Best Reflective Poems
They slip beyond the reach of sight,
where thought begins to lose its frame,
into the fabric of the air,
returning softly out of light,
to where no mind can speak their name,
releasing secrets hidden there.
They linger briefly on the face,
then leave what could not yet be said,
caught in the corner of a sleeve,
as something passes from its place,
until the self moves on instead,
To teach a heavy heart to breathe.
They fall to ground or disappear,
absorbed in surfaces unknown,
drawn into dust or skin or rain,
then fade beyond our sense of here,
as time unthreads what it has known,
A cold reminder of the stain.
They surface later, undefined,
as memory reshapes their role,
called grief or joy by shifting voice,
yet never fixed within the mind,
for meaning cannot keep them whole,
Driven by laws, and not by choice.
They alter what the body keeps,
a breath released, a slowing chest,
a subtle shift in inner weight,
so something quiet shifts and seeps,
toward what it is to come to rest,
And forgives the heart its heavy state.
Sly low tide sneaks up to smooch the smooth shore
that holds old footsteps left behind us
and lends itself to sand castles
standing guard until high tide
plovers dart on fleet feet
across sodden sands
spindle-legged girls
hunt conch shells—
starfish
found!
Blue
waters
glistening
aqua appeal—
white-horse sea magic
spindrift manes rise from crests
awakened from lowest ebb
high tide arrives on thunder hooves
body-surf Neptune’s steeds to the shore—
my wet hair dries to sun-bleached beachy waves…
reflective pool
calm, still, dark, enchanting...
Eve's youth eddied
Slowly, the hours drag along
As I sit in quiet contemplation
On the horizon sits the dawn
Waiting with measured patience
My thoughts revolve around you
Almost as if I were a satellite
And just like sun, you don't seem to have a clue
That your warm rays bring me to life
And just like the moon
Whose domain is the ocean
Under the command of you
Is the tide of my emotion
It's my entire being that aches
For you to just want me
You don't know how much restraint it takes
To hold it all in and conduct myself calmly
I'm almost too affected by you
But I'll never speak the words as proof
So please do not ask
Losers
Do you waver. are you shy?
When they look at you
do their eyes imply:
"We'll have to make do"?
Do you doubt your reasons,
suspect your goals,
commit self-treason
defer to trolls?
Are you always too reflective?
Are all your victories retrospective?
Do you try to do what's right
and end up being too polite?
Take heart then, don't despair!
Remember losers, everywhere,
it's within the infinite power of thought
to prove conclusively the winners are not.
I heard the wind again today
it's sound so sad and low
it seemed to ask a question of me
"What had I come to know?"
I searched my heart for an answer to find
an answer for the wind and I
and what I found was the sound of the wind
to which I had no reply
What do you know after all this time
what have you come to see
what have you learned of the ways of your heart
what have you learned of me
I know of love came my reply
I know of the the pain when it then dies
I know of the feel of a loving touch
and the look of loving eyes
What I haven't yet found is that part of me
that part which drives love away
the love which I do so desperately need
to come to me and stay
Then once more I heard the wind in the night
it's lonesome and mournful sound
as it jostled the leaves away from the trees
then swept them along the ground
Look you well there so deep inside
the answer you seek is clear
that love which you so desperately seek
is also what you fear
Kevin Ryan Duncil
Labyrinth of Sighs
Wondering through a labyrinth of sighs
More platitudes with attitudes that never question why
A litany of afterthoughts about where we go when we die
An emboldened range of rude retorts refuting the reasons why I cry
A canon blazing wartime over a century ago
The night sky spent stargazing, wondering what we really know
A multinational conglomerate just phasing out more duplicitous advertisements that “flow”
A hungry orphan on a street corner, with nowhere else to go
Self-aggrandising promotion everywhere I seem to look
The wealthy uprising causing commotions, celebrities writing books
A typhoon on the island coast, Turkey on the day the earth shook
A morbid day that hurts the most,
An undignified Capatalist crook
The arrogant certainty of western superiority
The way the monotony forms around typecast minorities
The precedence of material goods conspiring to take global priority
The contradictions of individualism that consume the vast majority
The medical anomalies and surgical advancements
The incredible atrocities of cosmetic enhancements
A formidable ferocity of genetics and semantics
An incredible philosophy of frenetic theological pedantics
A sincere gaze of solidarity into another persons eyes
A mere phase of different polarities that use scientific graphs to signify
A Purple Haze of creative improvisational genius that cannot be quantified
A confused daze of inconvenience as another witness is proven to have lied
Returning to the central point of a theoretical discourse
