, you shall not find.
Comics, ergonomics, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Dragon's Lair Comics.
So to Dragon's Lair Comics, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling comics,
Role-playing cards many heroes shades.
There were even stalls selling home economics
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather cunning
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all stunning.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some comics and cats.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Next door to the comic shop Acme Pet Store?
For you see a pet bat, not a cat or a comic was I looking for
6/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Rain falls on granite.
Glaciers unwind.
Snowflakes decrystallize.
A murmuring stream collects,
in the confluence of the melt.
A river is born.
Her banks expand.
Nutrients collect in the torrent.
Rocks tumble in the frothy white water.
Speed and power intensify,
with the reshaped swell of common elements.
A river grows.
Transformation is slow and muddy.
Men build obstructions,
harness the river with turbines.
Irrigation canals siphon liquid gold for crops.
Barges navigate goods over current.
A river is tamed.
Sediments build in the depths.
Reflections dominate.
A serene shoreline nurtures abundance.
The hasty flow has noticeably slowed.
Every mile traveled increases breadth of verity.
A river ages.
Some vanish with anonymity in vast deserts.
Others clash violently into endless seas.
A few form rich, braided deltas.
Inland lakes, without drainage, capture some.
Geologists and children are in agreement.
All rivers end………
Here's a terrifying piece of news about every mother's nightmare...
Happened in broad daylight with numerous customers everywhere...
A mother, busy festive shopping in a local retail store, was distracted for a couple of minutes...
She had her eyes and hand on her sweet little girl of 6 for all but a couple of minutes..
She turned around, panic rising but her sweet darling was nowhere to be found..
Her frantic eyes scoured all over as she desperately searched the whole floor...
Acting fast, she informed the supervisor of the store, and a alarm was sounded...
Panic button was hit and there was a security lockdown immediately effected...
Exit points were secured and free movement among the customers was curtailed...
An immediate search operation kicked in while a loving mother wallowed in despair..
For some 10 minutes it was high suspense noticeably tangible in the air...
Patrons and management alike intensified search in rising desperation..
Until a scream of exultation pierced through the tumultuous situation and turmoil...
A moment of pin dropped silence hung suspended in the air as all involuntariy recoiled...
Then a frantic throng of people rushed in haste to the wash room area....
To witness the emergence of a security lady craddling a bedraggled little girl..
The little girl was a sight, her long hair was half cropped, she was dazed...
Gone was her dainty little dress, she was in a garish pair of pants, eyebrows shaved...
There was a few seconds of shocked silence, then the mother rushed forward..
A huge roar of approval erupted and claps of elation thundered in unison...
Loving parents, do take heed for this was no figment of my imagination....
It did happen and the local daily papers headlined this episode for attention...
All it takes is some 5 minutes for a predator to lead away an innocent child...
In their evil ways, predators have endless devious means to sneak away your child...
I hope this little prose of mine is pleasant enough reading but let it be clear...
The message within is a dire warning to all parents who hold their loved ones dear...
Please be forewarned for dangers abound in the wide world out here...
Please be forearmed in order you and your loved ones are in the clear...
One day at a toy shop,
I met a man selling marbles,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some barbels.
"Got any barbels?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No barbels here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely bricks,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some affix."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally tall,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call natal,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit energetic.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty pathetic.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the toy shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."
"Marbles, barbels, you shall find.
Bricks, affix, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to New York Market.
So to New York Market I decided to go,
In search of the barbels I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling dresses,
Shoes in many shades.
There were even stalls selling excesses
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather energetic
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all pathetic.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some barbels!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some bricks and marbles.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the barbels she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Heart
by Odin Roark
Can an enigma be weighed?
Many would hold the heavy heart
Is indeed noticeably of greater weight
And yet…
What can the heart do
When all its wishes is respect
As real
As both tangible
And insoluble?
The heart has few friends
Its bodyguards
Lung left
Lung right
Hold 24/7 vigils
Knowing without aeration
Man’s lifeline is severed
Storms
Good times
Makes no difference
Pumping continues
The gasp of birth
Forever faithful
Still
Comes hurt
Comes denial
Come battles lost
Our hearts panic
Asking lungs
To take the bullet
Like mothers
Fathers
Secret Service
Internal instincts
Obviate thinking
Risk death at any cost
So goes the miraculous nature
Safeguarding the one institutional identity
One can really trust
Life’s experience
Most likely has no measurement
But we know heavy
Don’t we?