Best On The Spur Of The Moment Poems
"Once upon a midnight Poe"
Underneath the midnight mask, I remove the makeup at last,
The moon is an anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast
I lay the Gin and Tonic by the bedside asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoicing,
I couldn't brush the light coming from the cracks under the door
I gave it some thought,
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seemed to be deeming the distance of resistance
Curiosity came in crawling and caressing
To sense and taste of sinful skin
Everything then grew thinner than thin
On the spur of the moment, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."
A nerve impulse hits the wall if nothing nary, nevertheless
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, even so
At this moment, Edgar Whispered, "Nothing more."
Many nights, I dream of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice sits and whines, with the wind
"Merely this and nothing more!"
A notary, nauseate moment, seasick, shipwreck sensation
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is and nothing more" - remains
Tweaking and repeating, the speeding of needing
My drugs of pain and passion, to end the delusion
Of the self-inflicted - bruising from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted and tainted like the midnight dreary
Reciting the excitement like The Bells, of Annabel, in a rush
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil-doing skin, like the sum of sin is how it seems
On the nights, my soul mate does not appear,
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I travel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside,
On the grim side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scrape up my room, screaming at the bleeding,
From my heart, who needs a killing,
From a feeding and the feeling of letting one, go!
You read in the papers you watch on the news
Coalition soldiers amidst as the killing accrues
In these theatres of war we lose many lives
In these wars of man only death thrives
But every so often there's a turn for the good
A life is saved they couldn't do what they could
The lives of a family murdered by cowards
Shot in cold blood bullets they showered
But from this tragedy a life was saved
It's of a little girl and a soldier who braved
A Chief Master Sergeant in the USAF
Allows mans humanity to kindly show face
This little girl who was saved was shot in the head
He stayed by her side for she should have been dead
To see pictures like this in the theatres of war
Maybe it's understandable to see what we fight for
An alleged soldier in wanton family wipe
What takes a soldier to become their type
My heart goes out to this little girl
And all the other children caught up in this war ridden world
Written on the spur of the moment after receiving a picture from Sara Kendrick
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php
Love Revisited
He welcomed the somber silence,
and cursed the torpid time that had passed
since his last visit.
Invasive weeds had overrun the place:
Colorful weeds ‘tis true
strange purples, yellows and rusty reds,
scattered here and there
embellishing the lonely place.
He sat on a stone and stared into a void.
Memories rushed into being:
memories long pushed back,
where murky banks held telltale thoughts
he always wished to repress.
How beautiful she was so long ago!
Could he forget that beauty after so many years?
It was not important. He loved her still.
A feeble bunch of forget-me-nots
Would mark the place he saw her last.
Were they enough to convince her soul
that he loved her still? No matter.
She deserved more that a small poesy
of low cost frivolous flowers,
bought on the spur of the moment
as if their offer would alone
atone for his disloyal past.
Is it not strange that after all these years.
he had come to pay his respects?
To remember the good and the bad?
The happiness and the sadness?
The dreams and hopes
and the disappointments
they shared together.
Yet together they made it,
They survived until some years ago
A heart block killed her.
Now she lived in a better place
And he could do nothing but sit alone grieving
and thinking fondly of her.
All around was silence
Except for the dirge of the cicadas song.
In his yearning, he discerned:
sometimes love is not enough.
Throw yourself out there and yes, just write,
whatever it is your thoughts could be.
From heart to pen, let your words take flight
so that others your true thoughts will see.
The world is your invitation,
it has been and will yet always be.
To write in this, your life’s duration;
those words inside just long to come free.
It matters not, wherever you are
and you find that you reach for your pen,
for the more that you give in to this,
it will happen again and again.
Many will want to read what you write,
you do well to remember that fact.
It’s fulfilling to see your words take flight
as on the spur of the moment you act.
