Best Sac Poems
Stars were twinkling high, glinting moonlit sky,
As missives of love on scarlet winds buoyed
Indulging passionate desires, enamoring pleas
Of elated longings, strumming pulse of glee,
Spurring romance, blooming heart’s dream,
As you arrived cheering fervid night of spring.
Oh, how I missed a beat, lauding your beauty,
When you enticed me, smiling affectionately,
Alluring with a glance that dazzled in promise
Of our magical evening enchanting, esoteric,
As together we propelled to world of fantasy
Beyond realm ordinary, scripting fabled story.
Alas! as we approached a paradise heavenly,
How playfully you blew a kiss, abandoning me,
On auriferous cul-de-sac of forbidden street
When you entered a glittering palace for fairies;
Leaving me in awe of a world ornate, unique,
A land of mythical vitality, of utopian ecstasy.
Beyond hope, beyond reach, as you vanished,
No path I could see past the forbidden street,
Trapping me where I idolized your heartbeats;
Perplexed, yet cognizant, here I would rather be,
Hypnotized in your reality of a flirtatious night,
Exploring reveries beyond cul-de-sac of my life.
February 21, 2023
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
After Vietnam he came right back
To a three bedroom house on a cul de sac
He worked hard to provide for his family
And now it all seems like insanity
After thirty years, his wife is gone
He can't figure out just what went wrong
His sweet little girl went to live in Butte
Drugs and booze made her a prostitute
On the cul de sac
Sits a Caddilac
He hasn't driven
since his heart attack
His son paid for college with a tour in Iraq
He won't be coming back to the cul de sac
A suicide bomber made sure of that
Late one night in a sneak attack
He can't really understand that
But it's too quiet now on the cul de sac
He tries so hard not to look back
or think about the war in Iraq
Nothing makes much sense anymore
At least not the way it did before
When laughter rang out on the cul de sac
And he knew what was fiction and what was fact
I sensed that my bladder might be angry at me
as recently it screams of urgency.
The other day when I heard loud chatter, I said
"dear bladder, what ever is the matter?"
He said, "lately you don't listen so I have to shout
in order for you to let fluids out.
I've always been loyal and had your back but
please remember I'm only a sac. If you keep
stretching me I'll get out of whack."
After our little brain to body conversation I
now listen to my bladder to avoid his indignation.
Cul du sac
Blood tears
Leaking
slowly
the empty face
emotions raped
red raindrops
fancy lollipops
empty glass
filling with sanguine color
drip
drip
drip
We are smiles
en chante
tous
les petits moulins rouges
tombe
casse
drink well from my veins
sleep in my tears
robbed of heart
faceless
fate has fermented
barrels of laughter
in the silent chamber
of broken dreams
Notes: Translations
Cul du sac = dead end
en chante = cheers
tous = all
Les petits moulins rouges = the little red windmills
tombe = to fall
casse = broken
Many have attempted bilingual art, music, song, film, and very few have had success, and yet for me, doing so is a bridge that joins the best of all cultures and heritages whichever they may be, so seeking less success, and more bridges to travel I carry on.
The last drops of milk:
lethargic fly sucks, in my cup
- Autumn leaf lands atop!
Cul-de-Sac
Quick steps slow to hesitate
The sudden curve of a straight white line
Into the mists of detour
Lined with haunting facades
Of blurred addresses
And faded street signs
Where echoes of curiosity bluster -
Magic or madness -
In proverbs of warning about blind alleys -
Mayhem or mystic -
Bending the lane
Like the nautilus inner ear
A flat arc where light searches
For the sacred
Past faceless abodes lining this curlicue
With a come-on to remain
Yet the heart knows to follow
The flamboyant contours,
Like angel’s wings,
Into the loop – not a dead end
But a recoiling boomerang
Leaving knots of doubt behind
Arms open wide to inquisitive's marathon
Then ride the hairpin rail out of gossamer inkiness
Leaving behind the rags of repetition
Into a rosy borning road.
2-21-23
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Theme chosen – Cul-de-Sac
the good
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
happy memories and joyous events,
the loves, and lifelong friendships
A cul-de-sac, though a dead end,
has a circular finish, a merry-go-round
that accumulates happiness as it spins
into a cloud of beauty and nature,
compassion, gods, and faith.
