Best Pursed Poems
In a mire brewed
betwixt puddles of hell and mute dissent
a martyr wades -
weighed down by chains of shame and disdain
alas the thirsting self-absorbed swamp
distills and swills her stewed silence
and swallows the last embers
from her goblet of dreamer’s fire
pursed breaths are pickpocketed by the shallows
in a breathless vertical twist
an escapist is lost in the swirl of a chambered nautilus
distanced and deserted in the dance of descent
stillness belies the waterline’s greed
as a heroine’s salvage is suffocated -
the slick of self-appointed apathy anoints the surface
and a disquieted wind rises to bend the will of reeds
their flutes airing plainsong in forced supplication
yet carelessly cast away like spindrift from broken crests
while storm clouds blindfold wide-eyed skies
stifling any play of sun on water
Susan Ashley
May 1, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spiral
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Wordancer
Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head,
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.
It’s not much fun with nothing to do
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse
Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’
Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white,
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’
Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed.
The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’
I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove,
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse
With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.
It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’
Ferdinand the frog was as mute as a swan
as his friends hopped to school one by one
he would sit on the rocks and silently cry
as the rest of the frogs sang a sweet lullaby
His sister and brother both had a fine voice
While Ferdinand just watched; he had no choice
they would choose the best spot and harmonise
serenading the group brought tears to his eyes
He puckered his mouth and pursed his lips
alas nothing came out except silence in drips
he stood on his back legs and tried to scream
but it was all in vain as he fell in the stream
It made him quite sad and his skin went pale
he broke out in warts, his health started to fail
his friends all gathered and laughed and joked
as Ferdinand slumped… then he finally croaked.
© 10/2/2014
All dressed in green, the rose bush beams
like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips;
these debutants jilted by bees
forever wanting to be kissed.
A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady
and drips over the wall like a Dali clock,
tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies
still waiting to dance, demurely frocked.
Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes,
while hostas and petunias wave.
In the light of the late springtime sky
all in the garden would rave.
No need for people, they've nothing to prove
because flowers can party too!
~Through a wisteria laden arbor~
Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass
and they just left the blueberries over the hedge,
a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as
deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead;
at least they don't consume the guests,
or should I say, permanent party participants.
Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet
they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't.
What's the purpose of being pretty;
ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer -
it's the talk of the party and nasty.
Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here,
the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease
and though perhaps used, we're left pleased.
Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)
We lived in a crooked house.
Built on a muddy mound of hope with the corpse of yesterday half buried beneath
Sad eyes and smiley faces. A gilded countenance to pair the four walled fiction – Painted thin; only just enough to cover our cracks.
Widening like morning eyes; a mirrored reflection.
Dancing in a zigzag to the tune of the tremors. An ugly soundtrack coaxing ugly art.
Those damp walls. The cracks swallowing torrents from eyes in the sky
Wide eyed boys watching sliding droplets crashing into droplets. Swallowed like pride.
Doors jammed in water seeped jambes. Knotted and gnarled. A need for a greave
Trees weeping at what they witness from the outside looking in. Shedding leaves for tears.
Oft trampled floor boards creaking and crying in solidarity with those that walk its back
Whisper and scurry light-footed like mice in a hurry so easily scared by the wall breaching wind
Trying hard not to wake the monster sleeping downstairs - Breath held like tongues, voices low
Like the swing in the garden tied to the tired branch of the hunched tree. Seat sunk in mud. Ashamed.
A tip toe down the slippery stairs; in fear of drowning in the basement swimming pool. A watery hell
Festering in the bowels of this building ever since the burgeoning moat breached the ramparts of this faux castle.
Lopsided family photo frames hanging by a thread. Nailed to crumbling walls. A slipping semblance of home.
The rising cigarette smoke staining the walls like those words from the same pursed lips from the mind so hard to rid
A cloudy plume with no silver lining; an excuse for eyes to water; blurring those family portraits.
That poisoned smog escaping through the chimney. Blown out over spluttering trees aghast at what this house concealed.
