Best Restive Poems
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
divining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding reins,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quiet drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship of midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
"Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in heaven."
A thousand, million years had fled
then thousand million more,
yet it was still the morning.
And there stood one, Transcendent,
whom we call God and the Divine,
whose reasoned might
stretched to clutch infinity—
and embraced eternity’s nether bounds
to fashion perfect round—
beginning's instant fused
with very end of things
that time endured no more.
Thus evening interlaced with morning,
from whose conjugative spawn emerged
a cosmic realm, its structure fine,
yet restive, taut and yearning.
Here coherence mingled self with
destiny, and thus arose intelligence.
Among its legion offspring,
daughters of the light
and one the son of morning,
a paragon of intellect—
in depth and reason boundless,
beautiful and firm, named Lucifer.
Beloved of Transcendence and
from whom the mighty angels
fled, nobility confounded.
Across mighty heaven’s parapets
he reasoned and opined.
And many thought him noble.
Yet temerity cannot assail wisdom
nor petulance conjure faith.
He, his mighty acolytes then stood
and cried aloud, trumpeting insistence,
and became among the first
whose grasp did not exceed their reach.
And war ensued—
A war of vaunted intellect,
but also narcissistic,
and rooted in deceit.
For he would exercise free will to battle,
then in victory rob all of its gift.
Therefore a quandary stood
that would not reconcile with reason.
Defeated, Satan stood no more in heaven.
Godly was their sorrow when he fell.
Now in our eyes and hearts and minds
do not echoes of the war resound?
First Place: Julia Ward's Contest: Expand Arthur Miller's Thought from The Crucible (quote above).
When our eyes first met, in an evening's glow of twilight
the moon was rising, the world disappeared
I saw only you
we enjoyed a calm merriment
as love's breath crossed the unmeasurable distance
where we found a glistening glimmer of sensual glint
no words were spoken, none were needed
your eyes invited an enduring treasured moment of created memory
which will last through the harvest of our day's sweet nectared blossoms
and light the dim-lit nights
of entangled romantic interludes of welcomed fervor
wrapped in the wondrous arms of wonder
found in the silhouette of lovers painted in the moon-lit dark
where our souls reveal their ambrosia, without fear
in love's timeless universe of warm adoring realms of restive emotion
found in the eyes of paradise from our first greeting
when our eyes first met
sundown raised a golden toast to star-shows lovesome muse
vesper's champagne goosebumped in our veins
and filled a vacant streambed with a shifted stream
a plenished ribbon tying the juicy bow of our dewy dream
as sparks rained down we fell like two falling stars
showered in the shimmer of our dark-sky eyes
ready for the heady rush we rushed headlong
tipsy on the musk of jasmine air
a flower tucked behind one ear
petal-soft lips in search of honey sips
with readiness flaunted like an arched red bloom
as shadows supple like summer vines seized the Venus light
costly the mossy mat beneath our sleek backs
while the phlox moon blushed a pinkened swoon with our surrender
when our eyes first met west of sunset
the evening-star star dusted our gaze
I saw only you
as rainbow seasons whirl into December's pearl
hair once raven long since faded to dove
vintage heartbeats called in the past of the hourglass
tipping the balance in the fatality of time
yet-the old night hangs a Yule moon as full
as my arms are of you-still-
I see only you
8/27/21
Thank you, dear poet, dear friend, Susan
for the beauty of your words, the beauty of your heart
both hold me in awe, I am truly inspired by your skill...Frederic
Midnight's Mambo
The window swings open
night pours through, filling the room
with its blackness and its magic.
Sounds of the restless city
whirl and spin on restlessness –
pulsing in the darkness.
Rhythms of the midnight’s mambo
sway above dreamers sleeping –
weaving in the dark drowsy spells.
And, though the city rests in sleep,
the streets still nodding waltz
in tempo with her moon time blues.
A restive hum softly
speaks of passing day to lay
a hand of peace upon the night.
