Best Proffered Poems

Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
Gate,
Stood opposite the empty wood
Where the vacant threshold silently awaits,
I pause, when, resonating quietly back...
I now hear...
Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood 
Tugging like a...

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*Note 
I had to bring this one back, though I've been posting mostly new writes here that PS hasn't seen before. This poem has been edited many times over the years. I consider it to be among my best. The meter and rhyme structure are...

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Colors daubed for seasons' scenes
          I sift through life for what it means
               In spite of chaos, shades and flings
  ...

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Stood upright, between two roads,
On a thin metal rail,
A solitary, brown coloured bottle 
Of beer,                              ...

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This morning I woke up and bend my knees
To enter the highest of holy place
Here from my Patmos to see the Shekinah seas
And taste the eucharist of grace.

I am praying man, for prayer is the only eye
I have to see the things unseen
The promise of...

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She senses before she sees
The manicured nails - the elegant fingers
Holding out the hundred dollar bills - enticingly - so temptingly
A generous nights takings of busking here
In one proffered hand
She grabs at it petrified it might be an illusion
Evaporating in a puff of smoke

Fingers hold...

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Old and ugly and well married is the visage
that I carry, and yet, there is another world
that keeps opening up its magic door.
It sends me notes and emissaries
that I could be, 
I should be much more than what I am.

The first message, that I was...

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He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught the junior high Sunday school class and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side, he 'stilled' moonshine way back...

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I was pushed to write this comparison after reading the poem on Byron by the souper poet Gary Bateman.
Wandering on internet I found the Byron's version of Francesca's words in CANTO V of Dante's Hell and I was curious to compare his translation with mine....

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The paintings where discovered in an old barn
The crime of the century
All six paintings masterpieces
All the locals where questioned at length and width
No one had but a single clue
Except for the local art dealer
He whispered to the inspector
I saw a very colorful van
Drive off in...

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The wound inflicted, you will never see,
for it lies in the recess of my mind
Internal is the bleeding; let it be!
You try, but peace of mind you can not find

Who is the God you worship? Speak His name!
I want to know; does he condone this...

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Sweet Talkers of the Devil

Reptiles in human suits are the true sweet talkers of the devil,
and are well known among the various societies in our world
as slick, sleek actors who fancy the breaking of common law
virtues by their actions in supporting ungodly acts of a...

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Those rarer men I once fondly 
knew...                             
Many dead now...
What remains of them they are so 
Few....

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"We are stardust
we are golden
and we've got to get ourselves
back to the garden" - Joni Mitchell

In hallowed halls the ancients spun their tales
on how it was existence came to be
each version proffered as the holy grail
but in the end just vain philosophies

For though their quest...

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She was always there 
     with her big green eyes
Looking up at me 
     and into the skies.

Her dreams were of birds
     and of prowling about.
I tried keeping her in
   ...

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