Best Portending Poems
White Sand and Temporary Oblivion
For an aching moment
I faced dazzling
Gypsum and glass as splinters
Of sunlight pierced the air
Bouncing bright off the landscape at
Alamogordo ---fat Cottonwoods and
not a tree in sight not
Here, the sight of the unholy Trinity
test
Blessed and blast
A fitting slant rhyme for our
slanted
times
askew at
1700 Silica Avenue in a decidedly
different Manhattan where no
Dandy boulevardier would dare strut.
Castle Bravo likewise
No place to dwell as we
Did our best
to incinerate the century
Trolling for a toll in the ashes of the atoll.
No sufficient payment was made.
But all that brightness
those purblind moments flirting
With nothingness all
retreated
Like genie to bottle
Heard whispering,
"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds..."
Certain whispers linger
Portending brighter, more permanent
Non-being; so be it.
Love's Symphonic Passion
by Odin Roark
Shimmering whispers urge forth,
A beginning seeks release from darkness,
The voicing of struggle proclaims arrival,
Like miniature cymbals of resolute announcement,
The humble cries of emergence
Clash ever so quiet with air and space,
Once portending grace,
Now its melodic genesis.
The matrixes of parent/conductor
Anxiously hum nursery rhymes
Through white enameled side-rails,
Vertical portals to unfettered ears,
Absorbing even when sleeping,
Evolving passion's invitation.
The precious first movements
Grow from those one-finger dissonant phrases,
Sometimes pounded upon the black and white landscape
Where an merging piccolo's infant smile
Finds support by paternal contra bass and maternal cello echoes.
Remembrances of tinkling melodies
Soon enjoin its pure and simple
With conflicted movements of trial and error,
Evolving the inevitable adagio of growing up.
Hence forth
The scherzo's innocence of adolescence
Crescendos into threatening measures,
Where layered tones of choices
present challenge,
chaos,
counterpoint to independence,
or sympatric harmony.
The family of voicing
Develop love's thematic material,
Rhythms,
Keys,
And more complex harmonies,
Creating the free fantasia,
A coalescing of passion's varied workouts.
Its strings worn thin,
Arriving at life's largo movement of peace,
That place of reflective consonance,
The weight of its chambered containment
Rests forth its closing bars,
Housing now but the waning echo of a baby's chorus.
Its shimmering whispers
Float upon one last wave of the baton,
Stirring life's ethereal essence
Into heroic chorus
A higher bonding…
Awaits.
Silently the clouds cross the sky,
The wind whispers through the leaves of trees,
The moon has not yet risen,
And the last rays of light have faded away.
A few stars shed their feeble light,
Portending what is to come,
The flowers of day close to sleep,
And the flowers of night awake.
The jasmine is still heavy in the air,
The grass weak from the day’s sun,
Yields softly underneath,
And the nightingale sings.
The pomegranate tree drooping to the ground,
Hangs heavy with fruit laden,
Beckoning to Persephone,
To herald the coming of fall.
The June-bugs arise from their sleep,
Crawling from out the grass,
To fly clumsily into the night,
And complete their journey ere the moon rises.
The moon, ever eager to tarry,
Graces not the sky till late,
The resplendent stars, freed of competition,
Blaze in their chill fury.
The breeze speaks of the scents of the earth,
Of green and growing things,
That have bequeathed such tidings,
From time immemorial.
The night speaks of power and purity,
Of knowledge of its dark embrace,
Yet the comforting folds of night surround,
And give the world melancholy peace.
Oh fallen star of Bethlehem, your established moment shines,
upon canvas of harsh intent, descendent of heavenly design?
A mighty angel’s leading light to those befallen, pleasure-bent?
Are gleaming eyes masking spites or, our demands, aspiring content?
Looking toward skies o’er Bethlehem, as prides of mortal men delight;
bearing gifts; coffered obedience, marking paths, Magi alight.
When losing sight of stellar sign, in Jerusalem they did quick inquire,
at palace great, to a king divined; hoped route, from Herod, to acquire.
II
We saw a star (when in the east) and have come to render our obeisance,
said light has left us briefly, too the wakes of our continuance.
While in the kingdom his star was seen, glancing eyes into glass orbs stared.
Expectant sighs at skies portending, bejeweled fingers into cauldrons stirred.
A caravan of mystics then gathering, consigned to cross harsh lands at night.
Postured gifts, too much appeasing, a source of imminences, expelling light.
Great Herod stirred with agitation, “Summon to me, scribes and priest,”
and they spoke to him of Bethlehem, from whence shall come a Jewish King.
