Best Outside(A) Poems
A transparent melody paints the walls
in the coloured scent of fresh linen.
The changing of sheets in the morning air
can not erase our dance from evening last.
Outside a late spring asleep too long
with no blooms until June, awakens.
Fully opened September flowers
perfume late night conversations.
Looking outside reveals
only one set of footsteps in both directions.
The days when I would watch you walk,
lagging behind with a smile.
The moss grows wild in the forest...
trees surrounded by families of mushrooms.
The word "family"
so I...
An I for an I
and soon the whole world will be in love.
How I long your hug,
your body encompassing mine.
God exists
no greater proof...
With a single tear I
lay flowers where you bloom...and I
i think of you.
March 20 2015
Armand
“The Queen-Sized Bed”.
© London F. Buss
A queen-size bed was coming slowly,
down the rough dirt track.
As it drew closer,
The wheels clumsily mounted on the base of each leg,
rattled like a hospital gurney on the stones.
The bed was being pushed slowly,
ever so, carefully.
By a weary old man in tattered clothes and worn-out shoes.
as he drew closer, and closer,
I saw that he was pushing his dying wife who was,
lying in a dressing gown under the covers,
in the Queen-Sized Bed.
He pushed carefully trying not to shake the bed,
excessively.
His wife's head was supported by four pillows,
she had wispy strings of silver white hair.
She was dying.
Several I.V. Bottles dangled off a hook,
And dripped painkillers into her arm.
She was awake but barely conscious,
I wondered where they were going,
but in my heart, I knew...
privacy for an hour,
I came back as the sun was setting.
I found them together sitting on the bed,
Looking over the ocean.
The old man was holding his dying wife,
in his arms… stroking her silver hair under the sparkling,
southern cross.
They were sharing her last sunset as,
the dying embers of a fiery sun faded into the ocean.
Night fell and I walked home alone,
I had witnessed love real love,
something I had never experienced,
something I had never known.
If you’re near Cowell and you look hard enough,
You may just find the queen-size bed,
with a tattered mattress and exposed springs,
quietly rusting away outside a decrepit ruin of a barn.
Take a closer look at the legs and you will find four rusting,
gurney wheels.
and if you approach quietly on a moonlit night,
you will hear soft sobbing in the whistling wind,
as it dreams of that dying sunset,
under the southern cross...
and the milky way lights up the sky,
soaring into the heavens
as the angels sing.
I wrote this non fiction poem
For Debra Jean..
death is near-
a fading out tomorrow will never be-
gone away an empty shell will dwell
birds and butterflies come fluttering
on gossamer silky wings
wings soft as a spider web
and the curtains stir in the open window
death
comes
like a bird of prey
drifting silently
and hummingbirds hover in heavenly harmony
her
hair
streaming down her shoulders
the clock of time stops the end has come
deep blue is the sky beyond this realm
birds and butterflies come fluttering
on gossamer silky wings
and hummingbirds hover in heavenly harmony
blue birds are twittering in the trees
she breathes
a long breath
pauses
and then
the moment of death a heaviness descends
death comes
like a bird of prey
drifting silently
she hangs
her head like a dead flower the mind dies
a peacefulness a light that fills the room her spirit leaving
and on the bedside
a beautiful bouquet of red roses dulcet full of scent
oh her life was fleeting
infused with happiness beauty laughter
the dream has ended the final curtain has dropped
farewell my beauty I kiss her lips her still warm hand
outside a gentle rain has begun
falling on the weeping willow tree
my weeping tears
dropping soaking her blanket
___________________________
June 26, 2015
Free Verse/"death of a friend"
Copyright Protected, ID 684720
Submitted to the contest, Any Poem You Are Proud Of
Sponsor, Mystic Rose
Second Place
I am proud of this poem because I wrote right after the death of my friend,
she died of cancer and I was with her at the end witnessing it through the eyes
of a poet. It is my most viewed poem and I was able to capture the style
of E.E. Cummings perfectly in my opinion.
