Best Pumped Poems
There’s a beguiling danger in beauty…
seduced as I was by the fickle fingers of fate musingly stroking my hair,
I envisaged
this lusciously lavish landscape
of sun-raptured heavenly hills and valid valleys
to be a lush, plush place for me to land ~
alas, such deception my naive perception did offer.
Buried beneath the facade of a fertile dream-come-true
and a mesmerizing mirage of natural light and zephyrus breaths -
where your thoughts hugged the horizons of my mind
like clouds on the edges of prairie dog skies
and where your stampeding passions trampled my inhibitions -
were delicate bandeaux of ice;
finespun and feathery like polar gossamer
that formed on the stems of your ruptured dreams
that then became my nightmare
when you had your hard freeze
while warm sap still flowed through your veins,
pumped and pushing through your broken being
and freezing on contact with the chilled clime
cocooning me, in a sudden silken surge of your glazing gauze
holding me, in the vivid wild magic of your frosted crystallized clutches -
fossilizing me, in icy opalescent ribbons of ornate whorls.
Unable to escape the grasping glacial petals of your exquisite pain,
your frost flowers plunged me into the frigid heart
of your bitter bluestem’s prairie winter...
There’s a beguiling beauty in danger
hypnotized and hijacked
as I was by the rhythmic sways of your tall grass ways -
your flickering tongue tasting my air
as my emotions were extorted
till I was bled white -
obviously oblivious
that I was being preyed upon
by a stealthy force of nature motivated by indigenous instincts.
Susan Ashley
March 13, 2018
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Poetry for the Sake of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
*bluestem: tall grass native to the Great Plains with bluish leaf sheaths*
*frost flower: thin layers of ice extruded from long-stemmed plants in autumn or early winter. These thin ice layers form dainty ‘ribbons’ or ‘petals’*
Why I did it, I don’t know
Tornado of regret tortures my heart
On a moonless night, he approached
Limping toward me as I pumped gas
Why was it fear and not compassion
With which I greeted him
Surely homeless, he must have slept ‘neath stars
Society’s outcasts camp on the beach,
Crossing the coastal highway only under night’s cloak
Deep lines on his sun-aged skin
Bespoke many years, perhaps 70
Dirty clothes tattered, barely covering his thin frame
No, I have no spare change
No, no, I won’t help you
I just wanted him to go away
Disappointment filled his eyes
He turned and hobbled to a nearby bench
When he sat, I was horrified
All his possessions lay beside him on the seat
An old Army cap he pulled out
And placed it on his head
He fought for our country
And I could not find a few dollars to help
As I drove away, I burst into tears
Feeling ashamed, disgusted with myself
Only two blocks from home,
I turned my car around
But he had moved on
January 13, 2020
there's too much sorrow...
don't you know
we are all going to die
a starting point always beckons a finish
sooner or later
no matter how
peaceful or painful
that final moment may be
you see...
it will come
for you
for me
There's too much sorrow
war
betrayal
so much I have seen
sickness sapping away
the mother-daughter moments
meant for me...
She struggled bravely
to set my fears free
But MS wouldn't let her be
My Mama left me
There is too much sorrow
the pain of being unloved
of trying to fit in
of trying to play the game
of success and fame
it all comes at a cost
so much is lost...
sacrificial moments
meant for family
There is too much sorrow
refugee misery
nowhere to be
no home
no destiny
just abject poverty
hearts left hungry
for a love
that the world
will not let them see
There is too much sorrow
tonight my heart is heavy
I'm tired of goodbyes
I'm tired of trying to fit in
I'm tired of pretense
I'm tired of...me
There is too much sorrow
Eyes are blurring
I can't see
the last lines I'm meant to write
Too tired to fight
Survival more than it's pumped up to be
Sleep....obliviousness of a dream
sweet it seems to me
you see...
There is too much pain
So write...
write for me
of happy
of make believe
of heaven
and eternity
of no pain
or misery
of no abuse
or fatality
of no tears
or cruelty
no more death
for you
no more death
for me
can't you see?
Write of happy...