The breathless moments in life,
birth, newness, novelty, exuberance
in being, living, experiencing
laughter, butterflies, and springtime
within my soul, my gratitude.
the bad
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the pocks of the years that came
to leave their soured, sadistic truths.
So, like a cul-de-sac you may enter
but the exit is the same as you came.
A Ferris wheel, past the highs and lows
of lost hopes, of murky dreams that end
with more questions than I will answer…
A dead end with death as the prize
for endless dreary days and noxious nights
of sorrow, sadness, misery, and grief
with no hope, no desire, no ambition
faith gone and forgone, abortive.
the ugly
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the sear of anger and revenge
spiraling apocalyptically.
The cul-de-sac where giant wind turbines
turn and churn and gnaw at my insides
generating incompressible turbulence
that amasses until it ruptures, spewing
rage and outrage that I will honor…
In and out, inescapable, dead
like my heart, my soul black as coal,
seeking retribution for perceived
wrongs against me, ill-timed and
sanguinary persecution.
The path led to rose bushes cul de sac.
Early in the morning, we sat down to rest.
Dewdrops are still shining on the track.
At our feet, a swarm of ladybugs, deft.
Petrichor arose as the July rains left us back.
A strain expressing your clumsy affection.
Tune into your breathing and heartbeat.
This is a dreamy time for such passion.
Flog love is bound to the cul-de-sac part.
It is essential to preserve buried emotion.
This curvy, icy nook is set in a helix maze.
Poetry and syncopation reignite the fire.
Even talking may be risky at night phase.
Shut the door if you wish to quell desire.
Light should be veiled by a smoky haze.
Platonic ties might be a bottomless sack.
Lyricism, zeal, and merit are key factors.
The outcome of love, then, is not a cul-de-sac.
if these are quickly obfuscating actors.
Intending that love is the sweetest shack
A full moon glides through winter dreams.
The cul-de-sac ice rink is nearing its end.
Facing reality while reminiscing streams.
Droplets seize their will to settle and wend.
Twilight moon shines with merry schemes.
Ashen-faced friends slow-motion blast.
In the cul-de-sac, the lovely house fades.
Sleeping flies swirl the remaining cast.
My cup is filled with an autumn shade.
Affinity seems to be a shackle of fact.
Only going out mattered, for a brief time.
Spring equinox has just been drenched.
Paddle a boat through the azure, sublime
The skeletons' soliloquy was quenched.
Without other elements, this is grime.
The lake thawed as the ice started to glow.
for the goal of exposing the ostentatious.
Cut on a slant, with a glimmer of a rainbow,
As my mother would say, you are gracious.
This is not how you wish your child to grow.
That desolate road cul-de-sac of shame.
I imagine the life I'd lead there as a coward.
Swans, a lake house, and a child on tame.
The tourmaline-dazzling wisteria has soured.
Parents were overjoyed to view the game.
1st place contest winner
Written: February 02, 2023
This Or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
a time capsule locks inside my head ~ box of gray matter lined with lead
pipe dreams and u bends from a life i led ~ sealed off now until i’m dead
This or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Howmanysyllables 2x17
02/27/23
his mind had entered a state of confusion
numb blank and befuddled on one hand
with walls in front
and verges closing in behind
enclosed in a mixture of discomfort
and pressure to move
stand still for a moment
a voice quietly whispered
with a chorus answering
run for your life
polarized messages
a Jungian way of saying
only uncertainty is clear
he coughed up some phlegm
a mixture of nicotine and discontent
and tried not to give too much importance
to the dreams he had had
maybe there was an aperture
in the partition in front of him
there was a chance that the blind alley could see
not a through road but rather a simple conjecture
that could be refuted with patience and time
three things he knew was that he would not
turn back on himself in anger nor sorrow
that an imprisoned state
could serve as a prism
and reflection would eventually
lead him through darkness
19th February 2023
This or that volume 16 cul-de-sac
sponsor Edvard Ibeh
“Oh weary hermit, etch these words in stone ~
God is within, we never walk alone”
~ quote by poet
Dear God, give us our joy back;
our life’s reached a cul-de-sac,
with heart caught in desire’s net,
our bankrupt soul’s drowned in debt.