The wind once blew from the west. The house had many faces then but when the east wind struck its walls, the face it pulled it stuck. Doubled over, bent and crooked.
The trees perished like dreams and time brought change
But this crooked house remained the same.
Serenading me with vivid poetry
Her pen extends thoughts so lovely
Weaving words into graceful birds
heart-felt phrases deftly placed
Feeling is conveyed in lines well displayed
stanzas of emotion perfectly painted
Beauty not contained in just script on page,
Her eyes search kindly smiling
Lips pursed to quench kiss thirst
Welcoming as only sincerity can be
Empathy radiates in the care she demonstrates
Angelesque pursuit of nourishing soul
........................................................................
Where prose meets pose...she models from either side
touches with words, caresses with sentiment
Inspires my writing by supportively guiding
This lady's both Minstrel AND Muse
Through a filter,
I look really great
My eyes are blue as azure seas
The bags don’t hang down to my knees
My lips are pursed in certain style
And grinned with just a hint of guile
The brows are plucked and even toned
The cheeks are even high cheek boned
Through a filter,
I’m the perfect weight
I’m built to swing on Tarzan’s vine
In other words, I’m mighty fine
My muscles glow in suntanned skin
It’s good to see the skin I’m in
The stomach flat, no need to tuck
I look as though I ate a truck
Through a filter, through a filter
Life is perfect, never changes
Through a filter, through a filter
Constant as life rearranges
Life, a cardboard cut out me
What a lovely place to be
You just can’t hurt what you can’t see
Across the sky the Sun could see
The Moon approach, with nervous glee
A longtime coming, an empirical fact
Ninety-Nine years to be exact
The Sun stood ready, her corona ablaze
Moments away from a stellar phase
Not a crescent or harvest or even a full
She wondered about gravitational pull
Now almost upon her, the Moon had a smile
“Hello old friend, It’s been a while.
I’m just passing through” His face was blotching
“Let’s make it quick, the world is watching”
Halfway through his celestial arc
A slow approach as the sky went dark
He braced himself and pursed his lips
And just like that came the solar eclipse!
The Paths We Choose
by Edmund Siejka
When I was a young writer
I read all the greats
Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Yeats, James Joyce
And so on
I could write like them I said
So I felt good about myself
And wrote a play
In the heat of August, 1976.
Beating the lines on an old portable typewriter,
Rubber mat placed under its steel frame,
To keep from annoying the neighbors
But the walls in the East Village were thin
And next door guessed
What are you doing writing a novel?
She asked
I kept typing
And the rejections piled up
It was then I realized that I was attempting the near impossible
So I stopped.
Something came over me
I started writing again in 1992
Two unpublished novels
And inevitably
The mailman would trudge up the front steps
Lips pursed in a tight, thin line
Rejections coming in like a winter storm
I poured over each one trying to decipher their true meaning
But it was no use.
I wrote a poem in 2009
To my surprise it was accepted
Followed by an email from the editor
Requesting more of my “stuff”.
Someone recommended that I give a reading
At a local library
Start small they advised.
And so I found myself
In a crowded room of poets and strangers
When my name was finally called
I approached the podium
Determined and focused.
After reading my piece
I searched
The audience for their reaction
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It must have felt like love at first,
The clinging of the ivy vines,
Until his rich red heart had burst.
Her tendrils slaked an ancient thirst,
The tender touch for which he pined.
It must have felt like love at first.
Too guileless to suspect the worst,
She speared him with her soft green tines.
Until his rich red heart had burst.
Her coils so patiently she pursed,
He never guessed at her design.
It must have felt like love at first.
Crazed with cracks, its strength dispersed,
From end to end the wall declines
Until his rich red heart had burst.
So new to love, so poorly versed
In joy, so baffled by her signs,
It must have felt like love at first.
Until his rich red heart had burst.
