Best Room Poems
Alone the bones of the room
bear no weight of responsibility
nor does it bare its breast of secrets
a broken pane
provides a breath with a pang of lavender
a wistful inhale
inhabits the lungs of this space
as the room tries to embrace...
oh embrace the breathing breeze
to squeeze a semblance of life into this place
but the breeze— a gypsy whisper-warm
needs freedom to come in and sweep
sun-dust into swirls of pinprick-stars...
then to go not beholden to bones
stoic and standing still
not beholden to dust stranded midair
only to fall in despair— abandoned
with less a good-bye
as bygone laughter and lullabies
are held on lath-tongues
behind horsehair plaster walls
but mute memories
mingle in dust like fireflies in dusk;
her suckling coos
the woe of rocking chair nights
hot plashes of mud-puddle tears
—a colored canvas that minions of time
would rather gesso white
in its bones the room
remembers its worth as a womb
nurturing a baby’s breath
beneath blue-skin-skies
where rows of purple spires grow
till Mistral winds blew hard and cold
and flew her lavender soul
far from home
oh the loss of life
wind-crashing-seas-onto-rocks—
loss of life
skeleton-ribs-of-the-crib
stripped-of-her-lavender-sprig—
loss of life
Monsoon mornings are like a seedless vase filled with paralyzed petals.
I sit reminiscing, the fleeting frequencies of his ancient clock,
now cloaked in coal cobwebs composing skeletal memories;
a timeless token of unblemished innocence,
when tiny fingers, tattooed with henna butterflies,
awaited the dawning strings of golden kites.
I ponder if shadows of the moving moon still caress chiffon curtains, forming a crescent spoon,
resembling five marbles of childhood that played hide and seek,
to his virtuous voice echoing down hollow hallways~
homing a trail of tender heartbeats from the swings he made for us…
For the empty room of a wise man is never soulless.
It shelters fearless footprints of futuristic art, painted with patience,
when fairies of twilight forget the lyrics of starry lullabies.
Tonight, I trace whispering wallpapers,
listening to the sound of my grandfather’s perennial promises~
that linger forever, embalmed in sandalwood serenity,
while nightingales croon eclectic elegies to the mourning sky.
It's to the corner kids must sometimes go,
or to their room they're sent and kept alone.
Their freedom gone, they stare at walls and groan.
When time is up, they've not one thing to show!
Of poets, there are some who undergo
a similar reaction. They bemoan
their ever being sentenced to the "zone"
of writing in a form that stifles flow.
Like embryos enclosed within the womb
and sucking on their toes, they wait to be
thus freed from "Mother" Poetry (Oh, doom!)
In contrast, I implore you: Keep that key
and leave me here - restricted. I shall bloom
inside this little room. Do punish me!
This morning
I sifted through years of memories
that ran like sand
through my hands.
A few pieces remained behind;
carefully
I put them away.
Afterwards
I sat for a long time
and listened to the rain on the roof.
Through your window,
I could see bare treetops
and a grey sky.
4/1/2018
The big headlines cause sensation,
Media’s chosen information.
Manipulative, they entomb
the big elephant in the room.
Stress is put on the suggestive
keeping tongue and the mind active.
They sweep aside with furtive broom
the big elephant in the room.
Gain is high on the agenda
grabbing votes in referenda.
They hide, on purpose, I presume
the big elephant in the room.
Many topics are selective;
they are made to look attractive.
Who dares to tickle with a plume
the big elephant in the room?
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A Kyrielle is a French form of rhyming poetry written in quatrains, each containing a repeating line at the end of each stanza. Each line within the poem consists of eight syllables. There is no limit to the amount of stanzas a Kyrielle may have, but three is considered the accepted minimum. Some popular rhyming schemes for a Kyrielle are: aabB, ccbB, ddbB, with B being the repeated line, or abaB, cbcB, dbdB.
This form is a pleasure to use because of its rhyming scheme and the strong pivotal line on which the whole poem rotates.
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Premiere Contest No. 13
Sponsor: Skat A (2016)
Contest: Poetry Writing #1
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 1st
15th December 2015
A lack of oxygen, a stifled room
A pregnant pause, apparent gloom
Bitter sighs and angry growls
Upon her face "It's not my fault"
His wrinkled brow, "I'm not to blame!"
Past mistakes that hover now
Where pride as tough as elephant skin
Clinch the eyes where tears begin
While those who made a lover's pledge
Now teeter on the razor's edge
Behind closed doors heads shake about
And raging voices mutely shout
Mountains, molehills, vent and spout
Fingers point inside the fist
No one recalls what led to this
Closed minds, resolved, and won't untwist
Raising questions one by one
Old ghosts that dangle, freely spun
A hopeless scene, what's left to gain?
No matter what,....they'll show no shame
What massive figure profoundly looms
as large as elephants in a room?
In A Darkened Attic Room
In attic room, one window tightly shut,
Dwells broken heart hidden from future pain.
Bare as a savage brute's dark, empty hut-
Condemned to no hope, no future, no gain.
Where rests such perilous fear darkness reigns;-
Shattered dreams give rise to dark illusions.
Hope rejected brings its most wicked stains,
Evil held, births its blackest conclusions.
Grown in decay until nothing remains,
Yet sad hope is better than none at all.
True love waits the bliss it always contains,
Treasures gifted, one only has to call.
If one ray of love's light but filters in
Love brings life and its promises again.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-30-2016
Sonnet
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:140
Total # Words: 103
Let not my heart become in my old age
"An empty room, cobwebbed, and comfortless"
But an open sunny porch, a welcome sage
A loving heart to those in distress
Let not my pain sabotage my soft heart
Let me remain a gentle, kind spirit
Writing a course of good 'pon my sea chart
Let love from heart's depths to God submit
Enjoining to You oh Holy Spirit
Flow through me like a circuit open ended
This vessel delights in your benefits
Let the love seed grow with fastest speed
Let my heart not be controlled by body's pain
Fill my heart with Thy love 'til it can't contain
"An empty room, cobwebbed, and comfortless"
Direct quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay
It was in more than one of her works..
