Best Side(A) Poems
* For Mary Kathleen Lessard Caithness *
~
cast tie-lines to shadowy depths above
meteors to plunge the ocean of suns
kick off - tally-ho! from the pier of known
a scoundrel's nod to the skull and bone
vast skies uncharted now beckon ahead
a dusk of dreams splashed yellow and red
naught but astounding, the adventures be
an endless sojourn 'cross a sparkling sea
the sky-palette waits for a score of tales
come a warm solar wind to puff the sails
all worries and why's now, abaft the beam!
set our course due for a foolish dream!
a celestial tempest to bend the jack
to his tasking a-hold the kicking strap
stem the tide, aye, mind the moonbeam drift
spread her wings wide and give her lift
the sextant's now set to the Milky Way
(we'll grave her clean on a windless day)
to port side, a wink from the Seven Sisters
off starboard, the gleam of nebulous vistas
we sunder the clouds with our wake of mist
now dark matter deep and heaven-kissed
tossed by the waves through a sea of night
we gasp for the void, yet we drown in light
our spirits denuded and paean-versed
we dare constellations to do their worst
for now we all pull to the labor at hand
to chart the expanse of this boundless land
at the bidding and mercy of a rapturous breeze
three prayers for fair winds and following seas
'til our hearts are sated and our marrow torn
and we drop our anchor there, worry-worn …
on the sands of time, we'll commend our dance
and return our dust ... to the great expanse.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sky" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Best Rhyming Poem 2018" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor.
~ Poem of the Day ~ at Poetry Soup.com, awarded February 1, 2018.
I sit here alone...wondering...how much longer this...and in hearing
the question a silent icy fear blankets my body...the answer would
come wearing both masks...tragedy...comedy...this is my life. with
freedom comes death...it hangs over me like a Mexican piñata filled
with chocolate covered blades...so each day firmly slipped into
neutral I exist...barely a choice to live...so I ask myself...how
did I get here...the answer comes thundering from up above...
a dead poet speaks...son that is the path you chose at your fork
in the road... you don't argue the truth...you just throw cold water on
your face...no...you step into a frigid shower...cleanse your thoughts
...stand in defeat happy to feel something even if it is just the pain of
your nerve endings screaming...soaking wet and naked is the only life
you presently afford yourself...there is no one to hear your tears...
what little sound they make rolling down your cheeks...they are not
self pitying but rather wanting...of a loss so deep...what in your own
self appreciation defined you...you want back your art...it...that so
often led you back to the promised land...still you are not that hot
headed fool you once were...you will not stand on the mountain only
to shatter the tablets with their ten commandments...a cooler head
prevails...so you think...like a soap opera...these are the days of my
life...I am strong and vibrant...yes I am and I will walk as slowly as I
must towards my light and yes I will come out the other side a better
man for this.
08~01~2015
Armand
October sky, the 1st we celebrate, a seasons heart yearned treasured moment,
Sun rises, new beginnings, Enlightens nature, we seek atonement.
Dawn lights an autumn’s crisp chill, christening fallen leaves of tomorrow,
Decorated front porch memories, earthly heritage, smothered sorrow.
Passes monsoons, thirst quenched foliage, brought on dust storms, summer’s breeze.
Colors dancing, enchanting harvest, Orange golden glows, on resting trees,
Cinnamon sneaks by steaming cider, mulls a spiced aroma essence,
Caramel apple, child’s smile, escapes harvest reminisce.
A wonder inspired walk, a gentle kick to wisp away,
Tree’s blessings, fallen life, decorated memories of yesterday.
Crisp leaves falling, sprinkled mist, dripping dew drops land by chance,
Hearts pitter pattered warmth speaks, provoking sudden dance.
Fawns brook side, a mother’s love, protectant father thru seasons dressing,
Such beauty grace lingers freely, coins free, bestows natures blessing.
Falls door opens, touched hearts so deeply, awakened sober love outpours,
God’s mystique he created goodness, for all of us he adores.
Daylights autumn beauty, followed by nightfall’s tucked in kiss,
A glowing lullaby, we’re put to bed; our harvests moon we’ve greatly missed.
She shuffled by our house, so slow and bent,
No second thought of where the lady went.
On her return, no one around to see.
A shaded path, she blended with the trees.
We children always giggled, as she passed.
A group emboldens others to harrass.
Our high pitched jeering from a hidden niche,
The frail, sunbonnet lady, we yelled "witch".
One day a fever kept me home from class.
I saw her weary shuffle down the path.
My over-active need to know convened.
I followed with excitement and unseen.
A house engulfed by weeds grown thick and tall,
As vines of every species claimed the walls.
Around the side, a window to peek in;
A man in bed with twisted, throbbing limbs.
.
The lady rubbed a salve to ease his pain.
And hummed a long forgotten song's refrain.
I blurted all I'd seen to mom and dad.
