Best Relearn Poems
Close your eyes
inhale roses-
love-glazed steam
of insatiable thirst;
place your thoughts
upon my heart,
feel my
voice s w i r l i n g
in sync with
periwinkle promises
whilst devouring
unfurled petals
facing ebony skies,
tenderly sketching
silhouettes with
vanilla drops;
for you and I,
we are interwoven
souls through
cosmic t r a n c e…
forevermore.
Tonight when dusk
transcends the
darkest twilight,
I’ll allow these
thoughts to
d r i f t into a magical
meadow where
butterflies b o u n c e
from wavy blades,
reflecting our love
in unspoken shades.
I’ll wait for you,
to relearn what
it means to be
the flesh and
bone of summer…
as this longing
c a s c a d e s
in
sherbet hued
cherry blossoms.
And if
the moon
refuses
to rise,
I’ll sketch your
pearlescent smile
across g r e y i n g
spheres, like the
first
glimpse
of
morning crescent;
unveiling verses-
s p i r a l i n g as mystical
milky-ways within…
emanating candy
coated cologne..
So find me
between
flickering afterglows,
l i s t e n to the
whispering willows,
seek shelter beneath
autumnal rainbows,
amidst m o v i n g seasons,
for two hearts
that beat the same,
would always find
their rhythm amidst
many seas
ruffling with ripples
of aching dreams,
between them~
although virtual
hugs are all we have
to keep our
f r e e z i n g
souls of summer
warm and in sync.
As the glistening jewels
of snow cascade like
ballerinas pirouetting
to the crescendo of time,
choreographed from porcelain
keys of your h e a r t,
delicate fingers of the
winter moon stretch,
enveloping forlorn footprints
of poignant memories,
framed with petal-like poems
you've placed in the
gallery of my melancholic mind
where soulless shadows still~
haunt me in holographic
hues through somber nights, but
If I were to rewrite the anatomy
of this romance with~
juxtapositions, should I rescript
your promises in p s y c h e d e l i c ink?
knit silken sonnets from the
tapestry of scintillating
stars in our favour,
letting go of all the
seasonal silhouettes
that seized redolent rhymes,
maybe, it is from pain
we relearn to dream
in periwinkle pigments to
nurture and navigate through
decayed gardens embalmed in
opalescent tears and fluorescent fears
suppressed and
personified within gossamer
tales of sunflower s i l e n c e…
Quilted with questions that your
quintessential quill can~
reveal, in romanticised verses, to wade
through the abstracts of weary woes.
So, set your stones to
architect cobalt grey lanes,
to usher feathered thoughts into the
serenity of your scented sanctuary.
until I find the perfect gateway
adorned with crystals in the
verdant valleys, engrossed in vanilla flakes,
where cosmic yearnings are embroidered
between mauve instruments
harmonised from
xylophone whispers reverberating
in vermilion s t i l l n e s s…
You will always be the
clementine crown of my sun,
the scarlet scrapes in my ink,
zested in zealous dahlias
and no rain can drown
this celestial
c o l l a b o r a t i o n…..
I ache for an esoteric escape ~
to relearn the unwritten rhythm,
lost in the gravity
of your gossamer gaze,
where the sun
no longer dawns
as a sinister star ~
and the dust
of monsoon skies
rains soulful sonatas,
while mellifluous mists
merge with silence,
to paint
a porcelain portrait
that feels like forever ~
not merely
a picturesque prison,
but a place that houses love,
beyond uncertainties
framed in fear…
but now we meet and muse
in the realm of garnet gravels,
a dream delicately composed
in roseate reverie
where this becomes
more than a portrait,
a poem woven with patience,
when heavy is the past
that
pushes, pulls,
presses ~
while leaves sigh and
drift through skies of
autumnal elegance…
I surrender to your balmy blues
the ocean-deep devotion.
