Best Reused Poems
Answers were needed, like wind direction,
she could feel him heavy in her heartbeat,
it was a good weight, the kind carelessness brings to capricious carress,
his toe prints still in the trail of beach paths in her fantasy's shores,
were his words an omen of futurity's obsession,
is his face a language for love or lust,
could there be blessings in knowing his total nature,
is he alive as art in her soul, or is he a bore when brought before her banquet,
to the mountain mystic she journeyed with joltings in her guessings,
a Seer who fed the mountains spirit syrup from a collection of wasted wants
spread forth by reused wine bottles, labels changed but all blue from experiences,
the gypsy, to wise to be pretty, and too natural to be ugly
enquired of the woman with youth as a weapon and curiosity as a concern,
"What is the most dangerous thing you've ever done?",
and she replied, 'falling in love', smiling out of embarrassment,
the gypsy smiled too, remembering all that,
after being given the man's name, a simple photo, and a birth date
she stared into Time gone missing, exhaled from a soft stun
and told the inquisitive girl,
"He'll meet you in these mountains,
where gypsies speak of love in cards and legacies in crystals..."
J.A.B.
Restless restoration
Return
Remove all the rubble remaining from the rampant rift you released and retracted
Remember?
I recognized and revealed your ravishing rituals and repugnant relations
Rippling into your relentless rampage
A recycled retaliation, resonating with regret and self-revolt
A response reused rather than repenting the wrong
Ravaging our rare relics of reverie without remorse in your ruthless rage
You have rendered a realm of ruin; relinquished of reason and rightful retribution
Reliving the reoccurring rumbles of this relationship as I rummage through the wreckage and reassemble the rivets and fallen rafters
You have run out of radius, only to reappear in my retrograding reflections
Recollecting till I rupture and regress
Reminiscing, recalling the rapture and revelry repeatedly
The rain that remains is relevantly rational
A requiem to rot for the rest of this reality?
Reevaluate righteous relief
Rust over, rise up or seek revenge
You have been lurking into my temple
Doing not so nice things but still I am
Strong trying to receive my wings
I have been raped, cut, molested, and killed
But still I live
I have been harmed in many of ways
Taken from my body day by day
But still I survive
I am a victim in this society
But still I strive
I have been desecrated and tortured for my women hood
But I am still human
One that has been born
Torn through this emotion
But still I am a child on this earth
But I have been abused and taken from my worth
I am terrified for my territory
I am marked in this village of manipulation
My dignity taken
But still I thrive
I reach out to tell others
That you are blessed because
You could be the one waking up with nothing left
Your family, your friends, your body, your life
Could just be taking away
Or maybe you could be the one selling your body everyday just for your rights
I am stereotyped, threaten, and abused
My body has been walked over and reused
If only you new
I want knowledge but I have to ask
I want to vote but I cant
I have to live in this cage that I can’t escape
But still I stand strong
And I wait
Courting days are long over now
men, well, what does define a man?
Certainly, it is not merely physical?
yet one would expect manliness to
involve some sort of strength?
Does a man let a woman cry?
Does a man make a woman cry?
Honey DO this! Honey move-do that!
The theater is mostly empty now,
no sedans emptying bushel loads of kids,
no popcorn flying through Saturday afternoon’s air.
The kids are reigned in plopped in front of laptops,
too elastically rubber-kneed to walk more than
from the bed to the chair.
I mean the lounge chair, where
they slouch in perpetuity.
A decade or two of days to reframe
two generations of total couch potatoes.
They sit glued to their IPhone, IPods, Kindle’s
not writing, not composing but gaming.
It’s enough to make a mother cry, daily.
Fathers rush down packed highways,
single sardines in smaller and smaller cans,
toward their own desktop comps.
Carpal tunnel runs rampant over the populous.
Emptying box, after box of environmentally correct
reused paper tissues and green nappies into landfills,
online they bet on the daily double.
REPLACING SADNESS
Sadness plays on the melodies of life
like broken strings on a violin.
We feel the discord and it shakes our being,
a trembling reaction to scratchy notes.
Try to remember the in between sounds
when sweet melodies lightened your heart
pleasant memories taken from a time gone by
and sealed within a deeper consciousness
to be be used and reused like a worn out pair
of comfortable slippers.
