Best Relaying Poems
Sitting in a cloak of black conservatism:
I feel my hands,
oily on the desk like shortening in
slate gray cookie pans,
the speedway inside forcing the absence of
reabsorption,
And my thoughts,
so flippant to implore
if a man with a chartreuse neck tie
can see the long wet streaks
across the cherry plane.
He speaks,
a sequence of interrogatives
common to the bored walls
of serious conference,
evoking tone inflection
in the pattern of polite.
Darest I mention truth?
I am your whore;
infect me with smug integrity,
smack me with false prophet leadership,
just leave some crisp bills
on the nightstand, sugar.
Yet my voice models his wavelength,
relaying back the catchy tired language
of one hit wonders;
eyes brighten,
hands extend
from the man who owns a chartreuse tie.
Sigh.
Still,
complacency
awards a loaf of Wonder bread,
and a two bedroom lower.
It was a cold, rainy September day
Dark clouds rolled above Redemption Bay
And the mist hovered over the old ragged dock
As a young man emerged from behind tall rocks
Each step he took delivered excruciating pain
Leaving him breathless, shivering in pouring rain
Sleep came creeping slowly, scaling his wounded leg
Enticing, urging him, sit for a while instead
With weighted, blurried eyes, he scanned the lonely shore
Gazing at the wound; pulsing, touched it and let out a roar!
Barely standing, leaning against the boulders, nauseous and weak
As intoxicating sleep sought to engulf him, warm and deep
Eyes wide, filled with fright, searching all directions
Frantic, he re-played in his mind the vast destruction
Seeing how the culmination of this day began at fifteen
And remembered the vow made upon surveying the scene
Angry, he had been, running all of his life!
From pain and the call to live free from strife
Helpless, he sat watching each wave roll in its turn
Relaying, that he had reached, the point of no return!
~*~
Note: For Paula Swanson's "POINT" Contest
Oh! The generous buoyant breeze
You help the earth revolve with ease
Beaming the news of a flower that unfurls
And to outreach bees, insects and flies
Here and there, you just twirl, curl and whirl
Fetching facts of water levels of lakes
Traveling miles and crossing continents
You spread data to storks, ducks and crakes
Diffusing fragrance of the flowers
Transmitting aroma of the home food
Carrying enticing tunes of the bamboo
Disseminating whispers of the lovers
Relaying secrets of spectacular seasons
Oh! The generous buoyant breeze
You help the earth revolve with ease
This night of misery my essence rapidly descending
Tears like summer rain cascading
O for this dark wintry night prolong
Breaking heart aches so forlorn
Circumstance, distance always impeding
In silence apprehensive heart conceding
Devoid of sustenance waiting in anguish
Quiescent alone in sorrow I languish
As posts interweave deferring
Father Time nonchalant delaying
Yet, essence nourish essence elating
Unadulterated love relaying
Tonight, on borrowed wings my heart must fly
To sheltering warm arms in which I'll lie
In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.
Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.
What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.
Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.
They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.
The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.
August 8th, 2013
I saw a look of hurt so primordial, the dust teared and cleared
Every wrinkle, every agony,
Every twinkle in his eye hopelessly wrought by words
He struggled with a bag of old books,
His white hair scraggly, his breathing heavy
I, with sorrow wrenching from my soul,
Sought his own, in a sad smile that he so feverishly caught
Moments passed, as the older man disappeared,
But I sat there, ready to speak to him if he should return
For such a catch in the eye
Cannot soon dim and die with chance
He returned swiftly,
“Excuse me, will you be here long?”
I said, “Sure. What is it?”
He looked into my eyes and smiled,
“Would you mind watching my books for just a bit?
My clarinet is in the building, I need to go fetch it from a friend.”
“Sure,” Said I. “No problem.”
He thanked me, setting the bag down near me
And walked with confidence to the building,
To retrieve his instrument
I pondered his life, the pain in his eyes,
And for a moment wondered how it might compare to mine
This old man, struggling with a massive bag of books,
An even greater weight pressing upon his practiced brain
A brain filled with the pure notes of a mechanism that soars
He returned almost joyously, thanking me once again,
Relaying to me his previous sufferings,
Unkind, uncouth words,
In his mind, sure and inerasable
“Have you ever been treated so ill you wished to die?
