Best Partings Poems
~
Impatient, are the waters, that ripple in the stream
Taking no notice of one all alone
They continue to flow, to swirl, twist and turn
They pay no attention, think nothing of me
As I sit here to ponder, to write and compose
~
Deep in the stones, lie dark secret longings
Old stories of those, who sat on the bank
Like me, finding hallows to gather and think
I'm called by the breezes to capture the prose
Inspired by nature, words flow from creation
Written to cast, like leaves on the water
~
The cattails that rattle, the cinnamon fern
The willows that lean, each twig bends to listen
Before me, were others who sat in the sun
On the mossy green bank of the waters that know...
Watching each ripple from precipice high
With stories, of heartache, and reasons to cry
~
Cavorting blue ribbons, hiding the answers
Splashing and laughing, no time for my questions
I lean my hand over, to calm the swift partings
Cold water runs swiftly, and it stays in command
It runs through my fingers, like life on a journey
Secrets it carries, and onward it goes…
Taking no notice of one all alone
~
________________________________________________________________
I will watch their winged endurance, on the crest of autumn's eve,
without knowing where or distance, but in faith they must believe
As the harsh breath sounds of winter are calling geese to leave
I will hear songs of assurance, gliding low against the breeze
I can hear inherent partings, as they form into a V
And they soothe my doubtful worry, as they fly the crimson sea
Lifting eyes, I follow upward, as they cluster into line
With necks stretched long and southbound, departing with a sigh
With constant proof, year after year, their calling fills my ears
Sent here by the grace of God, in a race against my fear
While their promised songs may sadden me, and tears to eyes will bring
Their steadfast return assures my heart, to believe tomorrow's spring
"Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith."
______________________________________________________________
As the rooster crows:
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant Makassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, Mohawk, flamboyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.
Heckles from the henhouse:
As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.
A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?
No reason for men to grow manic;
Mustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.
The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive!
*Many thanks to Paul Callus for inviting me to join in this co-write.
i have seen the pale horse
unmask your face
color it white
till you blended with him
like a blank stare of the moon
his hooves beat in a heart
where silence now falls
as a gossamery wind
caught my breath
beneath the still of yours
his pace separated our worlds
through the eternal place of his own
your soul temporized within his passage
into partings of darkness
drawn through shades of eyes
that once could blink away fog
yet now lost the ability to do so
under the seal of fate
I have seen the indurated clay
that holds you tight
yet your shadows tramp my mind
as if it were a common street
these vivid memories hook my thoughts
as if fifty bucks could own my soul
curse you, even in death
your immortality still robs
choking me of every breath
my scars harbor your death
i close my eyes to these blocks of mind
your soul still owns...
I resurrect the pale horse, curse him
yet place him higher than the stone walls
or granite that bears your name
and kiss nothingness at your grave
my mind becomes calm again
but my roots remain twisted
beneath the silence of your wind
yet i curse you
and i curse him
the same!
Hell-and-gone, my dreams are the bane of angels
Crimped with light, yet ceded to swim in shadows
Darkened wings that tremble with aching portent
Yesterday's heaven
I'm the fool that wandered the Van Gogh grasses
Just a jest, with love made there in the meadow
Callow flesh, thus burning for more than sunlight
Merging in madness
Bright and light, on toe-shoes a girl came dancing
How she twirled, with tempo to set my heartbeats
Dark desires through waterfalls and the moonlight
Joined at the marrow
Life did cleave us, bound to a course its choosing
Washed and swept by fates to a distant shoreline
Breaths and death left nothing to us but distance
Partings, unspoken
'Leave them gone', those angels now softly whisper
Broken dreams are nightmares so left unspoken
Turn your head to sight your eyes on the moment
Wisdom's sweet burgeon.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sapphic Stanza With A Jux" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
If I were immortal I’d wish to be
An Earth angel who sets those in chains free
I’d enter every evil person’s heart
Putting a stop to wars before they start.
If I were immortal no one would weep
I’d spread happiness whilst the broken sleep
I accept partings come in silent grief
And would affirm that grief is a relief.
I would aim to be a blessed precious lamb
Bringing joys to the brotherhood of man
Or a shepherdess with a magic crook
Keeping folk in order with just one look.
I’d see that birds were content in a tree
Chirping away happily constantly
That they’d soar o’er sky of infinite girth
Where nothing’s heard between Heaven and Earth.
