Best Relegated Poems
Trills tumble through an air long silenced
warbled melodies enlighten the palate
whistles delight but fly off to the thistle
freighted by the frigid speak
amongst the downturn of the day
where blue skies lost their way
Memories of warm caresses
sing along in forgotten dreams
eclipsed heat of destiny
dealt away behind a curtain
draping naked rays of beauty
relegated to shroud in faded grey
Faint knocks of glory soon heard
where smiles seep in secret
gone but not forgotten
under blankets of hope
a moon struck douse of patience
left to awaken another day
Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
It was tantalizing, sweet completion
Lines of blue ink filling white space
Tastes of emotions, colors of consonants
Music of vowels, syllables singing
To create, and satiate
Then, time thinned
Responsibility and stress stepped in
Poetry, after all, does not pay the bills
Stop cloud watching and become an adult
They said, and they were right
So I packed her away, that silly girl
relegated to the dusty back room of memory
Gray and wilted, foolish scribblings
Nobody cared about anymore
Years, decades of feigned disinterest
Begins to dissolve in rediscovering
The flash of joy in composing
Ignited by a song-writing friend
Who dared encouragement
Steps sluggish, atrophied, but there
Saved in muscle memory
I hungered for nourishment, for balance
On unsteady limbs - I wanted my silly girl back
And I have her, revived on Soup from
My poetry sisters and brothers
Now, I am gaining
The reach of my wings
Soaring over cities of sonnets
Neighborhoods of roundels and rispettos
A haiku hamlet, an acrostic alleyway
Kingdoms of pantoums and villanelles
To the unfenced openness
Of free verse
I am still the bedrock of me
Stretching to climb taller trees.
2/23/19
Back to back
on their solemn brass bed
Facing shadows on the wall
as the chilled air lingers
between their silent breaths.
On an old wooden dresser
an antique lamp reflects its light
on the opalescent glass
of a tiffany vase, a mantel clock
and a family portrait collage.
The light is slowly flickering,
dimming over the years.
Once radiant and dazzling
it is now relegated to a mere
...................glint of light.
Their love has gone as the light.
Ardent, glowing, and promising
The perils of life have worn it's luster
It's future is unclear
Feelings gone cold ......
Cold as winds on Summers gone
Their spirits sleep in different places now
Their hearts lost not to be found
They still stand to watch the sunrise
with their eyes fixed upon the ground
Prized for perfumes and medicines,
Rainbow personified & God’s messenger,
Resting the souls of dead women,
Decorum of the graves,
Delight of the ancient artists.
Blooming on Minoan Walls,
Sculptured in stone at Karnak.
Living memories of the French revolution.
Clovis put you on his banner
And won over Germanic tribe.
Louis VII adopted you as device,
‘Fleur-de-lis’ the symbol of France.
Germany suspended you in beer barrels,
And France to enrich the wine,
England to give flavour to brandies,
And Russia flavoured a soft drink.
Then, plucked in a state of chastity,
Now, relegated to flavour toothpaste.
==========================
Contest:
The poem was read by me at the World congress of Poets held in Iasi, Romania in 2002
and has been published in the following international magazines:
Copy and paste in your browser the following links:
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=24119&id=121733
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?
name=Content&pa=list_pages_categories&cid=58
http://www.boloji.com/writers/rammehta.htm
http://www.inditecircle.com/pro/art.php?artid=31
http://www.kavitanjali.com/pgjuly07/iris.htm
http://www.alittlepoetry.com/vs06rammehta.html
http://www.poetsexpress.com/Winter07/DrRamMehta.htm
http://www.poetry.com
http://www.poetrymagazine.com/archives/2001/April01/mehta.htm
Prized for perfumes and medicines,
Rainbow personified & God’s messenger,
Resting the souls of dead women,
Decorum of the graves,
Delight of the ancient artists.
Blooming on Minoan Walls,
Sculptured in stone at Karnak.
Living memories of the French revolution.
Clovis put you on his banner
And won over Germanic tribe.
Louis VII adopted you as device,
‘Fleur-de-lis’ the symbol of France.
Germany suspended you in beer barrels,
And France to enrich the wine,
England to give flavour to brandies,
And Russia flavoured a soft drink.
Then, plucked in a state of chastity,
Now, relegated to flavour toothpaste.
