Best Setting Up Poems
The skies filled bulbously with
gray-filled clouds.
We rested on God's daisy blanket,
laughing out loud.
Some nice fresh water from God's
own sink?
We laid back in utter joy, setting up
glasses to catch such a blessed...
Heavenly drink.
September 24, 2019
Wasted time, can I get it back?
I'm not sure whether I want it back
Don't catch my symptom, you won't get your normality back
God, my vision blurry, I need you back
Is it possible to not know your destiny here on earth?
As I write these words my managers are discussing my worth
Happiness is allergic to me, maybe it's somewhere beyond this earth
Words in me get a sense of belonging, I then find my worth
Writing on this paper although it writes nothing back
It gives me space to lay these feelings, encouraging me not to look back
Being happy in intervals is distorting, I need that consistency back
God, you said you'll be here, please, I need you back
Tears please stop, the ink on this paper cannot find its worth
Frustration is installed, setting up files dismantling my worth
I want you to say "you need me" so I get a sense of belonging on this earth
I have no report to present to you when I leave this earth
This paper says "I love you too" when there is no one to say it back
Words become imprinted on it as a commitment therefore I cannot take them back
This paper has no judgements, no emphasis on where I lack
I see you are judging saying "he needs to get his confidence back"
What are my contributions here on earth?
Would I be treated as royalty if God sees my worth?
I need to review my terms and conditions of my being here on earth
I will recite these words and let the paper highlight my worth
Wasted time, really though, was it?
Form:
As daylight ebbs comfy folds of colorful quilts wrap around the land
sending it into blissful slumber.
Sunset nods listlessly its orange glow stretch and yawn before receding to
distant shores.
Mountains shrink to grotesque shapes as a playful moon skips high into the sky
teasing shapes on the earth below.
Night creatures rejoice setting up a cacophony of sounds
that urge us into a place of peaceful Neverlands.
Tree shadows stark against the darkness weave a drunken path in eerie
silence to the sound of their own befuddled music
while the moon flings these unwelcome guests against houses and
skyscrapers on high.
Old buildings creak with weariness brittle joints bowing under the weight of
daily toil
Airplanes drone weary to the bones eager for rest on the runway 's breast.
Neon lights flit and swirl a disco rythm throbbing heartbeats in the night
while light bulbs doze under dusty shades.
Later yet the snore of man strikes the final gong long before the wake-up tap
of the rising sun.
Peacefully we chose to rest setting up our camp.
I was with the troops at sun rise before the arrow storm began.
Hailing from the sky and whistling down upon our ranks.
Sprouting from our throats, from our shoulders and our backs.
Shouting our forces scattered, scrambling across the land.
In all directions to avoid the rain of missiles that advance.
When usually a small group of archers wouldn't bother us.
More of our ranks were brought down as the second volley struck.
I spotted Ian in a dream I had before our wake up call.
He draw his sword and headed into battle on his horse.
Glancing wildly about expecting bowmen to rise up out the grass.
About to shout take cover as i found that breath to be my last.
She was the embodiment of beauty
The manifestation of goodness
Everything she did was
Lovely
Graceful
Flawless
People would call he an angel
But no one saw the devil buried inside
Setting up camp in her heart
Breaking it and turning it dark
No one knew the darkness that followed her
The black cloud
Harboring a storm
Waiting to unleash a hurricane
Whip up the waves again
To pull her under
No matter how hard she tries to stay above the water
There is no flotation device to keep you
Above the flood of addiction
You see that she's drowning
But how can you save someone
From the tide
When you don't know how to swim
When you have no idea there to find a life preserver
You feel helpless
As you watch her be consumed
Her own body swallowing her whole
There are no amount of self-help groups
To stop the relapse
The monster has captured her
She sold her soul
The day she sold her body
She does this to keep her supply
As they always demand
People try to help
But they don't understand
How will she tell people she's lost
When she has no sense of direction anyway
Also they wouldn't believe her
She looks at herself
And starts to cry
Her reflection looking back is broken
Like the mirror she is staring into
Soon she doesn't recognize the person no, creature
In the glass
She stows away in her room and goes into hiding
As she adds just one last skeleton to her closet
What's this?
Pure bliss
NOTE: Hey everyone ... so I've been pretty busy these last few days, with packing, cleaning up, setting up yard-sales etc., so I'm gonna take a short break from posting and commenting ... but in the meantime feel free to enter my very first contest, March of the Footle. Curious to see how it goes ... happy writing!