I long to devour and remain
consumed
amidst the
boulevard of divine doves
a field of freedom
until every evening
envelops our thoughts
with tender teal ~ timelessness
and soul-prints pulse
and glimmer
tracing twilight’s melodies
like silk-laced stars
spinning through
the cashmere cadence
of everlasting Eden…
I searched only to find,
days more survived,
th'n wooed by life,
asking the heavens why.
Her name held a promised vow..
likened to a solitary bell,
from tall steeple's climb,
oh, how far I fell..
for one called Michelle.
I'll meet you in starlight again..
if rightful universe is willing,
to lend a helping hand.
Maybe, just maybe,
if they hear me praying,
where winged angels go singing..
her laughing eyes still playing.
Night passes on,
awaiting tomorrow's dawn,
somewhere a lone bell still ringing,
where queen takes pawn.
Two lover's lips willing to relearn,
whispered in a wishing well,
softest voice' heralding a return,
the one called Michelle..
If I were a bird, would you clip my wings
then cage me away with pretty things?
And, if my wings were to be clipped
why not just burry me within a crypt,
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
For to have wings that cannot soar,
then why not nail me to the floor?
Tonight I shall make my final swan song
knowing I have been locked away so long.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant so kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So still the caged bird, she sings
without her sky, without wings.
Sometimes laments, sometimes sighs,
sometimes she whistles her own reprise.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So then curious is it, the caged thing
who finds she has the heart to sing?
Because it would seem a great strain
to be caged seems twisted and profane,
for a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
When asked, why do you sing, bird?
The answer is a simple word,
hope, for escape from behind these bars
that keep me caged from the stars.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
Birds should have no master, no kings
and love cannot be clipping wings.
But now it seems I must live confined,
in this hand crafted cage of your design,
but a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So must I wait for these wings to heal
and relearn how the wind may feel.
If I must be caged, still my heart sings
of the day I can again use my wings.
Everyday, in all my years, I always spoke to you.
But now, I'm forced to live my life especially anew.
Three years have gone by since I last heard your voice.
And I still feel as if my heart is being destroyed.
I never would of guessed, it would be this hard.
As I put being without you, in disregard.
At nights I feel ambivalent ,when my dreams are with you,
In hopes that when I wake up, I'll still see you.
But I'm always let down when reality kicks in.
That another day is to live without you and so painful to comprehend.
My life is different now and so am I.
I've had to relearn everything that I thought I knew in life.
Only this time,without you, being by my side.
It's hard some days and then some days seem better,
But the bad days are hard, almost too hard to endeavor.
I still get angry that you were taken away.
And how much I feel like I've been betrayed.
But I realize that these things had to happen for me to grow.
And to get to know myself,only by being alone.
Maybe missing you will get better with time.
Maybe this mountain will get easier and less difficult to climb.
However this journey ends up to be,
I'll take every step still wishing you were right next to me.
I awoke this morning, before Dawns early light; the Sunshine still slept.
I took my coffee cup, out on the porch, and for “Lenore” I Finally wept.
The pain, the agony, years of grief: rolled down my cheeks: My Soul’s Relief.
A single ray of sunshine over the majestic purple mountains peak, peeks.
Out of this single ray of light, my Heartbeat; my Soul “ LENORE “ speaks.
“ My Dearest and Only Beloved ; I’m sorry I left, upon our Everlasting Day.
I’ll sing to you My final Poem, before OUR Heavenly Father; bids Me to stay
I remember every Rhyme, YOU wrote For ME : Lets memorize each TIME.
GOD grants US togetherness : “ LENORE, Lets make this HOUR, OURS.
LENORE and I shared Memories, OUR POETRY : many of OUR HOURS
As I came back, from this Adventure, the morning Sun was smiling at ME.
Atop the Mighty Purple Mountain he had climbed ; I was not There to SEE.
With eyes now wider opened, I watch the warmth of the SUN racing at ME.
I feel the wind the warmth flies in on, Flowing through my Grey White Beard
I Smell the flowers growing; I see the mighty OAK Limbs wave; WEIRD.
