Best Ricochets Poems
“It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.”
David Levithan
I will forever be as pure
as white virgin fibres,
in your onyx
field of ravens.
When the
star-crossed
silhouette of
bleeding ink,
ricochets like
vindictive arrows,
within your
hollow walls,
quenched with
muted echoes,
I am reminded of
your ebony eyes,
cradled under
black decomposing flesh.
I shove my
misunderstood identity
into a pocket journal,
embalmed with a
fragrance of peace lilies
and rhapsodical prose,
amidst doleful dusks
painted with
past mistakes
hidden beneath
narratives of sinful
tangerine nights.
But, remember
that your fallacious
name is an
erased footnote
in the history of
relentless runes.
My tormented tongue
has become
immune to
your false screams.
There is no need
for close-fisted
fingers to flip
through pages,
of the story
I left behind,
as visions of
venomous verses
cremate into
ashes in my mind-
as mere memories
of monologues from
ice cold monsoons,
which don’t define me.
I’ve sculpted fragile
paper boats and
watched them ferry my
demons,
floating on daisies
in a ravishing rivulet
of truth and tranquility,
whilst you chase
impassioned imprints
within chapters
written in patterns
of insincere phrases.
I am a survivor of
your storm,
drawing dreams in
drowsy darkness,
blooming my
amethyst artistry,
which vibrantly
beats to burgundy
evolutions of a
blossoming flower,
who's scent you
will never savor.
My petals
may be fragile,
but I refuse to remain
prisoned in toxic
traits of a
weathered wildflower -
I only attract
majestic butterflies.
Komorebi 11-8-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Komorebi
Sunlight dashes through boughs adorned
In autumn’s scent of red orange crimson
Tossing diamonds of daybreak from their limbs
Into the borning air of dawn
To litter the forest floor in clutter of crystal auroras
Playing hide and seek with shadows,
Awakened by the roster’s first blush,
To prance across branches on tip-toes of brindled magic
As the moon and sun, the darkness and dawn,
Change places in daily do-se-dos,
Leaving fingerprints of light, in moments of intimacy,
When fingers of dappled warmth push back shadows
With celestial sighs of radiance
And flutter like a sparkling flute of luminosity
Cascading in ricochets from oak to elm to evergreen
Until gleeful pandemoniums of white fire
Give birth to awe in strings of burnished zephrys
Draped in jubilees through boughs of dawning beauty
Woven in strands of light as sunshine thinks on loveliness -
Decorations of celebration!
The night of notorious orchids
speaks in faltering bioluminescence,
hurling ricochets of rhapsody
through conch-shell chaos,
like gothic mantras
rising from wounded waves,
carrying salt-soaked roses
into the face of interstellar inferno ~
an unsettling
illustration of internal paralysis…
I am scarlet-scarred frost,
crestfallen in silent disarray,
like an avalanche ~ already torn,
consumed in chronic emptiness,
collapsing into
compulsive numbness,
unable to voice the truth,
shattered by the last dying breeze
that smothered my will
to believe ~ to rise ~ to dream…
But, am I to be crowned with blame,
laced in regret and shame,
while the mirror mirrors
a pulse that pains in self-isolation,
a soft-spoken sabotage,
fearing every familiar flicker
of fragranced starlight,
questioning the silk
and silver on moon-rivers,
for even the beauty of love feels
like temporary treachery,
betraying bouquets of constellations…
And I communed with soul’s serpents ~
they know the hollowness
of this splitting madness…
Must I perish
in a catacomb conscience,
where the mind gaslights grief,
manipulating melancholy
like a widow’s deathless elegy,
as if I were no poet ~
with a mourning riddle,
bleeding ballads
through blistered thistles ~
the anatomy of a heart
abandoned and forgotten
in its own crypt of catharsis…
Tiger in a Cage (a stab at men)
Like a caged tiger.
You do not know what is in my den?
There is no worse feeling than the way I pace back and forth repeatedly.
A headless collar is all you see.
The closer I get, the more you seem to pretend.
To you these stripes look more like dots.
As you, continue to hold my lines and strands in your hand.
You stroke my stripes as if they were a loft of dental floss.
An ORANGE all squishy and rot.
Rough and tough!
