Best Shouldering Poems
From far I hear the strains of a mournful melody
It flows from a violin whose strings are about to break
As the violin sings, the night carries the music along.
The notes tremble, the strings vibrate as under grief
It makes such deep tremors in my heart.
Its mournful cry is repeated in sad refrains
My mind turns emotional, yes, I cry.
Once from it flowed happy notes of love
It whispered secrets of lovers, their hopes and dreams
It sang of tales of courage that build the soul,
Of standing tall and shouldering on in the midst of trials.
But now its harmony fades away like dying breath
The violin knows, its end is drawing near,
It can no more produce heart stirring music again.
The bittersweet melody that falls in my ears,
With its notes breaking again and again,
Creates ripples of pain in my heart.
As the loose strings are about to break,
It will soon lie still in a deserted space,
Cracked and splintered like a tree tossed by the wind.
Yet the broken violin will remain,
As a momentous testament of its glorious past.
Walking under overcast sky
I trod through drifted snow,
no longer bearing allegiance
to platitudes disguised as wisdom
spun in gingerbread houses of the holy,
an asymmetrically challenged splinter
on a white horizon,
leaving a trail of footprints
on my frozen path.
Behind me lies the ranch house,
shutters closed in rapid eye movement,
dreaming of acres of wheat and barley
gleaming in July's opaque sunlight.
They will not know I've gone,
will assume I'm out walking.
Only as gray dusk settles
on the porcelain landscape
will they wonder where I am.
In my dark coat and cap,
shouldering a pack,
I move past the fence posts
where snow mounds like the litter
of attic antiques reciting memories
in foreign tongues.
One leafless elm bears witness
to my departure, waving
in benign breeze.
Lest my tears freeze I hold them back.
Though my footprints sprint backwards
in the charcoal of sacrosanct earth
I must stay to my gospel:
to the naked eye the flat distance
may only promise glaciers,
but I seek the aurora borealis
hidden in daylight's dim emergence,
where the crocus blooms
in barren existence.
11/29/18
Bus people really have a lot of time to think:
They are always on
the brink of realizing
what's going on.
Shoulder-to-shouldering
their way along each morning, wishing
they were back in bed, finding
they are spiritually dead and
all the while
bumping
to the sounds
of the streets outside.
True to my nature to entertain
Annulled in my character to refrain
Treasured, a toss up to comprehend
Yesterday's version of me, my friend
Another day, maybe, the sky will clear
Never reminded I'm almost near
And so in the vision of all that's dear, I swiftly pick up the pace...
Kneeling on knees of cardboard paint
Alive in the version I feel to faint
Tasting the air in a cosmic dream
I know that these words, are not what they mean
Under the weight of impossible skies
Shouldering light, in the east - sunrise
Hardly a mirror to shadow catch
And so I am swift in a turn unmatched, as I miss my expression of face...
Cataclysmic in word and deed
And always a step past the possible need
Read like a novel without an end
Nailed by my countenance to defend
Ever determined to spring to naught
Yet in reflection, I've not been caught.
Pray, if the Gods love us all so much
Why is it that they never do open the skies up
And save us?
Why is it that they remain silent
Letting our hearts bleed
Letting our tears pour
Letting our delusions get even more
Misleading?
Do they really love us then?
Or are we hated
To such an extent that we deserve
Our sorrowful fates?
Why, if loved I am by the rulers of the cosmos
My prayers be sent then
To them
To take me out of this murky swampy land
Before my bones get too old
To carry myself
Before my body refuses to keep on
Shouldering me!
Pray, I am sure the cosmos hears me
Knows it too well
Of the allegiance I hold to the Gods
I lived, merely to find my purpose
Purpose which turned out to be void
As, in the end, the world unveiled herself
And brandished her sword haughtility at me,
Causing my glass cage to break into irrecuperable pieces!
I have nothing left for me here
No duty to carry out
No dues to repay
And I am defeated by the mundane existence!
Why, I shall keep waiting to see
As long as my will remains with me
I shall keep waiting, to see
If the Gods do love me!
I shall be sure of their feelings
The day I shall unzip my mortal self
And unfold my wings,
Set for worlds which are yet to be explored!
His own voice
talks over his head,
as if he were not there.
The load car radio
plays distant music.
Without thinking,
he changes channels,
hears only
the drumming road.
His eyes are low lit,
they see only feet
beyond his gripped hands.
Sunlight glares past thoughts,
he swivels right, sidles left,
soft shouldering unseen corners.
He is listening to a memory,
just a self-driving memory,
The car jolts –
returns him
back behind his eyes.
He is safe now
from all those passengers
he invited into his mind.
It is strange at times
When it's your future that haunts,
Like unhealed wounds
that unleash thoughts
Every drop of my past,
is etched in my mind.
It's not the forgotten, that plagues me the most,
it's my bleak future and the price it would cost.
There were certain things, that I did not do.
Crying over my past that I can never renew
It's nugatory to evaluate how much was spent,
but it's a genuine gaze through a bridge called the "present"
A distant land that I once left cold,
to an unknown land in search of gold.
I'm not sure about the journey ahead
I walk with hope on a flimsy thread
If I could ever go back and make some changes,
I guess I'd do that and hence you may not read this.
Shouldering the future, this lone traveler walks,
Even though sightless with stars in his eyes
Reminiscing over what lies ahead,
The once vibrant land, where memories bled.
Of ocean waves
their moon-powered course set rolling.
A wide river's flow
shouldering earth's water
and fertile soils toward broad deltas.
Nightlong thunderstorms
saturating all kindred life to the roots.
The wild, unbridled wind,
that frames and shapes the land.
