Best Rediscovery Poems
The inn of my Heart
has many rooms;
I thought I knew them all.
They were peopled with
husband, children,
family and friends.
Even God had a room,
and I visited them all frequently.
I really didn't think
there were any more rooms;
Until one day,
while walking through my Inn,
I discovered a suite of rooms
unoccupied.
"Who is this for?"
I loudly asked,
"And why have not these rooms
been used?"
No one could tell me who,
and no one could tell me why.
So I stumbled around the rooms
exclaiming over the things
that I found there.
But as surely as day must dawn
the realization slowly came,
and with such a sense of discovery,
I stood there in awe
wondering what I would do.
For I had entered the rooms
filled with the essence of me.
There were all the hopes,
and dreams,
and feelings,
of one human soul.
And when I looked with understanding,
I saw that even the ugly things
had not been forgotten here.
It was a fearful thing
to be confronted with myself,
to see so clearly all the things
I had long ignored.
You see, the things we ignore,
hoping they'll go away,
simply move into our rooms
and wait for rediscovery.
Your turn will come,
if it hasn't already,
to enter your suite of rooms
and be confronted
with all the essence of you.
What will you do?
And, what am I going to do now?
Escape and close the door?
Lock it?
Build a wall in front of it?
Try to forget the things I found
in my suite of rooms?
Put my blinders back on?
Or will I have the courage
to move into my rooms;
to become familiar with those intangibles
that exist in all of us;
To learn to live with
the ugly things,
and not be defeated by them;
To sort out the useable
from all the rest,
and use it with enthusiasm;
To know that what I found here
won't always suit those around me,
But acknowledge it anyway.
I stand now in the doorway,
looking out, looking in,
wondering . . .
Submitted 17 Sept 2016
To Contest: What Might They Find There
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
Two days ago, I decided
To realise
Some cherished memories
Of my beloved little pueblo;
So I drank about five glasses
Of Monteviejo
In preparation for
The rediscovery of
The town of my heart.
Firstly, I sat in the bar
Where I used to meet
All my friends,
And was assaulted
By the prices of the drinks
And the volume of the music.
I searched the place
With my eyes
For the innocence and laughter
Of yesteryear, but in vain.
The young people are forced
Into tight little groups,
So atmosphere
Is ponderous and alienating.
Where is the fun?
The wild and foolish socialising?
The comic local music?
All gone. I could cry.
Oh, these nerves, this living death.
I am so full of fear,
Lethargy and fury,
I can hardly function.
There's a lack of innocence
Of simplicity
And is this change
From deep within me?
The freedom,
The spark of youth
Is gone,
Or have I merely lost it?
Sophistication spoils,
The city ravages,
Senses refined
By knowledge and wine.
(Based on an unfinished story written either in the late '70s or early '80s, in the spirit of the would-be "tortured artist", absurd, melodramatic.)
Belong to me
I am yet alone and lonely
left behind to do my reading sweeping calling
steady on be with me here now
we can make music into the night
eyes shining
I can read you all my books
and tell your secrets
back to you
for I have known you throughout time
and again
we spend these years together
in joyous
rediscovery
tears roll down your cheeks like pyramids of deflation
i never know how to fix it, so i choose to listen
what i discover are emotions that are oftentimes stranded in the rain of routine
we need to get the blood of our origin flowing again
knowing this, i reintroduce myself as that shy guy you met and fell in love with years ago
you, in return, let your hair down and put that same flower in your hair....on the left side
you then reintroduce yourself and we begin to playfully flirt and reveal new things about ourselves
it is somewhere in the heart of all the rediscovery that we begin to know each other again
the rain of routine stops when the TV is turned off and our ears are retuned in order to naturally and genuinely listen
our hearts begin to skip beats like jovial pebbles thrown from an inquisitive kid's hand
we renew and revitalize the love so tainted by the acidic stain of dissipation
laughter permeates the room in our minds like skyscrapers of inflation
We may have been seeing reflections belonging to yesterday
Perhaps they were awakened musings buried deep in memory
but something was causing our emotional footsteps to stray
upon a romantic journey that led down a path of rediscovery
Afraid to speak of it, we silently chose which lane to walk
We nervously masked our secret feelings with some idle talk,
When he curled his fingers around mine, my heart began to race
A little uncertain if this journey would end in a sweet embrace
We stepped upon an ornamental passage, into a garden maze
and witnessed Heaven's light through a mystical golden haze
It was awash in nectar blossoms of nature's fragrant flowers
In a sweet-scented arbor, we shared passion's kisses for hours
Within each others arms we took a vow and pledged our love
Witnessed by red roses and a myriad of shining stars above
We caressed each other with touches we'd long been denied
He wiped away my tears of joy, tears I hadn't known I'd cried
Seedlings grow from the ground when nurtured by the sun
Our love bloomed in the garden, as we coupled and became one
and as tender grapes slowly ripen to become rare vintage wine,
we finally surrendered to each other, hearts forever to intertwine
A south wind carries magnolia petals
and butterfly wings, wafting through thoughts at dawn.
