Best Recklessly Poems
You had me oblivious to your antics,
as you hushed me tenderly by the creek
into your hide and seekable
soul-surrendering secret relief.
There, you cottled me into softness
with a simple chin caress,
which continued to smooth
the entire twisting course
of my delicate remorse.
My garments shifted
from their skin,
slipped into the witnessing wind.
You convinced me to sin
so remarkably, so recklessly,
for one worshipped glide
of feigned intimacy.
I bemoan my mixed senses
behind the curtain of uncertainty.
Oh, Romeo, if only I'd known you.
If only I knew that
your prestigious people-pleasing smile
was practice for the play.
That those granny pleasing manners
and Band-Aid banter
would soothe my soul to sleep.
That those jovial jokes
and caramel coated coaxing
would lead me quietly to the creek
where your meaty man hands would span
each inch of my innocence and beyond.
That your chivalrous, chiseled chest
and incandescent camper's scent
would be compressed
against my gentleness.
By this indulgence
I had relinquished your respect
and you had tossed my trust.
So dissolved the blending of lust,
and with it the end of us.
Your camouflaged fibs
of forever love
would continue deep
through the space in my ribs,
into the closing scene.
Romeo, so applause-worthy were you
on your secret stage that
Shakespeare could have cast you
just as you had cast me.
Can't stop flashbacks
Can't stop vibrations
Vibrations like echoes
Vibrations irritating wounds
Wounds that bleed
Wounds that torment
Torment the mind
Torment emotions
Emotions of guilt
Emotions full of anger
Anger from the past
Anger from shame
Shame that's distressing
Shame that's intrusive
Intrusive images haunt
Intrusive like storms
Storms striking like lightning
Storms louder than thunder
Thunder that's frightening
Thunder causing self-destruction
Self-destruction of the heart
Self-destruction of the mind
Mind acts recklessly
Mind reacts resentful
Resentful with regret
Resentful outbursts
Outbursts misunderstood
Outbursts they generalised
Generalised anxiety
Generalised questions
Questions of sanity
Questions of ability
Ability to stand
Ability to walk
Walk in fear
Walk through a hellish reality
Reality discarded
Reality unseen
Unseen persecution
Unseen war
War with life
War with time
Time is too intense
Time to surrender
Surrender to uncontrollable stuttering
Surrender to my misleading heart
Heart palpitations
Heart is numb flatline
Flatline
Palpitations...
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
A trip to a very large
and far away hospital.
I was visiting a sick member
from church, there belittled
For a wet place I felt on my pants
I sat on a drenched seat
You bet I wasn't very composed
With coffee stains to greet
My husband had sat a cuppa
down recklessly on the seat.
It had spilled~ soaked fabric cushion
Also brown chicken white meat
My face was red walking the halls.
I wasn't a debutante
Embarrassed totally
But wouldn't let it me daunt
Written: July 12, 2016
Inspired by the contest
Wont you find me here?
Drifting in an expanse of swirling storm
Outstreched fingers graze debris...
recklessly circling reminders.
Stand in the eye with me
Hold
This
Ground.
Lick our wounds rebounding
Warriors victoriously smiting circumstance
leaving wolves discouraged
disparaging darkness with insane glee
Walk here and find me
Reach out think here
You create me and I construct you
Piece me in missing places
Mending voids delicate and knowing
I slay inherited growths of insecurity
Stating truths untold to your beautiful ears
Combine
Know this warmth....
