Best Rest Poems
What happens when the moon isn't up to her best?
She takes a break,
Dozes for a while,
And comes back shining brighter than she ever did!
What happens when the ocean waves lose their energy?
They lap at low tide,
Allow themselves some peace in their lonely expanse
Merely to enjoy the view of the night sky!
What happens when the day feels like she needs some time alone?
She breaks into a yawn,
A yawn which gets transmitted to us all living creatures
And she slips into a delightful dose!
But what happens when we humans feel like
The boulders that we carry on our shoulders
Have become too heavy for us?
What happens when we glance at our fate lines
And feel like we shall never make it to destination?
Why,
Instead of following nature's example,
We simply close our diaries, tear the stories up
And look out for other things to do
When all that is required,
Is a well deserved break,
One potent enough as to take our minds
Off our toils, have us sit back, breathe and relax,
Before we make our comeback!
Pray,
Is Existence not beautiful
When we quit solely at the moment
That we have been fated to?
Tears no longer come,
dried ducts of wrung emotion,
denied one more drop of release.
... but only to feel
Feel your finite presence beside me,
inhaling your sweet scent to memory.
Feel your heart pulsate through the calfskin
of the despair that seals me in its snare.
Rhythms of a hopeless eternity of love,
not destined for us.
Feel my heart bleeding for one more glimpse,
of the exquisite life and love in your eyes.
Shuttered now from a lifetime of shared souls.
The pianist plays one last song,
as tears fall upon your coffin.
Won't you give me a sign,
to show me the way to you.
I wonder what has become of me,
my soul a definition of despair,
my mind a metaphor for insanity,
my heart silenced by the loss of your call.
Above, all I see are murky skies,
even the stars hide from me.
I'm sure the moon shed a tear,
when the sun refused to shine on me.
In the hope there is no tomorrow,
I lay here with your photograph on my pillow.
... but time ticks so slowly
__________________________________
A Collaboration - Silent One & Judith S.
September 21, 2018
I left her behind
emaciated
I left her
dying
I left her
I left her
I wanted to die there with her
there in the desert
where I left my mother
there where the stench of the dead and the dying
filled the air
I left her
my other children dragging me on
the soldiers shouting
threatening..theatening
I had to go on...for the others
I left her
my little girl
who was too weak to speak
too weak to cry
my little girl
whom I smothered
knowing it would be quick
not wanting night to call
the animals to crawl
over her still living body
not wanting her to hear
the death wail of the old and frail
all around
I smothered her
and kept on walking
not hearing
not seeing
not smelling
not living
not breathing
I left her
I left my heart
I left my dreams
I left my tomorrow
and every yesterday
every memory
every hope
of a better day
I left her
and in that starless night
there in the desert
naked and bleeding
starving
shivering
I knew....
"the rest is silence."
Eileen Manassian
"The Rest is Only Silence" is from Shakespeare's Play...Hamlet. I, however, will not be silent about the Armenian Genocide. This is in memory of the 1.5 million Armenians who lost their lives in the Genocide of 1915.Though this is a fictitious write, the events depicted did happen during the Armenian Genocide in 1915 by the Ottoman Turks. One million and a half Armenians were marched into the desert in what has come to be known as the Death March. April 24 marks 101 years since that event. Not all countries have recognized the genocide. Unfortunately, America is one of them.
If you want to read an account of those days, read The Sandcastle Girls. Read of how woman were tied to stakes as the soldiers rode past on their horses and decapitated them. Read of how the orphaned children were gathered at night and put in caves and burned alive. Read of how the woman marched naked...their wounds festering, their hair matted...almost inhuman. Read of how women committed suicide rather suffer rape while others disfigured themselves to go unnoticed. History cannot deny the genocide. If justice is not served here...it will be....one day. God told Cain..."the blood of your brother Abel is crying out to me." The blood of these martyrs cries out today for recognition.
