Best Palisades Poems
SENSITIVITY
They’re all ignored by us, but they have feelings too :
A black gravestone in New York, down in the world,
Recalling its halcyon days as a part of
The impressive strata at Palisades Park.
The statue in the museum of Androcles and the Lion
Daydreaming - oh, for the good old days just lying sunbaked
On the beach surrounded by
Fossil shells and shrimp at Sables d’ Olonne,
With the feet of the famous resting gently on you.
And the marble fireplace in our living room -
He can still see in his mind’s eye
The Carrara quarries in bygone days…..
Why, some of his great-grand-daddies were
Hacked out of there and taken to Rome for the Via Appia.
Oh yes, stones have feelings too.
My carved ship-of-the-line from Nelson’s navy
With her masts and spars and decks and cabins
Lies awake at night thinking of her days
In the pine forests of Norway; and next to her
This old cedar jewellery box, with intoxicating
Smells of the coast at Prince Rupert
Where she lay on the beach for weeks
Before the saw mill changed her shape and sent her to me.
The new sapele door in our hall spends hours
Wishing for his buddies in the jungles of Uganda
Where the ants would tickle you
Half to death with their constant scurrying
Up and down your branches, building this or that.
Listen closely and he’ll boast that some
of his relatives ended their days as propellers
on German zeppelins, I kid you not.
Everyone has to feel special.
And what about those unassuming steel forks in my drawer
who can still tell stories
Of their days as iron ore in Finland,
And how their brother Ernie became
A bumper on the President’s limo (supposedly).
Or my wife’s copper bracelets with their pathetic tales
Of being shipped from Cyprus
and remelted into ingots in Bimingham.
I have overheard the wings of a 747
Recollecting in the hangars at night
How their existence as bauxite in Jamaica was so idyllic,
“Wit all dat reggae and smokin’ and god knows what, man.”
They too have their memories.
And, man, de smell in dat hangar!
I keep tripping over hurdles
Barriers forged between our hearts
Walls of a garrisoned fortress
Lofty palisades I must ascend
without crawling on my knees
I admit my faults lie at ego depth
Perhaps it's why I expect too much of you
but I long for the affectionate touch
of your arms catching me when I stumble
and fall, dejected on the ground
When my patience ebbs like ocean tides
your emotions are concealed behind a veil
Please don't pull away from me. Stay,
and I'll soothe your troubled qualms
I keep tripping over hurdles
exposing the core of my darker side
that part of me I cannot hide from your eyes
Can you love me in spite of my flaws?
Will you be my refuge, an amorist crutch?
There's a battle line between us
but I don't recall waging war.
I fear my ways are much too strict
so I'll wave the flag of truce.
Spoils to the victors
when I've breached the final hurdle
With sighing breath across my syllables,
I'm pleading with you for another chance
Despite the way I've mistreated you
would you be a spark of light on my path?
Until I'm sure our love is realigned
I'll keep tripping over hurdles
across each rampart I approach
With hope, I'll reach your garden gate
and wait for your heart to open the door
December 6th, 2019
Pale Shelter Contest
by John Hamilton
So it was that tragedy, which lead me finally,
Have another invasion, upon my lands-never,
To guard my boundaries, and bolster my army,
Let the pain in my heart, with cold fury- wither
The petty palisades of wood, are now of stone,
Upon ramparts are erected, many cannons strong,
Mighty swords sharpened, arrow-heads honed,
Wishing anger to sustain me, keep my vigil long
Much has been done, and more has been sought,
I promised to be mighty, not conquered futilely,
Often I be dismal, when I stare down my moat,
Need I be strong always, but eternally lonely?
Thence once these lonesome times, I look at you,
Saw a princess lovely, aloof and shy,
Could such beauty hold, a heart pure and true?
“No” I told myself, knowing full well I lie
Every moment then, are filled with longing,
For I knew you were special, a fragile innocence,
Could my night watch finally, see it’s morning?
But I won’t give up easy, what I built so far hence
To harsh self-flagellation, this denial has turned,
Fiercer heart-rending than, being left for a fool,
More formidable even, than all the days I mourned,
For rejection of affection, is now my first rule
Behind my quiet hard eyes, I ask you fervently,
Underneath my grim and dark façade, lies a question,
Hoping against hope, you will hear this mute plea,
Allow me once again, to breath Love’s desperation
Hear this entreaty, asked in silent despondency,
Words are not needed, Just feel my agony……
Could you be the Trojan horse,
To capture surreptitiously my heart?