He stood in shocked alert and mom grew sad.
How soon the path was plowed into a drive,
A grocer truck and red-light cops arrived.
I last recall a fancy bike, brand new.
Events seem blurred, with growing up to do.
.
Gene Bourne.
07-17-14
.
He ran the palm of his hand across the canvas,
Felt its soft, smooth surface, excellent fabric.
It was well primed with gesso, and he was sure
The end result would be an immortal masterpiece
The quintessential fragrance of daffodils,
a carpet of yellows in secluded woodlands,
new-born lambs on wobbly legs bleating for milk,
bees irresistibly drawn to luscious nectar.
male cotton less cottonwood trees flourish
as do the blooming peach trees erupting in fruit.
And birds flying here and there, chirping delightfully.
On one side a cottage, beautifully thatched,
with a rivulet wending its way from the water mill,
on the other, a bench beneath an alder leaf birch.
There sat a young maiden fair to behold,
on his knees was a young shepherd hand outstretched,
barely touching, proposing, as she smiles happily.
The painter looked satisfied. It had taken days
But finish it he did. The Museum would be satisfied.
After all weren’t all his vast landscapes immortal?
In Monorhyme, Iambic Hexameter
From morning’s earliest rays to evening’s setting sun,
whatever could be sweeter than two pals having fun?
Side by side a gallop, how swiftly they can run.
Then nightly curled in slumber, these two merge into one.
Each day when I arise, they’re right outside my door
Patiently awaiting, head and paws upon the floor.
“Let’s go for a walk,” a phrase they both adore.
Of all that I might offer, there's nothing they want more.
Though many years have passed, they're ever at my side,
Always shortening their pace to match up with my stride.
I’m told I shouldn't spoil them, and really I have tried.
But then I soon surrender and say “Let’s go outside!”
Dogs, unlike most humans, are bereft of common guile.
They own right next to nothing, yet life's for them worthwhile.
We think ourselves quite brilliant, ahead of them a mile.
The joke is they've trained us, and that's why all dogs smile.
Our Golden Retrievers: Twin Sisters, Betsy & Belle
1963.
I ran crying to Uncle Jim, standing by the barn door.
We hugged, and I tried to hold the smell of him,
of Vermont -- Old Spice, oatmeal, rotting leaves in crisp October air.
"Oh, kid, you and me, kid ... you and me," he said.
But the car was waiting, all packed.
My grandparents yelled one more time, to come.
He stood alone, waving goodbye, his head held
to one side, a war injury.
Perhaps that's why he drank.
Or maybe it was living so far away from us,
in a wild place, where snow is measured in feet.
On winding roads, I cried for two hours, through valleys of orange and yellow and graveyards of granite, where men with stovepipe hats and ladies with hoop skirts lay side by side underneath the green.
Through my window, I counted the steep, pitched roofs.
Cows of black and white and brown.
Was Uncle Jim, by now surely in his house watching snowy TV, crying, too?
1975.
Uncle Jim is dead, at least he told me so, as he stood by my bed one night.
Even now, when I think of Uncle Jim, and how he held me, what he said to me in 1963,
I could cry.
(A Collaborated Poem with Liam McDaid and myself)
I hear a whisper…
In my dream last night, you've found another woman to hold
In your lonely nights, she becomes your sanctuary and desire
Turning your head away from an eastern promise
The whisper soon becomes a deafening silence too much to bear
I hear a whisper...
From the raindrops falling on grey cold pavement
Wet on the side not covered by roofs
Dry on the side that lies below the roofs
There, on the dry side, sleeps a homeless elderly man
Lying on used cardboard boxes and covered by layers of them
Has he given up hope for his own society or has society abandoned him?
I hear a whisper…
From the coffee dripping into a pot
Smell of caffeine fills the air delighting the senses
Camouflaging the scent of loneliness
There, on the coffee table, sits a poorly dressed elderly woman
Taking loudly to an invisible friend and having two plates of breakfast
Has she given up hope for friends or has friends avoided her?
I hear a whisper…
From the keyboard typing sounds in an office
Heat produced by machines blends in
Together with human activities rising high in temperature
There, on the window side, a nervous working man keeps his head down
Yielding to all demands and pressure from the top
Has he surrendered hope to power or has power overwhelmed him?
I hear a whisper…
That 'Hope' is still laying at the bottom of Pandora's box
Collecting dust from the detriments of evil actions
Slowly rotting away among fallen light of heavens
The whisper soon becomes an echo dissipating into a black hole
And in my dream I walk corridors with old creaking floors,
deep in the sanctum of my soul echoes stir calling me to come;
soon, I enter a hall of doors, doors and doors . . .
red doors painted bright, green doors with polished knobs.
Blue, deeply and darkly lovely blue, varnished doors,
a heavy ornate church door, ajar, beckoning hymns drift;
one hundred year old doors with brass chimes, portals to long ago,
wide barn doors in antique grey, opening wide, thresholds.