I must Retrain my senses; To see, hear, feel : TO WRITE!! My FRIENDS
Relearn the Basic laws of Truth and LIFE and LOVE and FEELING.
Must Retrain my hands to write of The Beauty of Mother Earth! My FAMILY
I have to Study very Hard, my Contemporaries , to quicken the HEALING.
Then I can Write, to the ones I love; They teach me Everything THE POETS
At eleven years old, by my Dad I was told
that I'd soon be enrolled, in a special Hebrew program
Try it for a year, my son, my dear
Do not fear: It'll be over before you know it
Hebrew you'll learn; for Torah you'll yearn
To God you will turn. You'll thank me for this in the long run
Well, my Dad was plain wrong. That year felt so long
It dragged and dragged along. Then, voila! It just ended
My Bar Mitzvah was good. I did my job like I should
Ate as much food as I could. And told my father I was quitting
My Dad was so sad. He felt I'd gone bad
Didn't care I was glad. Told me I'd made a mistake...
Years and years passed. My resolve didn't last
Just as my Dad had forecast. He'd been right all along
To God I had turned. For Torah I yearned
Hebrew I burned to relearn. But now I was sad
For Dad had passed away. His kindness unrepaid
At his gravesite I pray ~ that he accept my gratitude undying
September 01, 2020
Attitude of Gratitude Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
We don't see the stars as we once did.
We've lost contact now,
we live indoors.
We've lost the mythology of stars,
our ancestors once had.
They were glued to the celestial display at night,
and the stories and omens it told them.
Even when city-dwellers venture out at night,
to gaze and peer up at the night-sky of lights,
their view is dimmed by city lights, so bright.
Perhaps we should get out more at night,
and relearn what the ancients knew,
and what the stars told them.
It makes more sense than what we are told by science
much of which is quite frankly beyond belief.
In one Australian Aboriginal culture,
the Sun is female while the Moon is male.
"The Sun is a lovely old lady called Walu Yolngu"
She arises each morn and puts on her red ochre
this is why the sunrise is red.
Then the sun, sets a stringy bark tree on fire
and carries it across the sky and giving us daylight,
At day's end the sun puts out
the flaming stringy bark tree, and it's night till dawn.
The Moon is a bad person, called Ngalindi,
He is lazy, does nothing around the camp,
and becomes big and round and fat,
like the full moon.
His kin get so angry with his laziness
that they chop bits off him off each night.
So he gets thinner and thinner in phases.
Eventually he dies and disappears
completely for three nights in a row.
Then, he returns as a new full, fat new moon.
His is still, just as lazy, and loses his bits in phases.
This is charming, and makes much more sense
than what we are told in school.
We should get out more at night,
with our torches to read the ancient texts.
To relearn the lovely ancient stories again.
To put the heavenly soul back in the night sky.
There's a lot more out at night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today. - Abraham Lincoln
Silence gathers like dust
on the piano lid—unplayed songs folded
into brittle paper wings.
The hummingbird feeder hangs empty,
sunlight glinting off dried nectar.
Each day our hands relearn
the slow syntax of stiffness.
Morning pills rattle accusations
in amber bottles. Who will read
the warning labels when our eyes retreat?
Childless. No daughters to decipher
our fading ink. No sons
to steady the wobble
of ascending stairs. Lincoln’s shadow
lengthens across the porch:
Tomorrow arrives hungry.
You cannot feed it yesterday’s excuses.
We scan horizons for villages
built of shared tremors
where neighbors become
soft euphemistic nouns—caregiver, listener, stayer~
before the light fails completely.
To wake and taste nothingness,
perhaps, is the cruelest feeling,
when ink craves to crease its lines
with truth that will not run
in recurring refrains
of a time-bruised routine,
where language reflects the lunatic
and words hold no weight.