Two-word Lines Free
with Rhyme Verse
gibbous moon The near-full moon—
ashen veil its ashen light—
phantasm strewn ghostly, swathing all
redolent pale with pale glow.
shamed hues In moonlight, colors surrender—
morbid face faces are morbid, semblance
heedless muse of those about to pass,
death’s embrace abandoned by life's essence.
gibbous moon Gibbous moon wanes, as
night reviled night warily gauges its retreat.
morning soon And with advancing dawn,
newborn child. new life replaces the departed.
Sorry, the program doesn't allow for setting up columns, so alignment on the second version of the is incorrect.
New sheets
Light a candle with that familiar smell
Who can tell?
I have come this far
Setting up barriers to box myself
To stop picking up the traces of when you left
Emptied your cabinet, filled your duffle bag
Pick it up when you’re ready
I’m moving on to something empty
Now I’m making new history.
Let this room be a start of my new memory
Pain is more when there is no more “if”
I’m glad you left me hanging on a cliff
No water to drown me
Only a kaleidoscope sky to pull me up.
Turn off the lights, let’s end this love
I’ll sleep alone or with a stranger
Even if that’s the way, still its better
You always give me pieces I can’t build
Now I’ll give you a space you can’t bridge
Coz when I fall I fly.
When you left, I didn’t die.
I am a free soul you can’t defy.
A PAINTING.
Creating and recreating
Shapes of desire
A cunning way to rest
My tired brain, painting
Coloured to aspire
A curve to be hugged
A corner to be embraced.
Murmuring song of
Past remembrance
Mind ravaged in situ.
Energising the hand
To ask for spirit’s favour
Setting up an arrangement
To trap myself aflame
Within a creative frame.
It seems like forever ago
That I jumped for joy at the first snow
The billowy mounds shining low
Glistening like diamonds on paved roads
As pure as a small child's heart
All that's evil, still in the dark
Making forts and angels and setting up the tree
Wearing so many layers that I couldn't breathe
Sleepless nights, waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve
How I long for that child, so innocent and free
A time when smiles weren't forced
No desires of anything more
Clinging to my childhood
And fogging up the glass
Looking through this snow globe
That resides old winters passed
Just a shake and a smile breaks free
I'm gazing in, but I'll never be inside...
My younger self stares back, scared of what he sees
Melting are the angels I've left behind
I'm cuddled in the blankets
Listening to 'Let It Snow'
But it makes no difference
It's out of my control
I'll put on a face, like I do
This gingerbread cookie
Gumdrop clothes to cover up
A hole where my heart should be
Walking through dirty streets
That look pretty in white
Bearing a blue and battered heart
That's hard to hide, the snow's too bright
The wife took the kids
Right when I thought things were good
I guess it's my fault
But I did the best I could
My present world is torn asunder
The past isn't real, but it feels better
Clinging to my childhood
And fogging up the glass
Looking through this snow globe
That resides old winters passed
Just a shake and a smile breaks free
I'm gazing in, but I'll never be inside...
My younger self stares back, scared of what he sees
Melting are the angels I've left behind
I bought myself a snow globe
The house inside
Looked just like mine
As it took me back to better days
Where all you could hear was that simple phrase
I needed something I could hold
To take me someplace else
Maybe help me find myself
Home feels the same
It's me that's changed
Entered into Anne Currin's YOUR BEST POEM contest
Weak and weary is the new physical outlook
while the skin remolds with lots of longitudes.
Hair dyed by nature itself,
Washed by legacies spreading
like the waves of an excited sea.
History presented with a new garment
through positive actions in great magnitude.
Looking back the steps, decorated with humanity’s smiles,
awarded so many caps and acquiring the ranks of a sir.
As the cycle completes as expected,
time will act and never change its attitude.
The sounds of death’s trumpet giving out a call
gradually gets there to first give a humble bow.
In his house, hades spreads the red carpet
Setting up a trip so far and permanent.
The journey is over,
a triumphant entry ensures into everlasting solitude
The day would pass in blissful brightness, with our brains on auto-pilot. The stories we'd tell and the memories we'd conjure up from years past, one couldn't help but think we were all running on about four pots of coffee each with the energy that was pumping through our veins. From jokes about serial killers in the woods, wondering if we were ever gonna find the lake, to the constant face-palms of: Why-didn't-we-do-this-sooner? and We-should-do-this-more-often! It was an indefinable mix of regret at having not done this earlier, and joy at the prospect of more to come.
