Best Rim Poems
Where the water washes white surfs across
Sand banks porous with green dreams in our hearts
Where the sun surveys the wet desert of loss
The salt thread like blood stitching together our parts
Find me there wandering the wailing shores
I am a new citizen with ancient desires still
Living on the restless rim of of crinkled azures;
Watching history bleach my memory of will.
Here I pine to see my mother whole as I am
Here I pray for justice from the impaled lamb
This Caribbean sea that pens my rage in me
Water where my ancestors footsteps no imprints leave
Of vast voyages now void on the Atlantic lea
This Caribbean sea in modern voice I cannot grieve
My people sundered like a broken ship
Mastless, anchorless, drifting drumless on weed
My people bleeding from tongue lash and whip
And no Cudjoe, Tacky, or Boukman to intercede
I am a citizen of the rim, a place undefined
In the subtle representations where I'm maligned.
Here in this world of diverse languages and shade
Across the bloodless salt of shrivelled water we trade.
They would have all of our thoughts
align in eclipse of the truth
blot from our eyes cold tears
not shed at reasons death
No more the fiendish touch
of tempting speech
to challenge questions asked
and why
Nor does the hand of wonder
dare reach to touch
for fear it might enrage
the gods they praise
Thus do the lemmings march
to chanted hymn
along the darkened edge
of freedom's rim
John G. Lawless
3/1/2021
Secret Identity, covered face
and my thoughts begin to drain
I wander who the real Batman is
Is his name really Bruce Wayne?
His real ID kept secret
So we should recieve
All possibilities of who he could be,
Including ones we don't perceive
So now we have a Mystery
Let's put Batman on a brim
Bruce Wayne is his "secret secret" ID
Batman, for real, is Alder Rim
~*Miranda Lambert*~
Perished in thought burn all things to ash
Like those inspired by a shadows edge,
But who is blessed in the miracle of life, the complexity of thought and dream
Under the question from ones conscience;
Strange it is when truth has breached
By a thousand souls descendant
And the drip from my toilets rim
Give to us all the vision of change
Deep in thought and perception,
Until the sanctity our intent inspired
Is characterized by the solitude within;
Speak the lines in reflected reason
When impressions are all unjust
Under the drip from my toilets rim
Do not desert what lays condoned
By the ancient deceptive oracle,
For there is no explanation to complexities, or the isolation of its decent
Into our moral servitude;
Listen to the knowledge in the words we speak
The question of a thought applied
To that drip from my toilets rim
The Lemon Wedge on the Rim of Your Glass
By Elton Camp
Exposure to germs isn’t always a blight
They make the immune system work right
In normal living, we get all that we need
But lemon wedges all good sense exceed
It’s quite likely that you are going to find
The lemon picker scratched his behind
Washing lemons, restaurants say they do
In most cases, the claim simply isn’t true
Lemons are dirty when they enter the door
In the café, they’ll get contaminated more
Slicing is done with hands germy as can be
And the knives used aren’t of bacteria free
The slices are handled with glove or tong
Think that and you’re usually very wrong
Servers pick them up with hands unwashed
And against the glass rim they are squashed
With pathogenic bacteria your drink is spiked
The risk of getting sick has just been hiked
A recent study found bacteria such as these
Pathogens from skin, saliva and even feces
Even when it’s “No lemon” that you say
It may appear on or in your drink anyway
Drinks lemon-free really ought to remain
If from drinking germs you would abstain
So you took your best shot,
but sadly it rimmed out
Rocket swish arc reached for the brightest star ...
only to receive
a missed blastoff launch tipoff
Got time zone sent head fake crash landing
to the parquet floor ocean bottom
Love is a heart rattling thing ...
net elusive,
and so very nylon tantalizing
And when you make the wrong call,
false accusations that fray
Out of the hoop pops the ball —
a certain love score
gets taken away
Now you’re muttering low,
back pedaling thru life so slow
Pounding your fist into your chest,
knowing that you never really gave your best
Ever looking to shoot for
the easy access escape route,
because the tight rim of iron doubt
always caused a falling out
And when the circular tears
would finally start to double dribble down,
only the comforting benched touch
of your leather sofa felt soft
Then faded backcourt memory fears,
became a slippery slope surface
for a failed playa pawn Globetrotting clown
It was your last shot to win,
but the sure aim drop just rattled out
To the high displeasure
of a mumbling, low-post peeved pout
Losing ain’t a sin,
if love
wasn’t a game
you were simply playing
Perishes in time the meaning of our lives
Instilling things from a darkness of shadow,
But who did bless this miracle, the complexity of thought and dream
Under the question from ones conscience;
Strange it is when truth is breached
By a thousand souls descendant
And the drip from my toilets rim
At times we are callous to changes in ourselves
Though deep it is in thought and perception,
Until the sanctity our intent inspired
Is characterized by the solitude within;
Speak the lines in reflected reason
Here deep with faiths intent
Under the drip from my toilets rim
Do not desert from what lays instilled
The ancient deceptive oracle,
For there is no explanation to complexities, or the isolation of its decent
Into that moral servitude;
Listen to the knowledge in the words we speak
When questioned are our thoughts applied
To that drip from my toilets rim
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wire rims~
thin as a whisper,
holding the weight of every page he turned,
every clockface he squinted at before dawn.
