Best Shoveled Poems
Through shoveled loam I glimpse pale light
Hands dare intrude into my burial crypt
Exposing the devastation of my decay
Dignity of this chamber has been stripped
Human eyes stare into my skeletal sockets
I feel the sun's warmth, but cannot spill tears
Lips, long ago stitched from laces of my soul
Loosed were the bindings of stygian spheres
Wormwood case and satin pillow, rotted
Lily's scent lingers, squandered their seed
Awakened without sight or sandals afoot
Penance in supplication for every misdeed
My rueful spirit, once clothed in silk shroud
has dwindled to dust and time brittled bone
I remember pleading in voice of reason
Cover my nakedness and inter me, face prone
*These verses do not reflect my religious
beliefs of life after death.
MY FATHER'S GENTLE HANDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I remember my father’s hands as a plumber’s hands—fiercely strong, calloused, rough, knuckle-battered, and dirty after a long-day’s work. Those hands shoveled; unclogged drains and toilets; repaired leaks; and installed pipes, commodes, and bathtubs. Those hands provided.
I remember my father’s hands as a fisherman’s hands—perfectly patient, tenacious, self-confident, and unwavering as he held his fishing line and lure stabile, waiting for a fish to take the bait. “Keep your hands steady. Stay focused,” he prompted me when I asked him to teach me how to fish from his flat-bottom boat. Those hands fished longer than they ‘plumbed,’ rarely missing an opportunity to commune with nature, seldom losing a fish. Those hands fed.
I remember my father’s hands as a treasure hunter’s hands—firm, certain, and capable, listening intently to his metal detector’s tones learning to discriminate the sound a good coin makes compared to the choppy, broken sound a junk target makes. Those hands searched, discriminated, and found soulful answers to life’s complex questions and dilemmas.
I remember my father’s hands as gentle healing hands—kind and comforting as he wiped away the tears that sometimes streamed down my face. Without saying a word, those hands loved, consoled, and encouraged—always righting my world.
I remember my father’s hands—full of strength and hope as he took my trembling hands in his. Those hands gave me courage—the courage to reach up in search of everything impossible, leaving me with the unbridled sense that to do anything less was the greatest impossibility of all. Even now whenever I need courage, I can feel his hand around mine helping me to feel invincible once again.
In my mind’s eye, I often see my father’s hands—every line and every wrinkle. They told a story about the kind of man he was. I’ll remember my father’s hands for the remainder of my life. I’m grateful for him, for his enduring spirit and presence, which continues to grace my life despite his passing some years ago.
Dad's hands tell a tale
they did countless loving things
they touched and guided
they shaped and molded
they encouraged me to reach
they held the stars in place
they held rising sun
they sought deep understanding
they chased lonely moon
Sweetened dung is shoveled down
gluttonous throats with eager appetites for
alleged misdeeds skillfully spun
into a frenzy of sensationalized hype
by media-seasoned reporters.
.
Seduced by speculation and hearsay,
a jury of pseudo-intellectuals assembles
neatly with moral turpitude tied
smug and tight around rigid white collars
stained heavy with sweat and anticipation.
She stands alone as the eyes of
the court pierce through her appraising
her posture and expression while
the echo of charges being read dissipates
with the smell of type ink and old mahogany.
Fragments of truth embellished
for shock-value and dramatic effect
spill forth as vomit
from confessional mouths
reeking of rot and fermentation.
Vulturous prosecutors rise in fluid
motion squawking accusations in
expert execution of closing arguments,
pecking apart flesh, unconscionably
scattering the meaty bones of her defense.
