Best Recollecting Poems
“Wicked Web of Woes”
Is there a reason
to rhyme when
lifeless fingers
breathe toxic agony,
whilst disgraced
quill suffocates
from wildering
riddles swerving to
the stillness
of calcified air?
As today, my heart
keeps pacing,
searching for a
symphony of serenity-
amid wayward clemency,
and when the first star
of the evening sky,
fades and shatters
upon a celestial canvas
of colorless dreams.
I feel the sweeping
wings of salvation,
resting amidst
clipped faith,
drifting swiftly towards
abandoned clarity;
exiled into
barren fields of
vast polarities,
where hope collapses
into an eternal demise,
tangled within a
wicked web
of woeful sagas,
trapped between
heavy clouds
of unshed tears,
beneath the
crisp cusp of sanity.
Yet I stand in
sweltering silence,
recollecting lost
chronicles of
who I once was,
whilst I’m drowning
in waves of
vexing numbness,
screaming into
the oblivious
spheres cloaked
in smoky
arctic haze,
questioning the
captive chains
of reality,
in dialects only
the moon
can comprehend.
Am I destined
to be caged
in sinful darkness
that the
world fed me,
with sharpened
knives at
empty tables,
with faceless
ghosts of yesterday?
Perhaps there’s
still a poem
that can unlock
the mystery
to a future that
thrives with
fruitful orchards,
where rain that
tastes succulent
wouldn’t burn
your flesh,
for even the
milky-ways would
unravel a realm where
everything should
be as it seems.
Vanquishing the
strings that bind—
daring me to breathe.
Ink Empress
Fading Star Silence
Categories:
recollecting, life,
Form:
Free verse
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfilment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece
Categories:
recollecting, art, bereavement, body, care,
Form:
Free verse
Grit in her eyes beaming fortitude of vibes
Powers her dash from one end to the other
Handing out drinks: brandy, whiskey, beer;
Serving high rollers and surly poor-souls
Where lights are flashing as machines jingle
When luck adjudicates winners and losers.
Watch her essence of fiery determination
Fueling her steps, gathering her strength,
As she churns numbers quickly in her head:
Grocery, rent, money for mother’s meds;
And some she’ll spare for her father today.
Hurriedly she sprints when her shift ends
Examining faces torn by ills, unwell, hapless
Under the bridge, by the train station,
Recalling childhood’s happier days within
Sound of his soft voice, calling her princess.
Abruptly she freezes, recollecting the scene,
Standing like a milestone on edge of the street,
Lips quivering, eyes tearing, pausing to forgive him
For abandoning them in a reckless charade
When suddenly a child became a parent…
So much about living she has learned since,
But not much about how to bury the dead.
May 11, 2020
HM: Brian's Select 8 Contest
Categories:
recollecting, angst, courage, dad, death,
Form:
Free verse
" . . . madness . . . retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet's brain."
Michael Drayton (1563-1631)
a writer of poems must be quite mind fractured-
we brainstorm the abyss of our thoughts
deep, deep inside
for our ranting
looking for the broken pieces deep in the void
of our life- and open old jagged wounds
this writing is a mania and urge
we travel the calendar of our cracked mind
seeking inspiration- bright thoughts
with instinctive
delirium . . .
a writer of poetry is spontaneous-
to wander paths of the mind- forced to mend
exposing self
rupturing soul
all in the name of poetry inspiration
recollecting sad events for the sake
of penning bleeding words for our readers
we brainstorm- crotchet our poem at night
we weave it in dreams incoherent
we must write it
must, must, must, must . . .
_____________________________
October 19, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/A Poet Must Brainstorm
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1072-614-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Brainstorm
sponsor, John Hamilton
Second Place
Categories:
recollecting, poetry, writing,
Form:
Free verse
A spiritual sickness enveloped my stagnant heart.
I searched for her in darkened obscure visions,
A futile illusory chase that led to a desert of love.
Had I become addicted to her presence?
Deep in my heart, I knew that all was distorted.
I wondered if I really loved her,
Yet I could not bear the loss, knowing her as I did.
Finally, she disappeared from circulation,
It left my strength sapped from a wide goose chase.
Life trickled by slowly, as I lost my job, wasted my money,
Rendering my situation an almost irreparable ruin and loss.
Looking back, recollecting my bad choices
It took me some time to discern the inevitable damage
That rendered my skeletal life beyond repair.
Could I renew and restore my affluent fortunes?
Life had its ups and downs, like desert dunes.
All I needed was a fertile oasis. Walking on the hot sand
Was painful but I had to try. I began my journey anew.
Will I ever learn? Who knows? One can only hope.