Now they sit,
empty orbits on my desk.
I lift them,
and the world bends~
not as he saw it,
but as I imagine he did:
The morning newsprint smudging into prayer,
the stubborn lawnmower that refused to start,
my childhood face,
always slightly out of focus,
as if love itself were a thing
that needed adjusting.
I wear them like a ghost.
The bridge rests light,
almost apologetic,
as if they knew
they were never meant to be mine.
Through Pop’s lenses,
the light is softer,
the edges kinder.
The coffee stains on the counter
look like continents he never visited.
The crossword puzzle~
half-finished,
pen dropped mid-clue~
becomes a map of all the words
he didn’t have time to say.
I take them off.
The room sharpens
into my own life again,
but for a moment,
I swear,
the air smelled like his aftershave,
and the light was gold,
the way it is
just before it fades.
My heart is a vessel of blessings that always spills over its rim.
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
June 9, 2017
The Glass is Always Full
Sponsor: Alexis Y
The contest came on yesterday
to roll your rim again.
The time going into rolling them
from here to there and then.
To win a prize for certainty.
The odds at six to one.
Just knowing that I'm drinking all
to up until there's none.
The winners often coming back
to get their fill of food.
The likely prize for everyone
especially if it's brewed.
And still I go on rolling them
with prizes on my mind.
Enjoying every coffee made
that each cup has to grind.
If a star appears would be to much to ask it real
A dark side of red amber light shield of rusk
Darken the shade reflect of pain what is of ambition to strike
If telekinesis was real and chakra was more then energy what
Word
Would be able to describe a figure?
Like glass shallow to the effect of time what moment hold of
Truth to search for reason?
Not all cause and effect start with a big bang
But with all similar question
Answers all do evolve.
which words
makes him stumble
those he wishes to hear
or those he longs to hear
which words do she want to hear
those that causes togetherness
or those that divides loneliness
might the two be the same?
Has fallen into these two eyes,
The sky with all its stars;
Pour some water in the vodka,
Or the rim will get stained.
-Pin Dew (04/05/2017)
I'm going to get a new subject
or an old one back.
All my poems are about him anyway,
And my poetry group might like to
see something light out of me.
So maybe we could fall in love again.
We could descend together once more into
the canyon from the south rim,
deceptively easy and peaceful on the descent,
the return trip much, much the more difficult.
You could tell me again of your
adventure that summer when your
friend slipped and you saved his
life with a twig and a prayer.
And we could drive again over the Rockies,
My stomach rising with the altitude
until it is at my throat at 14,000 cold
feet in August, glaciers of black ice,
never thawed in thousands of years
contrast with our rented Ford Taurus.
In that place time changes nothing.
Down below, the only thing certain is change.
Senior citizens
Crated in old people’s homes
Discarded denizens
Wrinkled forms
Pivotal during heyday
Generating national growth
Beyond payday
Bestowing cloth
On backs of offspring
Pouring sweat day and night
Zip in their gait and spring
Delight and sunlight
In hearts of extended families
Fountains of love and generosity
Inspiration for hallowed homilies
Wellspring of wisdom in the city
Senior citizens houses built
From scratch
Committed to the hilt
From a rural hut with thatch
Where senior citizens originated
Trekking hundreds of kilometres
Sunshine baked and incinerated
Through bush path nanometers and metres
Feet aching
Parched tongues
Future taking
Mustangs
Searing heartache
When senior citizens forsaken
Monumental mistake
Faith shaken
Time
To reconsider
Importance of the dime
To consider
Values and beliefs
That pride of place accord to the aged
In kerchiefs and handkerchiefs
Rummaged and foraged
To honour the old
Held in high esteem
To withhold
Neglect in family fabric, team and stream.