Best Resets Poems
Along the feathered edge, a red sun-sets
To bind the evening in dreams eyes explore
Two hearts will greet, till' paradise begets
Love leaves impressions as waves swirl to shore
These caps of white will churn warmly the sand
The world will pass, the change of light is missed
Lonely eyes search for their yearning dreamland
When lips taste fire in a hungry kiss
As night arrives to shelter silhouettes
Soft is the sea to these two souls afar
In a twilight's pulse when the tide resets
And hands hold tight to await the Daystar
The fate of these lovers sealed in evermore
Tomorrow's memory from the seashore
9/3/18
(Meant to be read fast like rapping)
I’m trying to place all your beauty and grace
And to chase and embrace every memory that ever was
Hunting past ghosts and old posts and love notes to see if anything can jolt this mind of mine
But it’s gonna be a while in denial till your smile turns the dial and resets this heart of mine
And it’s gonna take time to remind the divine to align the design inside this soul of mine
The fact of the matter is
I’m back and I’m better
Like a post script letter
And I promise I will never fetter
I wish you could comprehend the twists and bends this journey sends me on
I wish you could see the glee inside of me that frees the seas and shakes my knees
I want you to hold my heart that beats in part and won’t depart from next to you
Stay close
Don’t go
Wait a little longer and I swear I’ll have the flow
Come step
Inside
Let me show you why this is love I can’t deny
In time
You find
Every little thing I did had you in mind
Spring, always
just a few weeks away.
Dark branches begin to bud wet
I knew you couldn't stay.
How I remember our first Fall,
and the long Winter most of all.
I must make amends and start again,
isn't it funny how love resets.
Wi' misty hands of time
we're bound to forget,
our fading summer.
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
Every November, Harlem hums
coquito chilling, collards cooking,
a holiday approaching
that never sat right with me.
Before the parades, the plates,
my mind slips past the pretty lies
we paint over pain
and calls it “Thanksgiving.”
I think about Columbus
the way they crown him a hero
when really
he sparked the unraveling
of my whole bloodline.
Taino shores stained red.
Africans dragged into ships.
A continent bent under the weight of his footsteps.
And every year,
I whisper the same wish:
“If only I could turn back time…”
That’s when the sand rises
lifting out the sidewalk cracks,
spinning into an hourglass storm.
Suddenly I’m in 1492,
staring at the moment
everything went left.
Columbus stands on his deck,
smug, boots tapping out the rhythm
of centuries of sorrow.
And my whole soul wants to stop him
one push,
one word,
one shift in the timeline.
But the sand flickers
and replaces him with worse.
A conqueror history hid
because his cruelty
couldn’t fit on clean white pages.
He doesn’t want gold.
He wants erasure.
The sand darkens.
Across the ocean, Africans fade
not freed,
just gone,
executed on their own soil
before they could ever become ancestors.
The Caribbean I know
Bomba drums,
Taino caves,
abuela’s laughter in Loíza
collapses into dust
so fast I begin fading with it.
I reach for Harlem
its stoops,
its music,
its cultures braided like my own DNA
but my hand slips through the city
as if I’m a ghost
in a world that never had a reason
to make me.
If I change the past,
I erase myself.
I erase my people.
The sand spins like it’s teaching me
with every grain.
Then suddenly
a softer shimmer.
The scene resets.
Columbus steps off the boat humble,
listening.
The Taino greet him without fear,
teaching him how to walk the land
without breaking it.
Years later, Africans arrive
not in chains,
but in hope.
By choice.
Bringing rhythm, language, strength,
building a true America
with the Taino
side by side.
The hourglass rights itself.
Harlem returns
alive, loud, imperfect,
but real.
And I breathe.
I can’t change the past.
But I’m the proof
that my ancestors made it through
anyway.