"Homeless"
I found a little turtle,
I assign it to my favorite green shoe box
I guess I over spoiled him, with one simple, pretty punk rock
He does not mind, when I hold him in my handbag
His presence makes me feel as if nothing will sound faulty
On the day I discovered he was sick
He scratched my finger twice
I tossed the turtle, back into the woods
The next thing you know,
He sat pretty under his shell, on my front steps
Here, I go again
I took it back inside by morning light
Weeks went by,
I told him I was bored of cleaning up his Poo
On the spur of the moment I had the itch to eat turtle stew
As time got by, so did his box and my castle
Everything between the turtle and I, became into a tussle
My little turtle my buddy, what should I feed you,
I ran out of money, all I had was a six pack of Mountain dew
This homless moment, felt like eternity
It was time, to set my turtle free
My tiny friend, with a hard shell, found many turtle girls
My itty bitty turtle tore them all up in two
Lucky me now I get to eat some real turtle stew. :)
By: ME
My Sullivano photographed bad
He was a simian ghost so sad
He was dispirited
Now he posed for an ad
" Uncle Sully goes to nuptial bed"
Meenie stands erect in the mews
This morning she has heard a news
Sully has gone to hell
To collect a bombshell
Safe for a ghost? she has to muse
My pet ghost Sullivan was quite beyond the pale
He smoked my tobacco pipe and sipped my ale
He danced before my wife
Who was a squid in real life
She Kicked his butt and he started chasing her tail
Sully kissed Meenie on the spur of the moment
She was nursing her ass a cute boil to foment
Love really ached
The cute boil was baked
Meenie screeched like a ***** Sully made no comment
Cubism or impressionism
Wife Laura looked through her prism
She saw the open sea
Made her eternal plea
God give me back my squidism
Sullivan/Sully/ Sullivano= my pet ghost
Meenie= my female tabby cat
Laura= my wife a squid
We wondered what we could have for tea,
So we opened the freezer just to see.
Ah! Crispy duck we did espy,
Thought we would give it a try.
How to cook it we did not know,
On the back was the way how.
Here we found what we did not seek,
Instructions in languages we did not speak.
So back to the freezer it was dispatched,
Another plan we soon had hatched.
A simple meal made us lick our lips.
A nice hot plate of Egg and Chips!
A silly poem on the spur of the moment.
© Dave Timperley June 16 2015.
Upon reaching forty
and going
over the hill.
None of her dreams
had been fulfilled.
Malaise descended
on her like
fall in September.
Due to monotonous routines
from New Years'
to Decembers.
On the spur of the moment
longevity had it's wish.
She laid burdens down
for a
small amount of bliss.
Some were frantic
wondering where
she had gone.
Twas learned a little
later while far from home.
A necessary step
which preserved
her life.
Thereby gaining
a new perspective
minus stress and strife.
After reattaining some measure
of who she should be.
Through liberation
a soul's return
has needed serenity.
Now is the time
to sit down and rhythm.
Sorry folks!
I guess that's it
No more wit!
This was written just on the spur of the moment and off the top of my head.
It had been months since I’d seen Alice
and I felt compelled to see her again.
She was a woman who liked surprises,
so on the spur of the moment
I got in my car and drove,
heading west, chasing down the sun.
But the sun won out
and before I knew it
he was smiling
in my rear view mirror.
Tulsa was just coming to life
as I pulled up in front of her house.
I walked down the cobblestone path
past the well manicured lawn.
The roses were in bloom on the trellis.
When I reached the massive door
I banged vigorously on the brass knocker.
A well dressed man opened up
and asked me my business.
"I'd like to see Alice, please," I said.
"Sorry sir, Alice doesn't live here anymore."
Anger
I will use the computer language to control alt delete
I will halt to contain you
I will walk away to give way
I will reflect to refresh
An excellent choice
From a voice of sense
Supporting a cause
In bringing peace
For all to rejoice
To this justice adjudicated by the inner jury of a clear conscious
From what could have been to what might have resulted
From a fast reaction on the spur of the moment
To engage and indulge
Acting on raw emotions and hormones raging viciously like a wronged tiger
Charging for a prey with its ever sharp claws like a dagger
Triggered by anger
Well, better to remain on the floor like a Beggar
Than let a loose tongue twist and eject
Hold still and reject the push to spew the rot
Of misery,regret and torment of never ending questions
What have I done
Why did I do it
Be alert to tame the beast of fists of no conscious but of only pomp
Tap in the knowledge and wisdom of calmness
To avoid foolishness
Above fairness
As for me I will hold still
To feel the elite control alt delete and halt the fight..