Elsewhere God’s swift messenger, arrives with tidings of glad news:
Rejoice! Rejoice for the Lamb’s shepherd! Blessed are borne Jacob’s sons to truth.
That one drawing light from the light’s giver, firstborn of heaven’s womb.
He has taken breath that men be delivered, fear no more, door’s enclosing tombs.
III
One question, in cautious need; discerns plucked from common threads.
What purposed such judicious leads, as that star’s light to Jesus led?
What cause that such symbol did cease, perhaps a plan most devious shed?
To turn also eyes of Herod east, these, jealous guards of scriptures read.
Oh bright stars over Christendom, look! Your beam’s a turning compass,
your ray, as flames with many tongues, scouring Earth in hopes of bliss.
Misleading truths, mounting traditions, swallowed lies drunk from waters shallow.
The wise one is made fool again, if needs a lamp, above a Christ we can follow.
With signs, divinities are misconstrued, as such, a star; still you teach our youth?
As light into the night deludes, beware, convincing knees to bending truths.
A road trip through the Pacific West,
from Seattle along Sequim,
Ocean Shore, Seaside,
all the way to San Francisco.
The Pacific roared beside.
Frequent signs warned of Tsunami hazard.
While a warning at a trinket shop
showed an evacuation route,
an ice cream ad promised a tsunami of delight.
People thronged the beaches en route,
least worried, all in mirth;
a gigantic tide was last on their list.
At Ocean Shore, a man and woman stood in tight embrace,
the lady sobbing without respite,
a personal tsunami on the heave,
wreaking havoc on their aching psyche.
The Pacific just looked on beside.
Humanity seemed a cluster of ants
on the rim of a tea cup left under a tap
savouring their last greedy grabs,
weeping over what is not.
The tap looks down upon.
Yet, away, unknown to them
two superpowers were locked
in an eye-ball confrontation
over things of least real concern
portending a nuclear conflagration.
Lo, the Pacific stands for peace
as her name really means,
while men portend real nemesis,
their own apocalypse.
Prologue
Abandoned and in disrepair the mansion
Is dark now; a story behind every stanchion.
An unwitting monument to a way of life,
Since foreclosed through bloody civil strife.
Antebellum
The hush of summer evenings cued the trilling
(Fiddled on hind legs accompanied by warty pouches)
Chorus; pierced only by the discordant creaking
Of unseen stairs rising to the house slave's quarters
Portending the disquiet of antebellum martyrs.
Wittiness trees attest in angles and chains
To the master's grid and shade the lanes
For the surrey whose wheels rutted the gateway
(Become artifacts) en route to soirées of gaiety.
The prairie land, violated by steel and condescension
To the roots of its towering grasses and purple gentian,
Forced to nourish seeds of an alien flora for hempen
Riches, patiently awaits its day of redemption.
Bricks of fertile earth fired over an Osage hearth,
By chattel hands, in mortise and tenons, gave birth
To a mansion at the prelude of a moral sea-change
That would divide the nation and break its chains.
Current Era
Their lives deprived of enslaved labor, the once-lived
Voices ebbed a little as each generation removed.
Shrouded in leaves of time they are a mute bequeath
Indelibly recorded upon the stories that lie beneath.
Dreamer boy speak for them now. Sing for bluestem that switched
Against the sky nourishing the thundering herds that provisioned
Native tribes. Rage for those hobbled to sow but never to reap,
Weep for a Nation gone mad and seeds planted too deep.
Reflections after touring an abandoned antebellum mansion.
Copyright Paul M Thomson September 2011.
Fear lies effortlessly in portending wait
to bare the intrinsic risk of chance.
View it not just as impending fate
nor play its victim by circumstance...
1/10/2019
"Fear is a slinking cat I find between the lilacs of my mind"-Sophie Tunnell
To the casual observer, even to herself sometimes,
She appears calm and collected.
But inside, the She-wolf stands on high alert,
Ever watchful, in a fierce state of attention.
Her eyes intensely attuned to the subtlest movements
In the world around her.
Her ears pricked up, listening
For the slightest sign of possible danger.
Her keen nose sniffing out any scent of mal odor,
portending threats to her well being.
Every muscle and fiber of her being ready
To move swiftly at a moments notice.
Don’t let her seemingly serene demeanor fool you.
She is ferocious and poised to pounce, in an instant.
She will attack and bite your head off, before you even know what hit you,
Just to protect herself and the young one inside.