I'd be a singer upon the world's stage
Singing songs heard from cradle to the grave
Songs of love they'd be and a comfort too
To all who'd find me worth listening to.
Melodies immortal the same as me
Forever in the book named history.
Winter's Perfect Heat
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin petals excite at the touch, firming
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Chilly coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching behind delicate fingers guide, slowly
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sticky, sweet
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
Names loudly called, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s perfect heat”
Good night Soupers
Winter’s Passion’d Heat
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin skin excites at the touch, shivering
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Frost coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching delicate fingers, soothing touches
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sweet syrup yearnings
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
My name, loudly sung, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s passione’d heat”
Good night soupers.
Sycamores certainly speak French, cypresses - ancient Greek, the Old Testament's olives are bilingual: they speak Hebrew and Aramaic. Birch is a Russian tree though growing in Canada. So small and frail (they wither abroad), already gone into a winter trance, she is silent but she is silent à la russe. That's how silent bears in dens are, that's how drunkards listen to the voice of the devils dissolved in their blood, that's how old believers pray, that's how a poet meditates on his faraway homeland and, finally, that's how silent my girlfriend was, accompanying me to the airport. What are we doing here, you and me, between fall and winter, at the crossroad of four Canadian corners?
a hush of partings
of pursed lips and lonely hearts…
we should go home birch
10.12.2019
December Or January Haibun Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
I never noticed diamonds in the sky before;
so mindless, let such moments pass me by before.
I never glanced a passing smile upon a face
of utter loveliness; it made me cry before.
I never hearkened such sweet, honeyed voice, so fell
upon the siren spell of Lorelei before
I never felt the brush of lips against my own
that were as soft as wings of butterfly before.
I never gave away the key that would unlock
my to heart be a caravanserai before.
I never suffered dawns sharp, stabbing agony
of partings, sorrow pain that I could die before.
I never knew it possible to soar so high;
and why? For there was not a you and I before.
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
As the rooster crows:
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant macassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, mohawk, flambouyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.
Heckles from the hen house:
As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.
A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?
No reason for men to grow manic;
Moustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.
The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive!
-----------------------------------------------
With special thanks to Carolyn Devonshire
with whom this fun write was written.
anxiety, care, corruption, creation, destiny, environment, rainforest,
CHERRY-PITS AND FOGGY AIR©
Miseries mount on high
If only I had that again
Too little too late too much
Life’s no bowl of cherries
And the rain fell hard today!
Skies sheathed in dust and smog
Pollutes the once green terrain below
The ‘fresh’ air demotes to shallower breaths
Intakes ‘tanked’ to partings of out rage
The taste of ‘bottled’ flavoured water rises
The ‘breaths’ of air when bottled will increase
And next it will be one costly ‘purification’ deed
For those left and known to mankind.
I won't say goodbye, it's a word that implies, something now is ending,
And I'm too full of endings, to want that extra load.
Instead, I'll think evening has come, a night must now pass.
Yet with the stars just like our sun to show us all the way,
Across the spans of darkest nights, there lies a brighter day.
I won't say farewell, it is one of those words, that means a scene is closing,
And I'm too full of closings to want that extra load.
Instead, I'll think a pause must be in life's great symphony.
Our Maestro turns your page and mine, tuning some strings in need,
That each may play their greatest part, as onward now He leads.
I won't say godspeed, again it's a word, that means one is parting,
And I'm too full of partings to want that extra load.
Instead I'll think the time has come to trust in God's great care.
Our years are filled with anxious prayers,yet He is always near,
Perhaps these moments must all be to teach us faith not fear.
I will never be ready even though you signal your leaving
I foolishly keep the bright days since so much yet needs sharing
of long partings after our intense then rare meetings
of wild childhood stories and unfathomable blur future waiting
nowhere we could ever imagine even truly existing.
The beauty of the freely crystalized future has then come true
with your unchanging care and simple soul in skillful gesture of true blue.
You know I love you so much even in my silence
I know you’re now gone, but forever unforgotten,
Wishing you were here, silently cheer our encounters often
even if I know much of your pain and sometimes helplessness stands
in the face of bitter destiny, we all struggle to walk away, to just be gone.
But we can’t lie that time to bodily part will come anon, perhaps this afternoon breeze
just in time to forget our worries, but to thankfully remember our sweet memories
of how much I love you…
And I will always do
in the deep ocean of true blue.
(28 October 2022)