Twilight downs the sun as dreams appear on the screen of sleep
Slips into the subconscious realm and trips a few fuses in slumber
Adapts and clears clutter and narrates and alters the story in kind
Strips and clips a mind full of sentience like an ad-blocking app
When dreams slip into a magical edition it proofreads my soul
In magic Morpheus tenders to soft renditions and rehearses
A new dawn for sanity’s sake and rearranges bedlam in silence
Ties new meaning to fake news and spins alignments afresh
Compounds and rearranges while the curtain slowly descends
A dress rehearsal in night gown patiently waits for the curtain
A sacred orange globe dances with ripples dissected by clouds
Ultramarine parades on the fading horizon of tangerine canvas
As the gatekeeper confers with clairvoyants and hobbling goblins
The mermaids charter the voyage with sea gulls and dolphin as they
Tie holy knots onto the tapestry of fabrication and spirited truths
Sometimes my aspirations and recollections call for clean slates
When charcoal rules anthracite waves draped in sombre veils
Or polychrome splashes beg to hold on to the palette forever
Sleep brushes over karma and vagaries and tames with a stroke
Of restful fortune in infinite renditions of what the future might hold
A life line appears on the horizon anchoring a courageous flare
Regardless of whether my journey explores a secret underworld
Or ships critique onto the blatantly obvious faults in the vessel
Poseidon pumps up the raft as tears and regrets rock the boat
Blows caution to the wind and advises to hold on for dear life
Neptune challenges his counterpart and weighs for good measure
Yet Atlantis refuses to sink and Nirvana sweeps the ocean’s floor
Phoenix gathers soaked ashes while jetsam jumps into the current
When the night parades its blessing the sun resets a new dawn
The moon watches over assorted memories baggage and hope
19th April 2020
Across the moor
To Wicken Fen
Where brume swallows all
Into mire, of the life,
At river‘s end
But, begins
The serenades of dawn, unto sipid dew
And they gather into warmth
Upon and onto rising shines,
Of morning plume
She mist
Of the brittle heath
You may slip away
But, what does awaken, nymphs of lore
Poised to face this day
And in trust
Beauty charms the wind
Upon what was last
Of once a virgin wing
Over forenoon lust, a blush
Swoon those marsh lily eyes
And perch upon fragrance of Lady’s slipper
Thus, the dance romantic
Of the Fenland Damselfly
Round twiddle round and through
As Adler to the willow
A maiden’s flight in sapphire circles
Alluring danseur fly a ready
Hasten, beset to follow
Bestride, thus straddle oft
Atop the grain shallow reed
Softer cross the moss of peat to settle
To end nature's pretense
Sow and plant its seed
Here aloft the glisten, venery ends
Vixen drinks in insect life
Of instinct passions by danseur prey
A finale at river’s fen, resets the stage
Once again to the "Dance of the Damselfly"
Dark Horse
In the thin space between the hours,
where midnight is done but tomorrow not yet begun,
a dark horse rides,
trampling time as everything resets.
Her ancient hooves tear yesterday to dust.
Her furious nostrils inhale every wasted second, and
whineys them out in fresh garlands of blossoming color and sound,
flowering moments that wheel around the sun,
putting every possibilty back in place,
and the first second strikes!
Image Me a Poem, contest
9-18-2017
When fall departs and winter's on its way,
my mind resets to face a colder clime.
As days grow short and evenings quickly gray
after the sun recedes post daytime's prime-
I think about those peaceful nights sublime
when winter storms will visit me in time.
Inside, from my embracing bed at night,
I'll watch the snowflakes neath the silver moon,
while tranquil scenes outside will bring delight.
As satin banks of snow and sky commune,
and swirls make patterns like a white sand dune-
I'll curl up peacefully in my cocoon.
Protected, safe from winter's icy blow,
as gusty winds drive flakes to twirl, enthrall,
I'll drift to sleep lulled softly by moonglow
and swaying tree-limb shadows on the wall.