Please, there is too much sadness here
for me....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Too little
too late
God said to me
in this dream I had about fate
So I asked him
what did he expect,
A goody two shoes
a prophet
a saint
to be something I ain’t
Not at all he said
I want to be entertained
Eternity is boring
mostly people snoring
especially at night
and during the day on occasion
Look god! I walk around an
Amazon warehouse all day
pigeon-holing tat
picking this and that
How am I supposed to amuse you
Well I do enjoy you
breaking stuff on purpose
sabotaging the line
Bunking off for a smoke
going to the toilet
and drinking erm… doing coke
Ok hands up!
I admit
I’m a total chancer
and do stuff I shouldn’t
But it’s alright isn’t it
that Amazon place is full of s-hit
Yes it is a terrible kip
but more fun when you entertain
Like in your last job
listening to you lie
not taking the blame
asking me to help out
In your moment of doubt
All that stuff you stole
and barely got away with
on the whole
That was quite funny!
Oh the (paper and plastic) I gathered,
before selling it to the highest bidder
Throwing expensive stock out in the trash
The owner was a bastard
all things considered
a miserly swine
But nevermind
Thanks!
I did need a dig out that time
Hey! remember when I was aged about 7
and was told my pal went to heaven
Why did it happen
A year later walking to school with another kid
he was only 8
And that nut-job attacked us with a hammer
Put a hole in my friends head
The blood pumped in fountains of red
I thought he was dead
All the gore I’ve seen
witnessed a killing at 18
Trying to hold down an abattoir job in between
Yes! Life ain’t pretty by design
sometimes the stars just won’t align
Others times they go nova
and leave black holes behind
still you’ll never really understand
The powers in command
So how about this poem
Will it see me home
Does it amuse you
are we cool?
You’re still alive aren’t you!
By
David Kavanagh
Mind – a pool, deep and arcane,
Needs to be cleared n' cleansed from time to time
In the sinuous course of life,
Pause awhile to peer into the depths.
Over the still waters, lies a layer of scum.
At the bottom is settled,
Toxic sediments of hate,
The residue of burnt dreams
Of unsavory passions
If unattended, in this slushy mass of filth
Maggots may breed,
Eating into the flesh
Poisoning the vital serum
Pumped through the veins
Purge the dross
Flush out the dirt
Rinse it clean
And feast on the sparkle,
Of clear waters
Springing from the well heads of love!
Feb.19.2023
The Clearing Poetry Contest
Sponsor- craig cornish
I saw her sitting in a wheel chair,
crippled, mute and almost hairless,
over pumped with chemotherapy,
and aged more than she really was.
Yet I prefer to remember the one date
we had a long, long time ago.
Oh how she laughed that day
as we swam in a lonely bay,
stumbling on the wet sand,
tumbling and turning, the white grit
covering our bodies, infiltrating our suits.
Finally we jumped into the sea, dived down
to bathe amongst sea horses and anemones,
and kiss beneath the shimmering surface of the sea.
Later that night we danced to soft music,
gorged on the sweet smelling bar-b-q piglet,
and drank homemade sweet wine.
Not for you, my mother said, and I was mad.
But mum was right. Soon my date married,
had four delightful girls, till she escaped with them
and with a rich man to another place, another state,
until ill fate struck. And seeing her thus disabled,
tears welled in my eyes, not only for what she had become,
but most of all, for what she could have been.
Alas I will never forget…..
The old truck hadn't been used in a while,
But it should be good for a few more miles.
Under the hood, the engine was rusty,
And the interior smelled faintly musty.
Assuming it would start--we all wanted to know...
When we put it in gear, would it actually go?
Someone called,"All the tires are flat".
But a little new air would take care of that.
Better get some fuel, since the gauge is on "E".
Wash the windshield, so the driver can see.
No problem to let it coast downhill to the mechanic's shop;
Next question:Are the brakes good enough to make it stop?
The truck was so bad, it had no heater fan.
But the Master Mechanic had a Master plan!
He took it to His shop for the needed repairs.
'Twas quite a long time that He kept it there.
