Best Recollected Poems
Wishing Well by Juke55 @ Deviant Art
I circle from pale to shade,
countless steps
around the abandoned well.
Wasted wishes rest
in dried-up depths,
we perish
in its hollows.
Promises break
but wishes will wait
to be retrieved,
granted,
cherished.
When you were the promise,
you washed over me,
permeating sacred spaces,
shrouding my soul.
I searched your changing face
for symmetry and solvency,
longing for stability.
In wrung-out wrappings,
I chilled in your deception
as I clung to the warmth
of our inception.
I trusted you.
It was easy.
You promised. I believed.
I wished the same wish everyday
that love would last.
Now, I reel in my resistance to love,
an outcast of wreckage from your ravine.
Will I ever love again?
I want to reach in to divulge a deluge
of brokenness and betrayal.
I retrace your words between
the yesterdays.
They start as whispers
then wail in echoes
off impervious walls.
Each sanguine syllable a lie,
projecting sound into a chasm of darkness.
From the depths of the wishing well,
vows reverberate from my own lips,
gently rumbling then rousing
feelings of love turned to loneliness.
If one drop of water remains
to reflect only one recollected wish,
I may find my own eyes
not yours looking back,
and in the end,
I may learn to forgive.
Maybe I will love again.
written 6/2/20 for Silent One's
Promise Contest
Ambling thro' the museum today an object caught my eye,
Inviting me to pause and reminisce about a time gone by.
'Twas an old oaken icebox standing there on display.
That ancient relic served as the family refrigerator in its day.
I recollected that we had one like it when I was a tyke,
Growing up on the Hoosier farm on fabled Farmer's Pike.
It cooled the milk and cream and butter that Mom made,
To spread on fresh-baked bread with a tad of marmalade!
What a refreshing sight on a sweltering summer's day,
To see the iceman's truck slowly meandering our way,
Along Farmer's Pike, crystal-clear ice stacked on the truck,
And anticipating a sliver of ice to chomp on and suck!
Mom put a card in the window to show the amount of ice required.
The iceman took note of this and delivered the ice desired.
He'd carry a hundred-pound block of ice on his burly back,
As nonchalantly as if toting feathers in a gunny sack!
Iceboxes served their purpose and in museums they now repose.
Once in awhile you'll find them at flea-markets and antique shows.
Fancy refrigerators now cool the grub and make the ice.
The iceman's logo I yet recall, "Iceman's Ice Is Twice As Nice!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Once agone moments in time
she was poetry in motion,
'til she pirouetted herself
onto dusty versed shelves
midst old clouded rhymes
& recollected love notes
yet, there lingered echoes
glistening 'tween strands
of web's interlacing design,
meshing her finessed
past within gossamer's
complexed entanglements
beyond labyrinths of
anciently grand symphonies
she dances, still ~
silently in her head
flirting with destiny
albeit, not quite as opulently
What pushes my pen in this whimsical notch of the world?
Something whispers to me like an elder dream....
and the trees hang arbored 'oer a little stream of sea,
the feathered folk flit and flute,
and sip the may-season rill;
Where sun has finally come dipping like a diamond.....
I am measured to this mighty moment found;
and there is holly even in the most forgotten shade,
though royal (even) ----- with garland diadems made
It would seem the angels have foretold this:
to not forget the most beauteous of days;
with proud hours honeyed,
the long-loving minute endures in thy heart,
and remembers the kiss of legends
despite realms of sadness and dark,
the withered wind which blows old upon the sad hills....
too ancient for wise men; for in youth how pink the heart
and varied, new struggles are many -----
yet plain with simple solutions
Mercy hath not a mind for memory....
swift its song, its house clean of enemies lurking,
no bogey-man skulking the midnite hour,
no roving-a-wraith scratching the old attic boards;
Forgiveness sleeps in the quiet wood,
and wakes with whispers of faith,
with the ease of nestled lambs and recollected days;
What poor tragedy to fret with dark remembrance,
to furl hades in the denizens of thy heart ----
black-tongued as the devil in his den!
What fool would prefer a scowl to a smile?
enemies come and go.....
friends come and remain,
when the house is quiet with memories....
of youth and adventure in the old daydream glass;
more precious the ancient hours
and parched the pages of first chapters,
first beginnings, first faces in the ripples of time's pond;
Gust of playful wind
nudged me with flurry of leaves.
