Best Shelf Poems
She sneaked into the pantry, tender steps came from behind
His charismatic twinkle took her heart completely by surprise
And in a speck of time, a secret kiss to follow
As fate joined them together, forever in tomorrow
Through the years she won't forget the day he called her near
To tell her that he'd written a song that only she would hear
Timeless is the butterfly-and goes where we know not-
As fleeting chance encounters create a solid bond
His timely passing left her hollow
Now gripped with grief she struggles to swallow
And always returns to haunt her again
To go on alone, her free will had chosen
Now and then she whispers, but only to herself
That somewhere in another time
He'll complete the songs he left behind
On the pantry shelf
Written by Karen Anglesey
Published in Theatre of the Mind
Noble House Publishers/Individual Copyright holders/2003
There once was a bear
Who was loved for his shoes
To a girl he was gifted
Just her cuddly muse
On a once rainy day
With a shelter required
The brolly was shaken
To it's cover retired
Then a browse through the store
With her eyes shining bright
The gloss of his footwear
Caught a beam of the light
A flash and a sparkle
Was all that it took
So a friendship was forged
That no force could unhook
As they travelled together
Through the sun and the rain
Their companionship moulded
By life's tough terrain
So the girl became woman
Then a grandma and such..
The bear became gifted
And was loved, not so much
Then one day, for some reason
His world became dark
In the silence he longed
For the girl and her spark
After years it seemed, waiting
One day it occurred
There was light and a voice
Of encouraging word
"I love him", she said
And he knew it was true
Despite fur slightly flattened
Or less sparkly shoe
He remembered way back
To the dusty old shop
Once that love lives inside you
It's a heart that won't stop
He made me ponder my greatest fear
not ghosts nor goblins grinning ear to ear
The one that I really fear most
is the one peering back from the mirror
Is he real or will he just disappear
Will anyone remember he was ever here
That person I present
the one white washed and sanitized
representing the best of me
So I become a dim copy rationalized
Manicured, self fantasized
Will my true self ever be realized
Or am I destined to be compartmentalized
packaged pretty, thoughts pasteurized
Does anyone else worry
what others might discover
A mother wife sister or brother
The dark thoughts that make us shudder
that choke the brain and threaten to smother
If they could see inside would they run for cover
So we protect them and ourselves
keep bits hidden away on shelves
Screaming for release but afraid
what might happen if someone tells
We ain't always pretty, stagnant water smells
Instead bang the gong and ring the bells
If it's inside release it with yells
What will happen if we face our thoughts
Is it really us maybe it's not
Are we just scared boys and girls tied in knots
Trying to push it all down deeper
that stuff we've been taught
Take aim, release those expectations
another life can't be bought
Make the best of the one you've got!
For "What you Fear Most" contest.
I lost me mind. I lost me mind. I left it on the shelf.
When I came back me mind to find,
twas taken by an elf.
I've been sitting up here day after day and months on end, and please, let's not talk about years. I watch you stare at me when you think I'm unaware. I see you vacillate between life's mundane and the big, beautiful me, and oh, how I cringe when you buckle to those artificial fears.
This old, stale dust has covered me, concealing my illustrious shine. Please know I am forever in your heart and indelibly in that beautiful mind.
You were made imperfectly, but you have been so faithful. I've seen your long nights and slow days. Oh my! What we can and should be is so bountiful.
It is no accident that I was born in your heart and aggrandized in your mind. Come on now, take me off this shelf, and clean me up. The world is waiting; let's get in line.
The bumps, accidents, detours, and road construction along the way enticed you to put me back on this darn shelf. Sure, we have had to remap a time or two or three. But this journey must continue; we have our help.
I see the cuts, scrapes, bruises, mental anguish, pain, and frustration you bear. But you're still standing, so take me off this shelf, and let's get there.
I'm still waiting! But don't make me wait much longer. It's time to eat; let's feed this born hunger.
Poof! Poof!
I was going to write a sad poem
But my nephew shot himself
So I'll guess I'll wait 'til later
And I put it on the shelf
I finally took it down today
But before I started to write
I got a call from a friend of mine
His daughter died last night
So on the shelf it went once more
To wait 'til grief has passed
Again I took the paper down
To write my sorrow at last
But as my muse began to cry
A knock came at my door
A neighbor came to me in tears
Her husband killed in the war
I never wrote that sad poem
It sits upon the shelf
Sadness needs no poet at all
It somehow writes itself
Acorn
By the side of the road
Abandoned
Bird's nest
In the middle of the road
Each with a story,
They draw my eye to them
Home I furnish for them
........Together
On my shelf
This poem is not about me
but then my shelf is not a shelf but a tree,
so read on and then you will see.
I once knew an old Mole
who did not like living in a hole.
He was so scared of the dark
came up through the ground into the park.
