Best Privately Poems
As you open the door...
you are momentarily transported
back to an innocent child like state.
Your concentration wavers
as your senses react like a 4th of July
firework display.
Large, colorful posters cover the walls
surrounding you...
offering tasty descriptions of many of the items.
All the while the scents of chocolate, fruit,
along with a variable feast of
confectionery delights are taken in
with every breath.
You look around...it's almost your turn.
You must decide...but it can not be taken lightly,
or simply blurted out in a moment of desperation.
The moment has arrived as you step up to the counter.
As eye contact is made,
your mind gives second thoughts to your selection.
Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself...
you can do this you tell yourself,
as the words start to form.
" I'll have a scoop of chocolate chip mint...a scoop of fudge nut brownie,
and a scoop of strawberry cheesecake in a
chocolate waffle cone dish...topped with a modest swirl of whip cream
and hot caramel drizzle, crowned with one perfectly positioned cherry."
Your mouth waters as you take possession of your masterpiece.
As you turn, you look proudly at the others in line,
letting them see your perfectly proportioned glacial reward.
As you grab your spoon, you waste no time leaving,
changing back into an adult, climb back in your car
to feast privately...like a hungry mouse hiding...
eating the last piece of cheese.
P.R.Deremer
as the weight of my breath becomes
one heavy mist gathering smoke
on the floor, until i holler inside my lungs
as if to collapse or disintegrate
into a pool of mashed bones…
i call you privately
a silence totally numbing my senses,
through nipped murmurs as we are now
strangers in the rain with fractured hands,
drunk on interludes of unfinished tunes
while the moon in your eyes blinds me, naked.
..................................
Contest of Laura Loo: Deep and Dark ll
Submitted 10/25/2017
A tortured spirit, earth bound wreaths in agony,
trapped within human body, desperate for freedom.
To be able to escape and hide from other's sight,
to escape the whispers that cut like knives.
Always chained, seeing nothing from balanced point of view.
Reading friendly gestures as threats, wanting love and yet,
unable to give back due to fear and lack of trust.
Forever tied by the silken threads of bi-polar.
Looking always with suspicion on friendly gestures
searching them for hidden agenda or betrayals.
Often over loving, smothering the participant
only to suddenly withdraw and push them away.
Talking to one's self often just privately ranting
blaming all but one's self caught up in madness.
Few things seem to relieve this sense of persecution
and so this tortured soul fights on forever trapped.
A contracted seafarer...concerning no servile rank,
kept e'er involved watch...away from menial daily tasks top deck,
while steadfast wary of...the diligent taskmaster's whip.
A dawn swift gust...brushes the ship from a rocky pillar,
duly rallies from rest...aids calamitous bellows from crow's nest,
witnessed by crew...rose an angel disguised with devil horns.
Seawater laps feverishly...against ship's wooden hull,
as panic over breed minds...once sturdy legs go feebly about,
cascading thoughts grips privately...every man for himself.
Another abrupt action...frees a churning sea expounds,
and an opening hole...devouring anything within its midst,
as desperation consumes...a ship has long met its doom.
A lone selfless soul of limited else...moved past the lost,
and hastily clutched a burdened javelin...and hoist it upwards,
with his petitioned combined strength...released the deadly blow.
Her dying scream...was drowned out by restored happy voices,
and a wealth of well-wishes and praises...honoring accolades,
as lone eyes of a humble sort...gaze a siphoning pass.