Let these branches sprawl
grow in all directions to withstand walls closing in
A grand old tree would remain...generations of our eyes
taking glance from limbs strong and true
You crush my cycle--end it's existence
I'll destroy your boundary...kill it's constriction
Our tower stronger and rooted
Yet with loftier cloud grazing height
lets disorient ourselves in this foreign altitude
Touch this sky with me
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
This year more than ever
I long to surpass myself
The clock is ticking
No longer can I recklessly
Take the gift of time for granted
I dream this year more than ever
To give wings to my muse
Release the buildup
Of pent-up energy
And let her loose
Free reins
With canvases and color
I dream of releasing
The artist in me before
She sleeps her life away
This year more than ever I dream
To dress in artist garb and
Wear purple feather in my hat
More than a wannabe renaissance groupie
Parade down the streets of Paris
Break bread with starving artists of the day
Be it as it may crossing lines of time
Hang out with the likes of Leonardo
Rembrandt Picasso and Sartre
Artists and philosophers alike
While away the hours in bistros
Pen in hand living on coffee and croissants
Hang out in bakeries while kindred spirits
Sit to chat about their latest works and passion
This year I dream of making each day count
Remembering time can seem both infinite
While being abruptly finite
Who knows what the new year will bring ~
Published in my photo/poetry book ~NEW YEAR~ 2019
AP: 2nd place 2021
POTD December 19, 2019
Submitted on December 17, 2019 for contest NEW YEAR DREAMS sponsored by CHANTELLE ANNE COOKE - RANKED 1ST
I ride the vibrant crests
Of a tangerine moon
Glowing across stardust ridges
Where inspiration tickles
My heart with laughing dewdrops
I drift on the edge of a smiling
Emerald forest filled with
Whispery pines and strong oaks
All the trees remind me why
The birds make a home on branches
With their bristling, dancing leaves
I walk through a thriving garden
Alive with scarlet and cobalt
Rare colors in the choiciest purples
Mauves, sunset yellow and lavender
Hastening to create a sweet fantasy
I breathe in the crisp, cool air
Of an autumn night, a summer light
Feeling the freedom of a heart
Gentle and warm, feeling forlorn
For the tender caress of rainfall
Caressing my shoulders lightly
I kiss the silence with hope
For moments poured full of joy
While my heart whispers
Recklessly thrilling in the vitality
Of a dream that fulfills me
I ache for these days of simplicity
When light plays with the shadows
Echoing through the longings
With cries resembling poetry
Lingering on the edge of sanity
I dream, I imagine, I praise
With a prayer of faith
Believing in the God who reigns
High above my thoughts
In a heaven where I will hope
Love continues to abide, eternally
Inner Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
September 1, 2021
In the 1960’s all around me were cheerful chants
inviting us all to ‘Make Love not War’
John Lennon asked us to give peace a chance,
some joined the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.
We all wanted earnestly to save the environment.
I inhale this polluted air and wonder
what has happened - why has it gone asunder
Now, our legacy to our future generations
is an earth that has been raped, robbed
of her fruitfulness until her soil is barren
so, we can genetically modify food to eat
cause animal cruelty for production of meat
Now, fish are being choked and shredded to pieces
by hazards we dispose of in the rivers and seas
and they are far from being the only dammed species
who are being erased for the sake of human supremacy.
Earth is rebelling, her weathers have gone into a frenzy
raging ravenous bush fires consuming precious lives,
animal, human, plant nothing in its vexed path survives.
Ferocious storms flooding the earth, threatening
to drown out communities, cruelly devastating.
Is it too late to realise that the fumes from our cars
the cigarettes we smoke, the waste that we dump so recklessly
the spiteful, uncaring ways we mistreat the environment
leaving solutions to be found each successive government.
We can still see the blue sky on a good day
we can still breathe air, though not so fresh
we can still enjoy the beauty of flowers
and hear birdsong,
but, for how long?
Now, our troubled youth are killing each other
they see no tomorrow on the blurred horizon.
Younger generations are trying to rescue their future
to salvage their legacy from the rubble we have created.
As for making love not war
in this world, this world of today peace stands no chance
and love is just a word of four letters.
Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
write to me in wanderlust waves
of wakeful worship,
weave me a wish
with moon pearls and promises
as I bloom attached
to your aesthetic accent ~
amidst the soul’s pulse,
still questioning ~ quivering,
in need of a colorful
constellation of consolation
to erase the
fickleness of fading flames…
I know, love searches
for your name, breathing
into the warmth of my want,
like verses coursing through
the veins of irreversible ink,
and if, to feel you closer,
I must compose you a cosmos,
let me seize teardrop crystals
of champagne chandeliers
and light up your dusk
with deafening desire ~
recklessly awaiting the surrender
of your sky to my silhouette…
but what would soothsayers
know of the circumference
of a romance immeasurable,
unstudied and unknown
to fortune whisperers
forsaking fortitude and faith ~
yet preaching dissolution
and dissociation,
as if eagle-feathered ego feasts
on the nest that has no place
for the gossamer greed
of maggots,
manifesting mere moments
calculated through concave curves…
watch me waltz away from
the wickedness of bruised bluebirds
thirsting through cheap thrills,
seeking sunlight
beyond the barks of bravery ~
their tiny toes
perched in absolute desperation…
you are mine ~
O herald of hypnotic horizons,
wearing my poetry
perfumed with painless purity…
with you
the handles of heaven are nearer,
as the pilgrimage of you and I
is a visceral vision
of an unapologetic ambience ~
that no twisted tongue can tweak,
nor moulded monologue
can ever distort ~
the truth of tattooed fealty ~
a love letter left in the
arms of timeless flow…
"Not my will, but thine be done".
Though his mortal flesh was weak,
Yet these words God's only Son
In his darkest hour did speak.
True obedience demands
That we oft repeat this prayer -
Doing all the Lord commands,
Giving him our every care.
Like the prodigal, my choice
Is to fly to foreign lands,
Heeding not the Father's voice:
"Child, thy life is in my hands".
Having spent what was not earned,
Living recklessly and rude -
To the father's love returned
And his will again pursued.
Make my will and thine the same,
Cause this selfish heart to yield.
