Best Possessing Poems
Alone and left to contemplate,
had I a pair of wings,
I’d fly away and search the world
for the peace of wild things.
To live among the animals
and sense their lack of guile
existing in the here and now,
each moment spent worthwhile.
And free of life’s addictions,
material wealth and greed—
possessing very little,
according to the need.
But should I ever so depart
it’s uncertain I’d return,
for then I'd have a lifetime’s worth
of so much to unlearn.
I was the object of your affection,
Useful for a time;
Lost in the ritual of loving
The man I thought you were.
How much of me did I give you
In the gardens that tumbled over the wall?
In the home that was your castle
Where the inner layers of my being
Lay exposed, vulnerable and imperfect?
You took all that filled your own need
And left me devalued in humiliating silence
While you manipulated your scraps of power.
Your love was the fantasy of possessing
All that gives your existence meaning;
Your illusions trampled the passion
Tenderness and trust that was yours alone.
With what do you fill the hollow inner spaces
Of your being? Hiding behind the mask of greed;
Unwilling or unable to grasp the anguish
Of those who bear the consequence
Of your flawed decisions.
Those who have no choice; the victims
That get in the way of your eagerness
To continue your dance
With the harlots of commerce.
And I am alone,
With the whispers of deprivation and denial.
Processing the pain of what I am
Who I was and what I might become
Between the no longer and the not yet,
Can I run fast enough to be me again
In this world where the mirage of being
Becomes ever more elusive?
If wealth is now your blessing,
what then was the prayer?
Avarice, its goal possessing,
yet in penury, despair.
I see them often in the store
eyes ahead, regard for none.
Against the classes, tacit war—
Modus Operandi: shun.
Vaunted compounds they do flout—
absent grasp of their chagrin—
for walls and gates that keep us out
are prisons trapping them within.
They say those vexed by paucity,
should flee to foreign air,
for wages here of poverty
would make them wealthy there.
Thus, high above the world they scan—
well hidden from our sight—
discounting what the common man
is suffering tonight.
1st Place: Sing to Me Contest
Prompted by the remark made on this topic by fashion company Nicole Miller’s
CEO Bud Konheim. Thanks to Roy Jerden for his thoughtful help on the fifth stanza, allowing for much greater impact.
With a special nod to the song Royals by Lorde, which has a very compatible message.
While I gaze in your eyes, cool cerulean blue,
Sifting night, straining stars through morning’s sweet dew,
I can fathom the depths of empyreal skies,
Angels fluttering by, riding wild butterflies
While I gaze in your eyes, changing, aqua-blue greening,
I’m sucked into chasms, cascading, careening,
And yield to enticements which meekly disarm,
Seeping virtuous beauty, sad sensuous charm
While I gaze in your eyes, bleeding fiery blue
Ever tempting with treasures, with pleasures for two,
Being caught at the core of a blazing sapphire
Possessing, enthralling, aflame with desire
While I gaze in your eyes, misty emeralds, deep green,
Veiling laughter and banter, and echoes between,
Then I dream, so it seems, in whatever the place,
Of your scent, of your breath, of your radiant face
While I gaze in your eyes, at times placidly blue,
Near’ as calm as the weirs in the woods all bedewed,
Forty winks relegate to a shimmering lake,
Gently floating on lilies, while waiting to wake
While I gaze in your eyes, caught engulfed in the greens
And consigning my fate unto verdant ravines,
My reactions, at length, become shyer and shyer
Reminiscent of ravens at risk in the briar
While I gaze in your eyes, restless, hesitant blues
Overwhelming sensations with turbulent hues,
I’m succumbing to waves of a storm battered sea,
Being cast like a plank, never meant to be free
While I gaze in your eyes, shadowed, Midnight Lake green
Glowing hazy with dreams, misty thoughts so serene,
Sudden silence befalls me, a fast sinking stone,
Looming lost in your eyes, I am never alone
While I gaze in your eyes, saddened, lachrymal blue,
Spilling trickles of rain, pearls obscuring your view,
I’ll attend to your anguish and feelings morose,
Lightly kissing your tears, touching, holding you close
While I gaze in your eyes, pulsing infinite green
Of the earth and of heaven and all in between,
It is simple to see that my hands can hold all
Of the treasures I find which so humbly enthral
While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re bountifully blue,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning is granted to few...
While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re blindingly green,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning cannot be foreseen...
Yet I hope... and I wait...
