Best Rungs Poems
A nook in the corner, off to the right..
A haven, housing a hundred homes.
To there, where wakened dreams do hide,
My wandering mind so often roams.
We read to know we’re not alone.
I’m grateful that I've found this nook -
A home, where wakened dreams do hide.
There is no friend as true as a book.
A book falls open and I fall in,
Deaf to the planet’s mundane din.
Disturb me not, you kith and kin -
I'm off to my homeland, off on a spin.
They’re rungs on a ladder. Every page
a foothold, on to which we scale
to reach the highest point, from where
we see the beauty of the tale.
From there, the top of my noiseless world,
I’m safe and sound - no guns or knives
Can face the power of stabbing words..
A reader lives a thousand lives.
When the season of splendor sprinkles
the scent of sprightliness,
when the koels and kingfishers sing hymns of hope
and merrily waltz their wings of chartreuse dreams, and
when from her day dream, my muse emerges in ecstasy,
I dip my quill in vivid shades of ebullient sacramento ink.
When in a gentle stroke, the first ray of the golden prince
caresses the myrtle terrain of earth - his beloved princess,
and she wakes up from her dark moss slumber
blushing and swinging in neon shades of love
in a moment of delight as she becomes
a pinnacle of rustic beauty
sparkling and swaying in shamrock hues, and
when the harmonious harp of the buzzing bees
wafts in the air as they suck sweet nectar
from the brilliant blooms adorning
my muse’s verdant malachite rockery
adding vivid lime vibrance to the hustle and bustle
of the grassy gorgeous flower beds dispensing
the aroma of exuberant pistachio thoughts of my reasoning -
and becomes a harbinger of hope for my creative quill,
I passionately let my avocado ink
to pen its inspiring pearls of perception.
When my muse ponders
on the fragility of life fraught with
hindrances and hiatuses for progress,
yet wonders on how life advances
and ascends in the rungs of optimism -
like buds finding way to bloom
even in a pit of rocky soil:
my ink blossoms in the tender glow
of my lilac dreams of love and peace.
Written: November 06, 2023
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A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
Find me in the sea full of empty shells.
They are bones over Noah’s burnt vessel,
ashes of gopher, Calvary’s wood the
timeless ark and rungs on Jacob’s ladder.
Moor your might to my truth and blink your eye.
Before you’re adrift in Luke’s gulf, find me.
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Date: 01.18.17
Contest: Find Me In Six
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
why is it easier to look at you
through one eye as opposed to two
when we should be totally
enamored with the thought
that we have come this far
a desert of parched emotions
cherrywood furniture atop marble floors
transformed our home into an oasis
of tears and coffee
this trivial mirage under scathing sunlight
left us grappling for sustenance
be it water or be it love
empathy should be our cry
yet with grey hair for a crown
these life stories on our face
we joust over flashbacks
and weakened rungs
I shared with a poet
that I’m sad and angry
My heart is going to a place
it doesn’t want to be
I know you are hurting
you want to be free
But around that last corner
There are things you can’t see
Absence my friend
does not remove suffering
It passes it to others
there’s no peace it can bring
it’s a cold and empty place
the ending of everything
Closing eyes, not waking
won’t make your heart fly or sing
I know I’m a small footnote
in a chapter of your story
Yet I want more for you
I wish for you to know Glory
So I’ll press one more time
make a moment feel like forty
I want more conversations
I pray You won’t be gone shortly
To me my friend
you are significant and matter
So my spirit feels anxious
I’m like the Mad Hatter
I climb up ten rungs
to try and meet you on your ladder
I don’t want you to jump
My heart’s heavy and grows sadder
So please tell me my friend
in your words how you feel
Even though I won’t pretend okay
please know that my love is real
I will be with you now
at this junction on your wheel
Maybe we can just sit here together
because I don’t really know how to feel.
I wrote this piece from a friend’s perspective. He is distraught
because his friend has chosen assisted suicide and the day
is quickly approaching. My heart and prayers go out to both
of them.