The night was young, ecosystem calm
Thoughts flooding my mind, I got drowned in them
Pin fall silence, I could hear my blood flow
On the spur of the moment came misdirection
Entered she, soaked in tears
Her eyes inflamed; larynx they were
Tears still cascading down her countenance
She wept profusely
She needed a shoulder to lean on, mine was uncommitted
I snuggled her to at least give her solace
Compassion was requisite
It cost nothing, so I offered her
Our proximity; not far from contact
Changed things drastically
Her warm tears gushed down my chest
Melting my heart, the throbbing irregular
Her light skin so enticing, pleasing to the touch
My hands got the pleasure
Racing all over her like a hasty warthog escaping death
Caged, I couldn’t escape the enticement and so…
I say yes to a banana split with nuts and a cherry
Before breakfast, and not only on a Saturday
I am older. I could die tomorrow.
Or even tonight in my sleep, or in the next hour.
I say yes to driving nine hours to Milwaukee
On the spur of the moment with my granddaughter
Because she had read about a cat living in a store
And she wanted to see it, so now I do too.
I say yes to people who want to eat lunch with me
But not every day, because lunch time is for myself.
It is my poetry writing time. It is my relaxation.
I do it once or twice a month because I could die tomorrow.
The Road I’m Walking
What do you do when you have reached a wall at the end of the road?
Do you climb it or try and find your way around it?
I choose to find a way around it.
What do you do when every direction you go in leaves you at yet another dead end?
It could be compared to; deciding on the spur of the moment to go on a 10 day hike through
the dessert.
You pack most of the essentials, but you forget about the water.
The most important thing.
But by the time you realize it it’s too late.
You’re already too far into your hike.
When the dehydration starts setting in your weak, delusional, and in an impossible position
to make a right choice given your status.
Then it’s do or die.
Do you try help yourself, be strong, and survive?
Or do you call and pray for help?
What if that help arrives but you’re so delusional you can’t see how great that help really is.
What if your hallucinations from this whole ordeal are enough to make you think all this
good, is in fact really bad.
How long is that help suppose to try to get you out of this hell before they finally give up
because it’s a danger to them selves?
But can they give up?
Some could. Others, they’ll get you out of there even if it means by their own backs.
What happens if you choose to not call for help?
Are you strong enough to beat thee odd’s?
Where is that inner will to survive even in the worst situation in life day to day?
How could you feel so weak but be able to survive something like a 10 day hike through the
dessert with temperatures peaking at over a hundred degrees even in the night with no
water or water source?
I’m struggling to find that will.
I’m lost with no direction.
I find myself back at that road more than others maybe.
But I’m always trying to find my around it.
Maybe I’ll get smart one day and figure out that I need to climb it.
It was the perfect autumn day
Bright and cool with a breezy wind
That blew the clouds about
On the spur of the moment I get an idea
With my grandsons hands in mine
We walked down the road
There was something joyous about the sights
I discovered peace flowing through me
Indian summer sun colored the world around us
The leaves along the way have turned
Crimson, yellow, gold and orange
We watched leaves falling through the branches
Dancing throughout the air as they floated to the ground
It was a gorgeous day, sun shining through the trees
As tiny dust particles floated throughout the air
We stopped at the creek and watched
The water as it rippled over the rock
Babbling on to no one in particular
We picked up pine cones and rocks
Their pockets were stuffed full with keepsakes
We ambled along the roadside
We picked dandelions, blowing their seeds
We gathered wild flowers and collected acorns
Then I slowly walked back home with two tired boys.