CAK 5-20-2013
Orphan Bunny
with long black ears
and two button eyes
sits on our bedroom
chest
staring at the world
in wonderment
I found her
some time ago
at a tag sale
amongst once loved,
broken and then
soon to be abandoned
dolls
communicating to
each passersby
in her home made
cotton jumpsuit
made of once loved
and reused materials
in her loneliness
or was it mine
her hand sewn red
tread lips
shaped in two v
stitches for
simplify
speaks not of wars,
killings or hate
but in the silence
of
peace, love and
family
and of an orphaned
world
Say good morning to the cold bathroom floor-
mouthwash tastes like a reused mojito
vomit erupting from a molten core-
in the sink, fermented blood starts to show
from sacrament taken on Thursday night,
my last supper. Judas, feel what I feel-
whiskey nailed to a cross, my final fight.
No more beer or tonics will make me kneel
genuflected for a porcelain god-
today I will rise steady on two feet,
not carried by a bouncer as he plods
to a dented cab in a smoky side street
My dear friend, you dined silent at my side,
But under your thorns I cannot hide
STUFF IT!!
Want IT! Gotta have IT! Need IT!
Can’t be the only one without IT!
I’m entitled to IT!!
In ten years I’ve gone through 15 “phones”,
amassed a collection of 35 pairs of shoes and boots,
joined the recycling and environmental clubs,
put solar panels on my roof, and a fire pit in my yard.
I ride my bicycle to the golf course and Yacht Club.
WHAT!!! YOU SAY I DON’T NEED IT!!!
I should downsize, outsource, repurpose
the box I think I think outside of….
Stop being the source of high end pollution
at both ends – creation and destruction.
Where will we put the flotsam and jetsam of our lives??
How about in the proper recycling containers,
finding some place where they can be reused, repurposed.
The next time you Want IT!
Gotta have IT!
Need IT!
STUFF IT!!!
6/10/2015
For Stuff Contest
Radiating through violet shadows
resplendent rays of moonlit charm
Smiles of a summer night.
Velvet moss on pavement grey
elegant shimmer of crystal stream,
Radiating through violet shadows,
Maple adorning colors of Fall,
bedecking a world, still and calm,
resplendent rays of moonlit charm.
Butterflies engaged in spirited plays
Gently rings the memory bell, like
Smiles of a summer night.
Poetry Form - Cascade
** Cascade, a form created by Udit Bhatia, is all about receptiveness, but in a
smooth cascading way like a waterfall. The poem does not have any rhyme scheme;
therefore, the layout is simple. Say the first verse has three lines. Line one of verse
one becomes the last line of verse two. To follow in suit, the second line of verse
one becomes the last line of verse three. The third line of verse one now becomes
the last line of verse four, the last stanza of the poem. See the structure example
below:
a/b/c, d/e/A, f/g/B, h/i/C
To make the Cascade an even longer poem, use more lines in verse one. For
example, if verse one has 6
lines, the poem must have seven stanzas so that each line of verse one is reused as
a refrain in each following stanza (a cascading effect).
(Since there's no option for Cascade in the Form drop drown I chose Free Verse)
Yin and Yang
Two baby fathers in Gods plan
Complete opposites, Their form of being a Man
One stands strong, For all the things I believe
The other just contributing, From a broke bank I conceived
1 for 1, 3 for the lesser of each
Both in control of what our children see
Yin being fruitful and plenty, Yang full of darkness and envy
A selfish kind undefined by a senseless pride
Fallen nuts from a tree, Bare in the winter time
Undeserved by the love in our children's eyes
So cold, As if to him they were owing
"My debt", I replied!
They love both for the other has often offered a remedy
While the other contributing poison to our family tree
Fruits bared so bitter, Last bite before new harvesting
Next years crop, Abundant in organic soil farming
Removing all pesticides, for which you could never afford
The price being unconditional, They deserve
Accepting no less, A mark down un-offered
If they begin to rot, Reused for the soil I water
They are my everything tree, Roots will be undisturbed
For your hurricane to be heard, Your waters quenching thirst
Turning poison into lessons withstanding all through Mother Earth
The movers came to clean out my house,
And said to one another
“Let’s remove ALL the furniture!
The baby carriage and accessories
have served their purpose.
That old stuff is nothing but clutter now.
Don’t let the mother see us
take everything out.
She might want to save her heirlooms:
uterus, cervix, tubes and ovaries.
They really must go,
and it’s better to move them all at once.
Let’s make it quick.
We’ve got other cleaning jobs today, too.”