To this day I can still recall the feeling of sitting by the shore of Hidden Lake, watching the sun set behind the tall mountain peaks that threatened to shatter the sky, knowing full well what would happen if I didn't gather wood for the fire soon. The darkness would encroach, and the temperature would drop to such that even the leaves themselves might shiver. The sun took his role once more as the proverbial clock, and the moon, his mistress, would instill within us that feeling of yearning long buried beneath decade's worth of city distractions.
Joel would be chopping sticks and logs, and Monica would prepare the sausages for the fire, while the rest of the gang (Jonathan, Brandon and I) struggled with setting up tents. Deeply knit eyebrows, tongue stuck out in deep concentration, as if anticipating future interstellar flight. It came to me shortly after, once the pegs were pegged, flaps were zipped, that if by some miracle Buzz Aldrin stepped into the woods on that fine snowy evening, he'd happily affirm my suspicions: it's not rocket science, folks.
The mirror of the lake would turn into molasses when the sun finally set. The flashlights would be drawn, cutting into the night like light-sabers or futuristic cyclops if headlamp is more your style. The rest of the crew were all huddled around a crackling fire, and I'd be changing into my skivvies not 10 feet away. Why?
Because I could.
coals smolder
a spark cleaves
to the sky
The Publican and the Pharisee went for a walk after church
One wore pride and majesty, the other the marks of the birch
“I say, my man,” said the Pharisee, “will you tell if I come to the pub?”
“Nay, it makes no odds to me, and we do some cracking grub”
The Publican and the Pharisee quaffed back a couple of jars
And then another two, then three, for such is the way in bars
And as they drank their wine, an odd phenomenon occurred
The crown of hubris lost its shine, the marks of the birch became blurred
“I say, my man,” said the Pharisee, “I’m feeling a little *****”
The Publican chuckled, mischievously, “I reckon a short, and some beer”
The Pharisee, unused to drink, began to loose a screw
Became dishevelled, sweaty, pink, made a desperate run for the loo
Got locked in for a while, and had to crawl under the door
Got stuck, well hey, you have to smile, for half an hour or more
Was rescued by some rugby blokes, who loaned him some spare kit
And made up lots of witty jokes, about Pharisees covered in it
The Publican, sat at the bar, surveyed his sorry state
He wondered if he’d gone too far, in setting up his mate
“Just sit,” he said, “and listen well, for this I have to say
If I am surely bound for hell I’ll meet you on the way
You are no better, sir, than I, no better, and no worse
Your spiritual wealth is an arrogant lie, and your pride is a cardinal curse
I’m no angel, I confess, but hypocrisy, mate, I abhor
I reckon I should grovel less, and you just a little bit more”
The Pharisee gave a little nod, and hiccupped in assent
Muttered softly “Sorry God,” and got his coat and went
The Publican then rang the bell, poured out a short and sat
“Oh come on, God, you know the bloke, he really asked for that”
© Gail Foster 2016
I don't want to know what you think of me
Am I your hero or am I you misery
Every step I take is another reminder
That you're nothing but my biggest desire
Spent all day setting up a picnic for two
Ended up sitting alone downing my booze
How could I had thought we were meant to be
You did nothing but infect this perfect reality
Abandon all ships for the sake of love
The last thing I want is a plus one with her drug
On the edge of the no named rye cliff
Is where my heart belongs on this trip
I'm as useless as a horse with no legs
What else is new, I'm just like a needle in the hay
I've held on to your words of the past
I guess it's true that the nice guy finishes last
We talked and we walked in the prairie of life
You were a reason that I wanted to get lost
I could taste the poison from the human mind
You were the only one that could spin me blind
Tomorrow is the day I would feel alive
But that's a nice memory that will pass me by
I'll never have the joy or smile
What's this game?, I'll be gone for awhile
I wonder if I'm running through your thoughts
Turning the pages without the power to stop
I'm running away from everything I've known
All you have to know is that I'm better off on my own
Cowboys herdin’ cattle cross dusty trails
Sandy hooves paint ground fog in their wake
Shuffling along swattin’ flies off molty hides
Riders amble aside keeping eye on their stake
Chuck wagon camps, setting up by a creek
Beans and pan bread cookin’ over hot stones
Coffee’s meandering aroma penetrates the air
Greeting men carrying saddles over tired bones
Ranch hands scout the waters nearby
Look to the sky to judge the night
Storms a comin’ as night encroaches
Coyotes restless, cries rent last light
Cattle dogs alert to changes
Nip the heels of stragglin’ calves
Cowhand slaps his rope while coaxing
Blistered hands and lips in need of salves
Cowhands sing to calm their charges
Bedrolls gathered near the fire
Dreaming of a trail once taken
And of their loves as they retire