And when the morning sun
races moonlight tripping over day,
city sounds meld into midnight sighs.
Mentation then, tear watered,
swells and garbs itself with presence—
at once to shout in strength
and pluck a cosmic string,
now restive, overstrung and tense.
Whispered tremolo swells
and in crescendo risen
transcends veiled mists of time
to stand, all seeing, astride
the sleepy gates of pearly dawn.
And, absent pause, endures
to span the velvet gulf
of light and truth and there to find
ineffable essence, which intermits
its fervent stir to calm.
And so of hopes and dreams and prayers,
suspend all doubt and hesitation,
for these with purpose-driven urge
merge with an eternity of thought
and we the authors of its might.
Dedicated to our dear and treasured poet and friend: Sarai Romani.
Wanton Willows weave athwart the weir
Wishing all the while wilful to wind
Their winsome wands that whelm and win
The restive writhing watery way
Meandering in moonlit mazy motion
Then moving on in misty morning mood
The river runs by reed and grassy mead
Where wily waders’ stalk in stealth concealed
The stream now slows tween sandy sides
With susurrating sound surround
As silvery strains speak of the sea
And flow transforms to estuary
Breakers brash now beat the brook
Unbinding bounds of broadening bay
And memories now melt of milder motion
The River to be merged with mighty ocean
Lifeless bullets asleep as captive
In the restive barrels of the cold guns
Cold as the shadow of death
Waiting camouflaged in the dark
Wake up at the strike of the trigger
Pulled by crooked fingers of insane men.
The bullets to accomplish the mission
Whiz on fire to their feral freedom
Carrying the slices of mad men’s spite
On their zooming shoulders
Shoot off toward the fated targets
To deliver the message of murder.
Would the bullets stop midair
Abandon the fatal flight
Refuse to become cold blooded killers
Stop and shed the flakes of fury
Fling the lethal intent in the thin air
And disappear forever.
Would the life they get from fire
In the stillness of the deadly barrel
Blossom into flowers of the verdant vale
Would they let the living
Breathe free the fragrant air
In this beautiful world.
Won’t we listen the mute voice of fallen lives
Imploring our humane sensibility :
Let the bullets sleep forever unfired
In the rusted barrels of the discarded guns
Let the shooting ones stop midair
Drop as flowers on graveyards.
________________
April 24, 2021
The age of premonition and belief in false speculations…
A firm believer of the grace now devoted to inelegance…
All it stated was an untainted fib…
Darkened fiend now restive within…
Falling by the force of an ill-defined revelation…
Swimming through cadavers of lies…
Illusive delusions cast before my perception…
All hopes are sedated by my hands…
Sheer inanity I commit exhibiting my buoyant stance…
Imperceptible shadows ridicule a common jest…
And those divine shall affix to fantasizing…
…As the rest battle with a fettered fiend within…
Sightlessly chose to pursue the affectionate call…
Veracity being a neglected constituent…
Sedated hope – call of the day…
…As aspiration thaws endlessly to oblivion…
Hope tends to soar higher by the progress of the seconds…
Peak exists for all which tends to be limitless…
Crash the new-born hope which unites with obscurity…
A premature plummet is beneficial to the torn essence…
A moon once elegant now darkened by the malevolent night…
Haunted by the iniquity ever so fervent…
And I run towards that which proffers solace…
Hands of murder soaked in the blackest blood…
The despaired yearning silently for another sunrise…
Darkened soul haunted by notions of a dim collapse…
Equipped with a blade ever so assertive…
The green earth now stained with blood of the fallen…
And desires for that which lies in the other realm…
…Endlessly distant from the dream which was once breathing…
Attempting to never dream for the unattainable…
Sedated hope – call of the day…
Lipogram Sonnet 4-12-24
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Spring Sonnet
Spring bursts out from winter’s silent cocoon,
Fluttering luminescence on new wings,
Freed up from the midnight’s monochrome womb
Silk ribbons of ice melt into wellsprings.