You cannot peel what you cannot feel.
You do not know me at all?
You trust me.
You lace me.
You cannot describe the buds.
You cannot feel my fingertips.
A taste of nothing out of your lips.
Indian BLACK streaks in my skin.
How did you manage to even get in?
We mount this unspeakable stability.
A man-eater swallowing her growl.
This hunger is piercing throughout my veins.
Hiding the powerful black star sapphire in my eyes.
Every move I plan ricochets.
A tiger, a tiger in her cage.
Only in your world, I am my own prey.
My wildness is rarely found above my skin.
Every day I wear this heavy coat, my stripes continue to sink in.
It is a solitary confinement when you are around.
You cannot see the black diamonds under this unbearable frown.
Dingy claws, tapping……
Natures dew bestows a toneless mixture of orange and black tattoo.
These stripes, belittle my self-esteem.
The moon flashes overlapped our taboo.
Never will you see a tigers gleam.
Spirituality waiting to rise above the trees.
It is my choice, to stand behind these unbreakable twigs.
Fertilizing like pollen under a blanket of bees.
Still the effects of your eclipse, bounce off my wall.
I am telling you!
You don't know me at all?
The roads these loads continue to grow.
Far ahead, I am the gravel under your toes.
Crouching like a Tiger hiding the way a dragon breathes.
You don't know how I feel!
I am a tiger in a cage please set me free!
by;pd
"Breed to Breathe" by Napalam Death
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKP9aaFkEEQ
“Daisy Hill”
a garden to please
distant, yet ever near
in splendid hue.
Yet here now
the chill of winter’s
wrath, which initiates
spirited breath.
Tenderness
upon the bypass where,
memory does walk
through days gone by.
“Manor Garth”
place of sorcery
speculator, astute
evil and wry.
Industry
without face without
grace, a mechanical
tragedy here.
A shop floor
for humanity
searching, if only to
plead sanity.
Amber leaves
rattle the naked highway,
like windswept flocks from
mountains high.
Dry stone walls
history riddled shout,
along country roads
and velvet sky.
“Cuckoo Nest”
guardian of the moorside,
stone walls devoid
living blood wilt.
Millstones prise
out a condolence yet,
parched with canopy in
“Nab wood” Built.
Rock’n’Roll
ricochets upon
“Chelker” A mind in tune
harmony wise.
Bicycle
breaks the silence of night,
before rolling clouds
will the sunrise.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
When symphonic waves crash on soundless shores,
Listen to the cadence of silent seas,
He's a virtuoso of voiceless woes,
orchestrating pre-written faith, at ease.
For every tainted tide, transpires a tune,
If you lend your ear to the unsung sighs,
perhaps sonorous currents too would croon,
amidst ringing reasons that fall and rise.
There's a fine song for every shipwrecked heart,
entrenched in rhymes from the soul of sand dunes.
Healing comes through searing sirens as art,
rhapsodizing themes of roaring runes.
As waters whistle, hushed air ricochets,
resonating the melody of a dulcet dove,
breeze beneath ripples rewinds and replays,
in divine dialects through language of love.
Whilst chorus of crickets swiftly unfold,
allow nature to compose musings of the ocean.
Words can only whisper deep scars untold,
in poetic crescendo, that translates intense emotions.
I speak your wise eyes
in alabaster attraction
wrapping you
in intuitive incantation ~
read wet confessions confined
an innocent-verve mirror
to my mnemonic mind
Your reticence ricochets
as tremors of temptation
stroking inner-psyche
awakening ache
thirsting amidst
quickening desire
as lakes of lovescapes
dare me deeper
to lose my dripping ink in You
a regal reflection of want,
comfortably clutched
~ home within a hush ~
trusting the ebb
trapped in the enigma
tracing the flow
knowing noise of doubt
is distraction
O white-winged swan,
calm lotus-chime whistle
rippling through waiting waves ~
kiss me like merlot lines
between slipping sun
and holographic horizon ~
seduce sensitive streams
beneath undressed ghosts
you are
russet feather sigh
in a finger-locked flame
my heart burns to wear ~
an indomitable instinct
an unapologetic alpha
wild whisper indelible
silken strength I seek
unbroken amidst albatross
a phoenix fire
outrunning fear
beyond perfection
for change remains
the pulse of constant
and
time resists dissolution
I meet the moon
I dream to breathe ~
not an evader
but a pearl reckoning
archetypal
surfing elusive thrusts
unafraid...