The warlock said to the witch,
Man, ain't it grand living large like Oz,
being bigly Emerald City rich
The witch crowed back,
I get paid good for giving speeches
that have no policy incantation glitch
The warlock laughed hard and long,
then chortled with maniacal glee:
I like the way you got a huge fee
for selling that "Deal Me In" dirge song
The witch returned the faint praise
with a piercing scowl and a sinister smile
You got those lemmings running thru a maze,
chasing your tale that it's all rigged anyhow
The warlock started getting miffed,
and his hair began to burn with an orange glow
He mockingly said, Endora, all the polls show
that you're a walking political gift
The witch angrily retorted: What spell did you use
to make yourself become 50 feet tall
Oh yeah, that's right. Should Humpty Dumpty lose,
it won't be much of a fall off that stupid wall
The warlock let out a sigh, and said:
You know we have to spit venom
at each other on the campaign stump
That's just how it is, and has to be
The witch let out a sigh too, and said:
Since our youthful days of wearing denim,
it's something we can't tell the voting chumps
That we're really friends, you and me
Then they both hugged each other,
and said goodbye to one another privately
The witch winked at the warlock, and cackled this:
No matter who wins,
I'm offering well wishes to you
So don't forget to send me a mean tweet
The warlock nodded back at the witch, and bellowed this:
Once the results are in,
I'll reply with well wishes too
But of course, don't you forget to delete
The devil's in my room and he's speaking to me
I'm supposed to just swallow what he's feeding to me
Let me tell you what he said
I'll keep you company when you don't have the strength to leave bed
I'll be the reason you can't drop to sleep when you lie down
All those so called friends, where are they right now
Quit being emotional, or I'll give you something to cry about
You pushed everyone away, so it's just me
You'll only hurt yourself if you try to push me
I've been with you since you were 14 Alex, You should trust me
You've been free from self-harm for too long, once again you need to become friends with the knife
Who's going to care if you finish up ending your life?
Go ahead, Just take one cut with the blade and you can mend tonight
That's all it will take for you to stop losing sleep
You may aswell, your poetry isn't as good as it used to be
Every poem is the same "Blah Blah blah, I'm tired of depression abusing me"
You should respect me instead of attacking me, it's always been you and me
You mention my name on every page that you write
When all your relationships went wrong, I was the one who stayed by your side
I paid visits to you when you were in care,where was your mum at?
Drinking with your dad, and he's dead now and can't come back
But he didn't even want you when he was alive
Yet you take it out on me, when I've always been by your side
Bipolar is my brother, and you're upset I let him get to know you
Then I introduced you to my sister anxiety
This family was supposed to deal with everything privately
You blame us, But it was you who exposed you
The devil is depression and he's speaking to me
Said anywhere I go, he'll be leaving with me
A day no true artist would dare to paint,
Breathtaking colors by God’s hand alone,
Spoiled only by a dark and lonely figure
Dropping tears on a freshly mowed grass lawn.
A nostalgic woman of former times
When a friend might come and sit a spell,
This, though, is year Two Thousand Eight or Nine,
Belying that “No man is an Island.”
These Islands move like shells loose floating,
Privately on streets, behind closed colored doors,
Concealing problems they try to erase,
With their solitary searches for grace.
While wisdom’s left over figures of life,
Sit amongst God’s colors and doze alone.
there is a sentiment amongst the most public of believers &
even those nonbelievers who still hold some sick
compassion for them…
these
“privately religious,”
who do not parade around with the charlatans
who gather on sundays or get down on their little rug & face mecca,
and they are given some kind of
special treatment,
as being more “spiritual” &
possibly even leaning more towards the agnostic than being
true believers at all,
still, they hold the little books so tightly in their arms
when they go out in the woods behind their house to
be one with nature or
meditate to try & get to be
one with everything---
they step outside themselves in such a way
as to escape what is right in front of them &
say to all who ask what they believe:
“i believe in something…i mean, i have my own idea…i don’t go to church or anything”
as if the humans who do go to the worship extravaganzas
think any different?
as if the personal god that is supposed to answer their prayers is any more in tune with you
just because you don’t call it by the same name or
worship it in the same place.
each member of the privately religious
make themselves more ridiculous than those who get together,
because they sit alone like ****ing joseph smith & his plates,
still believing that there is a unique revelation coming down the pike
for them & only them.
Precariously personable
Privately peeved
Parading pompously
Pronouncing pretty paragraphs
Possibly pretending pompousness
Poetic permanence
Powerfully
Performed
I looked at the clock, My life was slowly ebbing away.