Have you ever felt that little?
Felt so powerless, and failing?
Surely I must be boring you. . .”
When his countenance calmed and I reassured him,
Offering my sympathetic ear,
And many a sensitive nod,
He asked my name before leaving forever
“Ah…do you know the song ‘Laura’?”
He hummed the tune and I beamed, nodding,
Remembering the haunting melody
It was as if he was anticipating that nod,
That he knew I recognized such a strange, haunting tune
By his happy, alighted smile
So when he went on his way,
With his heavy bag of books,
And his clarinet tucked safely in his black box,
Our pains sauntered on to less fortunate fellows
Sacred Heart
The uphill spring of this morning's events
Has washed me clean of all common pretense
Swept up in the rush and I once more...
Into a world of punches, go bruised and sore
Suffer fools sadly, with my savoir-faire
Leave the table hungry, why should I care
Th' sandman didn't come, up since the dawn
Walk against the wind, walking in the sun
Feel the pull, the improbable, my first born
Without my sacred heart I might get something done
Sacred Heart
Now, I don't mind trouble, I hold my own
But she's the one thing moving I call home
I'll not see her though, not if she sees me first
Relaying anecdotes, if that's the way it works, then it works
She's the stuff n'sure enough second to none
Without my sacred heart there's little to be won
Sacred Heart
“Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?
Because it feels so good when I stop”
Searching fulfillment in each written sentence
On route to becoming a great moral being
Voids of feeling should start with repentance
Relaying the outcomes to all that I’ve seen
I stumble and rise as I journey forward
When obstacles bring me to stubbing my toe
I persevere ever through each raging torrent
And question the norms of the status quo
I climb as I bang my head against walls
Halting progression to sky phases next
I carry on further the burden to fall
Blinded in ventures through mazes perplexed
So why do I torture myself it may seem
Continually beating my way to the top
The fight for the cause does justify means
The shifting of balance feels best when I stop
He was one of those, you know, one who doesn't believe
That is the life he chose, so easy for the world to deceive
An atheist pure and through denying God's Glory everyday
A conclusion he drew without ever once seeking His Way
Well he got sick as next thing you know he ended up dead
Life is so very, very quick as already your youth has fled
Floating above as often heard but none of them could hear
For not another single word that reality had become clear
Then he was lead away by two as the fog became so thick
And then what they started to say the words made him sick
Soon they began ripping his skin..., yelling in pain, oh God!
This was judgment for all his sin and so shouldn't seem odd
But in the calling out of His Name the men just disappeared
So did all that blame as Jesus and three Angels soon neared
With his whole life laid bare before and told he must go back
This is not some folklore but the story of what so many lack
This man was extremely lucky as so we're all saved by Grace
He certainly did come to see but many never leave that place
Simply relaying a man's story who now has Jesus in his heart
If you know not His Glory, it will be too late, once you depart
It’s all the little things noticed or found
Introspect details about human flaws
Draped over sparse and electronic sound
Speaking specifics on love’s small faux pas
Lingering decay to crush broken hearts
That thud to machine-made, synthesized beats
On a low-end keyboard and salvaged parts
Locked into sad loops and doomed to repeat
Sorting the issues of small town affairs
Hopelessly hopeful that things might work out
Where controllers fail to capture the snare
Left to lay tracks made of sorrow and doubt
Calmly relaying bones from an attic
In heartfelt words and digital static
Subtle yet serious, all the while thinking
I slipped into depression.
I did not buy a ticket through these gates nor did I see them.
My thoughts are thinking my imagination into life
or my perception is real.
Lower than the bottom is how I feel.
Trespassing insanity or trespassing in sanity.
I take pills to correct a chemical imbalance.
Diagnostic devestation and a reprise visit
Misconceptual visits with ones self.
Relaying information through the gateways and further south
Fits of rage left me sullen and weary.
I slept through both day and night.
Only to awake in confusion with the new day.
Nothing short of good in a false reality is where my time stood still
All now corrected by a little pill.