Free me from this maddening curse,
Shatter this misery to the tiniest parts
A rodent in the road
Jammed into my tires
As I screeched to a halt,
Then bolted past
Remembering a deer
In the headlights
A victim underneath me
Forever frozen in ice
And slow motioned into
Sleepwalking in my mind
An instant replay triggered
By any myriad of buttons
Pushed at random
An overheard conversation
At the dentist’s office
Sending x-ray recollections
Into forward play and
Changing my breath and
My complexion as I relive
My murders,
Clawed forever into a brain
Those guilty priests cannot forgive
Even God has allowed me to allow the
Remnants to remain for now
Brushed against my heart
Like orange and purple sunsets
At Palisades Park.
******This old post deserves another posting, I tried to convey the tragedy of war and is hauntingly reflecting of current world affairs; ...'Where once stood great Love' is my favourite line; the word 'once' is given emphasis towards the insanity of intentional destruction, and a once beautiful place is forgotten and lost forever. I think the last line and the idea of rebuilding from war's destruction is the notion that its best to evolve past the whole possibility of war, so that the rebuilding is permanent...******
A distant wood grows its gossamer,
A near vale,
wetted and forgotten
cries alone,
where rains fall forever ----
Where once babes lay down
in the cool of grasses green,
and a brook,
where once rippled
an elven tune of old;
Now silent as the seasons here,
where once stood great Love,
on a throne of gold,
midst the broken palisades and halls ----
a near vale (now)
wetted and forgotten,
Only the breeze of sad memory....
the weeded roads and rubble ----
whisper from their ashes,
" Let us rebuild what war has claimed "
The oak trees are an endless sea of grey;
The waves roll over hills until they melt
Into a grey horizon under dim
Midwinter skies. The world is sepia toned;
The flowers in the glades no longer wear
Their splendid summer colors. Dry and brown,
They hold up their spent seed heads full of pride
Because they have achieved their destiny.
A dogwood tree lies cut, its swelling buds
A promise that will never be fulfilled.
Behind pale pointy palisades of reeds
The lonely pond does still reflect the sky.
December 14, 2016
A lovely walk, a promenade leads the way
Burnt orange succulents stand like bushes serene
Crushed tepid deep, whitewash stirs up behind the scenes
Delightful blends of blue sky in-between
Entwined the seaweed branching out for a reach
Finely tuned trumpet sounds of swoosh on the beach
Glassy prisms beam through dark shades
Horizon blended ocean, sky, behind palisades
Intruders running 'round, sand in face
Jelly fish glow and charm with grace
Krutsinger Island, the sign reads
Lover’s bed and breakfast needs
Men and woman frolicking in the water
Naked babies cry out with laughter
Oceanic mammals creep by
Palm trees, flowing, occupy
Quietly recedes then tosses its sea
Rentals, beachcombers welcome
Surfers ride their boards for fun
Tingling with a cooling breeze
Umbrella of waves, high tides come and go
Verdant colors make for radiant seascape
Whales bellowing blow show
Xanadu paradise plan your escape
Yachting, sailing, tagging and more
Zanzibar coastal getaway tours
SUMMER WITCH HAIKU
Husband bite your tongue.
Mother'n law comes visiting
threatens not to leave.
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BUCKS COUNTY PICNIC AT DELAWARE CANAL HAIKU
Picnickers are there
bridge from nowhere to nowhere
haven't got a care
nap beneath the trees
Nockamixon Palisades
dreaming birds and bees
light flashes below
as the water streams along
in its summer song
orange cotton dress
hiding from the boys who stare
all they do is guess.
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QUICKY LUBE HAIKU
Faster than the eye
just a lick as going by
Quicky Booby Lube.
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© RON WILSON aka vee bdosa the Doylestown poet
Entwined, in her vanilla cream rhymes..
Sitting amid the front row while she recited
A heartful verse feeling the vibes; her spirit alive
Blue roses atop the table a glass of champagne
Catching my gaze her smile; captured is her words
As pure beauty and this palisades venue aside the sea
Athena I think enraptured by, her elegance in grace...
Drawing the burgandy curtains, a log upon the fire
Sipping red wine her blue eyes; pallets be perfection
Pomegranate lips, carved these hips this sculptors
Blade caramel skin piercing my heart her, poetics license.
lush slopes mirrored
round an islet of pines. . .
verdant bounty
where clear water
reflects the mountains’ splendor. . .
a lovers’ château
at the ridge's feet. . .
sunshine in guise
of daffodils
pure water’s pool
where valleys converge with hills. . .
autumn in bloom
white magic. . .
evergreens sliding
down the mountainside
in ice blue water
the crystalline palisades. . .
our secret treasure
where amber-tinged clouds
embrace lofty white peaks. . .
a sacred cross
among wild flowers
water cascades from green cliffs. . .
an endless spring
Andrea Dietrich/ July 4, 2012
inspired by the pictures in PD's
Haiku mountain (week) Poetry Contest
For PD's: Enter the #1 poems only.... (entry must be from my past contest) please do not submit a #1 win if it's not from one of my past contest :-)Poetry Contest
It always starts with a whisper.