~
She reached for the ribbons of her gown
not knowing why, but she held them in her hand
as she floated through the ever changing mist,
whites and grays in a swirling pattern,
mesmerizing in blends and shifts,
blurred yet possessing a clarity she could not explain
or cared to think about right now
She looked down on herself in her bed sobbing,
clutching tightly a dampened pillow, lonely, a photo
in a silver frame on the bedside table, missing...
now very confused as a peaceful awareness wrapped about her warmly,
caressing her spirit, washing away the pain,
the sadness, the torment which she fought now to remember
as it drifted below, creating new shadows about her feet
but distant, never forgotten, she couldn’t, it was promised…
Once more the satin ribbons were pulled gently, guided
as if a feather laced kite on a silver string embracing blue skies,
dancing about in the slow rhythm, spun in clouded dreams,
breathless she soars higher, it seems towards the sun
or perhaps a light of a different source, it felt soft, cool
beckoning her and she yearned for it…
for some reason it felt right
Stars swept past her in wiry glistening designs
like a sparkler at a summer cookout waved through the air
in abstract cherry-lime glowings and apple pie tickles and she smiled,
for the first time in a long time as the moon disappeared on the horizon,
embracing this new experience she continued allowing the tender tugs on her ribbons
to move her freely, when she felt something, it was a hand on hers,
helping her hold the ribbons, it felt familiar, safe, comforting
When she saw his eyes, as clear as she had ever seen anything,
deep and friendly, soothing just as she had remembered…remembered?
He took her by the hands and he came even more into focus
“Hi there, I have missed you,” he sighed and she knew it was him
He was here, wherever here was, he held her in his arms now as he said,
“I promised you I would love you eternally, I have been waiting for you”
She cried again, happy tears as she whispered. “You did, you did, is this…”
“Shhh,” he placed a caring finger to her lips…
Prologue:
It takes a heart free of hate
to let go of a false ownership
to step beyond your fears
provide strangers a helping hand
It should be a pre-requirement
of possessing our largest organ
that which clothes a person’s frame
everyone should earn their coat of skin
defines them as humans
than we could easily separate and remove
the demons roam Earth disguised as people
they sat paralyzed
as various notes brushed lightly against their senses
eventually accompanied by bare traces of rain
stroked their faces with naked fingers
occupied their emptiness
with the welcomed whispers of music
spread their lips
leaving a lucent mark of bliss
on the bones of their cheeks
the melody
drew them into an imaginary reality
safe from the ugliness of their truth
“another day of hell on Earth”
(a hell willingly supplied by hollow frames reciting words from their Fiery Red God while hiding behind a faith they never understood)
temporarily frozen against the symmetry
of an angels canvas
they would breath the unabridged artistry
for a brief but satisfying moment
the musicians for the time being where their Gods
and they relished in the quenching fruits
filled their empty dreams
the simple beauty of song was undeniable
Epilogue:
It takes a heart free of hate
to let go of a false ownership
to step beyond your fears
provide strangers a helping hand
It should be a pre-requirement
of possessing our largest organ
that which clothes a person’s frame
everyone should earn their coat of skin
defines them as humans
than we could easily separate and remove
the demons roam Earth disguised as people
An appeal of poetry
is its lack of rules...
though not to be loose
as a plucked goose –
without bare essentials
for flight
struts of logic,
living words
that excite with lift
long after the reading
and initial gliding
a pleasant aftertaste
not necessarily sweet
often profound such seasoning
(therefore, freedom unbound
can be a self-inflicted
noose – God yet dealing
with His man, on the intellectual
physical loose
Poetry~ a harbinger of potential wings
Poetry~ the elastic of sling-shot words
woven hemp of curiosity and
senseful affixation, tautening the
the literary-bow
for enabled focused release
Poetry, the loftier dialogue of both
war and peace
can be a voice of cold desertion
while also the arms of love's entreating
embrace...
with pestilence of hell
while equally possessing
the charm of saintly chants~
Poetry, the voice of victory
and defeat, co-joining of
calm with fear, for their
similarity of awe
Poetry, a writer's quest to make
sense of both soothing nature
and seasonal temperament
of our creator
His sunny risings then quakes
and deluges confounded–
poetry, somewhere within
our fanciful journeys
imagines a deeper truth
that witty penetration
will hopefully incant off the page
rising up and out into blissful new
unbound, forever enlightening living
reality
Poetry, a soaring liberty
and grounding addiction....