Concerning a fundamental joint possible hypothetical recourse
A burdened soldier after war suffering the agony of remorse
An ancient boulder from the shores of civilisations geographic historical course
A curious mathematician, an inspiring original think
The spurious contradictions of a political candidate on the brink
A furious proposition concerning a scandalously placed eye wink
Human connectivity and the endless search for the missing link
Copywright Elizabeth Moroz
morn of sunlit dew…
jewels upon blades of grass
rainbow of dawn’s tears
© Harry J Horsman 2021
I sit silently, so still
On the wooden chair in the den
Beside a window, sun raining in
Baptizing my thoughts
In warmth, blazing breaths
Of faraway wonders
The seat I sit upon
Once was a sturdy oak
Filled with dancing leaves
Sunshine purred through
Composing a song
Of detailed hopes, dreams
Pondered by graying
Branches so powerful
Cardinals and wrens convened
On them, a meeting
Heart, soul and mind
Chirping and crooning delight
As they while away the mornings
Reflecting on the mysteries
God’s wisdom, His creativity
Smiling from a sun who gleams
Against a backdrop of ridges
Emerald and sapphire mountains
Peaks like the hands lifted
In prayer, praising Him
The Maker of their wrinkles
The Reason for the massifs
Who preach hope, faith and love
Mixed together with joy and peace
As I sit on my wooden seat
Echoing my heart
Grace promises me to listen
As I share my soul
Glorifying the One who knows
My thought are the thoughts of
The gladness of knowing
His rising Son, the only One
To bring true hope
For the yearning soul
In the shadows of the setting sun
His peace reveals the saving love
I long for, plead for, wait for
With each prayer my thoughts invoke
Wasted chances in the rearview
Ghosts of choices I once knew
Flickers fade in tinted glass
Moments lost I let slip past
Hands on the wheel
Dusk in my eyes
Truth in the silence
No more disguise
Tires hum low like a whispered vow
I’m not who I was
I’m who I’m becoming now
Freezing weather
Stay in bed Weather
Cuddle close weather
Ignore the world weather.
Renewal weather
Budding trees weather
Begin new life weather
Awakening blooms weather
Sweltering Weather
Cooling swim weather
Walking in shade weather
Relaxing drink weather
Reflection weather
Rustling Leaves Weather
Foggy morning weather
Abundant harvest weather.
Skies clear and blue
Make thoughts of you
Close me beside
Skies grey with black
Bring mem'ries back
Alone I cried
Skies orange or red
Make they instead
Full thoughts of joy
Skies bright with stars
Trade dismal bars
Forever gone
(This poem is meant to be read a second time in reverse, word by word rather than line by line, starting at the beginning and continuing to the end.)
I'm in a café booth
nursing a hot coffee.
And, between steamy sips,
I stare at a mirror.
There, reality's a
reflection, not real.
And, like caricatures,
flaws come into focus.
I know; it's merely glass,
with a reflective sheen.
And yet, I am transfixed;
scanning strangers' faces.
My eyes get scrutinized;
when I stare at myself.
And it's fascinating;
guessing who will blink first.
Shifting shadows provide
this free entertainment.
And voyeurs, stealthily
watch life slip by unseen.
What you see is what you get.
When I look in the mirror I see I’ve got it.
Perhaps I’ve got a bit too much of it.
I walk past a store I can see in the window
as he walks along with me he’s got it bad
I am comforted to know I’m not the only one
Some say
the experiences and encounters along life's paths and ways,
it's the journey that we're on,
the sibling rivalry, the parental guides in each direction gone,
from birth to death we do our best on the earthly scene
come what may in the in-betweens.
I don't see it that way despite the tears
my eyes grow more cataract in arrears
over these fading years.
This path, this life's perpetual dance,
molds and form us with our stories to be told by circumstance
is a journey full of plans and accidents unbound
love is given and is taken, is lost and in forever found
to keep us ever on the path we cast
along with earthbound spirits of the past.
I've walked it all these years in ice and fire,
teetering and tight roped on the wire
toes and feet are well worn and body tired.
Now time,
is catching up, passing by in the roadside signs
once slow and precise, occasionally on pause
takes a look back in the mirror with quiet sigh and applause
reflections of thoughts in my mind wanderings to look
telling me to be grateful for the journey and the path I took.
I have regrets, not always won
they will never be undone
forgive me each and every one.
But you
cajoling and supporting every possible view
ever by my side, my lover and my guide as time took
not once measured by directions in the book
but ever forward, bold and innocent, sinner and repentant
the path was clouded then cleared, forged unlamented.
I'm grateful for this life, of living in the day
happy to have been and still be here upon the way
what more can I say;
It's the reflection over time that lasts
bound by images and dreams refined and now passed
lives are drawn and quartered imprinted by the paths we cast.