He tinkered, and cut, and removed lots of stuff
Solving problems we had thought were real tough.
He put in new hoses, gaskets, and such.
What a joy to watch His skillful touch,
As He cut away the old to make room for the new.
Finally the day arrived when he was all through.
A great crowd gathered around the shop door,
To behold the new creation, there on the floor!
It was washed up, and pumped up,and all the fluids were filled.
Even the body He had been forced to rebuild.
Fresh paint;new tires;and the engine a'humming.
It was ready to face the world oncoming!
When flaws seem difficult to be fixed by man.
Stand back, and watch the touch of the Master's Hand.
Charlie Pelota
I did a video of a poem that was Poem of the Week. Here is the link to the original poem.
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/too_much_sadness_for_me_711084
With all that is happening around us in the world today, I'm always reminded that a better day is coming....a day when there will be no more sorrow, mourning, sickness, or death. That day is coming soon. I believe it. Hope you enjoy the video. :)
Too Much Sadness for Me
there's too much sorrow...
don't you know
we are all going to die
a starting point always beckons a finish
sooner or later
no matter how
peaceful or painful
that final moment may be
you see...
it will come
for you
for me
There's too much sorrow
war
betrayal
so much I have seen
sickness sapping away
the mother-daughter moments
meant for me...
She struggled bravely
to set my fears free
But MS wouldn't let her be
My Mama left me
There is too much sorrow
the pain of being unloved
of trying to fit in
of trying to play the game
of success and fame
it all comes at a cost
so much is lost...
sacrificial moments
meant for family
There is too much sorrow
refugee misery
nowhere to be
no home
no destiny
just abject poverty
hearts left hungry
for a love
that the world
will not let them see
There is too much sorrow
tonight my heart is heavy
I'm tired of goodbyes
I'm tired of trying to fit in
I'm tired of pretense
I'm tired of...me
There is too much sorrow
Eyes are blurring
I can't see
the last lines I'm meant to write
Too tired to fight
Survival more than it's pumped up to be
Sleep....obliviousness of a dream
sweet it seems to me
you see...
There is too much pain
So write...
write for me
of happy
of make believe
of heaven
and eternity
of no pain
or misery
of no abuse
or fatality
of no tears
or cruelty
no more death
for you
no more death
for me
can't you see?
Write of happy...
Please, there is too much sadness here
for me....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Nauseating thoughts about noxious, and demeaning words
that smell worse than stinking socks on sweaty feet ,
replay in my head making me feel so small .
They swell in my mind , twisting my stomach,
urging me to throw up poisonous venom
of false accusations ,you've pumped into my blood stream.
But I know then , that after I regurgitate ,
this migraine you've caused will be gone, I will be relieved.
I will celebrate the accomplishment of living
without ever thinking of your existence again.
This time there'll be no effort to repair
nor would I feel the need to defend myself
for things I didn't do. This time I make no wrong decisions.
No , I will not be coming back to your illusional lies'parasites.
No, I will not cling to memories of better times ,
and inseparable moments, of sugar coated sweetness
and diabetic aftermath. My subconscious will memorise ,
but only the final act of your dramatic moods.
Our friendship is at permanent loss
But , I won't waste precious time scattering its ashes
nor mourning its death. No there 'll be no regret .
I will walk away from you , from all We ever had ,
I'll let new arms embrace me , and steal me from our past.
This is a revised poem . A big thankyou to all of those who helped me
with their suggestions.
He cursed himself for accepting the dare. He never believed in ghosts or haunted houses. He thought it was an easy way to make a few bucks if he spent a night in a haunted house.
Now he found himself in the most deserted house of the small town, reputed to be haunted. He had lain on his camp bed and hoped sleep would come soon. Certainly, he did not relish the pitch darkness of the house or outside it.
Without any rational explanation he found himself hovering between nowhere and the balcony. He saw all the houses of the town light up in a flash of multiple lightning. It seemed to him as if the whole town trembled as an earthquake rippled below the ground. The balcony seemed to disintegrate, and he found himself falling, falling, and falling right down into an abyss.