I didn’t think I would reach 40, What a high price to pay.
I was coming off tranquillisers 15 a day prescribed by my then G P,
But the withdrawal symptoms were so horrendous I could hardly see.
I was constantly being sick night and day,
All I could do was to sit and pray this nightmare would go away.
I couldn’t walk properly, My balance had completely gone,
I couldn’t pay privately, as money I had none.
I also had Agoraphobia, so I couldn’t even go out of the door,
This wasn’t a life worth living any more.
All I was left with, was to say a prayer,
To ask for a miracle. Lay my soul bare.
A week or so later, a letter in my hand,
An appointment with a new doctor, I could hardly stand.
Over the next year a miracle unfolded, bit by bit.
I didn’t even have to walk with my stick.
I started to go out a bit more each day,
Various obstacles got in my way.
But I was determined, I was not going back,
I mapped out a plan to keep myself on track.
I did it, I conquered my Agoraphobia, and got off the pills.
I even went to college for the first time to learn new skills.
I went on Radio, Television, Newspapers and Magazines all covered my story.
The miracle I prayed for had happened, mine was now the glory.
v
One morning Dee woke to find the most unusual toad
Perched o’er the water line in the “bowels” of her commode
She put on gloves and sought to catch the elusive creature
But no matter how hard Dee tried, she just couldn’t reach her
So to the local newspaper, Dee wrote for assistance
A letter to the editor described Dee’s persistence
To her shock, the letter appeared the very next day
With her email below it for helpful hints to convey
Nearly seventy emails made their way to Dee’s inbox
Suggestions aplenty on how this critter to outfox
Some offered to come to Dee’s house and catch the motley toad
A biologist warned, “It can’t swim; don’t flush the commode!”
Dee lived very privately and wanted no strange house guests
So she declined “in-person” offers to pursue this quest
By day the toad managed to slip out of Dee’s gentle grasp
At night Dee reached for a toothbrush, felt a slithery clasp
The toad she called Todd was quickly escorted out the door
Although the potential for warts, Dee certainly abhorred
Newspaper staff got a kick out of Dee’s predicament
They called the next day to find out how her efforts had went
To all of the kind emailers Dee wrote of her success
But the public’s interest Dee was unable to suppress
So she wrote another letter, proclaiming, “The toad’s gone”
Concern for this toad was a noteworthy phenomenon
Beneath Dee’s letter describing Todd’s new outdoor abode
Was a cartoon and an ode to the toad in her commode
*Believe it or not, this is true!!! Happened to me when I lived in a wooded area.
A helpful biologist said it was a "tree toad" and couldn't swim.
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and the inviting
gray chill in the air.
I meander
ever
so
slowly
past lawns
strewn
with a cluttered array
of pagan snow zombies -
staring blankly,
as I obliterate pint-sized
snow angels
failing to don halos
that could have easily been
brush stroked with
da Vinci's golden teardrops.
(Impoverished attention-getters)
"I suggest you peruse Alighieri’s 'Inferno' –
it may, at least, promote heat - if not hope!"
(Simpletons)
Frost continues to cloud my spectacles -
thick and relentless
eagerly permeating the glass -
endeavoring to dance
a feverish Fantasia foxtrot
upon the skins of my pupils.
My heavy feet scuffle
past these endearing peasants.
Bleak…frozen…
forgotten Mt. Everest tombstones.
Disgraced outcasts of embarrassment -
smashed against a stark white canvas
hands cut off –
sticking out their parched tongues
begging for alms.
Click and count.
Their fragile bodies so much alive
their dark, hallowed eyes
so
much
dead.
(So be it)
They stealthily huddle alone -
(Hah! I’ve created my own personal oxymoron!)
These gruesome street urchin waifs -
Dumber than a sackful of hammers and
frostier than a Maine Christmas morn,
convulsing and shivering ‘neath lampposts
without snow shoes or socks,
bawling and boo-hooing...