__________________________
Submitted to the contest, A poem You Are Proud Of #3
sponsor, Skat
Fifth Place
_____________________________
Submitted to the contest, Death and Dying
sponsor, Debbie Guzzi
Second Place
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
divining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
Outside, a table awaits idle: I join as though it was my companion
Pondering about life as if it were water appeasable to the deepest canyon
Trees and scattered leaves waving alongside the lake facing the north; sighing
Opportunity after opportunity, oh how Ungrateful I am as I whisper to him crying
" A work in progress I am Lord, assist as I sprinkle the ground below with my tears
Lead me and guide me for I shall follow you through out my years
Let your word be used as a sword to fight against my enemy peers
Unseal your lips Father for your words of wisdom are therapeutic to my ears"
A canvas set aside of unfading colors; a mirror painting of the Lord above
My knees gently caress the pavement thanking him for his everlasting love
Caterpillars gather around to celebrate and form to butterflies within my chest
Thanking the Lord once again, for I know with Faith he will conquer the rest
We loved to traverse the dense forest,
Where birds continued as they chorused,
Admiring on one side the tall pines,
Breathing their best fragrance from their vines.
On the other side of the pathway,
A thousand of maples made my day.
Gold leaves fluttered slowly to the ground,
A whiff of breeze, the path would be drowned.
At the edge of the wood was our friend,
Where with his food we had to contend.
Sausages, bacon, eggs and coffee,
Heard his lovely repeated story.
He lent us his barn where we could sleep.
Outside a river so wide and deep,
Winded its weary way through vast plains,
It would fill more with October rains.
Clouds gathered above the horizon.
What pleased us was a rainbow rising.
We went inside the warm cosy shed
Where all was clean, and straw which we spread.
We slept like angels on that sweet bed.
Listen to the jazz instrumentals of Masekela,
as you take red wine outside a thatched
shelter in a beach in the Western Cape.
Enjoy a hearty meal of bobotie (meatloaf),
chakalaka (a spicy vegetable relish),
tomato bredie (a lamb and tomato stew),
potbrood (pot bread),
melktert ( dessert)......
and other forms of cuisine;
have a siesta in the canvas tents,
then you visit the misty mountains
of the Magoebaskloof.
To feel at one with nature,
visit Limpopo, and get lost in the awesomeness
of sighting elephants, lions, rhinos.....
You'll see baobab trees stretching their branches
to the red, setting sun;
get dazzled by the Limpopo river's majestic
flow to the Indian Ocean.
Introduce yourself to all kinds of dialects and people;
Africans, Dutch, Indians, and Malaysians.
Watch their traditional dances,
and listen to their folklore - it will remind you
we are from the same Womb; Earth.
See Nelson Mandela in people's smiles and way
of doing things in the cities, streets, and towns.
Listen to South Africa's unifying anthem,
as you take a ship back home......
Why do all the hills rejoice
With rivers in the north?
Why bother to go racing
In a race to then 'come forth'?
Where on earth's the green hill
far away outside a wall?
And how can all God's creatures
Be as great as they are small?
Which dancer got up early
When the world had just begun?
And why do I feel frightened
By the words "thy will be done"?
How can any fight we fight
Be seen as being good?
- The young me sang about a world
I never understood.
I sit
at a small table
outside a café.
Along a low
orange wall,
rows and rows
of flowered bushes
decorate
the foreground of
a breathtaking scene.
Out to
a horizon
where sea meets sky
is endless blue.
I inhale
perfect beauty!
Fine wine and good food
are on the way.
Here in the sun
I will revel in
the fragrance of
the red roses
and the freshness
of the air.
A butterfly
alights nearby me.
How simple a thing
yet how divine.
Fly, Butterfly -
Fly out to the bay!
I wish to see
how long I may
keep you
In my sight
before you vanish
into the blue.
July 30, 2016 for Edward Ebb's Anacreontic Verse 4 Contest
Return again warm glow of Christmas past,
Rekindle precious times I hold so dear.
Transport me back and let my mind be cast
On golden memories of yesteryear.
A fir tree trimmed with fragile fairy lights
Illuminates an angel’s modest smile,
The mystery of secret gifts excites,
Though childhood dreams must slumber yet awhile.
Outside, a serenade of Christian souls
Regales our hearts with warm uplifting voice;
‘Oh little town of Bethlehem’ extols
The Saviour who gives reason to rejoice.
And those I’ve loved commemorate once more
The wonder of those Christmases of yore.
15/10/18
How I would love to dance with you along the Naples bay,
And then escape towards our restaurant beyond the archway.
Listen, as they play love songs with gusto on the mandolin
As Peppinello prepares the dough which in a round form he'd spin.
Outside, a young lass dances with flare her tarantella.
And everyone shouts with glee "Give us more gracious Stella."
Meanwhile Peppinello always ready to cater for our taste
Suggested a Marguerita enough that would not go to waste.