In my arms you can forget your troubles
Close your eyes and leave them all behind
I’ll sway you tenderly to loving rhythms
I’ll comfort you to sweet musical perfumes
And protect you with all the serenity
Of a thousand starry midnights
Under feathery wispy lakeshore willows
That waver in cool late summer breezes
Close your eyes and leave all worries behind
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
“Perching on a fencepost, the meadowlark calls in sweet trilling tones like a solo marimba.” L. Milton Hankins
The meadow lark happily sits along the fencepost singing away
and watches as Milton appears all aglow and here to stay
God’s creatures gather around to watch this beautiful scene
In this heavenly place where it’s forever peaceful and serene
He awoke to the faint sounds of meadowlarks singing under the sun
As peaceful feelings envelope, his pain is gone, realizing he has none
The air is warm and fragrant of fresh summer flowers in bloom
As he smells a familiar scent getting closer, his late wife’s perfume
He hears her voice coming closer and she appears at his side
She tells him he has crossed over and reunited with his bride
He feels tears of joy and peace knowing they're now reunited
and realizes he's crossed over to heaven, so happily delighted
The meadowlark joyfully sings on the fencepost singing his tune
As other birds join in a welcoming serenade to Milt as they croon
(Alternative Ending for Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater)
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
Do you think he kept his wife so well
by putting her inside a pumpkin shell?
Inside that shell she had no room
to move around. A rotten groom
was Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
In the end, his wife could not be found
by friends or family. He’d thrown away the key,
and his wife was not allowed
to leave that stinking pumpkin shell.
Rumor is from loneliness she died.
Peter cruelly put all empathy aside.
Tears no longer come,
dried ducts of wrung emotion,
denied one more drop of release.
... but only to feel
Feel your finite presence beside me,
inhaling your sweet scent to memory.
Feel your heart pulsate through the calfskin
of the despair that seals me in its snare.
Rhythms of a hopeless eternity of love,
not destined for us.
Feel my heart bleeding for one more glimpse,
of the exquisite life and love in your eyes.
Shuttered now from a lifetime of shared souls.
The pianist plays one last song,
as tears fall upon your coffin.
Won't you give me a sign,
to show me the way to you.
I wonder what has become of me,
my soul a definition of despair,
my mind a metaphor for insanity,
my heart silenced by the loss of your call.
Above, all I see are murky skies,
even the stars hide from me.
I'm sure the moon shed a tear,
when the sun refused to shine on me.
In the hope there is no tomorrow,
I lay here with your photograph on my pillow.
... but time ticks so slowly.
20 September 2018
Collaboration with Judith S
Rest upon my wings
Climb up the old well
The old well of solitude
Of regrets,anger and pain.
The old well of darkness
The old well of vacant spaces
Sad tears that keep on falling
like somber November rain.
Rest upon my wings
Climb up the old well
Let loose the noose
wrapped tightly
around your neck
Do not let yester's echoes
Keep calling you back.
Do not fall apart..
Listen with your heart
to music in the streets
Uplifting gentle spirits
of sweetest melodies.
Rest upon my wings
Climb up the old well
Just like a playful butterfly
I glide and take you there.
Closer to the sun,closer to the one
The one and only garden
where wistful flowers sway
where pretty little daises
Whisper-out your name.
Rest upon my wings
Climb up the old well
Just like a playful butterfly
I glide and take you there
To that magical place
where joy is not a myth
where Villagers wear a smile
They live and not exist
To that magical place
where nobody is too busy
to stop by and be your friend
Where everyone is willing
to hold on hand in hand
Rest upon my wing
Climb up the old well
Just like a playful butterfly
I glide and take you there.
Feel free to fly with me
Open your eyes to see
This haven that's been painted
For them, for you and me.
Cinderella thought she had found her Prince Charming,
but arriving at the palace was a bit alarming.
Cinderella found it rather absurd,
how each room had women from all over the world.
Then he gave her a dustpan and sweeping brush,
told her:
"Clean the kitchen and then make sure the toilets flush."
Now Cinders, had just escaped her ugly sisters,
she was a bit fed up of cleaning with blisters.
What ever happened to their 'happily ever after?'
Her dreams of love had turned into a total disaster.
Now there's only so far you can push someone,
all a girl wants is to be free and to have some fun.
There was no way she was going to live in another hell,
gathered all the other women and pleaded:
"Lets rebel."