Encage us we are of collective souls
Display us in prisoned wallpaper as ghouls
Send us into these sepsis tanks, in tin cans
in torture dungeons, in faraway lands
Mistaken for us are the migrants
who don’t belong in our black hole,
ripped from their family’s arms,
and broken, it has a toll
Try to discern, unchain me,
give me the time of day
I’ve not done any of what you say
I’m here, do you not see me?
I’m tucked in all of your publicity
Before us you stand prestigious -n- tall,
your toughness shared inside our halls
Donning is the blood red Maga cap a telling of your gang
and Jackboots as they were worn by the Sturmabteilung
Wings reinforced by the sword’s blows, in your case
against the chains that contain, and any empathy inside
Keeping you safe an expressionless speech,
seal the deal it shall seal my unmerciful fate
Judged and sentenced without any assemblance
I see right through your imminent coarse leather, and
by the end of your reign, hard you’ll fall
And later the field forces in which you thrive
rotting torn in shreds, but still alive,
as shall be fathers ripped away from family
Have you not exhausted every remedy for me?
Infection is your reasoning,
concede for me and it shall be litigation of guilt
Rewards you’ve given, they’ve taken
and so, forsaken I be
Regardless of it, they have me in error,
as prison wallpaper
I work in the fields, a visa allows it
I wear pastel colors, a straw hat covers
possessing no tats, what of straw hats
What of straw hats?
“No one worth possessing/Can be quite possessed;/
Lay that on your heart,/ My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone.“
- Excerpt from Sara Teasdale’s “Advice To A Girl”
That Precious Stone
I am that precious stone
described so beautifully by
a poetess, deceased, whose wisdom shone,
so listen now, and grasp me well. . . .
My grace can make you sigh.
Though a treasure, I am not frail.
The boldest of all souls I can make cry.
I’m truth; I can be hard and cold.
A love affair may fail,
but love is not to be controlled.
Gaze long; my glitter, icy white, will tell
you of the view you need to know.
More valuable than gold,
the wisdom I possess can flow
from me to you. Against your heart, just hold
me, taking in my energy!
Then let your knowledge show,
for truth, you know, can set you free.
Pure love inside you finally will grow.
Once grasped, my essence is your own.
(Inspired by Sara Teasdale's poetry
and the "Stoned Contest" of Catie Lindsey)
A little tale about the real me
twisted all inside as can be
the visions of the end
is all i see
F.T.W. setting my self free
waking up with the thought
i survived.
"SURVIVED!" another dream
holding my head under water
no one can hear my screams
cursing each and everyone
for this demon has won
taking over my soul
ripping out all my sanity
reliving over and over
the day i took my own life
my own hell is more than an element of a dream
slicing my most deepest vain, with the dullest knife
a fear so dark lashing out a terrorized scream
reality, to sanity, losing my main brain
a deep dark fear lurking, red blood stain
creeping up a MOSH caught in the way
F.T.W. we are all to blame
inside I dread the day of my rebirth
shout my guts into space for I have faced
to slow down the beast with a potent power of radiation
a frame out demon skinning the philosophy you once new
an evil more than vile, a poison worst than sin
motivating his way in to my voyage of my on tormented life
a DEMON dust from Neptune possessing me its rings
never to think in my wildest observation
I would encounter my own depths of a zero pointless energy
giving to my by the lighted gravity of humane
restricted on the eyes, for the ones who do not wish to see
a trance faster than the speed of light
ending myself to a forever night
fighting with them who reject to see a demon so twisted
dropped from the cosmos of realistic
no one wanting to acknowledge the relativistic way
that time travel out*** and Demons travel in***
lost forever in this rotten being
making me shout out loud to he
who knows my name
dealing with the devils Darkest Poet
in a Dark Poets game
-contest-
just a dream soupppppers lol. : )
Angels come in a variety of sizes,
often unexpected, full of surprises.
Times when we’re in direst need,
without fanfare or showy parade,
they’ll comfort us with timely aid,
being sympathetic, they pay heed.
Possessing no halo that can be seen,
they’re often someone who has been
a familiar face in the neighbourhood.
Maybe an acquaintance living near
who helps us vanquish doubt and fear.
At the onset, it is clearly understood
they seek no reward nor compensation.
Showing no bias or dogmatic persuasion,
Angels are there when ill fortune overtakes,
and we feel cornered; the future bleak.
Bolstering our resolve, they’ll quietly speak
to restore optimism, and relieve heartbreaks.