=============================
Eighth Placement
Contest: Flower Power
==================
The poem was read by me at the World congress of Poets held in Iasi, Romania in 2002 and has been published in the following international magazines:
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=24119&id=121733
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=Content&pa=list_pages_categories&cid=58
http://www.boloji.com/writers/rammehta.htm
http://www.inditecircle.com/pro/art.php?artid=31
http://www.kavitanjali.com/pgjuly07/iris.htm
http://www.alittlepoetry.com/vs06rammehta.html http://www.poetsexpress.com/Winter07/DrRamMehta.htm
http://www.poetry.com
http://www.poetrymagazine.com/archives/2001/April01/mehta.htm
As the second hand ticks away my breaths
a half-clad moon catches my eye.
Was a time when I might've seen
the ghost of half-eaten melon,
but I'm older now, my thoughts less spry.
Dark fear's hobgoblins
were long since relegated
to memory's chuckle drawer;
open windows to warm nights ease my mind.
I must shave and write.
Neither seem as pressing
as the once hormone-inducing prance
in distant starlight,
the hot exhalations of desert air.
Nor do creased page corners
to detective thrillers and t.v.'s prattle
beckon hours with purpose.
I'm the insouciant sentry
at castles in retirement,
the dragon minus annoying fire.
Crows no longer pick eyes of the dead
in picture frames on paneled walls.
My shoes don't guardedly tread
engineered woods of perfection.
Aging brings a basset hound,
graying around the nose,
laying placidly on the rug.
I'll get to tasks eventually.
For now I commune with the moon,
allowing my mind the idyll
of a worn desk in a cluttered room
and the dulcet laze in lyrics of night birds
serenading summer's first hours.
6/19/18
"Life is a song," I find it intriguing,
how often the roads we journey upon
allude to lyrics like variant moods of songs.
Some days I endeavor to sing,
but the words come out all wrong.
Orchestral phrasing holds no cadence,
no tuneful rhythm relegated to dance
when love has taken a clumsy misstep
in the melancholy realm of romance.
Every note is out of sync when played
if no harmony can be found.
I become dolefully dismayed,
afraid to hum a single chord
of mellifluous melodies I once knew.
Then, sorrow is my burden to bear,
weighing heavily upon my suffering soul.
Sunsets no longer hold interest for me,
so, I refuse to view them alone.
Hearing love songs I should be singing
sting me with maudlin emotions.
I'd rather listen to the trilling voices
of cooing songbirds and nightingales
instead of humming a song sung blue
when there's nothing left to be said.
But I would sing an aria ~ acapella,
my voice raised to be heard,
with every love song I could recall.
Each refrain and every romantic word.
I would resound each alluring interlude
with sultry yearning and desire.
When life if filled with happiness,
I eagerly light the torch on fire.
I would serenade chirping sparrows
who warble on my window sill
from the dappled dawn of first daylight
until purple heather shades of twilight.
And yet, I could not suppress the need
to sing a nocturnal lullaby
to lovely Luna, the luminous moon
and the radiance of each shining star.
Life is a song that composes its own music.
Everlasting love, if you take hold of me,
my only wish is to be where you are ~ eternally.
Today's children text on cell phones,
instruments of incalculable knowledge.
And yet, most have never seen a starry sky,
flickering fireflies, pheasants in flight;
or a cocky rooster strut about.
Their reality consists of emojis,
designed to feed social media's insatiable appetite.
Today's children have never seen a cow or a plowed field.
They buy their vegetables, meats, and milk prepackaged
off the shelves of grocery stores, having never been on a farm.
They spend their time surfing the internet,
addicted to their iPhones and computer screens;
soliciting likes from fictitious fickle friends.
Today's children air-kiss and hope to go viral,
for quantity trumps quality when you number your friends.
And even if a few internet friendships are genuine,
they'll unlikely ever meet in the flesh.
Eye contact and handshakes are so blasé,
they've been relegated to the distant past.
Inside alternate realities, today's children live in isolation.