All alone in a bush downstream
Where not a soul was likely to dwell
Pinned against the green grasses, a young girl
Injecting her ruthlessly, a cruel hunk
At my sight, off he fled
A rape victim an innocent soul
Her mind drifts into the abyss of sorrow
As red fluid streams down her thighs
Reaching out for a nearby leaf
Just to clear off the mess
Her heart,heavy in her ribs
Up I lifted and embraced her as the
torrent of her tears soaks through my shirt
I could hear her silent screams
As she tries to hold back the seething torrent
Holding on to her nerves,
She suffocates with each breath
For he had sucked out the life in her
Painfully, she groans 'Adieu my dignity'
Gone too soon, her virginity
Time and time again,
As the steady stream trickles down her face,
Her lower lip quivers
Her eyes, the colour of moss and dirt
Shoveled together
As if a black mist had settled upon her
The day bright, but the torrid sun she could not feel
The sonorous song of birds, less could she hear
Sadness, her nightingale
Tainting her joy
Inside her heart, a piercing thorn
As sharp and incisive
As the stroke of a fang
A visit to the great beyond,
Her last resort
Sharply, her pains I inhale
Sitting below my skin,
The depth of her piercing thorn
Round her thin dark hair, my hand hovers
Just to calm her intra-personal war
'Young girl', said I then to her
Brighter than the stars, the future
For the past can you change not'
Too dark, today's night
Too bright, tomorrow's sun
To wind back the hand of time
And save her day, my desire
To her, the world was lost
Off she sadly went!
Permanent joy, all but a task
(7/5 Trochee Poem)
Chicken Little, thinking that
sky was soon to fall,
saw a mortuary and
crawled beneath a pall.
He was in a strange dark box
where a dead man lay.
Then before he knew it, they
hauled that box away!
He was moved, but that poor bird
couldn’t get a look,
for they’d closed the wooden lid,
Chicken Little shook.
When the casket got dropped down
in the ground so deep,
Chicken Little, very scared,
still made not one peep!
He was sure the sky fell down
when he heard the dirt
being shoveled over him.
This was gonna hurt!
Nothing happened, but he could
barely take in air.
Am I dying? Little thought:
Is the sky still there?
No more would the animals
hear poor “Little’s” call
warning them of tragedy
if the sky should fall.
Chicken Little never guessed
he was murdered by
that same earth he‘d walked upon,
and not by the sky!
Moral: Fear can sometimes lead you into something far worse than you ever imagined, so be careful not to fear things too greatly!
An oldie for Joseph May's Fabled Musings Poetry Contest
MOONLIGHT SHEETS
after watching
circus clowns
downtown
his light jacket - covered goosebumps
her clogs - they shoveled snow
they settled in each other’s arms
between a mélange of moonlight sheets
amoretto’s bow
scores
poetic words
a neophyte-entry
subconscious-scrawl
he kisses her snowflake-lashes
so warm and cold
she sips her steamy cup of joe
reminiscing
her pen pierces twilight
an arrow remains on the target
with lingering expertise
10/25/2017
Moon Spoon Contest
Devotion Poem - Our Dance (For Jim)
You are the first and last poems
God wrote for me.
You are the sparkler
I found flaming sun yellow between
The sprigs of early green grass,
Before the shoveled piles of February
Snow had melted away
Their last signs of winter.
You came unexpectedly,
Beyond probability, carting too
Much physics homework for your
Left-brained studies, and
Declaring, “I don’t dance for anyone.”
Emphatic. Like an evergreen.
But I had seen trees dance, just as I thought
I might go on dancing if I knew you.
Then you fell silent, telling your life to me
With your smile, while your eyes glanced
Through space dismissing time, sparkling
A reach to my heart for a continuous dance…I
Have never stopped my wonder, or my own
Silent joy surpassing the physics of falling
Through dimensions into your heart.