He looked around missed me completely
spoke to a swing, so i said discreetly
‘Hey mate here i am, over here
what can i do for you my dear?’
He turned to me asked me the way
‘Hey Moley only if you can pay’
‘Alas i cannot pay you anything
I’m just a senior, a pension I’m accepting’
He then asked me the way to Alice
I said ‘She who lives in the palace?’
His answer both polite and courteous ‘Yes indeed,
the one I’m to marry’ as he scurried away at stealth speed.
I thought to myself
climbing back on to my shelf.
How extreme this funny old Mole
so desperate and with all that soul.
Hope old Moley doesn’t mind
but Alice is not the marrying kind.
A-lice in the palace is a louse
living within the fur of an old mouse.
A badge holding C.I.A spy
trained especially to pry.
On those vermin digging holes
a death sentence to all Moles.
‘If only Moley had paid
this information I would gladly trade!’
There's a moral here somewhere?
© Harry J Horsman 2010
The last of my tomatoes are in a basket
I keep in the corner of my kitchen shelf.
I can’t remember when I picked them
But there are much too many to eat myself.
All summer long the crop was good -
Each vine strained hard against its stake.
There was more than enough for just one man
With plenty left after what the wildlife would take.
I tended to each from seed to seedling,
And saw each mature to a full-fledged vine.
From little green spheres to red ripe tomatoes
I blushed with pride knowing these were mine.
Yet these remaining tomatoes are a curious sight,
In fact they are rather an ugly scene.
I think I have kept them much too long
Because they are once again turning green.
Upon the Shelf
by
Kevin L Fairbrother
I spied it sitting on the shelf
A pretty shape and so smooth
It set my pulses racing
And my eyes bulged in my head
…
I picked it up with gentle touch
And caressed the smooth skin
My fingers explored the bottom
Then ran up to the head
…
I put my face against the skin
Was bowled over by the aroma
So I kissed it on the head
Then bit it on the shoulder
…
The juices flowed I sucked them up
And peeled the skin from the flesh
Caressed the body so round and smooth
Which made more juices flow
…
The flesh so sweet.. oh so sweet
I was drunk with ecstasy
All gone now.. just lingering sweet taste
Which makes me want to
Pick another Orange off the shelf
Inspired just now whilst eating an orange
A lazy long-haired packer in a shop,
Lent against a wall to have a quiet stop,
He felt a scraping on his crown
Waking from his nap upside down,
Someone was using his head as a mop.
There was a man from Thomaston
Of real good vision he had none
Glasses weren't any help
They sat upon the shelf
From his surgery he's left stunned
My husband has had cataract surgery this week..
He says that he can't see any better out of the eye
upon which he had surgery.
What a world we have traveled through....
All our steps, long ones ,but are you sure
you stepped too....
We dust off our dresser and move the frames
to see our self....
I know where I've been and what I've done but
you ended up just a snow globe on a shelf....
You stayed inside your glass bubble from the
world you were protected....
Your shoes stayed in the closet and your jacket
on the hook, never to be rejected....
I can move you from the window so the light won't
fade or come free from its case....
Its so sad that love and my words could never brighten
that face....
I could fall a million times but my dreams and passions
will always brace my landing....
Off the shelf you could fall but only broken glass and
water stains will be remaining....
Time to fly away my bird,as my cage door is always open....
Till we meet again another day,just sit with dreams and hoping...
Armless doll
Thrown in Fate's trash
Her heart still beating...
The price was worth it, so it seemed;
It was right and not a penny more.
Here the clock will sit, here it will count
Its days - round and round its hands
Will spin – metered by its spirit within.
Embedded in its mahogany tomb
And gilded by an exacting eye
Only seldom will you hear it cry
With the hours that amble by.
Atop the clock’s mantle green
Within a parapet of stone
There you’ll see a sailing ship
With wooden masts and ivory sails
Pitching to and fro against an angry sea
Heralding the arrival of each anticipated eve.
Standing on the shoreline resolute and sworn,
A gilded sailor wields a rope
To lasso those who mourn;
He offers to them the strand of hope.
A stone wall crumbles across the sea,
A fortuitous port of call reveals
How brief life’s glory can be
As it makes its unwary fall.
The golden wreath of life eternal
Surrounds the clock’s face
To show assuredly our victory
Over death’s dark embrace.
Descending sea serpents sinuously wind
Beside the timeless garland shrine
To gather at a feast of shells
Mingled with some flailing scales;
Even in the depths of shadows,
This mahogany tomb yields its enslaved
To the resurrection of the saved.
Gilded tulips etched in a circle
Atop the clock’s opulent base
Testifies to the supernal foundation
Of Christ’s unchanging grace.
Though just a clock, it’s slightly more
As you gaze deeper into its obvious lure;
Where some things are as they seem,
Others hold to a different scheme.