I gaze beyond the phasing face
of the nebulous horizon,
searching in clamorous silence
for a hypnotic glimpse
of your poetic sparks ~ lost,
placed within the kohl-dust
of dreariness dressed
in deceitful dancing diamonds,
like layered silver and gold,
seared by Zeus’s thunderous wrath,
leaving memories engraved
in satanic sapphires
across the tempestuous teal
soaked in surging tears
unshed and unseen...
I’ve long been fighting
demons masked as the raven visage
of my bleeding silhouette,
preaching kindness whilst feeding
my soul with venomous verses ~
the poisoned truths of past turbulence.
But I refuse to drown in despair.
I will dance through the
dimmed spheres ~ eclipsed and torn ~
to reach the amorous arms
of compassion,
awaiting amidst splitting sorrow.
And when it rains,
my heart quivers,
haunted by inner thoughts;
my mind paints lines of love
in darkness and disarray,
for I fear never seeing
the saffron light on
the moon’s tender lips.
And in the midst of
p u s h i n g and p u l l i n g,
trapped in aching coldness,
afraid of losing the warm,
golden strands of roseate dusk,
I hide and fade like
love’s heat at twilight,
burying the poetic longing
within storms of melancholy,
waiting for another
cup of coffee at sunset ~
where your name ricochets
like reveries of romance
and your voice reverberates
like musical mists of monsoon,
carving an ambience
of delicate desires
tying me to the ombre amber
s i n g i n g songs
of solace, forevermore....
"L o v e lives
in the archaic abyss of an
endless ocean, where wind and waves
rhyme with the blues in scented stillness"
As echoes of the silent shore reveal secrets~
buried in the deep-blue spine of the
creased, cold sea, I search for lyrical cues,
dreaming on the lurid lips of a salt-kissed
enigma, painted with bliss-strokes of sunset eyes.
For sometimes, when time tricks euphoric twilight with
greed, amidst the quiescence that hydrates this
healing soul, I find myself drifting to a mythical valley of
iridescent violets, floating like glistening
jewels seized from the warm arms of skylines. As,
kismet stars sprinkle golden tears upon pages that
left me comfortably rhymeless, breathing in
metaphors of memories lost in frozen mists,
nestling within hushed songs of the mourning bluebirds…
O beloved moon, swirl with me to a rosier phase~
perfumed with Aphrodite’s elegance,
quenched with spring allure of Ades’ petals;
reverie of timeless rivers
streaming with heartbeats of twin flames,
tied to an amethyst ambience,
unraveling a cosmic connection
veiled in vanilla orchids…and
when the music of the ocean ricochets into
xylophone chimes and nostalgic notes,
you’ll remember me as your ballad, forever sealed in,
zestful conch shells, until the sun no longer tastes my poetic pulse…
The images plucked from a full soft drive like over blown berries
threatening to fall……blasted to the humus. Swing chains creak.
The high-backed, heart carved, chalk white, front porch swing sways;
to the kicking of your feet. Beside me, you sit in spankin’ new school clothes singing.
Together wrapped like pretzel dough, we warble, annoying the sparrows.
The bumble bee yellow and black stripped school bus is late.
The dreamy cottage bungalows’ screen porch perches like a tree house ledge
over the four story drop off. Hundred year old sentinel pines tower still above us,
limbs house hug. The occasional cone drop ricochets down the trunk
to a soft needle landing, and a bouncing roll before falling off the retaining wall
We own the world. King and Queen of the Mountain are we. I sing “Ducky Duddle” to you.
You laugh. All the joy in the world in such a small sound. Oh, how I loved to make you happy.