He wanted to cry in alarm. Sweat oozed out from all over his body. He woke up on the camp bed. He tried to get up but found himself paralyzed. The darkness engulfed him like a bed cover. Suddenly he thought he saw a flash outside the bedroom in the corridor. Lightning? He had no way of knowing.
Finally, he found he could move his hand and grasp the bottle of rye. The liquid seared his throat. It was not easy to drink as he laid flat on his back. The heat was now intense, and he sweated profusely. He tried in vain to pull up the bed sheet to try and wipe his face. The only thing that moved was his heart that was pumping away like mad. Relax. No ghosts about. It was only in the mind. Tomorrow he would gain those extra bucks.
It was then that he felt something moving over his body. In the pitch darkness he could not see what this could be. Suddenly a pair of malevolent eyes glared at him out of nowhere, seemingly without a face. Then he heard the growl. He wanted to scream but could not. Sweat poured down his face and his heart pumped away like a rocket propelled to hell.
His friends found him next day, cold dead, a small cat sitting on his chest.
Like fallen warriors,
we collapse side by side,
glistening in the sweaty afterglow.
Limbs still entangled,
too exhausted to sing the other’s praise,
we stare at the blades of the bedroom fan
slowly circling above.
A lone,
satisfying sigh
escapes in between your deep,
cleansing breathes.
Your smile
reflects in the brass, ball base
of the rotating fan.
I smile in return,
unable to rescue my gaze
from the fan
cooling off our steaming bodies.
Slowly,
your right hand moves;
fingers entangle with those on my left.
I still taste you on my lips.
I silently laugh to myself
upon the realization that I still have one sock on;
the other dangling on the end of a fan blade.
The remainder of our clothes
strewn around the room
as if the hamper had exploded.
Your brassiere
ruined when I removed it
with my teeth.
Beads of sweat roll down my thigh
where our legs remain interlocked –
I love the smooth contrast of your skin
against my sun dried legs.
The ever so slight breeze
created by the fan
is starting to dry our exposed skin
as we slowly regain strength.
The circling blades hypnotize.
The subtle,
rhythmic hum
from the fan motor
mixes with the recent memory
of the rhythmic dance
just concluded.
Your hand,
now lightly brushing against me,
is re-energizing my engine.
Slight,
involuntary movements
near your finger tips
indicate our dance may not yet be over.
I blink
to interrupt my transfixed,
mesmerized relationship
with the ceiling fan,
so I can once again
concentrate on you.
Energy restored –
as if pumped back into our souls
by the bedroom fan –
the warriors re-engage
in battle once again.
A battle in which
each warrior wins.
Nauseated thoughts about colourless, odourless, demeaning and hurtful words
replay in my head, making me feel so small .
They swell in my mind, twisting my stomach, urging me to throw-up
poisonous venom of false accusations you've pumped in my blood -stream.
But I know , that after I'll regurgitate this heartache you've caused, I will be relieved.
I will celebrate the accomplishment of living without thinking of your existence.
This time there'll be no effort to repair, nor would I feel the need to defend myself
for things I didn't do.This time I'll take no wrong decisions
No, I will not be coming back to you , to your illusional lies'parasites.
No, I will not clinch to memories of better times and inseperable moments
Of sugar- coat sweetness and diabetic aftermath .
My subconscious will memorize , but only the final act of your dramatic moods.
Our friendship is at permanent loss, but I won't waste precious time
scattering its ashes, nor mourning its death.
No, there'll be no regret. I 'll embrace new rose-gardens
without feeling bruised , without feeling used, after all has been done and said.
Fiction poem - just in case : ) ! Though in reality not all friends
we so call friends are true.
..............................................................................................................
Oh - Emm - Geeeee !!!
Who me??
OMG!...I'm gonna wig out, doing this poem!!
A ditz like me writing for a freakin’ contest, no less!!!??
You gotta be kiddin' me !!! Holy fricassee!!
No Way. Jose' !! I'm such a space cadet....OMG !! I’m spazzing out!!
Well...geeze, then..... like, I get this head rush...