————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/2/22
Thanks be to God
Looped of love
Cast upon a sea of symphonic scent
Cashmere soft and storm cloud kissed
Ventures forth on fingered strings
Spent alone in shuttered mist
“Curtains drawn in crayon colors…stitched on gold locket seams”
Worn of worries, frayed edges weave
Reaching deep into heart felt fear
Bland the noise, served in muted tones
Staring off to nowhere…near
“Tears now fill thy cup…once overflowing in melodic dreams”
Broken desires, a tangled spun web
Knotted by a lingering memory’s hold
Skin still warm of tanned defiance
Fractures locked out in the cold
“Heaved in piles of shoveled excess…soon to be forgotten silent on the street”
Music floods into porous caverns
Echoing a fragrant caring song
On syncopated bar chord promises
To hold you with arms forever strong
“And I play for you in the key of my heart…looped of love in constant repeat”
My people
if only you would see
the beauty in you
if for an instant
feel all the emotions
of the buried love deep inside you
Such a glorious day would burgeon forth
released from all the human anthem
would lift the world
to the heavens
If only you would see
as you were made and meant to be
and from the mires and pits
open the gates
to be released
If you could but comprehend
your potential
AH the world would ring resounding
in such joyous unison
would raise up
all that it is
in grateful salutation
My people
if you would but believe
in you
A shinning future
upon this pedestal of earth would rest
in final liberation
this recognition in tender mercifulness
would come
and all tears be wept in compassion
This is you
my people
Too long all your resilience
given to the struggle
too long shoveled into survival
AH my people, awake
for there is more courage
more fortitude
and more love inside you
than you ever dreamed possible
Awake my people
awake.
It’s cold
It snowed
I shivered
I shoveled
A Solstice sun
Silently smirked
Iridescent icicles
Licked their lips
A crunch of crusted snow
Battled the scritch of shovels
Headless snowmen
Wandered in wonder
I shoveled
I shivered
It snowed
It’s cold
When Mrs. Autumn said good-bye, and Mr. Winter came to say hello
He brought with him a great surprise- two feet of heavy snow
I shoveled my walk, my drive, and porch and spread some salt to melt
That's when I noticed on my lower-back there was something there I felt
I know you think I've pulled a muscle and I'm feeling lots of pain
But I feel fine, in fact, I'm feeling good... all thanks to Mary Jane
With a glass of apple cider and a splash of honeyed rum
No longer will I feel my pain, but I will feel a little numb
Now walking like a hunchback- like the one from Notre Dame
I had to take some Percocet to keep me feeling calm
I've never drank or did drugs before- well, maybe just a smidge
But that was way back in the day, when I built the Brooklyn bridge
Daylight change, and go to its winter rest
Night frost drips from the eaves
A cold wind rushed and shoveled his way
Caught your lungs with clear icy air
In this deep cold, it feels just right
Leave the door open to be a part of the season
Human rhythms always searching
The lunar takes its own bath in silver dust
November night will show you: The Milky Way
Keep your senses and soul awake, and enjoy it
08.11.2016
- Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
- (unrhymed couplets)
- Copyright © All Rights Reserved
A simple chill
A silent glow
A land held still
By shackles of snow
The flakes in swarms
Approach the drift
The raging storm
Begins to lift
Though winter's wrath
Is cloaked in charms
Shoveled paths
leave weary arms
Bellowed and poked
The home fires flare
giving life to the smoke
that danced in mid air
Time passes slow
and the world is held still
And the winter did grow
From the simplest of chills
Yes it’s like that,
we are dealin’ with real fake facts,
dealin’ with smokers actin’ like smoke stacks,
livin’ face to ace with a gunner out in a pack-
dealin’ with cats,
and real hate acts,
in other worlds,
not countries with borders and backs.
Yes it’s like that!
Winning the Warner's over with shiny take backs,
givers of gonad's come home to be shoveled back!
New age drama solving all of the slaughter,
out on the ****,
with a new lover of money and ribs-
...it’s like this,
i’m a gunner but also a runner who’s fast as a swinging ax!
It’s like this...
I’m done with the bummers got to be funner than all that fake fact!
Just like I’ve done her,
now I am a lover and now I’ve gotta
hate that **** back!
They old, they breed, they lie, they attack!
So fake that,
so make that!
Come on and shun um’,
we’re a lot more than what is comin',
we have bits and pieces of whats fumblin',
and it’s all for us to make into somethin'!
To break glass!
To tap ass!
And learn about a world that’s the same as we made it act...
The air was crisp, the trees were bare;
The paths were shoveled clean.
In Central Park today it was
Delightful and serene.
A lonely jogger trotted by;
A nanny pushed her charge.
Some dogs on leashes sniffed and strained;
The cloud-filled sky loomed large.
But mostly it was only me
A'stroll across the park,
Enveloped by the vista
Which was anything but stark.