Two short years before, even your name was new to you..my boy, Jamie.
days of rain
charcoal black skies churn
endless days of pouring rain ~
puddle reflections
thunder showers roar
torrential pounding rhythms beat ~
pearls drip from bare twigs
showers from cloudbursts
in crystal liquid sunshine ~
season of rainbows
sculptures of branches
twist in a winter twilight ~
buds on empty boughs
light breathes in darkness
winter wears black and white scarves ~
rain bathed red berries
squalls ride whirlwinds
dripping with rowdy raindrops ~
parched earth ricochets
1-31-23
Syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
my mind is an abstract vase,
adorned with
crystal gold lines~
from pixelated pearls
homing
whimsical wishes
and
blue-rose reveries,
a Picasso paradox
painted
with
sculptured serenity...
but as violin warmth
of melancholia
ricochets in
hypnotic cadence
listen to the
lethargic starlight
orchestrate a concerto ~
depicting this tired tongue,
s e a r c h i n g
for a major chord
of magical mellifluence
to summon the
silver
of your
citrine moon...
for when i n k
flows between
sun-blushed seas
in feisty meter
I still trace your
blue-blaze vibrance~
drawing an ardent ambience
of l o v e
before the r a i n...
I am going to see the lights.
The glow of the city will make a perfect backdrop to the painting I am envisioning.
Far enough away to see the twinkle of headlights and the shine of skyscrapers, but hear complete silence.
No hustle and bustle.
No commotion from pedestrians.
Just the wind hitting against my windows.
The sound of my breath ricochets inside my ear canals as I prepare myself to begin.
I have my canvas ready, tools in hand.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I turn on the radio to listen to my favorite songs for the last time.
I hum along, staring at the city miles away.
The stars shimmer and beam off the pavement below me adding some foreground to my painting.
“It’ll be okay” I recite in my head over and over and over again.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
My phone is continuously buzzing in the seat next to me.
They simply aren’t ready to see such an exquisite work of art.
I’ve been conjuring up the plan for hours. No space left in my mind for anything else.
This must be perfect. This will define me.
The body position, the clothing, the setting, the light source, the tools I’m meant to use,
everything must be perfect.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I open the book I brought along with me.
One filled with self-help quotes and poems about feeling at your lowest but you must persevere! And a whole bunch of “everything is going to be fine”s.
The words on the page bounce up and mock me as I rip them from the spine and scatter the scraps at my feet.
Tears well up in my eyes, causing the lights to become stringy and disoriented.
I slap them away and pick up my tools.
I am all set this time.
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
I crack open a cold can of soda, I saved my favorite for last.
I open the bottle and take one pill at a time,
One, two, three…
I pick up the knife and hold it to my jugular,
the city reflecting off of it onto the skin of my neck,
One, two, three…
This is going to be beautiful,
I promise.
However, the white glow from the skyline transforms into a harsh red and blue.
My heart sinks.
“Are you okay?” He asks from his window.
I stay still as he says,
“You are safe now,”
“I promise.”
Staring into the stratospheric abyss
Cumulus clouds swiftly drift along.
As I stand at a dusty precipice,
The white-hot heat of the sun beating down,
Microscopic gravel crunches beneath questioning feet.
A flood of overwhelming emotions washes forth,
Whilst a broken heart is drowning.
The last words you spat at me, stuck on repeat,
Play like a needle scratching a broken record.
Cupping my ears, I try to shut out the incessant noise,
But it just ricochets like emotional shrapnel,
Piercing into my tormented psyche.
Reliving the vital few seconds of a scene gone so wrong—
Have we somehow traveled past the event horizon,
Becoming an implosion of complete annihilation?
As the wind whips past, sending ripples through the air,
I frantically search the debris for answers.
Grasping at particles of dust—
Invisible atoms of desperation.
But they're unattainable.
It is to be our downfall,
Just as a resolution to this inquest
Disappears with the sun
As it wanes over the mourning horizon.
The pond laps on the side edge of itself
Tiny waves form by the moon’s influence
Ripples formed by all the tree’s seeds falling
Beauty of this scene has some innocence
Reflections in the pond are barely there
Wavy image appears on the surface
A calming feel is presented right here
Each ripple arrives as if in a race
Light ricochets off the water’s bright form
Opening my heart to wondrous beauty
Safely this pond allows me perfect ease
My soul’s receptive of tranquility
I throw pebbles in the inviting pond
I see some fish rising to water’s top
Showing off and tempting me to catch them
I’ll remember joy, never the teardrops
Russell Sivey