Best Requiring Poems
Mum sat in her aromatic garden,
admiring its charm and grace.
It was a cold morning,
but mum never seemed to feel it any more.
Her eyes were tired, life's adversities had taken their toll,
yet the smallest things filled them with joy.
Like the perennial ivory lilies blossoming
among her loyal, royal forget-me-nots.
The tranquil scents of lilac lavender,
blooming among radiant Jerusalem sage,
always made her smile.
Her hands were wrinkly, but resilient,
despite years of hard work as a single mother.
Still strong enough to tend to her grandiose display
of ruby red, aureolin yellow and puce pink roses.
Mum always told me the thorns were like knights -
there to protect the rose's fragility.
That a woman is a man's most precious flower,
requiring tender care and appreciation.
Evergreen conifers parade along the perimeter of
my lovely mother's garden, like a colony of soldiers,
protecting a beautiful, yet delicate,
Japanese cherry blossom tree.
Mum always told me it reminded her about life,
how everything was temporary, just like its fragile buds,
that only blossomed in the spring and
how the lightest breeze blew them away.
Mum taught me so much and was my inspiration,
picked me up when I was defeated,
taught me that only in defeat do we learn.
When the world tried to change me,
taught me to accept myself,
to love myself before I could love others
and be true to who I am.
As I sat with mum admiring the beauty of the seeds sown,
melancholic tones flooded my emotions,
wondering how I would cope without her.
Was I selfish wishing to die before her,
so I would not have to mourn for her,
but it would be so heartbreaking
for her to mourn for me.
My contemplation was interrupted by an outbreak of rain.
Mother simply smiled and said:
"Rain is mercy from God, my son."
Written 26 February 2016
Ghost knight, playing Tolkienesque chords
over common, white noise,
I still hear you, cosmic brother,
strumming the songs of pentagrams
from your optical guitar,
like that scene out of Star Wars,
all were always welcome at your wild bar –
interplanetary troubadours, euphoric warriors
or a ninja geek incognito, a wistful rhymer
who knew truth seldom whispers,
love is the only real free-artistry,
requiring no discipline, no perimeters,
no limits and no definitions
I still hear you, cosmic brother,
so alive, streaming a high volume
of colours, blue still holds a torch for you,
loud and proud,red engulfs night
without one regret,
but its your delicate gold, my friend,
I can never forget
Lingering among the stacks
Interval of serenity, a luxury to
Borrow a world, then bring it back
Riches of printed page, once few
Are carried throughout the community
Requiring only a card to belong
Young and old both given opportunity
Lending literacy to growing minds, strong
Out of many streets, they share the room
Vaulted ideas have a place to bloom
Encyclopedias of adventures to unpack!
1/22/19
Stepping past the crater towards your door,
I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
compassion for the flow of life.
The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
velvet reminders of flesh.
Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
curling up in a fetal calm
until we flow once more with the surge
propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
spin within these tugs of finality,
despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
to hurl my blood into the fray.
Faith is a powerful force;
requiring absolute trust.
It allows you to believe:
you are loved, and not alone.
Suffering persecution:
sometimes, all you have is faith.
And yet, it's unshakable;
in times of adversity.
Praying perpetuates hope:
opening your heart to God.
And when you first feel His love;
everything you thought: changes.
Belief can imbue your life
with a strong sense of purpose.
Existence should never feel
empty or unfulfilling.
The love that you have for God:
it is rooted in blind faith.
And yet, that faith sustains you;
nourishing your heart and soul.
Faith is the foundation, a rock, a bastion, a calling, a commitment,
requiring a leap, trust, surrender, a fearless heart, a willing spirit,
a higher conciousness.
Hope is a sustainer, a bottomless well, a lifting up by spirits wings,
a trusting soul, clouds of doubt pushed aside, a hand reaching out
trusting to be caught.
Love is the greatest, the key to open the first two. Love never fails,
the fruit of the spirit, longsuffering, a fearless domain, not puffed up,
enduring all, a joy to know, never selfish, freely given. A touch of
healing, a song not heard but felt, a spirit moving, a question you need
not ask. A state of peace, a heart unbridled, the answer to all questions,
a perfect truth, a solution for all things.
I try to reach profundity
but all around make fun of me
for living life with simpler goals
like learning and tranquility.
So now I'm leaving all I've got
to quest for my own Camelot.
Requiring only books and pen
I'm setting off to find my spot.
When you are in trouble
and start seeing double
you might as well have a good laugh
Cause sorrow and crying
and excessive sighing
can shorten your lifespan by half
If buried in debt
why brood in regret
when smiles are just what you need?
Don't worry or panic
no need to be manic
far better to chuckle, indeed
Has your tire lost air?