I recollect we would,encircling a fire,congregate
Brew tea and pregnant stories of ancient time narrate
My grandpa would hours during nonstop preach
The inestimable merits of Dawn prayer and teach
Deserting wintry bedstead and its comfort
Cleansing,doing ablutions and to the masjid resort
Yet would hibernate and for a while snore
Something the hapless,antiquated elder imploded to account for
Instead on the blasphemous devil blast it
Spurn to avoid his assailable limit
Professing satan has peed in his ear
Portending any if to his alibi doesn't adhere
God is merciful and our flaws does tolerate
Gran dad's motto is only spank and flagellate.
Flowering bluebonnets will soon carpet fields;
Baby colts playing, kicking up their heels.
Indian paintbrushes will streak through the blue,
And gnarled oak trees budding will show off their hue.
Once I rode a horse through the bluebonnet's terrain;
Low hanging thunderclouds portending of rain;
Showers refreshing drenching my face,
My love by my side
Another time and another place.
Written: January 16, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Joseph May
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Adventure, Beginning
Coastal Dreams Echoing
Fearless Growing Horizons In Jumping Kismet
Laden Magically, Nebulae Oleaginous,
Portending Quicksand Reflecting Spangled Tussle
Unseen Vermilion Waves Xerox Yperite Zone.
Like a blade, a chill finds its way,
slicing through a closed window
portending a season approaching
as a flock rests during migration
filling a skeletal tree.
From a distance looking like
breeze tossed leaves
then take flight seeking
warmer climes, darkening momentarily
an otherwise daylight sky,
taking with them
a sense of serenity.
Some days linger like a song
You cannot rid your brain of
Slow minutes tick all day long,
When push comes to shove
Everything seems to go wrong.
Just getting through is a fight
Success is, ohhh, so elusive
Nothing seems to go right,
Even your peers seem collusive
Better just to stay out of sight.
Tomorrow will be better, I say,
Portending you'll reach your goal
Anything better than today,
When your gut stymies your soul
And nothing at all goes your way.
Written August 17, 2022
We hide in suburban castles
behind plaster walls cracked by caged voices
as sleepless nights lay siege to slumbering secrets
guarded by iron gates and wooden doors
weathered by unwelcome whims
We stare through rusted keyholes
only to crawl through locked windows
into a warring world of cloaked eyes
sneaking past discerning ears and puritan noses
ever suspicious of living life
We search for traces of love
indelible lines of beauty
recited by rhythmic ballerinas
graced with long legs and smooth backs
guarded by moral mothers and firm fathers
who smother our secrets with their own
We walk in yesterday’s shadow
in fear of tomorrow’s echoing footsteps
portending signs of ponderous hearts
which lead us back to the safety of obscurity
before we mistakenly conquer ourselves
Momentarily
by Odin Roark
How elusive the quest
To place oneself in sync
Wavelength to wavelength
Response to reply
So many agendas beg ignoring
Those places where integrity remains suspect
Where job
Marriage
Relationships
Friends
Acquaintances
Eye contact
Undeserved pleasures
Even fantasized harmony
Portending confirmation of truth
Are often merely layered fears
Forged in distrust
For lest we forget
No one promised answers
Even as schemas know no boundaries
The road signs always offering direction
To the many of want
Facilitating few of need
They nevertheless remain available
Such goes this phenomenon of plans
Diagramable life
Representation of what might be
But rarely is
What is intrinsically longed for
Yet seemingly uncatchable
Like forever morphing mercury
Still
So desperate are most
Clutching to random connection
Often without reason
That attention from others
Is embraced as self-realization
Perhaps a venture off the beaten path
A bushwhack through the untrammeled past
Might beg consideration
Where revisiting the child within
Will remind how infant outbursts
Conveyed rudimentary logic
When diaper rash urgency
Void of language
Save scream and cry
Defined simple organics
A voicing in search of form
So easy to ignore this
Time’s simplistic message
Reaching back toward the dawn of man
When primitive bone and stone
Drummed the truth of need
Food
Shelter
Cover
When duplicity hadn’t been invented
When progress was preserved by raw instinct
Today
Actuality is in questioned focus
Our civilized regression
This guised-in-furtherance flight
Toward make-believe escape
Has jettisoned logic into the abyss of ignorance
Manipulating instead today’s lie of norm
Into modern truth
The hunt will continue
Beneath self-created imprisonment
To find that somewhere yet to objectify itself
That place where slumbers intrinsic reasoning
Kept safe by nature’s heartbeat
Requires nothing but simple acceptance
Of that known simply as
Ever available
Truth
Searching minds continue
Trusting consciousness will prevail
Even allowing occasional laughter
Along the path where delusions entertain…
Momentarily