Mindfull of a parallel sequence
we seem to function light between
thought and hurt hoping for
easy advancement up the channel steps--
pecarious invoking with someone who
knows--- and not knows inescapable from
ourselves compliant (fraud) if need not be.
Backwash of hidden intermittent terrors preclude
external sensitivities---like my aching back
heat waves of generalized dizziness and
gender--izing. The sweet bird of youth
never suffers a jet lag stupor as we enjoy
and (softly) murmur the last rungs in a
flaccid present tense loss of self faculty.
But the nevertheless picture of realitivity
lends a jargon journal future sometimes
nameless but (at least) omnidirectional
happenstance.
The name's Ike .
Some a you met me and my wife Jane,
We got us a good life, can't complain.
To the kids, I'm an old geezer round here,
I think it's funny , they don't mean no harm,
I likes ta watch em, and have me a beer,
Work in the yard; Jane calls it my 'lil farm .
I been around a long time,
But ya know, it's still me inside this old shell,
This old body shell is wrinkled and baldin'
gray haired and achin'; I really gave it hell.
Though ya know, inside, ...I'm still really alive!
Funny...I always think I'm about thirty five !
Anyway i'm gettin off track.
Sometimes I gotta find somethin ta git me goin',
so I head out to the yard and start ta hoein'.
Ya see I got me a 'lil garden,
sometimes, I spreads manure in,
...(beggin' your pardon)
You see ,in a special sorta way
each plant needs good care.
Some stay outside 'n grow on the rungs.
Some shoots I wants in the green house,
ta help 'em grow and tend to the young.
Guess them plants is like people,
Some praise God under the sky'
some prays ta Him under a steeple.
This ole garden been through alot.
She been through four hurricanes in her lifetime,
and one year,...a twister just missed her.
I've always liked it out here.
it's a special place to me,..very dear.
We sometimes walk out here, me and the Mrs.
We smile and call it "the old geezer's garden".
Then we get us in a few hugs and kisses.
My old garden been around
a long long time, but she's still alive!
Some folks ask me how old it is,..
and I tell 'em...oh..'bout ...thirty five...
see you folks next time. " nite nite darlin."
Sunlight surfaced at the breach of dawn
It climbed salty rungs to emerge from the sea
When fully risen, what had been spawned?
A molten fireball cast from the dragon's breath,
a firey yawn exhaled in languorous flight
searing tangerine flames across the horizon
Daylight drifted over waking valleys and hills
in dappled luminance of shimmering gold
It danced in pirouettes upon my window sill
and chased shadows from my bedroom wall
until it tumbled on the bed where my love slept
He stirred, I smiled and then wept with emotion
at the passion glimmering in drowsy jade eyes
With each rise and fall of his muscular chest
the heated flush of desire within me burned
Sinewy arms reached out for me...
"Come back to bed," whispered from his lips
and my gown lay puddled upon the floor
I'd had enough of watching sunlight's strolling
for it had stolen too many moments next to him
My toes were cold from morning's chill
but it was not from Winter weather that I quivered
It was time to savor the sweet warmth of love
from his fingertip tracings upon my skin
My insides are tight, they’re slimy and black
He’s back.
The anaconda.
He squeezes my insides and I can’t breathe,
He won’t leave.
I can’t sleep, or I’ll dream of his body
While he roams my gut, up to my lungs,
Grabbing my ribs and swinging from the rungs
And then squeezes around my throat
Takes time to gloat
Before he hisses words into my head…
Words that can render me dead.
He lingers, he slithers, he kills..