A quite before the storm.
Building up to a rip, a fissure
then inside eruptions
kaleidoscoped palisades
divided by mirrors.
My eyes elope into one
that sees much more clear.
The fluid pours uncontested
to the mouth of my river.
The taste elate my sense.
You can feel the current.
The earth and sky with pupose.
i love it, i live it, i learn it
The storm hits.
My imagination sprinkles.
1000 feet 500 people
revolting against their captors
blood falling soaked in evil.
We end at the feet
of the one they call master.
The monarch
butterflies cascade through the sky
and turn it black as night.
Flowers cover the bodies of people.
Trees overtake all of the steeples.
Mountains break ground
and thunder through cathedrals
good overtakes evil.
Yeah that's it, this place
this is where i shall leave you
the chaos is over and now
it turns peaceful.
I hope you enjoyed this.
I hope for you like me
it was like a vacation.
However I can't take credit.
the sound that turned into music
was not mine.
I am just a poet
that took it and framed it.
I owe it to the dragonfly
for he is who whispered.
Forgetting is a vain refugee camp,
Madonna, for still these walls get
breached, amidst the daily, frenzied
barter of honed art for bread,
While slaking arid, thirsty hours with
bits of loving, or even in deep sleep's
opiate-laced salve; your shrill wail
ricochets on palisades of silence,
Wrecking dreams, when your arms
thrust out, ghost-like haunt heart's
corridors to pained remembrance
of your hearth bulldozed to jagged
Rubble, grating deep your ample
loins that Gaza noon of nightmare,
hooking deeper yet the piercing
scythes of questions as regards
Your fate and of your son's. Again,
the mind turns, tosses on this bed
of dusty shards and tear-anointed
debris as you once more scream
Your picture-perfect, front-page,
silent pain, yet made more potent
than all sounds heard down old
Palestine when wailing, wreathed
The wretched walls bedaubed with blood
of innocents, when wanton death and
mayhem, too, by Herod's mighty hand
decreed, made firm, held sway.
Palisades Palestine
Raging fires Raging fires
mansions destroyed Babies burned
a million tears the dead cannot cry
the winds are whispering the bombs are laughing
who stole your water supply? no aid allowed in
terrifying, natures justice Americas politicians sign the bombs
your Big Mac was burned while complete villages destroyed
a few people perished hundreds of thousands slaughtered
fools denying climate change fools committing genocide
missing a little water are we? missing hospitals, children covered in
blood
your white Jesus turned it to wine Bethlehem under Zionist siege once more
go see the Resnicks go see Netanyahu
they stole most of your resources he stole human organs, like a genocide
before
you suffered a few days Palestinians suffered 76 years
poetic justice Poets shot in the head
why should I care? when the USA sends billions
you will rebuild the mansions innocent lives, lost forever, by your hand
in crime
Alfred the Great (born Wantage, 849)
Market place; he stands in isolation.
Known for culinary conflagration,
The object of two vandalous attacks –
How scandalous to steal his battle axe !
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
But what makes Alfred great ?
At Ashdown with his massive axe and helm
He fought the Danes and drove them from his realm.
A firm believer in education,
In order, justice, administration,
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
And this made Alfred great.
A naval fleet he set upon the sea
And with Mercian and Welsh diplomacy
His armies, garrisons, forts and palisades
Ensured defence against all future raids.
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
Isn’t our Alfred, Great ?
At peace midnight he blew his whistle
Down the street he walks alone
Followed behind by his own shadow
He makes the dark aware not to be lone.
There he steered by the chromatic moonlight
And fight against those felony psychs
He palisades by his valiance so intent
Yet he never abscises his pride.
Once he acquaints with the shadow of his own
And once he portrays the shush of the street
Once he co-occur with the beggars penury
And once he scouts the homing boozier.
He meets with the world unspoken by us
And augurs the dormant cursed by the veil
He is blessed by the mighty of his nous
And devour the dark by the power of his soul.
Beguiles his journey by the yowl of the owl
Enriched by the wrawl of the embryos
Befriendly he enured the life so perverse
Fruitfully he lives with the liberty of his own.
Followed behind his own shadow
He deserves the world to see all alone
Yet he never abscises his pride
Down the street he blew his whistle lone.
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