Pathways of sin, a dead end,
for how can darkness defend
soul’s innate bliss, ours to claim,
when our head hangs low in shame?
All seems lost and yet there’s hope,
choosing with love to elope,
breaking free from ego’s chain,
becoming a child again.
In mode embrace and release,
at wits end we’re yet at ease
for lo behold, love and light,
illumines the darkest night.
Seduced by love’s healing meth,
destiny too holds its breath,
carving for us a new path,
each day, a holy sabbath.
Heart’s devout faith opens doors
and as divine grace in-pours,
when we walk, the path appears,
blissful, joyous, free from fears.
07-February-2023
This or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
The realms of resurrection buried,
Excavating bloody beliefs of slavery,
Decimating riots in a blink,
Rejuvenating imagery primed energy.
Shrillness of voice overpowering the silence,
Tears bursting eyes insane,
Holiness captured and tortured,
Bodies are in colossal pain.
Daemons dancing in chaos of secularity,
Dungeons blasted by uncanny clout,
A shrine struggling to rise above the regime,
Insisting to conquer sacredness stout.
Freeness exhilarating inside obscurity,
Comatose creatures are honing existence
Yet a miniature annoying death,
Courageously battling with paranormal stance.
Enacting with mischievous precedent,
Shielding the human race from “The ultimate”,
Slaughtering designed platform for resurrection,
It’s time to dance the dance of Devastation to elevate
The architect of this lighteous hope is a “Child”,
A child who preserves the invasion of Godly surmise,
The Power of thousand stars unite to exterminate,
Rest in Peace “Darkness” in scintillating demise.
Spiky mind crafted Absolute revolution,
Where noises will be concealed inside silence,
A sun will rise from west signalling Victory,
Lords Dance of Destruction will certify the resurgence
This child will craft a world of peace,
Mists and shams destroyed in remuneration of brighter sky,
Darkness will deliver the light,
Entire universe will be enlightened with “Child’s Deify”
That Sacred – Powerful – Courageous child destine,
To end pain, darkness, daemons and rise as divine.
Walking down the country lane
I saw trees in flower all the way.
Gleaming gems among emerald leaves,
A medley of colors on fabulous display!
The path was carpeted with grass.
Thick bushes grew on either side.
The sun was mild and the air, pleasantly cool.
A quiet place where peace did abide.
I felt so thrilled sauntering alone,
Enjoying the serenity of the scene
I hoped it would extend long,
Taking me to terrains unseen
But to my perplexity I found the path a cul de sac
Forcing me to take a different track.
It seemed as if travelled by none.
But I was determined not to turn my back.
No living soul could be spotted anywhere around.
The trees growing in clumps were wild and dull.
The path was strewn with pricking thorns and stones.
The place looked savage and morbidly still.
With every step my feet winced in pain.
But giving up halfway was not my choice.
Determined to reach the farther end,
I dragged forward obeying my inner voice!
This is exactly how we feel sometimes in life
When the road you travel looks a cul- de- sac
When anxiety presses you down to the hilt
With persistence, move forward and never turn back!
Feb.13.2023
~ Placed First~
This or That, Vol.16. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
The cul-de-sac of safety comes to mind
when faced alone with problems to resolve;
finding that place where boundaries unwind
a safe cocoon where answers can't evolve.
A dead-end street this cul-de-sac supplies-
where only certain outcomes come and go.
Outside-the-box solutions don't arise;
too easy to remain on this plateau.
To come and go from this safe cul-de-sac,
a zone that shields the sights of what's beyond-
returning to its circumventing track-
will never break this closed and lonely bond.
Around in circles, spinning every day-
where roads of clear, straight thinking fade away.
February 19, 2023
Contest: This or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
There was this cul-de-sac I well recall
when I was not quite thirty. We’d just bought
our first house, which was cute and kind of small.
Blue, ranch style; rose carpet I liked a lot.
In the cul-de-sac, our house was set
right in the middle; but the number of
the several houses there I forget.
Not many neighbors did I grow to love.
They kept to themselves, but my children played
with kids from all around, and that was nice.
But three years later I became dismayed.
My husband found work out of state. The price
we had to sell our house for was too low.
But new horizons we were meant to know!
Feb. 20, 2023
for Edward Ibeh's This Or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Word chosen: Cul-de-sac