After all, the desert is never endless though it may seem so.
Categories:
recollecting, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Apple pie, fresh from the oven
cools on a rack, whiffs of cinnamon-nutmeg
aroma rise through the pastry vent
then drifts out through
the kitchen window opened an inch or so
mingling with a hint of moulder on the breeze.
The apple peelings still lay on newspapers
on the counter, deep crimsons mottled with yellow, green
mirror fall leaves of brilliant hues.
Is this a coincidence? Perhaps - but perhaps not -
possibly nature intends apples such colours
as a reminder autumn is close at hand.
The pastry, free-formed into an irregular shape,
rustic, like nature. Trees, some now partially stripped
of leaves, expose gnarled limbs twisting and turning
madly off in all directions. Showing its imperfections
yet is beautiful in its own way
silhouetted against an October deep azure sky.
Reminiscences of baking apple pie
snapshots in an album in the mind's eye
retrieving them, recollecting that day will sustain
when December's snowflakes flutter about,
when January's winds wail and
when February's blizzards drift high against the doors
Categories:
recollecting, autumn, food,
Form:
Free verse
SENSITIVITY
They’re all ignored by us, but they have feelings too :
A black gravestone in New York, down in the world,
Recalling its halcyon days as a part of
The impressive strata at Palisades Park.
The statue in the museum of Androcles and the Lion
Daydreaming - oh, for the good old days just lying sunbaked
On the beach surrounded by
Fossil shells and shrimp at Sables d’ Olonne,
With the feet of the famous resting gently on you.
And the marble fireplace in our living room -
He can still see in his mind’s eye
The Carrara quarries in bygone days…..
Why, some of his great-grand-daddies were
Hacked out of there and taken to Rome for the Via Appia.
Oh yes, stones have feelings too.
My carved ship-of-the-line from Nelson’s navy
With her masts and spars and decks and cabins
Lies awake at night thinking of her days
In the pine forests of Norway; and next to her
This old cedar jewellery box, with intoxicating
Smells of the coast at Prince Rupert
Where she lay on the beach for weeks
Before the saw mill changed her shape and sent her to me.
The new sapele door in our hall spends hours
Wishing for his buddies in the jungles of Uganda
Where the ants would tickle you
Half to death with their constant scurrying
Up and down your branches, building this or that.
Listen closely and he’ll boast that some
of his relatives ended their days as propellers
on German zeppelins, I kid you not.
Everyone has to feel special.
And what about those unassuming steel forks in my drawer
who can still tell stories
Of their days as iron ore in Finland,
And how their brother Ernie became
A bumper on the President’s limo (supposedly).
Or my wife’s copper bracelets with their pathetic tales
Of being shipped from Cyprus
and remelted into ingots in Bimingham.
I have overheard the wings of a 747
Recollecting in the hangars at night
How their existence as bauxite in Jamaica was so idyllic,
“Wit all dat reggae and smokin’ and god knows what, man.”
They too have their memories.
And, man, de smell in dat hangar!
Categories:
recollecting, funnynight, old, beach, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
Restless restoration
Return
Remove all the rubble remaining from the rampant rift you released and retracted
Remember?
I recognized and revealed your ravishing rituals and repugnant relations
Rippling into your relentless rampage
A recycled retaliation, resonating with regret and self-revolt
A response reused rather than repenting the wrong
Ravaging our rare relics of reverie without remorse in your ruthless rage
You have rendered a realm of ruin; relinquished of reason and rightful retribution
Reliving the reoccurring rumbles of this relationship as I rummage through the wreckage and reassemble the rivets and fallen rafters
You have run out of radius, only to reappear in my retrograding reflections
Recollecting till I rupture and regress
Reminiscing, recalling the rapture and revelry repeatedly
The rain that remains is relevantly rational
A requiem to rot for the rest of this reality?
Reevaluate righteous relief
Rust over, rise up or seek revenge
Categories:
recollecting, dark, feelings, imagery, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
What Love commands the train fulfills,
The six thirty bounds to Coney Island
Where the green Ubers awaits the passengers
Morning greetings, (Urdu) of few words, were the
Pakistan, rules Mermaid Street with the neon green
Were too mama? where too, two dollars:
A repeat routine for most of us,
Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl, we all start our day at some point. And we all seem to start it differently. (Kevan Lee)
Five forty showers, get dress out the door before six a.m.
Grab the garbage, and walk three minutes to the subway,
where love commands the train fulfills, which lessened
My morning depression until midday, (who control whom)
Why was I born, why am even here, what is my personal worth?
Timeless question, who would remember me, when I am gone?