They all got together with their sticks and brooms,
told Prince Charming he can clean his own rooms!
He spent all day scrubbing the toilets clean -
whilst Cinderella sat on the throne as queen.
I had yearned for it all my life
That simple gesture
That finally healed
The open wound
That for years
Bled
In a silent stream
That fell Between
The cracks in
You and me
When with a gentle sigh
You looked
Into my eyes
Held my hand
And kissed my fingertips
The day
Before you died
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer's sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
They cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
They somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
But the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips the fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The failing sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
The bats in the steeple were feeding on people
By sucking the blood splattered wood
That came from the coffin a vampire dropped off in
When he’d drunk all the blood that he could
Here in my basement, my permanent placement
I lurk since the day that I died
At rest in my casket, my skull in a basket
My hideous grin gaping wide
Rats and mice squeaking a rusty hinge creaking
A slither of light from outside
My long severed head was rotted and dead
But gasped as the door opened wide
I lifted my lid as some hooded kid
Crept sneakily into my crypt
He soon spun about and he might have run out
If only he hadn’t have slipped
As he hit the deck he shattered his neck
I thought he was bound to be dead
But then as he stood, he lowered his hood
And then he un-swivelled his head
He gave me a wink as a hideous stink
Came gushing with smoke from his ears
He then started hissing through teeth that were missing
He looked like he’d been dead for years
I climbed from my tomb and stood in the room
Where demons would hide out all day
Until in the night they’d screech their delight
And frighten the vicar away
But this little fellow with skin that was yellow
And nails that were long curly claws
Let out a howl, an unholy wail
Then went back and bolted the doors
Like rattles at Wembley, my bones were all trembly
My teeth were all chattering too
My wee wee was dribbling and let’s not be quibbling
I thought I was going to poo
It’s usually nice that we can’t die twice
So people down here dwell forever
I then realised that everyone dies
And now I’m not feeling too clever
For my turn came first, to enter the hearse
My beautiful love left alone
In these years apart she’s been in my heart
But hell’s darkest hole has no phone
So how could it be this thing before me
Could desecrate my sacred rest
I needed it banished, It had to be vanished
Along with the worms in its chest
I watched every worm wriggle and squirm
I jumped at the twelfth hour chime
In life we take knocks through the ticks and the tocks
But we can’t fight the passing of time
So...
In spite of the stink, I started to think
Which gave me the fright of my life
I had to make room in a new double tomb
For that hideous thing was my wife!
Entered October 2021 in Your Personal Favorite No 2
Sponsor L Milton Hankins
Sagely silent woman half smiles
Man blathers on and on and on
Abject grief traveled many miles
Death has come to their precious son
Solemn church has six empty aisles
This brave soldier has long been gone
Sagely silent woman half smiles
Man blathers on and on and on
Dressed up child looks at dull gray tiles
Wishing she could blink and be gone
Outside window a gentle fawn
A teen's cell phone now butt dials
Sagely silent woman half smiles
Each leaf that falls is mourned by all
As trees prepare for the little death
The glory of their life in warm sunshine bright
Becomes a dream when it's time for rest
As a lover, the wind, strips them to bare skin
And they shiver as the air grows cold
Lean branches bend when snows begin
Youth blows away…and suddenly we're old
Sap inside on hold, as blood when eyes close
Then the breath of life, gasping, departs
Each tree enfolds a spark of life like gold
Till snow melts in Spring’s warm heart.
Pyramid Of Peace Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Ink Empress
Date: 7/13/2026
Rest, O' Zdzislaw Beksinsk's Easel
clay in the artist's hand, skinless rip;
mummy, love the man who still digs —
searching for blood in my eye sockets
because my heart's somewhere in rib's knot;
you broke through the flesh of my tomb;
my bone broken, against you.
now holding you, O' skeleton laid out in snow,
the death of you breathed out by a rose,
as the night paints on our love again,
~ the dust ends where fingertips begin ~
~ her first, but In your arms, bereaved sun;
she will always be another's oblivion ~
inspired by the artist
Zdzislaw Beksinski, (BE84, 1984)