He’s back;
And no one’s there to hear my shrills.
a scandalous secret gnaws
at the epicenter of my being
threatening to unearth
score pillars of dirt
upon which my world is built
gilded in reverence,
vaingloriously lauded
and parlayed to ascend sacred rungs
beyond the license of minions,
the legend grows
and grows
and grows
and though I know
my storied steeple,
as all things crooked,
will surely crumble someday,
I pray that it shall stay
erect
an irreverent crown;
a reaming tower of pisa
steeped in piety,
the envy of my faithful throng
preserved
to shatter the innocence of your delicate young…
~ Pablo
once,
maybe?
just once in a lifetime
you touch,
brush,
less than a touch,
maybe just maybe
once in a lifetime
you are close enough to greatness
to almost feel it
but you don’t
because with greatness
true greatness
comes
humility.
the moment is one
no one but you recognizes
it is a hug
from the person
who held up that sign
what seems now
like an eon ago.
the sign said
help!
you could have walked away
turned a blind eye
but
that person
without a word
is inside your head
the voice
is clear
"it’s the right thing to do"
echoes in your mind
as if your skull
were the Grand Canyon
so,
you do it.
you sacrifice everything
and you do it.
you help
and when your deed is complete
when it is all said and done
that person hugs you
when it is all said and done
you hug that person
and for that moment
you feel less than space between you and it
and you know it is greatness
but in your humility
as quick as you think it
it is gone.
but you are changed forever more
and you know
heaven is this
no high from any other source
will ever be the same
because
you’ve just stepped up
the rungs of your ladder
and there is no crash
from this high.
you are on a new plateau
and it is higher
and it is lower
because
with greatness
true greatness
comes humility.
Listen here!
I am hurting up all over
Lying here undiscovered
Papparazzi cumulus are jostling in my street
God is taking photos of the remnants of His sheep
Climbing footholds and gripping on the rungs
Heaving and panting I'm a-aching in my lungs
Ascend this twisted ladder of my helix
I'm not the father of this mutant DNA
Help me Hiroshima,make it go away
Panties on the washline hip-hopping in the air
Headbanging jackets dancing with no hair
I tried to speak , stutter, spitting out the truth
Joy the dormant factor in my spittle and my sperm
Followed you through crooked mile
Tracked you through the non-return
Nowhere to go now, just following my feet
Like an unpaid hooker walking on her beat
Oh, my bedside lamp begs the question mark
I do not want to hear
Sprinkled in baptism
Ah! Salvation ...hanging in the air
-the petrichor of rain
Our grandson who has Huntington's Disease has been going to physical therapy for a couple of months now at our local hospital. Huntington's Disease is an inherited brain disease that came from his father's side of the family but it can crop up in families where it has never been before. The disease is an abnormality on the DNA with too many repeats on the CAG which causes a problem with the protein gluten. It causes a condition called chorea which is only a small part of the illness.
worker repairs glass
second floor hospital room....
falling, falling tool
The illness causes many personality/cognitive/emotional problems as brain cells are no longer able to function normally. The person gets in trouble with the law sometimes because they try to self-medicate their illness. They have trouble sleeping, handling their emotions, and that is only to name a few things.
daredevil chances life
each minute upon the rungs....
pink crepe myrtle blooms
He is somewhat like the worker upon the ladder's rungs each second of the day his life is in danger. We never know what reaction he will have to anything. His chorea is gradually, slowly getting worse plus he has some rigidity which is uncomfortable for him.
second ladder up
eighteen inches higher....
blue skies reflected
The reflective glass of the hospital displays a beautiful scene. Verdant leaves of the great thicket of oaks is reflected in the glass. It seems they are high up in the puffy cottony clouds which are seen in the glass. Such a placid scene which helps me to relax a little.
will the worker fall
from higher orange ladder....
a swift prayer said
Will there be a treatment or cure in time to help our grandson?
I was climbing up a ladder on a day
with a cool breeze purring through the roof gutters.
The wind would dip and run inside the open metal
canister then shoot up with the unforgiving wall
at roof’s end…
That upthrust would meet my rising hair
with a foosh reminding me of ungifted rewards,
like spinning windmills our air is happy and free
while I climb the satoric rungs for a vision clearer
than the ground below…
Space between the thoughts is what we are trained to see
And as those continents tread away from each other
The mass of men’s woes storm along breathless air
Like a cannonball bringing to smoke and cinder
All my grasping mills, shuddering in the wind—let go!
I put the ladder away and walk back into the garage.
I listen attentively to my breathing as I open the
screen door that leads to my kitchen that leads
to my living room carpet where I will lay down
and count all my blessings…
…until I fall asleep.