Best Point Poems
You call me insensitive,
But I don't believe that's true;
Because, you see,
It's all about me.
It's not about you.
You say your opinion doesn’t matter,
That I’ve no respect for your point of view;
But I do if we agree,
Because it’s all about me.
It’s not about you.
You say I’ve no compassion,
No feelings for your troubles or your blues;
But none of us is issue free,
And mine are all about me;
But…not about you.
A time old adage,
“To thine own self be true.”,
Is all about choices you see.
My choices are all about me,
And, certainly, not about you.
So, when its time to make your choices
You’ll understand and know it’s true;
To decide what will or will not be,
Won’t be at all about me;
It will be all about you
But special moments confront most of us,
When what matters isn’t “Me”.
And while these moments are few,
They’re not about me, not about you.
For a time, it’s all about “We.”
Yes, “…no man is an island.”
Is a valid point of view;
But if it’s not about “We”,
Then it’s all about me.
Sorry. It’s not about you.
In my portrait of life the
palette began in pigments
of blue, red and yellow,
but with each stroke,
my horizons slowly dissolved into
mustard, muddy brown
and burnt orange.
Not everything you portray
upon a canvas is mutually accepted,
so my soul remained subjective
and my heart abstract.
As I collect dust upon my shoulders,
I wish I was a painting never painted.
Visibility has turned into a veil,
resulting in stubborn invisibility,
so everything is an illusion
lingering in a black hole absorbing
the conspicuous.
I know I will regret not expressing one day
but bitter roots remain rooted deep into the earth.
I don't want to hide
but protect what breeds inside.
I'm afraid someone may look deeper
into this façade where time forgets the truth.
My hands resemble a box of nothingness,
as hues fade from indigo into charcoal,
with pastels infusing with the darkness.
My heart is an ocean
beneath a motionless surface.
Not everyone can view the world
like Van Gogh's eyes,
where the longer you stare
the more you become aware.
In blind visions a 'driftwood' mind wanders
between mental blankness and
the angst of actuality,
all that survives is blackness.
If fate was fair
then we would all view and be viewed
in soft pastels of peach,
sapphire and lilac.
The harder I attempt to find myself,
I lose more than I thought I would gain.
At the end upon the edge
in the last exhale all that is left
will be the silence after an echo.
I can't take it no more
this is too much
Your words are just words
you use as a crutch
My mind is a mess
these pills just dont work
Why don't you care
I'm going beserk
One minute I'm up
the next one I'm down
This life is strangling me
I might as well drown
I sit in the dark
never seeing the light
You're all out to get me
I'm living in fright
I polish my guns
They are a true friend
Since you don't love me
Today will be our end
***based on a true story of a co-worker. Last weekend he attempted to shoot his wife over cold dinner****
Hope he can get the help he truely needs
Barefoot in a field of daisies
hair blowing in the breeze
smile beaming ear to ear
babbling brook streaming nearby
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
Sunrays shining down
from the cerulean morning sky
a parasol twirling in her hand
shading those beamish eyes
The cottage of stone hidden
in a bed of spruce trees
ashen smoke flowing
from the ancient chimney
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
The picture won't change
It's what you construe
Each story may vary
based on a point of view
Pictures, paintings, natural beauty
drawings, photos, or sculptures
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
I swore that day, I'd never fall again
With tears of heartbreak dripping from my chin
A wall was built to keep intruders out
To insulate my heart in times of doubt
I thought the feeling died
Felt nothing deep inside
No one could hurt me, even if they tried
Buried in my heart beneath the pain
Beneath the bitterness, and loneliness, that remained
Slept a feeling that was buried long ago
Without the light of love for it to grow
I took it back from her
Forgot the way things were
But when I saw your smile, I felt it stir
The days went by, you put your smile on me
You scaled the wall, just wouldn't let me be
Then touched my heart with words tender and kind
And soon I saw the beauty of your mind
You came to me in dreams
Convinced it was a scheme
I tried to push you out of every scene
But while my eyes were closed, I saw your face
Two lovers in a passionate embrace
That feeling left for dead grew like a fire
My heart was racing, fueled by my desire
Baby you make me burn
My heart will never learn
I've drifted past the point of no return
Daniel Turner
Point of View
Hag in the mirror
Squinting at me
Waiting and watching
A young face to see.
She doesn’t know
Face that stares back
Never thought she’d see
That old hag in black.
But here they are
Alone the two
Seeing each one
From own point of view.
10/2017
The moment I saw you
I fell in love with the universe.