Don't give it a care
just change it and be on your way
If right after that
another goes flat
then dial up your triple A
If someone does hurt you
and then they desert you
just let it roll right off your back
Let out a guffaw
for there is no law
requiring you to attack
If hauled into court
then be a good sport
and burst forth in squeals of delight
They may think you mad
but you will be glad
as they drag you off into the night
No more bills to pay
nor dragons to slay
committed for standing the gaff
In your padded cell
your own private hell
you might as well have a good laugh
Pardon me, I am aspiring
to some day be retiring,
but first I must be acquiring
a position. Though I’m not keen on perspiring
I admit I have been admiring
your benefits and employees’ attiring,
and since a salary I’m requiring,
and I trust you aren’t frequently firing,
and I promise not to be with unions conspiring,
I thought I’d simply go about inquiring
if perhaps you were hiring?
3/16/2021
EVERYONE KNOWS
Everybody knew that the earth was flat
There were lots of bumps so not flat as all that
Though ships seemed to sink out of sight in the distance
They would come back with reassuring persistence
But everyone agreed from the peasant to The Crown
Clearly up was up and down was down
They all knew that the earth was the Centre, the middle
Sun and stars all around, it couldn’t play second fiddle
Galileo demurred; didn’t fit his equations
But revised his opinion on powerful persuasions
So reality continued to veer from the actual
‘Till they could not deny all the evidence factual
The theories of Galen from centuries ago
Said blood moved in the body by ebb and by flow
Then Harvey discovered the blood’s circulation
Requiring that science give reconsideration
Though facts showed that Galen’s old theory was failin’
Some proclaimed that they would rather err with old Galen
Now everyone knows climate’s in bad transformation
Based mainly on computer model simulation
CO2 is now villain and viewed as a bane
Yet the plants and the trees relish more of the same
We are told it is true, scientists agree far and wide
Like when Earth was flat, and blood moved with the tide
But science is dominant, and considered unmalleable
Except that the scientists are human and fallible
Just like all human race they have weakness, will amend a
Set of data not fitting their venal agenda
Use your eyes, beware those things everyone knows
In a trice could be gone like the yesteryear snows
I view my hand. I see an ancient land.
A melanomic crater, deep in the desert,
speaks of greedy sun-soaked days.
Wanton then. Gone now.
Sparse wispy palm trees cluster,
storm ravaged, angled randomly,
now almost invisible,
now silver in the light.
Ravines compressed in lines
symmetrical, as from space,
appearing geometric,
requiring translation,
needing understanding,
awaiting exploration.
Ahead, beyond the fault line,
mountains expand and converge,
blue-edged and rising high
above the sandy plain, sinuous,
majestic, uncharted.
Stretching and contracting
as wrinkled parchment
in a shoreline breeze,
pointing the way to the long journey’s end.
Translucent and yes still beautiful.
A multitude of moments
has slowly wrought such change.
Soul-stirring eloquence silently tells
of times and deeds long past,
though yet concealing secrets deep,
of silken dreams within a lover’s sleep,
and memories of a sweet caress,
Non-essential! It takes time to
digest the public offense, bruising the poetic ego
essential only to itself, as broad as the world.
Howling winds, dark clouds, ghost cities,
horizons overbreaming with despair, the low
widespreading doubt and the high feverish days
filled with progressive red dots on world map, the
incalculable pain, spirit out of sight, from my home
so far away from and yet so close to work, I run
hope's high tide hour, caught on its windblown antenna, its gentle touch on my parched lips, manifesting in form God's grace like raindrops on
windows' pane, a poet's disease of tides, insisting
on poetry's essential nourishment of the soul, with lion's pride, uplifting earth's exhausted staff not knowing who'll feed the hungry and the birds – poets
decree their own confinement to rules of beauty, unhinged freedom,
requiring no appeal.
brittle stained jagged fingernails
scratch against the splint hairs
of a cold weathered wooden elbow
an impatient clock had sapped
a once supple leather coat
now requiring constant mending
as homeless unraveling posed an inevitable ending
torn pockets spilled over
with a plethora of dead letters
hope had long ago delivered
its final walking papers
without care of return receipt
handmade trees with news of unease
spun unmercifully
into the arms of a brisk fall breeze
birds began their escape
into the mouth of another sun
a slow rise from a patinaed throne
on a benched park seat
a myopic vision of how cracks
are formed on overused and forgotten streets
she walks alone
to nowhere
a decayed ballerina
the place she is seen as most complete
Love and hate are closely connected
Emotions both strong and intense
A fine line divides these extremes
Oft times we straddle the fence
It takes what seems like an innocent event
To shove us one way or the other
We're up on top of the world one moment
Next moment afraid we'll smother
Controlling emotions is difficult at best
Bombarded by outside influence
Always requiring strength and dedication
To maintain love's continuance
Lost without love's sweet guiding light
Through sad time and times of joy
Love must conquer the uncertain heart
And never allow hate to destroy
Love and hate are closely connected
Emotions both strong and intense
A fine line divides these two extremes
Oft times we straddle the fence
© Jack Ellison 2013
She was a work of art; a time machine of sorts.
A collaboration requiring the most careful focus on details by a cast of characters unseen.
A symphony of one hundred hours, pulled from forms of molten fire.
Until she stood, the gently formed and polished image, as unique as the many hands who assembled her.
Wired to the present reality, electricity brings to life a servant of the highest order.
And he truly loved her much more deeply than he dared try express.