Let the heart relearn hurt once more,
as the Reaper listens, loving
the pulse of my breathing sigh,
beholding me write longevity into the sky,
amidst iron syllables of steady seconds,
secretly savoring the stillness
of morning minutes that refuse finality…
Immersed in the current of continuity,
in love with the soul’s frequencies ~
I know my faith’s flame:
the rhapsody of a rose, unshaken…
Dear Mom’s Multiple Sclerosis,
Thank you. I know it’s odd to thank a disease.
Especially when it’s bound to take the one person that will always love you.
But thanks.
You have made my mother stronger in the face of pain.
You have made me stronger in the face of uncertainty.
But, thanking you does not mean you don’t infuriate me.
You have made her future look like wheelchairs,
medicines, and a useless right half of her body.
You have made my future look like hovering over my sick mama,
constant fear and never knowing what is next.
Her past looks like hospitals, physical therapy sessions,
and missing senior prom so she could relearn to brush her teeth.
Mine looks like remembering what she couldn’t,
filling in sentences when her words went missing,
and making dinner for kids whose mommy couldn’t move.
No matter how many books I read about you,
and trust me, I’ve read more than you think,
I still can’t find the words to properly explain to
my eight year old sister
why mommy sleeps so much
and is always in so much pain.
Do you see the serenity of my
misshaped machete?
A moment mistaken for a musical mystery,
Hold no hopes for this ballad my blade sings to you;
She only reflects the dreams on a dimmed dawn you once drew,
Foolishly flourishing for the finely crafted chaos,
When the writings on her walls bleed for the bruises you prey on,
Rest on the reflection she wove for you,
A closet you’ve locked, she wiggled her way into,
Do the realistic corners of what you seek have no light?
Did my mahogany mirror make you feel a little fright?
Was holding the hands of an echo a suggestive thrill?
Or would you rather have a minute and relearn the drill?
Dare not blame my beastly blade, wear no shade, since you stayed,
So lay your cards and pay the price you played.
Life is indeed full of surprises..
Life is so huge to understand
It pricks us to cry, and lulls us to smile
Yesterday, we were full of love
Today, we helplessly fall out of love
It buoys us up to make the most of it
And be the best of everything
It is an endless maze,and faith is the only
banner of direction to destination
A gamble that we sometimes recklessly bet
Win or lose,we are up ready to try it again
A lesson, we ,most of the time, forget,
We do the same mistake, we learn and relearn
A pain, we get over with and yet, we find ourselves
being hurt again..
A trust, we willingly give away, but once
deceived, we can hardly give it back.
We build and rebuild it..
We sacrifice, we need to, to complete
ourselves through our loved ones' success
We hope like a persistent gale, failure may be
at hand, but we just don't stop hoping..
A choice that always begets struggle
to make us strong and be humble
We dream.We need an effort to believe in it
to get through and live through.
If life is so flickery to handle, then I must hold on to
the truth that I still live and live...
Self knowledge equated to the encyclopedia
and perceived facts, products of personal reasoning
the efficacy of thoughts should not be questioned
and assumptions simply made real and absolute
Typical of such a thought stamps on convictions that
the banana and plantain are the same
a superior race surely exist
leg size has a great correlation with the male’s genital
the measure of one’s success is solely factored
in his accumulation of wealth
and money is the root of all evil.
This mindset can walk on hot coal just to prove these points
Columbus was the first European to visit the Americas
bulls are colour blind and bats are completely blind
women are subordinates to men
and a pure heart is one which covers its body from head to toe
This mind can even tear its clothes to rags
in displeasure to your opposition to issues such as
Sydney is Australia’s capital
the earth’s evolution is the cause of day and night
Africa is a country and its inhabitants exchange
morning greetings with the Lion and the Chimpanzee
and Neil Armstrong is the first human to journey into out space
Despite carrying the internet even to the dreams
and having global captions mixed with daily breath
assumptions such as these are nurtured
religiously, with rigidity and military acceptance
the biggest illiterate of the 21st century is one
who cannot learn, unlearn and relearn
so said Alvin Toffler, the Australian Educationist.
Oh sorry! The American futurist