I share sweet expectations, peace
in mellow morning dew, holding fast to the hush like a treasure
of rediscovery in bright monarchs from
Mexico that flit all around, landing only to beautify my views.
A new day’s light, one of harmony, asks
to dance with this longing wanderer. I am reminded to calm
the clamor in my mind during these times if only
to sway with west marshes and willows in midday as I collect
memorable moments meandering on
my majestic path pebbled with scattered seeds of many travelers
who have sought their own illumination. Each one
calls to me from just ahead in spirited vespers, and I follow
with lightest steps in a vibrant season
preserved in verdant greens and cool blues. If summer is
warmth of a lazy river, then I will float
ever peacefully downstream on crystal waters that selflessly trace
the sparkling course in front of me. A wide ocean
will swell in my sight to meet the valiance of tomorrow’s rosy horizon.
A sunrise created before me will bring brilliant
yet familiar light, a glistening of generous gems across tropical waves
flowing to lands beyond my mind’s eye and into eternity.
The winding courses I trod will always be shared with whispering wings
of butterflies on the breeze. Whether the wind blows
with or against me, I will orbit slowly in the bold glory of sunlight.
Apollo, in his fiery chariot, shines down on my path.
If my travels be smooth, I will bless my steps, the lush grass to rest
upon, and helpful hands along the way.
If my travels be harsh with sinking feet in marsh, I will bless the life
around me, the orchids hanging with the moss
from branches, and the love awaiting as soft dusk turns to darkness.
These are the joyous rambles of a wandering mind
as I fly to distant dreams in ancient worlds. Some of which I fantasize,
I may or may not find, but glorious are visions
on my journey to every someplace I imagine as I sing golden songs with
the breath of ancestors on wings. The warmth of
their hearth waits to welcome me, and I welcome tranquil winds
of an unknown world.
Written 7/6/20
Contest - Butterflies and Marshes Mellow
Sponsor - Kai Michael Neumann
Love’s Ghost Town Remembers
Isolated yesterdays
Feeding off arid dust,
While ancient choruses of tumbleweed
Keep passion’s past perpetually moving.
Wind blown footprints weave gracefully through
Structures of emotion’s main street,
Where milestones once fresh of adorned colors
Appear mirage-like,
Even as its essence remains alive.
Questioned of age,
Experience remains confident of purpose,
Defying rejection,
Lifting its rolling history
Above and over obstacles,
Willing to chance its foreverness at any cost.
Such are one’s dreams tempting wakefulness,
Cautiously holding steady
Behind shuttered windows of slumber,
Awaiting the sun’s rise each morning,
Eyes opening with anticipation,
Lifting one, then two eyelids of daring,
Inviting rays of light to sift through yesterday’s shadowed confinement,
Encouraging a rigid mind to embrace smiles once again,
Invite love’s enigma,
Permit it to fortify
The chance of rediscovery.
For…
Even as another day rushes forward to fade,
One’s ghost town of love
Wants only to raise yesterday’s shadows toward the light,
Desiring to be haloed in the dust,
To coalesce with love’s sunset
And make ready the gamble…
Once again.
The Year: Long Squandered 1999;
Frank Flynn had found my sent parceled poems ‘fine’
“They can lend themselves... to live performance”
Wherefore I mount for each surveillance….
An Atypical BBC Staff:
His signed statement A frankness not by half;
Laminated have I his bold comment:
Above My First Degree ‘A Document.’
Saw Frank, too, in My Enclosed Verses
‘ Originality of Rhythm’
Then, whoever, their action rehearses
Hasn’t The Spurious got to fathom.
And Frank had marked their “freshness of vision”
I began to crave their prompt diffusion…
Owe I Frank self-rediscovery:
A focus sidelining livery;
Strong reasons to start idolizing self
And speedily start assembling A Shelf…
The Last I should crucify of The Crew;
If he were still alive The Safest Jew.’
Spiritual, perhaps even emotional, experience
reflected upon and evaluated with gratitude,
can further develop natural-rational
secular-sacred
co-intelligent eco-presence
between sacred ecotherapy
and secular egohealthy healing.
