Best Outside Poems
"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."
This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution
I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.
Testament verses
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning
There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders
I was surrounded by shovels
Ransacked
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench
While I
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics
Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…
…
…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath
Simply
Searching
For B-rated serendipity
Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Turning away from windowed afflictions
Ready
To step towards gratitude’s breath
Outside,
No longer looking in
How good it feels.
Yet, I still miss my friends.
©Drake J. Eszes
To Kiss Each Morn, Color Outside The Lines
Once each day brought, only torturous pain
as dull axe, slow cutting against hard grain
Dawn cast shadows that this life did so curse
making me as a rock, in pauper's purse
Yet poetic soul swore to one day heal
to again dance well and truest love feel
To climb a tall mountain and take new flight
light hope's candles, bath in beautiful sight.
As a reborn soul, watch flowers soft blow
await midnight moon, see its wondrous glow
Be a true gift to family and friends
gaze above while making sincere amends
Hear music that sweetest dreams so oft play
humbly bow my head as I kneel to pray
Enjoy echoes of morn's first rooster crow
beg again a shot from Cupid's love bow.
Taste the wine of love and its first soft kiss
recall her smile and all of her I miss
Walk again forested path to our lake
repeat our youthful vows, never forsake
Romance that gave treasures and immense joy
hold firm to a love, life can not destroy
To kiss each morn, color outside the lines
stay on faithful path, pay heed to pure signs.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-13-2019
Rhyme, ( Love, Romance And Greater Wisdom Once Found )
By robertjlindley
© 2019 robertjlindley (All rights reserved)
I can hear the mouthless wind
loudly howling outside my window
Its wingless unseeable form whipping through
the leafless trees
riding the branches wildly
And blowing falling flakes onto every available space
and covering them in white giving them
admirable shapes
Oh yes indeed
what a magical sight to gaze upon
And although I happily enjoyed watching the snow soundlessly gliding down
kissing the ground softly and forming beautiful landscapes
The harshness wind is toothlessly bitting through my bones with its frigidness
So I think it’s time to turn up the fireplace for some heat for my chilly bones
And maybe a cup of delicious hot cocoa to warm my soul
Because
baby it is cold outside
Akkina
2/1/21
I can hear the mouthless wind,
loudly howling outside my window.
Its wingless unseeable form whipping through the leafless trees.
Ridding the branches wildly,
blowing falling flakes onto every available space,
and covering them in whites,
giving them admirable shapes.
Oh what a magical sight to gaze upon indeed.
And although I happily enjoyed watching the snow soundlessly gliding down,
kissing the ground softly and forming beautiful landscapes,
the harshness wind is toothlessly bitting through my bones with its frigid coldness.
So I think it’s time to turn up the fireplace for some heat to my chilled bones,
and maybe a cup of delicious hot cocoa to warm my soul.
Because
baby it is cold outside…
Fin Chuuk
Outside the lines
What is it about poetry
that so consumes you
Brings you to your knees,
cowering in a corner
of your own delusions
Reading in between the lines,
finding what is not really there
Dropping hints of absurd defiance,
collecting spoonful after spoonful
of puzzled meanings and chaliced dreams
Flowing symbolisms, metaphoric landscapes -
Where bushes are bluebirds
and sidewalks - bridges of no return
Why do you reach
into your pocket, searching for love
on plain white paper folded into a square,
when all along it faces you -
not in ink, but in smiles
expressing exactly what is felt
No boundaries or disguised emotions
penned in rhythmic sequence,
only true love, standing on this sidewalk -
which is only a sidewalk
What is it about poetry
that so consumes you,
when love is waiting – just outside the lines
I’m sorry, honey.
O.K. I accept your apology.
No, wait. Hold on.
What is it?
I mean it. I'm really sorry.
Are you?
Yes, I am.
How would I know?
I’ve thought about what I’ve done.
That’s it?
And I’m never going to do it again
Even if you find yourself in the same situation?
Yes, even then. … I'm determined to overcome my baser instincts!
Even if there's no one there to catch you transgressing?
Yes. Even if I'm by myself.
Then you really are sorry.
And ashamed of myself, before God, for letting you down, honey.