I'm getting majorly stoked, ya know?..Like...maybe I’ll give it a shot?...
Still...ya know..., whaddif I, like, totally bombed it!!? OMG!!
I mean, like, ya know how all them other poets?...
Well....like they are so classic...like, ya know?...so awesomely rad!?
Like... say, they eyeball mine, and bustin’ up, they scream…
"Gag me with a spoon?!! CHECK OUT THIS FREAKIN’ GROSS POEM!”
Well,what the hay,.... ..no biggie, guess it wouldn't such a bummer...
yeah......well, shoot, they can call me a loser......who gives a rip??
So, I figure, like ....Whatever, dude!!
Okay, now, I'm totally pumped,...ya know?
Waddif it’s ends up freakin’ sweet? Oh, Pleeeease!!!
Like a win, geeze that would be majorly...rad!!!
I KID YOU NOT! OMG !!! I'm so SURE !! YEAH RIGHT,….AS IF!!!!!
Man, I’m so clueless …hmm. how do I even start this freakin' essay?
so, like....here goes...okay?
Ya' say they won't like it, huh??.. HUH ??? Ya' think??
Tell em to go take a chill pill!!
Duhhhh........!!!!? WHATEVER!!
____________________________________________________
Just for fun!: For the Slang Contest
(and be sure....this isn't how I normally talk LOL !!)
..............................................................................................................
I’m sorry for my flaws
I appreciate everything you do for me
I wish I could always smile at passing children
I wish I felt better about myself
I wish I saw the light you provide for me
The light I voluntarily turn my back from
The light I’m suppose to drink
As if to keep hydrated.
I’m surrounded by quarters and unfinished books
I read because I’m searching for affirmation
Quarters for clothes to be kept clean.
I’m divulgent
I parade my flaws
I hide, trip, and reveal my flaws
I am in constant concern of my own being
And a stillness of thought for a mind to be kept clean.
The world is a messy place
Our mind the raking of leaves
The leaves of the world fall and we rake
The leaves of the world fall and we rake
We fall and awake and fall again.
Love is warm, harmless, and stamped
Inefficiently weak by the assemblies of faces
Swept up by the world’s business of cold linear time
Moving like a sad and brutal train.
I sit at the station
My fingers interlocked pressing against my face
Peering through the thicket of my spirit.
Hours later, maybe, I am looking up the hill
Pulling my elephant.
Children circle around my small progress
Skipping and laughing.
(They don’t care,
They just like elephants.)
Though, last night, I dreamt I rode a killer whale
And so here it dawns on the weakened spirit:
That I am the Whale Rider of the Phantom World
Wandering through 10th Avenue
My flaws in our wake
My fist pumped high in the air
In the name of a Life Authentic.
This all dreamy and wonderful
While in the world of machines and mass movement
The elephant keeps his slow, tugging gait behind me,
Ignorant of dreams.
Rainbow Nation
Blanca is white like beautiful snow in the Drakensberg Mountains
she snorted star powder past the perforated septum into her brain
Black as coal from the underworld mines in Mpumalanga Melanie
had her stomach pumped and purged while sleeping off darkness
Amber is coloured mixed race in the Rainbow of Nations her work
still paid in dop cheap vine that slaves her away in alcoholic trance
Arnav of Indian descent was hooked on dagga grown by the ocean
converted to heroin sold her frail body and skin for brown liquid sugar
Jacobus Bandele Lungelo and Bhavin shared needles and comfort
on the streets of Johannesburg flirted with disaster drug related crime
and their dealers cracked at the dawn longed for dust in the dusk
Drugs do not respect colour gender ability social class and religion
all druggies are equal with craving dependency not restricted to some
Now united in rehab like the state of the nation they all stood at the
table of mountains with one foot in the grave at the cliff face of habit
One day at the moment they now battle their demons resist the temptation
for only the time being from one morning away from the devious mourning
one drug line not taken one fall off the wagon shunned and avoided for now
They have all chased the dragon for far too long and imbibed with the devil
for so many wretched days and nights of delusion torment addiction and pain
Again once more each day anew their only chance to abstain one day at the time