But to see Angels we must first open our eyes,
as they favour no stereotype. We must recognise
they come in varied sizes and temperaments,
displaying no signs, such as halo and wings,
nor playing harpsichord, as a heavenly choir sings,
being plain folks, without musical instruments.
Nonetheless, they restore our peace of mind
when our need is greatest. Ever welcome, we find
their presence alone, exerts a becalming effect.
Without Angels to ease times of deep despair,
our burden, could prove impossible to bear.
Such Angels are ones we love and respect!
Rhymer. June 1st, 2016
Winged, winking devils dance
on onyx tinted wings entice
burnt appendages so broken inside rib cage
Unable to fly out of this hell hole
a shadow lifted nevermore
a touch as cold as night lures steel cuts
knees buckle, locked down
nowhere to run from
Rusted chains tighten
each new link pierces,
digs deep the heart's flesh
not enough mercy to shred apart
desire kept it beating just
....this must be what love is
bound in arms
blinded souls cannot escape
Tormented visions
a dark cloud silhouette
spinning around the sun
ravished by chaos
an ancient evil curse arises
within shadows suffering
darkness inside embers burning
with hot pain buried inside ashes
Deeply rooted demonic forces spawn
an evil eye turns
evolving in bad deeds
capturing the innocence of the human
sacrifice
one beast of an unclean spirit
possessing love charms of a snake
coils with lust
putting a heart in chains
attacking with wickedness
Fallen angel filled up inside
hate and pride
cunningly from out of the ashes
remains a demonic lapdog
violating innocence
Soul of impurities
a shadow grows darker
in every love that is taken
unpure vessel when the eyes open
to the dawning light
A collaboration by Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
Diana, Nature’s Guardian
Defending purity, virtues, by preordained, destine.
With faithful diligence I oversee all life that’s birthed.
Celebrating nature as its radiant guardian
Fulfilling life’s desire with independent strength girthed.
I am Diana, Goddess of hunting wild animals.
Protector of the natural world both domestic and wild,
Camels, beetles, jackals, deer, hogs, flowers, myrtles, squirrels -
All in my magical care live wonderful lives beguiled.
Fertility and childbirth, my responsibility,
Accomplished spontaneity living, functioning well.
Reflecting light among the beasts with great nobility.
An accomplished war-like goddess guarding while lives impel.
Hunting dogs track down their prey; fearful deer run. I am there.
Staying in the midst of them observing, balancing, and keeping.
Preying is part of life’s design sustained with greatest care.
Plants and animals live mortal lives wisdom possessing.
Plundering men cause great concerns that must be soon resolved.
Wreaking havoc here on earth, plowing jasmine, balm, mugwort,
Destroying creatures, felling trees, habitats requiem.
Man must change his wasteful ways to prevent my last resort.
Mother to the animals I recycle elements.
Wildlife conservation thrives, careful awareness acting.
Take heed ravenous plundering men, lest my anger vents
And another species takes your place, last choice exacting.
You can find me in my sacred place among quiet oaks.
Cherishing my own chastity, purity makes me swoon.
Walking in my natural world hearing each frog that croaks.
Living flawless beneath God’s sun, reflections from the moon.
© August 1, 2010
Turbidity
Turbidity’s
An artifice of
Being Human
One who is
So confused
So disordered
Or even one
With a Turbid
Imagination!
Being Turbid
Allows its Owner
To be or seem to be
In turmoil or
In degrees of
Real or Fake
Confusion
Making situations
Quite interesting!
This attributes
A most likely
Pejorative symbol
When intentionally
Used to obfuscate
Human interactions
Or to be just
Plain difficult or
Uncooperative!
Possessing bouts of
Seeming Turbidity
For the Poet
Can also be
That perfect
Literary Conceit
To challenge
To mystify
All readers true!
Such notions of
Verisimilitude
Or better yet
Literary Truth
Methinks would
Maketh the likes of
Keats, Eliot, Pound
Among other greats
Jumpeth all for joy!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 14, 2016 (Accentual Meter)
A dry habitat where sailing boats were invented
and the paper, pens, keys and toothpaste.
Also where beer was a national currency
and the last dress standing is preserved.
This dwelling offers worship to more than a thousand deities
and cats’ funerals are honoured with the shave of the eyebrows
The most numbered Arab citizenry
possessing the globally most spanned river course.
Eye painting is practiced by both genders
for healing ability and a cover against the sun.
Even with the myth of mummification and the awe of Giza
It is certainly true that one of its habitations
Was found to be swallowed by the sea