The train, the cabbies, would the streets miss my dragging feet?
Self-observation, is it worth a Newyork minute of whom will miss us. (really)
Void, void, void, void, void, void, void, and more void,
Just allowed the few that might to do some adjustments
For the sake of remembering me, for the sake of losing my car fare,
For the sake of not receiving, my monthly fees, and T-Mobile
you definitely would, release me from my grandfather plans:
Today, I sit in silence, away from all sounds, only the sounds
Of a keyboard, and my heartbeat, as the mouse goes click, click
For the sake of remembering is that a poet is only good at recollecting, reflecting, and making his audience believes in his words:
This Photo by Unknown Author
Categories:
recollecting, absence, angst, anxiety, appreciation,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
A mystic rose smile that belonged to my mother this is what I recall
My easel and I resting in the spirit, by the grandeur of a morning tilt. As the
Yellow sunrays streak across the canvass, I think of Lamancha
Saffron and mom's tasty soups. Contentedly I paint away until a
Ticklish breeze brings me back to present stay. A lifetime away still I recall the
Indian sari she wore with shades of orange/gold lamer. Lustrous hair pulled
Carefully back, exposing two dark coaled eyes that shone like brightly lit topaz .
Red carnelian sun in tonal ranges splashed across a tapestry of love
Oxidized colors melding into the portraiture of Sahana, Matriarch of Bangalore.
Smiling at the camera a thousand watts from Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. Her
Energy exhumed inside the sketch my recollecting fingertips
Subservient hands cupping my tiny face, "My little turmeric "
Maybe you'll be an artist some day, she spoke with her eyes
I like to think she was the reason I succeeded. Her every word a
Laud accolade. I remember the day I held my first paintbrush
Every time I pick one up today, I think of my mom and a village called Aluru .
November 19, 2021
Categories:
recollecting, appreciation, mom,
Form:
Acrostic
Waves of freezing emotions turning,
The cold, so powerful it feels like burning,
Uncontrollable flow of uncertainty,
Ice locking up efforts for comfort,
Feeling of urgency, of wasted chance for solution,
No safe place to run, no happy place to hide,
White snow outside, black clouds inside,
Covering frozen ground, distancing warming sun,
Back to an old ways, recollecting the old days,
Time lapse rushing and erasing,
Back to the old, lost in the flow,
Continuing, returning, same words repeating,
Days keep on turning,
No long term solutions,
Just same old confusions.
Categories:
recollecting, confusion, hope, sad,
Form:
Free verse
So bashful to the wind the day sets at bay
recollecting the past of the stilled clay,
mounded mind distract the dew
observing the mountains in the view,
combusting in it's self the rain flaws
cold winter winds build it's claws,
to tangle the day amoung the clear
just to await what could be coming near,
golden spokes of torned day
breaks the path of wilted frey.
Categories:
recollecting, nature, day,
Form:
Bride by Saiful Haq
Flowers odorizing her gown,
Gloomily shrouded Deepdown,
Mirrors fervoursly placed against her,
Beautifying her for her adorer.
Homage being paid by the trumpet player,
The Bride looks so much gayer,
Fantanising the world as a mere illusion,
As she expects her marriage procession.
Her steps are heavy and mesmerised by all,
As she makes her way towards marriage hall ,
Drops of tears climb her down,
Parents and relatives all breakdown.
Recollecting her mother's homemade,
Cries ; she wants to evade,
Looking back at her doll house,
She leaves her house even more aroused.
© Saif Ul Haq 2014
Categories:
recollecting, bridal shower,
Form:
ABC
There is nothing like waking from a sleep
Slowly remembering parts of a dream
They are all yours and yours to keep
Woken up by a morning sunbeam
If your lucky a sleep will befall you
Dreaming that dream into oblivion
Walk on the wild side, stay cool
Why not make love on that bearskin
Continuation dreams are the best
You can to kill the beast and get the girl
There's really nothing to confess
You know it's all a different world
Wake to remember her subtle scent
Recollecting a fading interlude
Wondering where the morning went
Then realizing you slept till noon
Categories:
recollecting, funnymorning,
Form:
Rhyme
Memories worth remembering
Faded pictures worth keeping
Events in life recollecting
In black and white protruding
Eyes' captured moments encircling
Stolen moments not forgetting
Sailing clouds scribbling, sketching
Like mountains and trees eye-catching
Moon with jumbled stars scintillating
Sun in blue skies smiling
Segments of life projecting
An inspiration never fading
Dreams of you outstretching
And what else worth remembering?...
Young and old, bred or brewed, legacy of the living.
Categories:
recollecting, memory,
Form:
Monorhyme