Thank you. I accept your apology now whole-heartedly.
Let's go to synagogue now. Let us praise God and ask for His forgiveness, that we may atone for all of our sins...
The tree next to my window
Waves with its leaves all day
As if it thinks I'm lonely
Or does it want to play?
Its branches create shadows
That dance across the room
I wonder if it notices
My smile full in bloom
The small birds living in it
Sing music to its dance
From dawn to dusk I listen
Smile at their bird-romance
And then I see the butterflies
With colors bright and true
Reds and greens and violets
Mixed in with shades of blue
Don't think my bed is boring
I never feel depressed
For I just need to look outside
To know that I am blessed
***
June 7, 2017
Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White
The incredible shooting display put on by "Sir" Jack,
Teaches a basic tenet of basketball that remains still,
You can expand your game from the outside
and considerably broaden your skill,
With accuracy you can keep defenders off-guard,
You can shake 'em or hit one in their grill,
By working the game outside-inside,
You can score on any defender at will.
What worth am I
in all this madness
what worth are you
in the depths
of all this sadness
there,
see the flight path
to elevation
inside the feels;
inside the fields
of darkness
spring wells of
orbs popping light
the half-stride
of trying phantoms
planting seeds,
half-baked poetry
running
through the veins
the golden fields
of darkness
minutiae sleeping
with Morpheus
under the velvet blankets
of Elysium
terra firma robes
overly well worn
divested now
in waking
kissing the farewell
to be received blessed,
annointed in the essence
of the uncommon
there,
the busy minded,
the unnaturally gifted -
The Poets ...
call you,
see -
the flight path
to elevation
inside the outside inside -
or, called back outside,
there you remain,
forever fixated
on cracking the inside
the hoax planted
in a dybbuk box
unfounded
unworthy demon
sunken
treasure
buried forever
grounded
hear them all, see,
inside the common feels,
the uncommon Poets
call you
see,
the flight path
to elevation
reaching
inside the outside inside
Candide Diderot. ‘24
crosses.
The more mature ladies sit aside
Engrossed in conversing
Contented in perusing dance
Some their feet rehearsing
Such a seat up high with a view
Alone upon the hill
Longing once again to dance
And tap out those fancy rills
In a plain Calico day dress,
A coat once rich now worn
Dreaming of spring, as peach dress swings
A spring day newly born
Different shades of springs clear blue sky
White apple blossom gown
Spring green decorations line hall
Peach blossom dress the crown
Off in the distance, the sound of the train
The whistle announces
It has stopped here in this young town
From train master bounces
There's a package over his shoulder
Sealed in a fancy bag
He mounts his horse that is waiting
Behind he did not lag
The lady that sits high on hill
In a gazebo hoping
Unaware that riders from town
Approach as she's coping
He tells her of observations
Of her strong courage
In the bag he brought a gown
One that matched her virtue
The belle of the cotillon ball
Dressed in emeral green
A velvet dress made just for her
One fit for a great queen
Inspired by
Isaiah Zerbst's
Contest: Ballroom Delights
From the painting by: Victor Gabriel Gilbert
Written: Over several days in November 2014
No use pretending to stars that seek
They seem to know where genius sleeps
I hear the sound, but not of harps. Instead the angels play guitar,
I hear them tap their feet to rock, and shake the world below
Like something out of Star Wars...... outside the box
We've been out-foxed. We weren't prepared, to say goodbye just yet
No use pretending to the pitch of sleep
that we can squeeze each puzzle piece, to fit within our boxed-in dream
We were not prepared with lamp or light, to be awake to genius minds
But if we could bring our dreams alive, we'd think outside the closed-box mind
We would have to think, The Rhymer's dream, ...and set the box aside
Our brother could...., while no one would
The "geek", some say, is still inside our open minds
The "geek" I think, is still alive,
in each and every archive of where the soul survives
In pentagrams, each token. kind, a euphoric open mind
In optical illusions, akin to Tolkien's prime
A clipping ripped from headlines, he somehow made it fit
the scheme of things, within a frame, yet still not box him in?