By contrast,
LeftBrain competitions
against RightBrain cooperatives,
PositivEnergy trusted
by multicultural democratic emotions
and motions
of swelling WinWin love
and awesome Left-Right co-arising beauty,
These winning Losses,
salutary problems,
further acclimate against health optimization
furthering LeftBrain dominant suboptimization
of natural-spiritual wealth
within everyday Western competitions
to champion patriarchal patriotism
Against matriarchal eco-maturity
nondualistic
non-violent nurturing
Green ZeroZones
Boundaried by No Vacancy signs
aimed as tools, not monoculturing weapons
for harvesting dissonance,
co-disassociating non-therapeutic colonizing injustice risks
distinguished from ecotherapeutic creolizing justice opportunities
of and for peace-filling ZeroZones
of Sacred Green PolyCulturing Integrity.
Light/Dark emotional, perhaps even spiritual, experience
reflected upon and evaluated with gratitude,
can present both LeftBrain oppositions for EgoSafety
and RightBrain BothAnd apposition
for WinWin EcoOpportunity ReDiscovery.
In Pursuit of what you used to have
go back to where you used to be;
around the premises of where you used to be
you will find the things you used to do
In redoing the things you used to do
you will reconnect with who you used to be;
in reconnecting with who you used to be
you’ll certainly recover what you used to have
By recovering what you used to have
you’ll rekindle the flames of what truly lies within;
thereon embark on your journey of real fulfilment
catapulting you to the apex of your existence.
Form:
I've been going through
Old poetry, my own, a motley
Collection like a dusty attic piled with
Rumpled rhyme schemes
And littered with brightly hued
Scraps of imagery, left half-stitched;
It's an interesting sort of search,
Going through old notebooks
Like wardrobes stacked with
Threadbare cliches and dusty
Scrapbook impressions of a
Younger soul; hazy reflections trapped
Under the surface of a warped mirror
And it is here that I will find
Tucked between the folds of
Outgrown naivete and melodic revery
Hidden, like pressed flowers,
Still-vibrant emotions; memories;
Surprisingly sweet
Mind the brain game on...
the conspicuous lay in taunt...
lessons well observed
A leader has become...
The tide she leaves distinguished...
All sands will follow her...
She dwells in her own pool...
With a gift,
The heavens bestowed...
Her futuristic mind scape...
Past lends her a glimpse...
Mind the brain game on...
Lessons well observed...
Message with feeling dialect
She understands all word...
All prophecy sent from hindsight
All lessons well observed...
No clutching at the straws...
A moments rediscovery...
message spelled out from grave...
Mind the brain game on...
All lessons well observed...
Once quell now ink on bread crumbs...
Message in feeling dialect...
A leader she has now become...
All lessons well observed...
The grave in turn protect
Twinkling, Twinkled fallen star one has treaded paths of the unknown only to be guided to rediscovery of self love and light, entering lows seeking a new dimension to twinkle bright seeking love and happiness easing on downs these journeys of peace and solace.
My hometown, my lost friend,
Thank you for greeting me once again,
at a time when we both are lost.
When I wander your streets,
you also wander within me,
weaved into my thoughts.
Winding down to your core,
to the oldest part of you,
I finally remember your last hug.
I left you in chase of dreams,
but the silence of your smooth brick walls
always called me back, haunting me to recall my origin.
Do you remember when I climbed up your bosom?
Swept up to your canals on the rustle of your voice in the wind?
I remember cycling up streets of yours,
through rows of antiquated shops,
the vast green fields coming into view.
I stretched on your arms and legs to the sand hills,
where your voice blew fainter than a whisper.
Your vast cemetery is a reminder of where we stand in relation.
And how in death, you hold us tight against your bosom still.
I know that your greens and parks are like your dreams.
And your slums, your plazas, are your nightmares.
How granite manors, dilapidated ruins of industry,
slums, and cafes dot your skin harmoniously.
Now I glance your history over thick stone railings.
Modernity to your face makes you sad,
an unclouded glimpses of your ancient face cries,
and I’m here to wipe your tears.
Your hug brings back my pleasures.
Some are darkened subconscious – like late nights walks,
embedded in drunken haze, winding to romanticism of my youth.
Others are gracefully vivid, the walks through the mango gardens,
holding my father’s hand, and dreaming of unknown world.
Now winding down to your core, to the oldest part of you,
I finally remember your name.
It rolls off my tongue like the sound plucked strings off a harp.
It is there that I know who you were.
It is then that your message –
– brings me peace in its clarity once more.
You are like the rediscovery of an old photograph –
bringing me peace in its clarity once more.
You are the city that made me,
and to who I owe my fondest memories.
Heed that I am older now,
I walk a shorter pace and sleep a longer hour.
Beautiful women in spring, in the sun,
only bring nostalgic sorrow to my heart,
I long to find you one last time,
My hometown, my lost friend.