Unrhymed tercets
The Withdrawing Room
Huddled together in this abstemious grey chamber
no windows or means of escape walls closing in
trapped where the un-sanctified transactions are made
Daunting without exit the silent screams go unheard
ashen skin with darting eyes never looking up
forever too frightened of seeing the truth reflected back
In the unholy grail in visions of comrades within this un-sacred act of ransom
the collective voice of the masked chorus urging them on wards
then the integrated tragedy of hidden fears and secrets
A living sacrifice under this bargain where no one wins or gains
without boundaries of mortal limits there exists in this gunmetal airless demise
unfettered woefulness and vainglory vie for victory
The innocent victim's now the pawn's forgotten as pride twists obscurities
severing the umbilical cord drowning breaths of existence
the sterile smell of unfinished lives permeating into the coal and ice
Tiny little footprints always remain's inside the womb's silenced facts
the living water of life breaks no longer flows through the natural cord
leaving a chorus of continuous phantom's chanting in mendacious unity
Opening the door of perdition where the tactical glare of a butchers knife
held under a ghostly specter of a child that might have been treasured
a face imagined but never seen and names never uttered
A tortured remembrance of a pardon held precious beauty once
soon the vapour of shame burns off in an emptiness that still remains
glazes over a ruby rare passion
Where fear & the constant loathing cannot fathom the uncertainties
this future brings forth in the immenseness of what might have been
not touching the soul properly
The unborn yet to speak?
silenced unadorned gone forever jewel's
always held within prayers of the faithful loving grace
a co written piece by Liam Mcdaid & Donna Loughman
''Dark things happened there....''
they say, with fading tones,
almost reaching their vanishing point,
due to unhidden fright.
Sometimes they hear eerie moans;
see dancing shadows on the space
between the door and floor; other times
whispers that make them feel as though
they will shatter like hollow glass tubes.
To stop the haunting,
they hired spiritualists to seal
the room's door with their divine will.
Candles flicker in the night,
as voices of the undead wander across the corridors.....
Publishing Date: 25/4/2014
I can hear the echoes of footsteps,
at times the rattling of iron bars,
but my thoughts are too loud,
repeating in this dim and disturbed mind.
My rage used to punch all four walls,
hoping concrete would crumble,
but broken knuckles only left crimson stains.
At least they offer a little colour to the grey.
I have no idea of time nor date.
Twenty three hours flow too slow.
Too much time to dwell, wasting away,
horizontal, upon a worn out mattress,
but the sliver of light offers some respite,
as I wait for that one hour of restricted freedom,
escaping this stale stench of sweat and mildew.
I think about the lifeless souls before me.
Sometimes, I turn to God, but only the Devil replies,
adamant I should join him among his bonfires,
but there is no rope nor any sharp objects
to end these sleepless, tearful, deep sighs.
I find myself
In this room
Where flames of passion
Dance
Within a hearth
That steels my heart
With just a single glance
Where from a glowing
Candle a bra
Set in tiers of three
I see reflections
Of a thousand
Crystal memories
As it stands upon
A shawl of antique lace
Draped across the shoulder
Of the Grand that waits
With a rose of ruby red
Laid across her waiting bed
Of keys of ebony and ivory
Waiting for the hands
That with love
will understand
The ink spots
On the yellowed sheets.
Inspired by a painting by J. Gibson
that hangs above my desk where I write.
I have spent many hours in this painting.
It is a place I go for peace and comfort.
Placed 3rd in Brian Strand's Ekphrasis contest
He kept a small room
he wasn’t in it very often
but it was there and he knew it
it was safe
for though life had opened roads
that needed to be trodden
and he was often far away
his room was
waiting for him
in it was his bookcase
teal blue stained wood
shelves of a life explored
childhood memories
books about dinosaurs and the moon
pictures and piggy banks
old record albums and
his Titanic collection
there were two hickory chairs
old world charm in light pink brocade
a gift of decades past
and his library desk, a rare find
and one to keep for its
mahogany leather embossed top
its drawers crammed with 50 years of
incidentals, papers and letters
and brochures
on its walls, his oils and watercolors
kept guard
his paintings from a long ceased dalliance
in art
he kept a small room
to visit
for though he believed that home
is where love is and can be anywhere
he also knew that a seed planted
can grow and grow
but its roots must survive
They never saw me—not really.
Only the outline I traced in the halls,
A whisper of denim and shy glances,
A ghost who smiled too politely.
They passed notes like grenades,
Laughed too loudly
When the silence was breaking me.
I wore their words like a second skin—
Tight, blistering,
But invisible to them.
You asked if I was okay once—
But your eyes flicked away
Before the truth had a chance to crawl out.
Still,
That was kind,
Compared to the others
Who carved their stories into my name
Without ever asking for mine.
I screamed,
But only inside,
Where echoes get lost
In the ribcage's corners.
And when I disappeared,
They asked,
“Why didn’t she say something?”
As if silence isn’t something we’re taught
By the ones who pretend
They’re listening.
Memories float in the emptiness,
in a room full of you ~
like the dust in a ray of sun
disturbed by whispered wishes
& the silence of echoed sighs...
God, I wish so, that time,
could be rewound like
a movie that always began,
but never ended!!
YOU, are worth so much more
than thoughts in this empty room
that is so - very full of YOU
and... overbrimmed with everything
~ that was US...
I MISS YOU..........