Witnessing all these abiding powers
of earth and sky that grant life and know
its conclusion; only one phenomenon
reflects our deepest sorrow, loss, and grief;
stills and holds quiet those deep in mourning,
looses the fires of kindled love,
victory's elation---all human joy,
yet grants unrestrained catharsis and epiphany.
This most compelling paradox of power is found
in the shedding of even one human tear.
Of Tears
5-15-14 b.b.
Free Verse
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
his tears caused contractions for his heart to pulse
floundered, looking for loves heartache to clutch
whimsical solace of her essence startles his impulse
shouldering the bane of a kiss that foreshadowed trifles
kooky huh? how time unleashes emotions restrained behind pride
losing his beloved inamorata to an admirer she mollycoddles
his heart became friable to the echo of her suicide
It was the absence of a note that left his worries unverified
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
Now alone and without; a lovers heart is mummified
he will never love another as much
the “ghost orchid” has become her epithet
the rules of this game have changed, misère ouverte.
I chose Bonnie Raitt “I can't make you love me” because when I listened to it it brought
back memories of my childhood feeling second to my fathers work. His physical presence was
always their, but his heart belonged to his work and still is. After listening to the song 5 or 6
times I thought of the question, what makes the heart feel for something that it can't
touch----like love, and went from there.
Dreamers Dream
by Odin Roark
Tulsa’s hard times made the decision easy.
Shouldering backpacks and bedrolls,
Tin cups tied atop
Ready for campfire and bean feasts
With hopefully a moss covered log as pillow,
They took up positions on their dreary piece of road.
New York bound dreamers these.
He confident,
She ashamed for thumbing a stranger,
Bringing a truck to stop and speed them away
From barren lands and dead-end streets,
Trusting their past of gravel and dust laden roads,
Leafless bushes and trees,
Their limbs and branches from parched roots,
Giving but reminders of it all,
The emptiness of nothing.
But now…
Hitching a ride to where liquid gold flowed,
Where paved roads knew no end,
Where visions were realized,
And shade from castles in the air
Were there for the taking.
She’d wait tables,
He’d sweep floors on Wall Street,
But only ‘til she was a star,
And he earned his hustler of hustlers merit.
They’d buy a shiny car,
Bright red and big as a hearse,
Maybe even drive it back to Tulsa,
Where upon their return to the east,
They'd return the favor of long ago,
Pick up a hitcher heading their way,
Even if they were only driving a clunker,
Finding out the real way,
Dreams don’t always work out.
Still…
Dreamers must keep on dreaming,
Even when things don’t go their way,
Otherwise…
Exactly.
Night after night I still dream about these blocks. Dance they do, dance they don't.
Seeing them hand-less in effortless glide, my mind strides so young to differ!
squared, cube, these blocks move
sporadic movement in dance
no rhyme, reasoning
Again the nights throw these scratching sounds from below my bed, dread I.
In confusion scrawl, they bawl silently to me, em-blazing their letters to allure
from within my abyss, this deep that haunts me, yet I know is alive.
scurrying, confused
to and fro they go, they show
mis-spelt disarray
Again I'm sitting, anticipating, yet I know where I am, I'm home, again alone.
I'm under, yet bolder, shouldering at six years old, now seeing clarity, for the
blocks are speaking to me, I see, now crying believe.
no longer grotesque
his zest upon his request
blue lights alight, gone
.
It is so dark, just like night.
Father, where is the light.
Where is the light?
My candle is getting shorter.
I'm having problems shouldering these boulders.
Where is the light?
People look to me, depend on me.
Love me and hate me.
Where is the light?
Father, I'm beginning to lose my sight.
I am losing the fight.
Where is the light?
I was told that I am easy to use.
I am able to tolerate misuse.
Where is the light?
What happened to honesty and integrity.
Or simply doing what is right.
Where is the light?
Father, there was a time when I was strong.
Now I wonder if I really belong.
Where is the light?
I need you now with help from above.
Oh, Father, where is your love.
Where is the light?
Edward J. Ebbs - 10/01/11
The number one civil servant
shouldering a whole nation
and in charge of its borders
A moment so precious as they stand and await
Bands that will unite them from their very first date
Coupled to union amidst family and friends
Detours and paths life to their adjoined intend
Everlasting their love as they commit to their vows
For soon two become one as they wantingly wow
Guests adorn gifts as they delightfully praise
Hands on glasses as to the air they do raise
Invitations so polite to the dance floor they go
Joining this couple shouldering their dance slow
Kissing in public now viewed by many eyes
Loving now shared seeing flowergirls cry
Music aplenty as their night flows with notes
Notable family reunions from those so remote
Organised tables introducing family and friends
Pleasing in today's world when happiness sends
Qualities now announced by the parents of she
Requirements to allow he, for they to be thee
Smiles now abound as they thank their guests
Tomorrow's their future for tonight they won't rest
Unlike their yesterday's for their morn they're anew
Voicing they'll be so adhesive in their grew
Wedded this two spread on marital cloth
Xenarthra we won't be, hands faster than sloths
Yes we all thank you here on our special day
Zapping your energy, bow our heads, let us pray
.
Condemned to fifty lashes.
Skin split...blood flowed
from the quivering flesh.
Helpless, she suffered the pain.
Time healed the deep wounds
leavings ugly scars on her back
a stark reminder of injustice,
shouldering the blame for being
an innocent victim of male rape.
Permanently, she carries the scars,
ugly, yet beautiful....
when compared to the invisible
emotional scar that hurts forever.
--------------------------------------
24th November 2015
Contest: Beautiful scars
Author: Paul Callus
Sponsor: Laura Urbaniak
Placed 2nd