Best Retraced Poems
When all the lines you crossed but didn't see
Grow darker by the day upon your face
Your rosy blush of youth has been erased
And cheeks are drawn where dimples used to be
Your train of thought fueled by a memory
Runs tracks of time that don't lead anyplace
The stops along the way will be retraced
Then one day it will stop in front of me
I'd like to think the pause will bring a smile
Your heather colored eyes would brightly bloom
Your heart would beat the rhythm of a rhyme
You'd disembark and stay a little while
And when you blink I'll be back in the moon
The smile so warm it lasts until next time
by Daniel Turner
My grandma was a steeple jack,
Of heights she had no fear.
The crowds would gather round to watch.
They came from far and near,
To see her swing and pirouette,
Doff her hat and wave.
And gasped and cheered each time she feigned
A slip and then a save.
Roof-toppers winced and bit their lips,
Tight rope walkers screamed.
Treetop loggers looked away
At the daring they were seeing.
Women gasped and children shrieked,
Fearful she would fall,
But at full ascent a massive roar
As she stood upon the ball!
She blew a kiss to the those below
As she turned around with ease,
Then there atop removed her scarf
And cast it to the breeze
But the crowd went wild as before their eyes
They viewed her final feat…
Into a handstand Grandma rose,
Then she waved and kicked her feet!
Whether flag pole, steeple, TV tower…
My grandma climbed them all.
For the freedom felt there in the clouds,
She was at their beck and call.
That grand old gal inspired me
Her legacy I've retraced.
Now I too dance upon a pole
At a club called Mary’s Place.
I remember that place
in green pastures called home.
But where are you now
“Union Yard, Britton Holm”
Deep in reams of memories
indelible you lay,
reposed at the helm
of a life rushing by.
Guess i’ve played life’s
generation game,
yet somehow you appeared the same!
Misguided my mind
in local pursuit,
when reminded
one does not belong,
the only stranger there was i.
Sometimes I try to tell myself
that life yesteryear was never real,
just a fantasy of one’s youth
the way I use to feel.
“But you are so astute”
No one to change nature’s way
when every step together we retraced,
“Only the human race it seems fluctuates.”
From time to time
the dream awakes, then swiftly abates,
even the memories seem to fall
like autumn leaves
that swirls within the gutter,
when I see urbanization,
spread its wing
like some gigantic woodcutter!
Alas no more the sight
no more the sound
no more the light,
in this life to be found
in that foundation called home,
the last bastion of my folks,
only a memory of love
and a mind at will to evoke!
© Harry J Horsman 2013
I carried it on my lap all the way to you,
The bus ride was so long, so long, Mom;
Lost in old memories of you and me, together,
I just looked out the window all the way.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
The gate of the cemetery creaked as usual,
The path filled with many crumbling leaves;
Cool wind took my long raven hair blowing it back,
I felt my tears falling as I neared your tomb.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
I stood for a long time with my eyes closed,
The words carved in stone and in my heart;
Feeling the pride of a daughter for a wonderful Mom,
I fell to my knees weeping for what is lost.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
Then at last I rose and dried the forever tears,
I touched the words carved on your cold tomb;
And retraced my steps down the path, closing the gate,
I boarded the bus and was soon lost in thought.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
. . . . . still
________________________________
May 11, 2014
Poetry/Verse/Holding a wilting red rose
Copyright Protected, ID 05-565-847-11
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
It is an important cake that I had to bake with out a rake so that it would be
real It has a special filling that the groom himself requested and has not been
tested a flavor that is also a favorite of mine no matter where I dine even with fine punch It must not even come close to being dropped nor even flipped
It is a family specialty both with and with out the decorations with not one
splotch not one drop of scotch although my watch seems to have been some
how misplaced plus every step retraced although perhaps it’s in the van with the
pans of sandy ham maybe even on the can of Pam- wherever it is I can not put
down the cake to look
My book when last seen was next to the cake which was nowhere near the
hooks my watch may have been there too when I was using my decorating tools
with out boos but wherever my watch happens to be I am grateful I have not run
into any yellow bees I hope I am not late regardless of the fee because I have to
make a delivery even if for free
Well whatever the time even if I only get a few dimes and limes this is a
special occasion so this better be the right destination regardless of
instantaneous regeneration of plants with out procrastination or any kind of
hesitation despite some close calls that would make it resemble the leaning
tower of Italy here comes the wedding cake!
Without fencing, she tended her vegetable garden.
An openness rested in an unknown place.
A fragrant, floral scent rendered her pardon,
as well as a monarch butterfly's chase.
His wings so free, a challenge for seizing,
her legs took off beyond the unexplored.