"Likers gonna like" I heard her say
An odd twist on a more familiar saying
An optimistic maxim worth relaying
Perhaps I ought to pass it on today
"Likers gonna like" you heard me say
When you had shared your upbeat point of view
And wanting to give something back to you
I shared this phrase as you went on your way
"Likers gonna like" he heard you say
As you observed his selfless act of kindness
Towards a stranger troubled by their blindness
Your simple affirmation to convey
"Likers gonna like" she heard him say
When he learned she stood up against some wrong
A torch of optimism passed along
And so it went like that throughout the day
Thus equilibrium of energy
Like protons and electrons balancing
We each need positivity to bring
A balance to life's negativity
I've had several interesting conversations with my old friend Flora.
I delight in chatting with her kith and kin of which there's a plethora!
I suppose you think that she is an elderly aunt of mine,
But folks, the flora I speak of are my plants and climbing vine!
The latest fad is to chat with plants, mind you nothing profound,
So I decided to check it out and here is what I found.
I'm sure I baffled them with the nonsense I was relaying,
But I sensed some of the replies that to me they were conveying!
'Twas awkward to talk with grumpy Mrs. Mountain Phlox.
She wanted to be alone and thought me a boring chatterbox!
I made racy comments about the beauty of Madam Tiger Lily.
She castigated me for being a cad and thought me rather silly!
I tried to strike up a conversation with Miss Purple Iris,
But she shunned me as though I had some dreadful virus!
I tactlessly remarked upon the black eye of Black-eyed Susan.
She retorted, "Watch it fella, you're cruisin' for a bruisin!"
I had a smashing tete-a-tete with Hyacinth, Violet and Rose;
Colorful ladies who told risque jokes that kept me on my toes!
Having dialogue with flora can be a bit "thorny" at times, although,
'Tis more enlightening than jawing with certain folks I know!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
16.12.2015 Part 1
Dealing with lost feelings that need constant healing,
Expressing these words I hold dear in this piece I’m writing,
So enticing and inviting, with an open mind I accept,
Because I’m sick of this life I have unwarily slept,
All these concepts, I let in and fully dissect,
Inspecting and reflecting my curiosity for days,
Always keeping to alternative ways,
Remembering this always! Opening unseen doorways,
Through the smoke screen and haze,
While amazed within this maze, I see things in different ways,
Even though I'm aware of having limited brain waves of thinking,
Insisting through asking cause all they give us is the glaze,
Is this all they wanna say?
But today I ask, “Am I really just my DNA”?
Sometimes my mind feels like it’s being played and fabled,
Relaying and displaying everything I'm not understanding daily,
Creating confusion while I'm seeking out solutions,
But the truth I find is we're all part of consciousness evolution,
On this path faced with so much spiritual pollution,
Sometimes cursing so I deserve this as I continue to sort,
Through distorting information regarding the all-knowing source,
So we are forced to be simpleton's that cannot relate,
Cause,
Man has fooled themselves and don't ask for help,
Many of us dealt fables,
Manipulated light and invite ourselves into cognition chaos,
I know some of you will relate to this,
Mainly those who rise up when high,
Who find the lies are blatant and tainted in disguise,
To be continued.......at part 2
Quincy Mac
date written:16.12.2015
Abominable Aborigine
Boycotted Baltimore’s Bakery
Canady Canola’s Cannery
Decoded deceitful debauchery
Endless energetic energy
Forwarded farmyard frolicking for a fee
Geographically greeting in Germany
Hardcopy happiness hee hee hee
Ignoring ignorance illegally
Juicy juggling juggernauts
Kettledrums, Kenya and Kentucky
Livening up our literacy
Maniac madness in a manatee
Nightingale nips so nervously
October’s ocelot obviously….
Paralyzes Petunia Parkway’s parenthesis
Quaking quail quickly qualifies me
Relaying relative radioactivity
Scapegoats and scarecrows so scantily
Treat Tajikistan twice tactfully
Undermining Ukraine’s utter ukulele
Vaporizing various vanities
Wicked Washington warrants wisely
X-rays xylophones ‘xtra-instantly
Yellow jackets yield young yearly
Zippy Zeus’s zesty zoology zings with zeal between you and me.