My baby’s room is empty.
The movers sealed off the space and left.
Where did my baby furniture go?
Was it handled with utmost care?
Will it be reused or recycled?
As owner for decades,
why did I believe their “better out than in”
prevention strategy and problem-solving remedy?
Who decided that I could live
without furniture anyway?
Will that area of my house shrink
for lack of occupancy?
Will the vacuum bring ecstasy, grief or pain?
Will the plumbing to my bathroom expand?
Hist er rec to me!
Does anyone understand why the head of my house
grapples with questions at hand?
We humans are like freshly washed clothes on clothes lines
fluttering in gentle breeze, different designs,
made up of all colours, different shapes and size
created for certain jobs, live under same skies,
we have purpose, a reason, we are all needed
like clothes on that line one day we'll be depleted,
through out life our bodies and our minds change, redrawn
lost sent down unknown paths looking for a new dawn,
feeling life's burden just like that heavy clothes line
unable to be free in grips of its confine,
if our clothes are uncared for, not washed hung to dry
they can always be reused, we wither and die,
I see those drying clothes in a different light
life on lines so colourful, useful, soft and bright.
Cold nights and tree lights taught him to forget home.
He’s mellow tonight though, no telling what goes unknown.
He packs light and steps heavy and taps his fading flashlight and I bet he’s a lefty.
Duracell down spiral connects with flesh on even time, a metronome of alkaline.
Ill forever remember this snowless December and he’ll certainly forget me.
Still I sway with the music still he keeps it rock steady.
As he rolls down my street and through the night (like I roll through my week)
All that exists is the moon, that man… and me.
Ain’t it somethin’, what life brings when you start listenin’ to the quiet things?
Plastic sacks like gift-wrap, thrice reused, revalued glass
Rides passenger beside wrinkled paper grocery bags
Holding sugar coated soda cans,
Hanging from the rubber handle and his hands were full of gravel.
They grow more fragile as he travels.
And this overanalyzed poet’s delight
Does just that just as the moon tells of midnight.
The crude acoustic music moved right through the tulips, ricocheted off red bricks, treble clefs start riots.
It jukes a tune, almost a salute, not unlike the Lousiana blues, up your spine it always winds up finding the light that burns inside, even from somewhere deep in the bayou at suppertime.
A profound lyric, when you hear it slides the skin from your bones and you fall to the dirt, like ivory stones.
He's hard to get a good look at, and feared like a black alley cat;
his con-man disappearing act is long like the years you cant get back.
The words that i don’t hear his lips say are shouted aloud by his ribcage.
The nickels he bent over backwarrds fo never got easy to take.
This slow going rolling stone grew old with his folded up road map
the only thing that he had when the rain was too bad.
This landed him on a fortunate sweet spot,
an unfound tin can jackpot in the same spot you hadnt yet thought,
the start of the last stop of the things we bought and dinners we got.
His belly goes empty when everything rots.
We dump waste
To recycle, remade or reuse
But we hide our feelings deep in the heart
Never mean for recycling
Happiness to be appreciated, to be remembered
And sadness to be discarded
Or to be transformed into an experience or a lesson
We keep our knowledge in mind
Never to be polished after retirement
But the world is changing every minute
Some old knowledge have to be
Recycled, improved, reused or discarded
We adopted old habits and beliefs
Without ever dropping them
But old habits and beliefs have to be sieved
Those beneficial and true remain
Recycling will yield experience, new knowledge and truth
Which will indeed lead to a happier life
i have accepted my fate
to this idea of slavery i have given in
my very existence is imaginary to many
to a few i am just a product
bought to be used and reused
my life depends on them
them,my lords my owners
i have no mother,i have no father
i have no family
i am an invisible woman
some call it human traffic some call it modern slavery
i call it nothing,i have stopped thinking about it
i have been striped off my morals
drugs are my life,strangers are my family
who will fight for my rights
when lunatics are controlling the world
these are monsters who see a dollar sign on woman's heads
the world watches my suffering
and still pretend like nothing is happening
i am an invisible woman
i am not a sex addict neither am i a lover of man
i have been whipped,i have been kicked,i have been punched
i have seen my fellow products die
i do it for my life or i will be killed
people who are meant to protect us are the so called client
they pay good money for my misery
they find pleasure in my pain
i am an invisible woman
my heart bleeds with pain
i have no future,i have no hope
i am invisible