“Clutching weather-worn copies
of James Hilton’s 'Lost Horizon'
and littering the virgin snow
with salty saline discharge –
igniting street corner bonfires
without the faintest hint of smoke."
(Wasteful)
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and that magnificent gray chill in the air.
My arctic thighs carry me home now
where I am safe.
Where I can slam my door
and shut my eyes.
My cavernous domicile
whereas I can privately converse
with Mr. Dickens and Mr. O’Neill
and read “A Christmas Carol”
or “The Iceman Cometh” -
without a snaggle-toothed interruption...
Listen to the haunting strains of L’Inverno
from Vivaldi’s “Le Quattro Staggioni”
and cackle wildly as I burn first editions
of Clement Clark Moore’s
most infamous penning -
pour myself a
tall glass of ice cubes -
devour a heaping bowl
of vichyssoise -
scarf down a fudgcicle
and just...
turn the air conditioner
ON.
Tracking time has changed throughout the years
Improving how hours, minutes, seconds appear
Sundials, hourglasses, pendulums and more
Wall, wrist, mantle, waterproof - clocks galore
There is a certain beauty to time hanging from a chain
A charm of steady ticking from a wound-up spring
Some families hand down diamonds, silver, or lockets
Heirlooms that include timepieces in pockets
Traditionally these events are solemn occasions
Like weddings, high school or college graduations
Grandfathers will take sons or grandsons aside
To privately bequeath his pocket watch with pride
He will slowly raise the timepiece to his ear
Pausing to listen to the ticking gears
Dangling the chain he clicks cover to open
Reverently holding the beloved token
Peering into the crystal face with serious affects
Both mentally count the second hand’s ticks
With slight nod of head grandfather might relay
Special words of wisdom in his own way
I remember with fondness my own ceremony
Granddad’s advice more valuable than money
“The thing about time that will help you
Is be where you are whatever you do”
Thanking my Granddad we shook hands
In hindsight I know I did not fully understand
Years swiftly passed with many tick tocks
Today I give my Grandson Granddad’s pocket watch
Written 1-17-2016
Favorite Contest
By Casares Nance
Third Place
Last night I dreamt I heard my peacock companions
Crying in the night, so lost and terrified they sounded.
That is my life. I'm lost, and terrified. Nine years ago
At the request of my uncle the prime minister
I was sent away to America to be educated privately
And fitted to the position by the constitution of my
Country Solomon Islands I was to inherit, and become
Head of government. I was 8 when I moved.
It is kinda weird to have an entire country depending
On you to good and protect them I'm only 16 and
I already have my life planned for me in such a way I
Can not alter it. I'm not a prince but I have duties to
My people and my country as if I were one. This has
Been a strange life for me so far, really.
Thieving Without Conscience
There are thieves, and there are thieves without conscience. ..
Woe to the average Malaysia, of the latter are our elected politicians....
As the US treasury did put it so succinctly that there can be no doubts...
Malaysia as a sovereign nation has been robbed in broad daylight......
By our exalted policians entrusted to uphold our country's economy and its ideals..
By blatantly treating 1MDB as a vessel for securing immense sovereign funds...
And chanelling those funds into privately owned bank accounts...
Colluding with third parties that involved of all things, a so called Arabian prince...
Makes you puke just to think how our corrupted political bigwigs hasten to band together..
Just so that they can cling on to office and indulge in more misuse of power and plunder....
A political purist extols, Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. ..
That sums up nicely the gang of thieves who somehow determines how Malaysia is doing...
Malaysia has the dubious record of being the biggest kleptocracy case in American history...
The sheer magnitud of which involves billions and billions in US currency....
Those who have been following news about the 1MDB imbroglio since a couple of years ago..
Will recall the many evasive statements and misleading answers from 1MDB the vessel...
Through which billions of funds were raised only to be mysteriously siphoned off...
Involving convulated financial transactions that moved chunks of money across nations..
Poor Malaysians, we are still saddled with corrupted politicians and their cronies...
Hoping fervently that the big brother in the US Department of Justice will invoke some miracle...
T