Thin borderlines edged in dull grey on white,
Feeling the tickle of divine kisses,
Explode in hues borrowed from the first light,
Colors flit over icy snow with bliss.
Gliding on the virgin winds’ new story
Neon wings trickle colors on flowers
In purple tendrils of yellow glory,
From solstice sleep life returns in showers.
Young springtime emerges, from restive sleep,
Rising with morning - promises to keep.
Rising from within my quill
Waves of ink crest and crash
Upon the papered shoreline
Riding in and out on the tides
Of yesterday found…
Sullying the once untainted
With both the rash and tender
Of the restive poetic spirit
An autonomous symbiosis
Of today’s moments…
Endlessly seeking identification
Ink scrawled candle flames illume
Scratched out paths into tomorrow
The journey of the minds eye
Of tomorrows chance…
Each penning a new step forward
Into our own intangible dreams
Our elusive target moves ever further
Where no direction can lead us on
Of our poetic hopes…
all at sea, my restive heart
waters are calm, but in calmness
moored
the bounty of a lover's soliloquy
raging torrents bequeath a joy
you ask of beauty's tapestry, guided
yet do I seek
yet do I fold in conjecture
nature's bliss, consuming waves
please...
I ask in limerence
and we, ships sail away
It has come to my attention,
That all's not as it seems;
For people see things differently,
Describing the same scene.
Some may find the howling wind,
A mournful, restive cry,
While others may describe it,
As a peaceful lullaby.
Some people find the rain drops,
Upon their window pane,
Monotonous, annoying,
And dreary, cold the rain.
A sunny day is sweltering.
Some find it way too hot.
Others say enjoy the warmth,
Relaxing on a cot.
A neighbor may keep to himself,
Seems rarely to go out.
Some will wonder 'bout this man,
Just what is he about.
A lady seems so happy,
Outgoing, so care free.
Some will say that she's a flirt.
Not a lady she.
It really doesn't matter,
What could be the situation.
Some will see the goodness,
And others consternation.
You're more at peace within yourself,
And happier by far,
If you step around the puddles,
And don't look for snags and barbs.
A Blitzing Christmas Carol
The birth of Christ
The birth He sacrificed
Sacrificed for man
Sacrificed with a plan
Plan for forgiveness
Plan of Christmas
Christmas is festive
Christmas is restive
Restive of waiting
Restive of separating
Separating of love
Separating from above
Above where Angels Sing
Above on an Angels wing
Wing of a dove in flight
Wing of peace this night
Night of joy and caroling
Night of rest and healing
Healing with a Christmas gift
Healing hearts with a lift
Lift up your arms
Lift up the harms
Harms that we do
Harms that renew
Renew the joy
Renew and destroy
Destroy the hate
Destroy and create
Create smiles and laughter
Create like a crafter
Crafter of Christmas cheer
Crafter of presents is here
Here comes Santa Clause
Here he gets applause
Applause in the shopping malls
Applause through the halls
Halls with boughs of holly
Halls with fa la la of jolly
Jolly old St. Nick
Jolly old man is thick
Thick layers of snow
Thick enough to throw
Throw away the plate
Throw in to celebrate
Celebrate in the Lord
Celebrate with reward
Reward in eternity
Reward of fraternity
Fraternity...
Christianity ...
Nov.29.2017
A Blitzing Christmas
Sponsored by: taai tekai
Background music composed by same poet...using 'Mixcraft' recording studio software...Happy Holidays
Restive meadows, silent stones, shallow graves
~ in words their meanings emerge
Pale candlelight shatters the darkness,
scatters the faint shadows all around
like flickering silhouettes in a stream,
like ripples longing to make a sound.
Tonight, nomadic stirrings push me on
to be away for a while on my own.
Promises, for now, cannot tie me down.
I must go, I walk fastest when I'm alone.