To paste, and form the change of pace, until we're torn in two
then re-arranged, stir common sense, and change our point of view
The artistry he kept alive, is genius we all seek......he lit the torch, and reached the peak
that we may never touch
He lit the torch, and made us think, a bit......outside the box
In Honor Of Chan
For Cyndi 11/10/14
Outside the ancient city
where the pomegranates grow,
one walks into another world
on distant shores from long ago;
a grave of stone and marble...
monuments that stand
to guard the saddened ghosts
of ancient souls on broken land.
These great artistic wonders,
seen in scattered disarray,
of columns standing tall,
but others toppled, lay
so scattered on the fields
on which they proudly stood.
The works of Persian, Greek
and Roman empires should
in clear view proudly lie
for all to honor and behold...
the history of centuries
that here for all unfolds.
Outside, now fairly modern,
the Turkish city of Izmir...
the old historic Pergamon...
lies bare to see, revere,
besides its world bygone
that here existed long ago,
outside the ancient city
where the pomegranates grow.
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place
Contest: On Distant Shores
Sponsor: Robert Haigh
Judged: 07/22/2018
~Honorable Mention~
Premiere Contest: A First Line Prompt
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 05/03/2016
Izmir is noted for farming and selling pomegranates
Since my visit there twenty-three years ago, I learned that
many of the ruins have been restored.
Today there is rain outside
as I begin to meditate....
I settle down more deeply,
more still than usual,
even until....
all thoughts were still...
my feelings faded away,
I was left
in deep peace.
in the quiet...
no boundaries existed,
no where
no why
no what
no who.
I'm aware of unlimited awareness,
nothing else...
no time
no changing
no content
no other.
I remained with
One.
Is..
Eventually,
the universe came
and my mind flooded with imperfections
all around me,
sensations,
all around me
surrounding me
cries from humanity
of shame, humiliation, elimination,
of guilt and evil and blame,
of hopelessness and despair,
of fear and hate
the rain outside had stopped
adding to the noise.
She has a flaming spirit
That could never be confined
A burning creativity
That makes her daydreams shine
A hope for something better
Only seen because she tries
A long since dead idea
Resurrected by her eyes
She looks right past our atmosphere
It can't contain the sky
She's got a canvas stretching light-years
And a paintbrush that can fly
Every heartbreak that she's come across
Is waiting now to dry
In a portrait she created
To remind her of those times
There's a symphony she's hearing
To every other ear sublime
A tune that can't live in the box
But smashes all four sides
By Kyle Ezra Kriticos
I sit and I wonder.
I wonder and I sit.
Moments dance together,
not worrying where they fit.
Each of my thoughts hug me one by one,
As I stare out at the smiling sun.
A bird sits outside my window free,
And sings a perfect song meant to be.
I think and I stop.
I stop and I think.
Some worries follow like a
shadow about to shrink.
A tree waves it’s branches strong and true,
Standing tall with stories old and new.
Feathers hide his soul about to fly.
Sky is grey with clouds ready to cry.
I dream and I sleep.
I sleep and I dream.
Life is full of laughter, hidden tears,
and silent screams.
I sit on a bench with a dear friend,
Sun winks bye, another day does end.
I reach to catch one lonely, falling star.
Sky full of stars does not seem too far.
I walk and I talk.
I talk and I walk.
Time stops and stands still like a
faceless, silent clock.
Laughter fills the air one afternoon.
Children chase and watch a gazing moon.
Waves crash the shore and dance into our mind.
Footprints journey through sand of time to see what they can find.
I love and I listen.
I listen and I love.
Away flies perfect peace of broken
wings of a dove.
People sit and share their deepest thought.
Crowds invade to see what can be bought.
Butterfly flutters the horizon of a vision.
We forget the caterpillar, it’s struggle and its mission.
I am awake and I hug.
I hug and I am awake.
Blindness of the heart can’t separate what’s true, what’s fake.
Never take for granted holding hands with a child,
Or bouquets picked for you so colorful and so wild.
Listen to stories the old man has told before.
Fill your heart with compassion,
Never close that door.
Each sunset ends a day.
Each star fills up the sky.
Each footstep leads a way.
Each dream learns how to fly.
That bird outside my window full of feathers warm and grey,
That bird outside my window sings a song for me today.