He held a flower for a moment, self pleasing,
Her forward leap was a successful afford.
For a moment she held this forbidden treasure
pressed betwixt twig-like fingers.
Though only her own, not a mutual pleasure,
a moment's wispy flutters in her palm still lingers.
She longed to bottle him, a living possession,
but eagerness squeezed her childlike dream.
A chrysalis no longer, no cocoon impression,
but powderlike flakes devoid of a scream.
Her treasure dissolved, her heart partly broken,
though the air holds another butterfly.
She retraced her steps, each flower a token
of curiosity's feat and feet gone awry.
Tides pull you into waters clear,
cupping both hands, she tastes
your pain.
Her lustrous foam draws briny tears;
waves sigh in seas retraced,
then wane.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 3/10/15
for Nette's Memento of Waters Contest
visual #4
Something's changed, I don't recall this door.
The mat that once read 'welcome'...now gone.
Am I lost in the night, or had I forgotten some slight..
had my address been quelled by another time?
The new curtains in the bay window seem nice,
though..not the deep blue highlighted sash you fell for.
And on that foreign floor, a sweet Labrador lies napping.
Not the lightning fast hound rescued from the shelter.
My key's jingle, so hollow in sound, questions me now..
whether I know left from right, right from wrong..
Two boots waited, under an unfamiliar porchlight,
neither I recollect as my own..
every sunset I knew seemed to've gone.
I stepped back from a stranger's stair, perhaps deceived by my own eyes..
retracing my tired steps from the long day, to the oak in the yard,
was it always that tall?
Surely the messages you left would offer a solution from this lunacy,
a chance at a door opening, inviting me, lovingly from this nightmarish scene.
But they had all disappeared.., save one.
Staring hollow eyed into the dimming display's abyss, I read the last will..
your last thought retraced..in taps' mournful horn.
The air in my lungs abandoned me, my shoulders suddenly
weighing so heavy, in a torn and bloodied uniform.
Somehow the night sky was no longer mine to share..
absent your side, shaking my head in my hands..
my God, how could it be?
The door and locks changed, the porchlight rearranged,
the blue curtains went too,
The scratch of toe nail's click clack.. nowhere to be found,
even the dog was removed.
Turning away from the lawn to the long sidewalk, oblivion my companion,
I laughed out loud at the fool and folly and future that lie in store.
There's a fine line between truly belonging.., and only being,
bitter lesson learned at a strange door..
Finally saddeningly, maddeningly.. it dawned,
why everything was tipped on its face.
Your last message, echo'd in my broken mind..,
'you've been replaced'.
No season surpasses Spring,
though Fall is a contender.
Spring embodies warm winds to melt the snow;
a searing sun traversing bright blue skies,
and an earthy fragrance that greets each breath.
Icicles soon melt away,
disappearing drip by drip.
Drawn to a blanket of moist, tepid air,
snowdrops and crocuses are first to show;
followed by tulips poking from the snow.
As ice-packed rivers break free,
they, once more, flow to the sea.
Migrating flocks of geese, honking in flight,
signal they have retraced their journey home
as the Robin Redbreast hunts for dew worms.
Wildflowers perfume the air;
while color spreads everywhere.
Cerulean skies gather up rain clouds
as canopies shelter nesting songbirds,
and chlorophyll inks a carpet of green.
April rains are the fuel
that fuels life's renewal.
I'd long planned for this journey,
back to where we first had met,
and to the promises we made
that I could not forget.
I walked the streets in search of that
enchanted time we knew,
when all the world was young and it
revolved around we two.
The streets had turns I didn't know;
I was confused and lost.
The signs had all been jumbled at
each avenue I crossed.
Defeated, I retraced my steps.
The past I could not find.
It was then I knew, the path to you,
lies only in my mind.
Rambling Poet's contest
Theme: Traveling to a place I had dreamed of.
Prostrated to such vastness,
unable to speak
I turned away
leaving fear standing
where I had come,
and the immense river entered
into those boundaries I had raised.
I watched the pale colors
wash away and disappear
as the water moved and swelled
and flooded all that was,
then the bells rang
the world awoke
with its insatiable thirst
that makes all beings irreparably mad.
I retraced my self back
to the perspiring
street and walked across
into the shade,
to disappear unnoticed
and silence became deep
with frightening familiarity.
I considered it to be just like
an abandoned mobile home
in Louisiana, where everything was left
as it was, to rot, to be dispersed
to bury a forsaken giggling past.
Wasn’t that a recurrence?
It’s funny how fallen into the trap,
I cut those knots and
all along let the blood drip
to mark the narrow path
till dusk took over
and none was there
for others to be seen.