And to counter the exquisite taste of our choice, a famous wine,
A red Oddero Barbera d’Alba, guaranteed to make a fine dine.
Satiated with our fine food we go for a short stroll.
The famous Castel dell'Ovo being our primary goal.
It is already deep night and on the sea stars shine bright.
Tired but happy we return to our hotel for the night.
A faceless man is standing in produce.
He’s crying. No one stops.
No one asks him why.
He says the sky is falling
He says it again and again.
He grabs a passerby’s arm
and tell them it’s falling.
The passerby drops
a head of lettuce onto the floor.
A woman in tattered jeans
says the cost of meat has gone up.
A young mother
with a baby in the basket
wheels a cart of formula
and wonders how anyone
can afford to live
while outside a boy in high school
races an empty shopping cart
through the parking lot.
A woman with stringy, long hair
standing near the entrance
plays guitar
and the case is open
for dollar bills and quarters.
A weary clerk brings
in a line of carts
and says the task never ends.
The woman says life’s a show—
Bring in the clowns, she sings.
Displays of Doritos lined
up by the entrance
say buy more—
one bag is never enough.
The clerk stands near the front
and keeps his hands in his pockets
as he watches a wave of humanity
walks in and out the entrance.
The manager looks at him.
Smile, she says.
One month after his lady friend
transferred to another store
he is standing alone
in a crowd.
The Haunted House
‘Room to Let’ the signage read,
and though it looked run down,
I’d found no other place to stay
since I was new in town.
When I knocked upon the door,
a voice called out, “Please enter.”
“Hello,” I answered in reply.
“I’d like to be your renter.”
A lovely woman greeted me.
She had a toothy smile.
“It’s nice to have the company.
It’s been dead here for a while.”
Outside a wicked wind blew forth.
The front door slammed with a crash.
Just as quickly every window
fell down in their sash.
“I guess a storm’s a-brewing,” I said,
covered in bone-chilling sweat.
“Let me show you to your room.”
replied the shapely tall brunette.
“Some steps here may be rotten,” she warned.
“I urge you to beware.”
Moaning fell with every step
as we climbed the creaky stairs.
The room she showed me looked quite sparse.
Inside was just one coffin.
“Please excuse the dust,” she said,
“I don’t come in here often.”
She wiped away the cobwebs
once we got inside the room.
“It really is quite cozy here.”
Then pointed out the tomb.
“If you like the chamber,
I suggest we both get started.
No other soul will bother us,
They have all departed.”
I laid inside the casket.
It was a perfect fit.
“I believe I could be comfy here,”
I hastened to admit.
“No one here will vex you,”
She signaled with a wave.
“You will find this haunted house of mine
as silent as the grave.”
“I’ll need a small deposit,” she said.
Then, bent and bit my neck.
As she sipped away I asked,
“Do you take traveler’s checks?”
“I’ll take this as collateral.”
She said after she drank.
“There’s no need for money here,
I have my own blood bank.”
August 17, 2018
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
Title your poem - The Haunted House
When I think of the plight that children face all over the world
I just want to cry
Hunger starts and ends their everyday
As many of us continue to waste away
The scraps that we toss could save a child’s life
I’ll tell you the human race is nothing nice
We have no problem spending trillions on war
As children starve to death outside a millionaires store
They put locks on the dumpsters to keep them out
To greedy to give what they are throwing out
I watched a show just the other day
That showed Children just wasting away
Right there in their mothers arms
As I ate my giant bowl of lucky charms
Pirates raiding off the Somalia Coast
Because their children’s eyes are hollow as a ghost
If my Children were starving these words are true
Captain Hook wouldn’t hold a light to you know who
I think in the overhaul scheme of wrong and right
Mankind in general has lost all sight
Could you imagine kissing your child’s last breath?
The rich get richer as they starve to death
So as you all tuck your kids into bed tonight
Kids all over the world will lose their fight
They will simply lie down and die
To hungry to fight to weak to cry
Shelters that feed the Hungry are in every
town, when was the last time that you gave
something. No person is any greater than the
depth of their compassion. To give is to receive
for there is no greater blessing in this life. Keep
what you need and give the rest and the Lord will
make sure you never run out. God Bless, MJ
Written for Sami's contest
My pencil plays in my hand....
Outside a card house that can barely stand...
I sketch a paper train on the wall...
Watch it travel from in a frame to the hall...
It passes through pictures from one to another...
From black and white scenes to colors that flutter...
The card house falls as the train pulls in...
And the path of my pencil tears a paper not thin...