Like raindrops rippling a still pond,
our concentric circles coalesced -
moving past duality and melting into oneness.
Susan Ashley
May 14, 2019
*dedicated to my soulmate and husband, Bill*
~ First Place ~
Contest: May 2019 Premier 5 (Max 5 Lines)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
*The Sufi poet Rumi wrote; “The lover asked his beloved, do you love yourself more than you love me? The beloved replied, I have died to myself but I live for thee.”
He sang sweet songs, sweet needle point lullabies
His eyes were crystalized, their awestruck blackness ate me whole
I stayed mesmerized by his carelessness and smooth complexion
He spit ease and promised comfort
His perversions helped to define me
He fed off the helpless story my eyes told
Like a rat chewing holes in already worn socks
The deeper the needle dug, the closer we became
2 more strangers brought together by a spoonful of pretty crystal flakes,
Praying for something better
The dope trampled through our veins, fusing us together
I take the shot and let it break me to pieces
I become fragments, collaged together to make one unnecessary disaster
I am legs. I am eyes. I am lips. I am warmth. I am sultry. I am body language.
I am delirium. I am carelessness.
I am 37 flavors of wreckage
I am the thrust in his hips and the look in his eyes. I am property.
I am the dope sack and the remains left behind
I am just weight on the mattress
I am another girl on another motel bathroom floor
I am the holes in my arms
I am confined, super glued to a picture of a drug addicted whore
Yet, I still believe I am endless
I stay paralyzed in this moment, in my fear of a better way
In this ecstasy
I stay paralyzed in my regrets, in my remembrance of all things lost
In all the moments I lost my control in an empty dope bag
It wraps around me like lights on Christmas tree
My bad decisions and remorse surround me
In a cheap motel room with broken windows and a broken tv
It breathes in my heartbreak and exhales my defeat
I am alone but my broken parts fit right in
The sticky windows separate us from daily life
This is a place of isolation, not escape
The morning sun doesn’t shine on us
We’re just chasing after freedom in the wrong place,
Singing our needle point lullaby.
The point of no return could be global or individual
but never is it in the middle.
It is a horizon of dreams aloft in hope held by tentative
strands of rope that weaken and deny what hearts are
seeking. It is love, stirred with hate that drips need to
bleed us, heal us and force our tired cope. It is a circle
never ending, a line never bending, and it holds questions
with no answers, like keys to kingdoms none can find to
turn or master.
It is that door, the door, where dear ones come and go,
ones who carry joy, hold us, love us, then, in time
they lack reasons to feel or the want to know us, so, no,
I mean, yes, it is not long-term, strongly rooted trust.
It is a strange, bewildering, momentous fuss that boils in
us until we bubble up our filthiest cuss.
It is same attempts in a familiar game of strange
ranging from old to presentations tweaked as new
that leave us standing without scent of a clue. It is
the reason creating all things we do and the matter
with our universal supply of glue. It is your craziness
fondling my insanity, too.
As a match, it does flame fan mankind’s fire to rise in
heat stroked red curls ever higher. It is the silence
that secrets our desires and the stillness of hush-laced
conspires. It causes human hands failed attempts to grab
sky-warm, star blankets, not to be human had.
It is a riddled fear maze forcing us to run, to race by men
with aimed happy guns, to quick stride far from addicts
selling sons and slowly consider embracing those we have
shun as we forgive ourselves for all never seen done.
It is another day, and, say, someday it might not come.
We are a jelly jar full of pencils new in town.
From Europe we came heads up, points down.
No fancy names, we shared the same woodshed
and thanked Welches jelly for this practical bed.
Lead was a number four and fatter than all.
Trim number twos, we all awaiting the call.
Writing and erasing, sometimes we paid
For frivolous writing the humans had made.
The sharpest point in the jar was funny ole Lead.
His weftage was smooth but his family all now dead.
Lead became smaller and smaller and in time
was nothing but a stub, when #2s were in their prime
It's unfair to be held back once you know our point of view
to trash cans we go for no reason with no expectation to sue.
Till one day we snap and die from being tossed
A point without a pencil, life is colder than frost
Scatter my ashes at Pemaquid Point,
Let the wind sail them home to the sea.
Cradle of life, be my cradle in death,
And set my spirit free.
Sun will warm the daylight hours;
The lighthouse illume the night;
Waves provide rhythm and gulls give voice---
Music to ease my flight.
Eternal rocks will form my tomb,
Sand my quilt shall be,
Protecting from shipwreck and raging storms,
And I’ll become one with the sea.