Childhood memories
recollected in my mind
leaving me in state of bliss.
Date: 11/11/2017
". . . . poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings:
it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility"
Woodworth
With emotions of an artist
I pen poems deep and soulful,
going to a place of feelings
and I linger in the silence.
For it is there my muse dwells,
and it is where feelings creep.
I find my emotional shade,
my heart, my mood, and my passion,
and from my pen words of feelings fall . . .
Words of sorrow,
deep and dark,
of tranquility,
and peace.
___________________
March 22, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/Feelings
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 886-508-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
He was angry when they came
And said he wouldn’t go.
“You can’t make me leave this house!”
“I’ll fight you all, you know!”
He spread his arms like giant wings
As if they were set to soar,
And grabbed the facing either side,
To hold himself in the door.
Mom clinched tired eyes and dabbed her tears.
She tried to say a prayer.
She knew that once her mate was gone,
Only she’d be there.
When we broke his iron-like grip
He took a final look
At what a man could call his own.
And remembered the work it took.
Friends stopped by to visit him.
Buster, his Best Man was one.
He smiled as they recollected
The days when they were young.
Robert and I, at Dad’s request,
Sung the chorus of “For the Good Times”.
Ray Price was his favorite—
And he smiled, a final time.
I met a pessimist walker in Optimist Park,
She walked with a walker and a co-walker
Swaying on either side, not in her mark.
Crippled, stressed, depressed, a fatuous talker.
Troubled by blood sucking winged insects.
‘mosi-ki-toss’ many, many, ‘mosi-ki-toss’
Shouted she in her Serbian accents,
Waving her palm to drive away foes & woes.
Immigrants of different nations & cultures,
Come in search of shades of optimism,
Culminating in the Old Testament adage,
‘HE hath made all things good in their times’
Indulging in the mirage of meliorism,
Things are bad but can be of better advantage.
=================================
Eighth Place win in
Contest: First poem on the soup by P.D>
I wrote this sonnet visiting Optimist Park in Windsor-Ont-Canada. It is " thoughts recollected in tranquility"
The poem was posted on 16-6-2005.
It is said that letting go
can be the hardest thing
The part-time lovers,
corrupted friends,
pastime lovers and
incomplete bondings
holding final piece until the end
But I
embrace gratitude
For I have come to terms
that some will never come to terms
Their self dignity become suicidal tendency
grasping the breath of me
drowning in river Styx;
abundant dependency
Green coated envy
with lashes of solidarity;
tasting entrapment
as their new found hobby
As they let go
by digging trenches to nowhere
Mud slinging recollected teardrops
dripping invalidated errors
And I
should cry
these burdens
I should cry
I should
But these tears
know better
© Drake J. Eszes
Silhouettes fade as summer draws near
Yearning for their presence in this barren room
Rippling sounds of one's laughter cause me to tear
Awakens this reverie like scent perfume
The vastness I never thought existed
Past the hallways where we've spent our youth
Smiles of the little ones thus recollected
Pictures from the bulletins show love and truth
Just as my heart, the red apple sits quietly
Treasuring the bond of our love so pure
The hugs, fights, celebration and anxieties
Carves the path to grow and mature
Oh darlings, it pains me to say goodbye
So please keep this chalk to remember me by.
A poet is often bombarded by the meaning of words
He got to have a physical relationship with language
With the structural elements like couplets and stanzas
Using imagery, rhymes of myriad emotions to manage.
Language and structure with imagination and expression
In my veins like an unfertilized egg I need to feel poetry,
With traffic-jammed in my thought-polluted brain session
I strip teased my desire that breathes into the oral cavity.
The things touched with love will surely have a voice
Touch the strings of a violin, feel how music is created
Strong wind creates lyrical sound among trees to rejoice
At the mere touch of love, every poet gets mused.
Poetry is words in best order, best words in best order
It is language at its most distilled and most powerful
There is no denying, poetry says more in words fewer,
If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash cool.
It is indeed a spontaneous over flow of powerful feelings
Taking its origin from emotions recollected in tranquility
Boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions
Held together by soft, tough skin of words of quality.
One can’t give order to a person to write a poem instant
As much as command birth of a child to woman pregnant.