I had eaten food
that makes your hunger grow,
and felt as I wore
a dress sown by death itself.
Along the filthy canal
a putrescent smell arose
and the penumbra made the gardens shine.
...That was an ordinary
evening on the Ganges’ shore
where I had brought my tiny lamp
to see the universe.
I took a deep breath
And reached into the bag of my heart.
Before I exhaled.
I took a step in thought.
This gift I have for you, it's not like I have a receipt for it.
Hoping that you'll like the one size fits all kind of moment.
A gift straight from the heart in the promise of watching your face melt in anticipation.
A moment carefully thought out.
A moment I watched everything I thought would never find me.
Stare back at me and breathe life back into me.
Before I exhaled.
I retraced the step I took in mind and decided to give you the whole bag
Hoping you'd understand how much thought I put into giving you my heart
Without hesitation or pause, mindful that no matter what happens.
My heart will always be safe in your grasp
I walked past headstones old and crumbling and others newer,
past decaying flowers and planted flowers and fake flowers:
while hidden birds sang me a symphony and squirrels scampered,
and then, I was standing at the family grave reading the names,
Mom had just died, dad, my sister and grandma were gone too;
just names engraved in cold stone for eternity, I stood weeping.
My secret inner voice was chattering, murmuring, whispering,
crying you need to go to the cemetery office, there is something:
there it told me, something you need to know, I was so confused,
leaving the rose bouquet I had brought, I retraced my steps,
at the office I gave my name and the plot number and said;
I would like the names of all buried there (where did that come from.)
Waiting as the lady checked, my subconcious was talking,
done with her search she told me the name of all I expected:
and then she said something I could not believe ... and the baby,
I heard myself ask, the date of death, and I thought I would faint ,
you see I gave birth as a teen on exactly that day years ago;
and had been told my baby boy had been adopted from the hospital.
I had to swallow my hurt and I asked her can I still engrave his name,
yes, she said, and we worked out the details and I paid for it;
we will call when done ... I left thinking why, why was I not told,
my mother never told me, even on her death bed she revealed nothing,
and what of my father, or my grandma, never a word did they say;
over the following days I talked with my concealed inner voice.
I wept tears and tried to imagine my baby boy in my arms again,
the same word echoing, repeating, why, why, why, why, why, why:
went back when the engraving was done, he had a name, he existed,
not some dirty secret, buried ... I have learnt overtime to forgive them;
though will never understand, but I believe in God and he told me to.
EXAM MALPRACTICE
We are no saints, we haven't got holiness
Yet our steps can be retraced
Everyone there where he lacks
For we're all for one and one for all
Many have been asked; they answered
Many have asked; they were answered
But if you've never been asked
And if you've never asked
Such that you never answered
And you were never answered
Haven't you ever been silent
When you should have admonished
Pal, lets devest our honour this innuendo
For by either action or inaction
We all have some sorry to say for exam malpractices
You can; I can; we can!
(Jodhpur is a beautiful, cultural, historical city in Rajasthan, India. This poem is all
about Jodhpur from her mouth as she told).
Left behind her beamish days of time of life, her days of girlhood…
Left behind her mother’s warmth and faced against frailties,
She left behind her father’s ires and raced against entelechies.
She brought with her those memories,
At once she wailed and bemused she smiled
She brought with her those glosses, palled in her eyes.
Left behind her rainbow and lived in blues
She smiles in low, her eliding Jodhpuri days.
Felled by griefs when thought of those kites at mackerel sky
Her heart yelled mutely at the Marwar soothed musical bliss fly.
There she drew by the Nagaur Turban and adorned faunae
Ceased by arts of jugglers, puppeteers and spread her wings with the winter newbie.
Revived with these memories she framed her ethnic hospitality
Multihued costumes and the aura of the folk dances attired by the society.
The copious finesse graced by palatable cuisine
Kachori, mirchibada and panchkuta are edible by.
Her blue eyes sobbed by her memories of palship
A walkover by the Balasammand lake
One will pass by the bird of Juno by the lush greenery.
The Sunset splashed with spectacular colours,
She enjoyed those days passing by the blue hills and envying canvas.
Retraced by the red sandstone and columnar, spire temples
She sketched her agone days with those prayers
Devoted towards the Shrine, deities and heroes of decades forgone.
Her heart thumped by her memories of gossips
Becharmed by the Forts and palaces,
The bygone era still reminds the battles fought
Witnesses still stand still by the chronicle held upon.
Lost by these memories colorful
She vivified in her vignettes
She brought up herself with the city
And she slept by the daydream known as Sun City.
Dated: 16/01/2010
Note: This poem is dedicated to my Jr. Miss Rajni