The man stumbled on, wanting to get as far away as possible
the sights he had seen and lived through too terrible to contemplate.
How could another human deliberately inflict such awful things on another.
He could see a gentle stream of smoke arising from the distant chimney
and headed for the shelter it offered, staggering on until he reached it.
It was a pretty cottage nestled deep into the hillside and isolated.
He tumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor.
Mistily he drifted in then out of consciousness unable to focus
aware vaguely of a gentle touch that soothed and replenished.
He drank from the cup pressed to his lips and then let go.
The old lady shook her head at the follies of mankind,
and set to work bandaging his festering wounds.
She made a drawing potion to clean out the poison
that had taken a fierce hold racking him with fever.
Then she covered him and stoked up the fire.
For three days he lay in a coma muttering about the war,
not an ordinary one, oh no, this war caused carnage.
Evil stalked the land every hand turned against the other.
Sons killing fathers and brothers and to what point?
A simple disagreement about Creed had started this.
Weakened by the ravages he was slow to fully heal
yet he learned much from the old lady causing him to rethink.
To look at things with eyes a-new seeing the other point of view.
These new values he took with him when he left thanking her gratefully.
He set out on a new route, his task now to heal and bring peace.
Standing a-midst the crowd on a small hillock he taught them new values
not by preaching as such but by parables that showed the way to peace.
After all he would say; Pause and Think, For What are We without hope?
Everything gone by can be changed, all we have to do is care and act.
So lit the small flicker in your heart and fan up a healing blazing flame.
Will tomorrow be smiles and lovely
Will your smile ever be real to me again
I don't know how to change what is
Time has creeped upon you and I
Grey is our hair and loose is our skin
Those things don't matter
Just the way you speak unkindly
Hurts me to my soul
Bitter blood boils through my veins
Tension causes stress points in my face
My smile has been away for awhile
I miss that smile
I miss your laughter
What should we do or say?
Somedays I feel like I'm surrounded by bars and bricks
encaged on a stage in tar that sticks.
There's an agonisingly unfamiliar reflection in the mirror,
as my eyes detect an unrecognisable inferior figure.
I can't see the stars in the sky at night,
and the sun doesn't rise to provide daylight,
creating days filled with unpleasant darkness,
feeling the hate, I will for heaven sent brightness.
It would be nice to see a flicker,
a shooting star or something quicker,
as my impaired eyes see unseeingly at paradise.
It seems these days have perfected imperfection and sadness,
as though infected but immune to antidote injections that stop madness,
and the bad feel projecting out onto these days seemingly disastrous.
So I turn to alcohol and slowly increase the dose
and down the booze until I doze,
to awake with the shakes that alcohol creates,
reaching straight for the glass of straight voddy,
drowning myself down in hate toward the junkie category.
A way I find carries me through this hell that flattens me,
clouding my mind, shielding hurt that comes with thinking clarity.
Leaving me imprisoned and unable to escape this reality.
………………………………………………………………………….
Somedays I feel like I'm surrounded by bars and bricks,
so I drink water and take vitamins to get far from my minds tricks.
My mind digs up thoughts sick and twisted
from the ditches of the mental scars life inflicted.
I see a full moon but no stars in the sky at night.
There must be a faint cloud blocking that far travelled light.
Throughout the day I stay active as it distracts the gloom
and subtracts it until a world seemingly more attractive resumes.
I shrug off the booze and don't meet the thugs
that deal drugs and rise above a life for chumps.
I start these days feeling down in the dumps,
but if I live the right way I move passed the grumps.
I feel that just the moonlight moves me to comfort,
I perk as I forget today and all that work.
Tomorrow is another first,
I think life offers more than I deserve.
I tried to reason with you, but you turned your back on me
Tears formed in my eyes so blue, but you turned your back on me.
When I arranged to meet, you said you were working till late -
Then I saw you out with Sue, but you turned your back on me.
What went so wrong between us - I thought everything was fine
You swore rumours were untrue, but you turned your back on me.
Our son misses his daddy; he’s too young to understand
I prayed each night we weren’t through, but you turned your back on me.
I can’t understand why you walked out on your family
Why you’ve bid us both adieu, but you turned your back on me.
Syllable checked with how many syllables – 14 per line. Ghazal form
H/M in original Contest which was judged in March
Submitted to second chance #2 contest Sponsored by Broken Wings awarded 1st place 4/14/16
Submitted to First place only contest sponsored by Laura Loo
03~19~16