Echoes roam these hallowed halls
and for a moment I wished
to run away into the darkness
The last of her glow
lies low to the west
and I can barely feel her touch
Once a warm summer's kiss
on a sun soaked Lilly pad
floating in a pristine pond
Now relegated to rains falling down
her comfort in a foreign land
Echoes don't leave just yet for
I will not chase haunted dreams
but will gaze quietly upon her beauty
and listen to the lessons in the breeze
There was a time when freedom
was found outside the dictionary,
in the hearts and minds of men;
we wrote our songs, sang and
danced, proud masters of well-tuned
instruments and pen – how I long
for those days for men to be free
again: regain their balls, before
freedom falls, to the feminine within –
good to be soft and cuddly...but not when
wars to be fought; good to have a gentle
side, but testosterone men should
never deride, for the enemies will
have their hide, make slaves
of decaffeinated warriors – not one
rebellious allowed to survive; their
women and children relegated to
obedient consorts, surplus, roasted
alive....
‘Twas in another century
On a desolate, dreary day
When something red from skies above
Wafted into the land of gray.
It slowly drifted in the sky,
Then lit on the head of a boy.
For reasons that are unexplained,
It filled his heart with joy.
But the land of grey - it had rules,
Whether they be written or “un-“.
Here every hat must be grey,
And exceptions there would be none.
The notice of the king’s two henchmen,
This violation did not escape.
They took it upon themselves,
The youth’s behavior to reshape.
Perhaps it bothered those big men
To hear that cap say, “look at me!”,
But who can translate words said in “hat”?
It could have screamed “I am free!”
The soldiers were dealt three more cards
And those were number, age, and size.
They grabbed and tossed up that red cap
Back and forth high in the grey skies.
The lad could not catch that dear hat.
Those brute’s mouths filled with laughter.
The tike was separated from his joy
Which he desperately ran after.
Why’d these bruisers enjoy their jobs?
Was it just control to maintain?
Or the simple joy of sharing
The pleasure of inflicting pain?
While we do not know the answer,
We know they hid the hat so trusty
And relegated that red headgear
‘Neath a chair, dark and dusty.
This once political prisoner -
Did he escape? Forgotten instead?
He performed his mystical magic
And is now sitting upon my head.
Wet wings hold back the morning song
clouds cover what was meant to be a perfect day
a loose boulder rolls uphill after an earthquake
mountaintops screech it's time for tea
but I'm relegated to run away
Laying low in a one-act show
bundled in tinted eyes of baby blue
opening lost love letters never sent
spilt drops of honey in shades of red
encompass somber sounds of want
Peek in through my window
past a painted pain innocence took
sharp edges smothered in waves of honor
flapping up high in a hallowed field
waiting to be folded and brought back home
Seeking My Pearl
Written: by Miracle Man
1-31-2020
I excel in writing when right conditions prevail,
I’m relegated to failure if I’m not giving my best.
No halfhearted effort will be of any avail,
and with that kind of effort God isn’t impressed.
A lofty goal, sometimes causes thoughts to stray,
and bar isn’t high enough if I easily reach my peak.
I just keep shucking oysters believing that someday,
God will give me the pearl that I diligently seek.
In love I was lost
I plunged headlong
Oblivious of the consequences
For she was fair to behold
E’en fairer than the lily of the garden
She took me by my hand
And together we strolled
We explored the new frontiers of love
My company she greatly adored
Until she couldn’t break free
From the spell of love
Cast on her by fate
Uhm! It’s amazing what love can do
Damning the consequences
I forged ahead with my newfound love
Paradise was unraveled before me
An adventure of some sort it seemed
“Give it a try,” I urged myself
Shutting my mind deliberately to the odds
For if she had known
Then she wouldn’t have allowed me
Entry into her life
But her actions defies all explanation
Void envelopes her being in my absence
What had suddenly come over her?
In so short a while
When she laughed, I laughed
When I cried, she cried as well
The blissful times we shared were dear
Held close to my heart like a testament
“Could anything be this cherished?” I thought
Life definitely seemed very good
She withdrew at certain times
Not because she was through with me, nay!
But she remembers her Man-the Man
“You cannot understand,” she tells me
“You cannot understand,” she affirms
I am another Man’s wife
Like a thief in the night
Her man came
The show he stole
For he had cut short his journey
Unannounced he strolled into the scene
After all he owned the show
He assumes his manly duties once again
Giving her love and succor as it were
He was the man, I was a villain
I was soon relegated to the rear
Despondency and dejection became my theme song
Jealousy I spat out like bile
No one would empathize my shattered heart
For I was warned before hand
Not to fall in love with
Another Man’s wife.