Secure I'll be, in spite of winter's squall,
as it weaves a white landscape like a shawl.
So lovely will be winter's late-night scenes
that feed my sleep and make for peaceful dreams.
January 28, 2018
Premiere Contest: Winter Storm
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
This lightning and thunder is a storm in my head,
A breath of wind could take it away.
Sometimes it’s hail, but often it’s rain
Always feeling like it’s here to stay.
Pocket sized thoughts, lots of impulsive thoughts
Tell my mouth what to say every day.
I stop, breathe and count gently, from one to ten,
And my mind it resets to O.K.
Some say bipolar, others tourettes,
A kind of a stab in the dark.
My life is an explosion of fireworks in my head,
One beautiful exclamation mark.
Yes 6/13/2016 11:10:00 AM
I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada - 1 - Poetry Contest
There came a rain that drove away
the day and the sun hid and quieted
the sound of people along the beach in
Madrid.
Only the seashells played in the sand and
small seagulls drilled for their food as the
sound of the crashing waves created it's
own music, like nature's own band.
All the foot prints along the morning's shore
erased away by the rain as though no one
had ever been there before.
It's amazing how the landscape resets it's
optical view and tomorrow when the sun
shines, it will all be like new.
So is there any meaning as this time keeps on slipping,
Is our whole world nothing more than God's little play-thing?
These people around me, are they really worth anything more?
Even when death comes, everything in time simply resets.
If it's all the same whether I were to live or die,
Then I'll choose life and push death back this time.
If I doesn't matter where I am, then I understand,
And I'll choose to leave a bit of me behind.
This future before me, it's too dark and hazy,
The past that's behind me- my heart's forever breaking.
I've had too much, why won't the pain disappear?
I just want to erase my emotions.
Loving the "Me" that's behind my name takes perfection I cannot face,
Everything blurred and murky's for the weak, feelings only trip my feet.
So then happy, sad or angry, does these emotions have a meaning?
If you don't stand up, you feel pain.
But emotions always hold so much, you know;
There's a warmth they've always held alone.
We are made of faults and flaws, no one's perfect at all,
But I'm sure that's what we call a perfect "soul."
And that perfection you search for
That's all yours, nothing less, nothing more.
Don't try to play fake, you're alright,
Just this way.
"No more pain?"
"It's okay?"
You're okay.
Only colorful storms
Shake my ground
Happy rain
Resets my frown
Sun is up
And now I’m smiling
Not upside down
From this air
I inhale
Bliss
No more dreadful drops of rain
Creating a mist
of terror
The sky has matured
No longer gray
But quite a new blue
( updated today Jul 22 2026)
Near Love's jasmines breeds
the weeds of jeopardy
Attitude threatens the petals
Stable and sweet one moment
Miserable the next,
Inner insecurities prickle
Nitpicking on trivialities
Ecstasy of passion yet resets
I fall for amorous lap
Yet my heart still bleeds
in a silent chorus
My heartstrings the choir
with guitar strings
The thorns of roses prick
Nuptial jasmine leigh withers,
every thundererous weather
But always regrows
in connubial bowers
and love's spring showers
The chorus a poet bleeds
in ink and quill...
Tears of joy and sadness...
From some old country
This is the oddest card game
With rules to make your hair stand on end
No use trying to make sense of it
Just accept that it’s the way it is
Don’t bother asking too many questions
They call it Clabiash quite similar to Tarbish
It’s still a favorite of the Maritimes
Played back in the day
As far back as I remember
Come the weekend let guests arrive
Clear the table bring out the cards
A round of beers before we start
Bids to launch the rounds
Partners ruse and much excitement
Base count one sixty four
Trumped or sandbagging
Twenties bellies fifties
Count your points or else go bate
Absurd rules lead to hot tempers
Misplays turn to family feuds
Otherwise a lot of fun around the table
A beer or two resets the mood
Playing Clabiash all weekends through
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.3~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2021