I studied him, just as he studied me
I in disgust, confusion, and he in angry fantasy
His eyes, black, and yet still blackening
He embraced me with a terrible fit in his mind
Those piercing eyes, saturated in obsession,
Moving up and down my steady body
He watched as I drew in resolved breaths
Sensing my growing antipathy
Beyond the ease in my tone
He shook with want
He shook with angst
“Your dark thoughts are not hidden in my sight
This you will know by my piercing stare
There is power in words,
Just as there is power in your glare”
“Then breathe with me,” He sung with sting,
“And free all of your wants and cares…
Be the master of your own destiny,
And with your straying light, impair
Me, just as you impair your faith,
Against all but your own breast,
Penetrate
Seize our moments with pursed desire
Dress me in your sweet sung fire
Darling dear, our message is clear
Among this fight we share
Take a sip of my saccharine whip
And consume the inviting dare
Be my temp as I lure you
Deceive me as I floor you
Damask me, shock me, piss on my pride,
I dare your soul to take these reigns and ride”
In my ears he sung,
“Let us be lost together…”
Like a roaring sea trapped in a restricted bowl
Ready to overflow the moment my lips consent
“Hellbent you are,” I sadly sung
“Hellbent, and dragging all the lonely with you,
How strange we have come to these crossroads,
To test our patience with lusts unspent
Hellbent, you are, hellbent!
And yet you would croak to crush all heaven-sent
Give me into your darkness, never see the day
Follow me into the light, and never be the same!
You are my lovely enticement, oh Devil, oh Prince,
Your claws clutch in my knowing heart,
And I thrash in diffidence
Emboldening me, your lure,
The stone in you has fled
Grow in this desire, sweet wings
Your light is yet not dead”
Holding me, I felt his darkness lathering me
My eyes, my nostrils, blurred in his scent
“Your light is yet not dead…” I whispered again
Fainting, eyes struggling to stay awake,
I clasped his shoulder and shook my head
For in his eyes he realized,
That his light was yet not dead
"The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire,"
drawing an ambience for dreamers to dream
with watercolor whispers and acrylic zen ~
amorous, magnetic, and achingly alluring,
dusted in mauve-winged wishes,
as the moon’s crown sparkled in gold…
O beloved crescent ~ that stirs my ink,
love me like sultry sea waves,
rippling through Cupid’s veil ~
a surreal sketch of sunset soulmates,
destined to dance beyond time’s thistles,
oblivious to the jades of jealousy.
Meet me where memories fade,
and pain is an unfamiliar poem,
for I wear your love-stained letters ~
breathless, spellbound, and intoxicated
by the scent of handwritten heartbeats…
But if stars could sing, and dusk could speak,
would you heed the tunes of twilight,
like rain tracing fire along your skin,
while night hangs silent, and the breeze unfurls~
a ballet of butterflies in sync,
with the pulse and kiss of lunar lace…
Quietly, feathered soles steal across fields
soft as Choctaw spirits' slipping shadows;
frescoed frost glazes summer remnants of pumpkin and persimmon.
The blackberry moon bends low,
pursed lips lingering and slow above Earth's alabaster face.
Past and present blend in one short span
when winter woos the autumn moon.
February 23, 2022
Mesmerized...she's playing with purpose
fingers delicate, skilled...searching
finding the keys that speak to me
High
Low
The notes they flow
from the baby grand she plays
emotion frays
and sways with no malaise
Stage lights light her-a blue dimension of lovely
shadow lingers on the features
brows furrowed intense
lips pursed to words intense
eyes gazed into the grand...recalling
recalling the spirit that birthed this song
She transforms...
A medium for this spirit...
I see now through her eyes...
reliving a moment I'd not lived at all
Captured completely...she sings to me sweetly
A moment she shows me her soul
She smiles back knowing--the melody flowing
pockets the heart that she stole
Pursue the pursed lips
Of woman with scarlet heels
Intricate design of appeal
On rounded bodies sexily dressed
With naked treachery in their porcelain faces
Let me laugh away your harebrained actions
My dear, my dearest, fool of a man
Unlock your gaze from my arresting truth
Rising upon the pedestal on which I stand
For I am the ultimate
Source of your discourse
That occurs between the beast in your heart
And that angel in the looking glass
Violate my heart again and again
I’ll still smile
For karma is my best friend