It is for such hearts Christ came,
By his stripes such hearts are healed.
Though he be my only friend,
Still my soul upon him leans -
Though I cannot see the end,
I must trust him with the means.
We like sheep have gone astray
From the path the Lord has willed.
Each has turned to his own way
And for such, Christ's blood was spilled.
Asking, "Father fashion me
In the image of thy Son” -
May my sole petition be,
"Not my will but thine be done".
A Maundy Thursday meditation on Christ in the garden of Gethsemane - Matthew 26:39
My Dad taught me to drive stick
On warm Sunday mornings while Chicago slept
Before the church people left and returned
On a freeway still under construction
Past yellow barricades and
Caution signs
Recklessly cautious
Without benefit of power steering
And power brakes
We flew past run down homes
And new skyscrapers
We owned the road
The lesson was simple
Real drivers drive shift
They control the car
Balance clutch and gas
Life requires our attention
It demands our patience
We advance slowly and carefully
Real drivers drive shift
And so we traveled
Across a city still lazily stretching
Not quite awake
Down a freeway under construction
On side streets and in parking lots
We owned the city
TEMPEST
Twin limestone tors thrust up through valley floor
Like isles or icebergs in a calm flat sea
Deep green save where shear rock can hold no spore
To spawn in fecund niche a vine or tree
Midday and all is calm untroubled, still
In tactile heat, all movement paused, restricted
No hint of ought that might disturb our will
A landscape placid, as in paint depicted
But look to sky the seeds of change are sown
There, signs portend a transformation near
Those gentle clouds mere cumuli have grown
To cumulonimbus, thrust t'ward stratosphere
And therein is enormous might enclosed
Stored energy, that soon must be released
Unleashing primal power unopposed
The laws of Nature never to be breached
Now lightning flickers o'er far mountain peaks
Faint thunder echoes round steep valley walls
The breeze accelerates and chills to speak
A warning of the fast approaching squall
The charge in air: has swallows energised
To move from circling low ‘tween tree and house
Their flight plans now are recklessly revised
To helix soaring t'ward the threatening clouds
A steady light drum roll on roofs - sound train
Starts gently then crescendo ends the prelude
Announcing clear the now impending rain
Prodigious splashes transformed to a deluge
The waves of rain traverse our panorama
Gauze curtains drawn by cosmic stage hand's might
Relentless, recasting features as of dark drama
Familiar scenes are shrouded, hid from sight
Now random electric arcs flare bleak view scanned
Cacophony of thunder rules all sound
Awesome darkness and confusion on the land
All visual anchors cast in shade spellbound
But in this world each cycle must be ended
Perhaps reverse events that had us unmoored
The drama, soon is played out and expended
Peace, light and order gradually restored
Known reference points can once again be seen
The twin rock peaks come clear through rain-washed air
Clouds make fine-spun white wraps for hills now green
We're reassured by prospects known and fair
Is this chronicle an allegoric tale
Of human life not granted free of strife
Would we choose bland existence without travail
Or fain confront the magnificent storms of life
12/12/19
"Struggling"
I've been struggling
Doing things that are puzzling
It's rather troubling
How much liquor I've been guzzling
Shiiiit
I admit
I'm not proud at all
I got a problem with alcohol
It'll be my downfall
If I don't fix it
Instead of always getting twisted
On my end, there's been a lot of resistance
It's been hard, and I know that I'll miss it
But I want to follow through on my wishes
And get after serious riches
All the while, taking care of business
With god as my witness
Up until the very last minutes
And at the finish
I don't need anybody's forgiveness
Just got to make the best of my existence
Another relapse, because I always got to get my fixes
On the walls upside down triple sixes
Pictures of provocative b**** es
Blowing kisses
And a tank with fishes
As well as a few glow in the dark crucifixes
Life's tough, yet sometimes it isn't
Good riddance
Once again I've done did it
I'm starting to get suspicious
Of much more than the superstitious
I've been ambitious
Yet still oh so vicious
Sorry, can't relate, I'm not very religious
And that's just one difference
Use to be a jock and a nerd
Nowadays I burn so much herb
I've been feeling disturbed
Because there's been so much I learned
Yet the problems always return
When you're at your lowest or feeling superb
On my back the weight of an anvil
Been trying to leave it at the landfill
But keep ending up at a standstill
Damn girl,
You really gave me feelings of ecstasy
Turns out it wasn't always meant to be
You'd best believe
Working my ass off, to barely earn ends meet
Only to struggle on through the next week
Makes me feel like a ****ing dead beat
Life continues testing me
Getting the best of me, but I can't let it be
I'm ready to achieve
An outcome that turns out successfully
Living rather recklessly
Been at odds and making some enemies
Doing things that'll shorten longevity
And life expectancy
Having strange tendencies
And certain dependencies
Which could very well be the death of me