===================================================
Fourth Place winner in
Contest: Poetry Panorama by Linda-marie, the sweetheart
birth, creation, dark, death, earth, history, metaphor
OUTSIDE-IN---INSIDE OUT! © TANKA
Very green flushed carpets
Sky blue azure topped ceilings
Tree branched sofa chairs
Mirror sea rippling four walls
Windows and doors shut!
REBIRTH! © TANKA
Infant birthing new
Into mankind-likened modes
Start fresh from homed sights
Cultured to suckle blind
On natures ‘tested’ recollected notes
Left ‘one on one’ in thought sense!
Earth’s Time Shares © TANKA
Earth imploding ‘noted’
Fished from science scales to date
Attention everyone
Demise for man’s brutal act
Shrinks to pin-head size!
MARKED SPACES! © TANKA
Caterwauling winds
Float the once settled landfills
Forming 'blocks' of sand
Balanced on set place-mats
Dwindle down to nothings.
A LITTLE SALT PLEASE! © TANKA
Salt beds remain ‘still’
Air-dried salt mines reap
Sea tides, air-dried onto land
Leave the needed salt shares
Flavour 'salted' dressings over time
Enhance life’s food plate!
FORMIDABLE THOUGHT! © TANKA
Too many thoughts stockpile
Hanging words staged 'left'
Rehashed until spent
Sending 'mood-eating’ topics
To announce ‘inner’ moon ‘tides’!
work
SHARED AIMS! © TANKA
Unity bids man
Into work managed mindsets
Oiling the forces ‘toil’
Producing metal and brawn
Empires bleed open!
SET STRIDES © TANKA
Brain building 'strides' learnt
Leg and body builds in time
All in a heady breath count
Balanced events mate
Affecting lifespan!
As she walked slowly
Towards the woods,
She kept thinking of her old house..
The one so dear to her.
She remembered her friends,
Her school, and her garden,
As she sat on a moss-covered rock..
Almost on the verge of tears.
Book on her lap,
She then slowly recollected,
Her parents' repeated words –
“Love everything around you.”
She looked around for a companion,
Sitting under the tree’s shade..
Gradually starting
To absorb into her surroundings.
Getting out of her pensive mood,
She appreciated the beauty of nature..
And feeling much more free,
Went home to bid goodbye.
(Servings – multiple)
Ingredients.
1. Some poetry mood – to choice.
2. One pack of Instant hot ideas.
3. Cups of Poetry techniques – existing and new, to taste.
4. Poetry form – to choice
5. Suitable environment – to choice.
6. Spices: Loads of ideas recollected.
Pinch of experience (optional).
7. Seasoning: 1 ounce of emotions.
Method
Let the poetry mood takes over; feel poetic.
Allow ideas to generate. Sustain them. Encourage the flow.
Grasp them while still hot.
Pour them instantly on suitable paper or type them right away. The choice is yours.
Stir with spoon of techniques, using your skillful fingers.
Choose a suitable environment, like when you are relaxed and none to disturb you. Let the temperature rise.
Let your composition thickens and smell good, making you pleased and excited.
Season with experience, to your wish, to enhance the taste of it.
Taste and revisit them as many times as you like, until you are satisfied.
Garnish with preferred fonts.
Serve hot or cold, according to season – the choice is yours.
Enjoy your soup!
Nutritive value: generates emotion, gives pleasure and increase knowledge.
(Rhyme scheme : abba abba cde cde)
I met a pessimist walker in Optimist Park,
She walked with a walker and a co-walker
Crippled, stressed, depressed, a fatuous talker.
Swaying on either side, not in her mark.
Troubled by winged insects blood sucker in the park
“mosi-ki-toss” many “mosi-ki-toss as if in utter danger
Shouted she in her Serbian accented mumur,
Waving palm to drive away foes & woes to debark.
Immigrants of different nations & cultures,
Come in search of shades of optimism,
Culminating in the Old Testament adage,
"HE hath made all things good in their times"
Indulging in the mirage of meliorism,
Things are bad but can be of better advantage.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
=================================
The sonnet was posted on PS ON 6-16-2005, the day I joined PS
I wrote this sonnet visiting Optimist Park in Windsor-Ont-Canada. It is " thoughts recollected in tranquility"
I was inspired to write this sonnet by P.B.Shelly's " Ozymandias " sonnet
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Third Placement
Contest: My Inspiration
==================
Ninth Placement
Contest : Italian Sonnet