Doors with stripped, chipped white paint, oh my beating heart,
rounded doors, wooden doors, some to push, some to pull;
through a long forgotten door the wreckage of my life . . .
A door opens, new and polished shiny, the entrance to where?
Closed doors, swinging doors, locked doors with a sign Do Not Open,
doors with steps, doors with brass keys dangling;
and doors with chimes, press here for access, my dear,
then, I see two doors side by side, a simple cedar door- a golden door.
Oh, I stand unsure, which door? I hesitate and then,
I put my hand on the knob of the golden door- nirvana is beyond;
then, I open the simple cedar door, which takes me to the here and now,
and I breathe a sigh of relief, yes, this is exactly where I need to be.
______________________
March 24, 2017
Poetry/Prose /Doors, Doors, and Doors
Copyright Protected, ID 03- 887-007-24
All Rights Reserved, 2017, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Doors
sponsor, Richard Lamoureaux, Judged 08/2021
Seventh Place
It’s another sordid workplace affair
Organized by the dashing and flamboyant Pierre
There should be a warning to beware
Bad week to start any diet – o what despair
Millions of calories everywhere
On one side a mountain of chocolate éclair
On the other a huge tray of Camembert
It was hard enough to squeeze my derriere
Half-way out of this big cozy armchair
Till I managed to park myself elsewhere
Next to the cheese tray I do declare
There’s more than enough to share
I volunteered to sample so let them stare
Trying to look casually debonair
As my butt widens with each bite I’m aware
No one ever said life is fair
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on November 19, 2018 for contest WRITE A POEM ABOUT CHEESE sponsored by BARRY STEBBINGS - RANKED 8TH
You shattered my world
I was a sweet innocent girl
Thought my future was solid gold
Then you flushed my heart bitter cold
Went from a flow chart to a volcanic eruption
Minutes, days, weeks, it'll eventually even out.
One mans laziness caused another mans corruption
When foundation crumbles
You constantly stumble
Balancing on floating ice
Pray for a solid double on those dice
Teased a lot by a half roll,
There's just so much I can't control
There's nothing more powerful than not being scared
Skepticism I've grown close to, a friendship hard to bear
Think of a million possibilities with each choice
There's always going to be that internal voice
Why make it so hard?
One mans laziness is another mans corruption
That someone else will take care of me,
I'll never jump to that assumption
Gets harder and harder,
Then easier and easier
Harder and harder
Then easier and easier
All that matters is how I spend my time now
What I do now will help my future somehow
Where will I be in five years?
Have no idea
Asked me that a lot when I was younger,
Always had an answer
But back then
I was just a kid
Love, what's love your asked?
You lectured so many times
I'll put it on repeat along side a laugh track
Love is opposite you
It's opposite everything you do
Trying to deal with real love
That's truly far and above
Anything you can comprehend.
You taught me the greatest in life
Concentrate on the good,
Keep your head up with pride
Conquer the madness by ignoring it
Do positive things to destroy it
I lay there in the dirty bath water;
unable to raise myself up, like a
dog in quicksand, I wondered if I
should just yelp, or die, as the
grey water ran into my dream
and eye
I must have pulled something,
a muscle, a nerve, or a bank heist,
it wasn’t clear
this must be the same as having
a stroke, I thought; not being able
to use one side, a baby, a dog, waiting
for help.
And when I eventually rolled myself out,
and the arm came back to life, I vowed
never to bathe again, unless it was with
my wife.
Your lies are numerous..
Consumed by your lies..
Deceived with utter disgust
You continue to lie..
Your lies are an explosive volcano..
Lies build..
Lies erupt..
Your lies spread..
Lava spreading lies everywhere..
When will the lies end at the finish line?
It literally is a race for time..
One day an eruption of lies shapes form..
Another day the lava spews toxins
Toxin building dishonesty..
Your lips move..
As you speak..
your words are calculating ..
As they are misleading..
You have spun a web..
Web of false pretenses..
Crooked web entangled..
Along side a snake slithering slowly..
In the grass..
You have no mercy..
As the truth resides many galaxy's away..
A volcano eruption..
Spewing lava filled with toxins.
Has turned into stone..
Outcome of your life..
Turned to stone..
Poisoned with toxins..
Loss of trust..
Lack of respect..
From your lies..
Body lanquage speaks volumes..
Body language confirms the lies..
Only one truth is in existence..
Which is..
The eyes..
The eyes never lie..
As the eyes are the window to the soul..
Turn up the radio and ...
It's the same ol' situation,
The same songs, same band
That raised my generation
That was then, this is now
Nothing's changed but my age,
And four numbers, somehow
On a calendar's page ...
It happened again today
In the store where I shopped,
In the restaurant, I heard it play
Proving the 80's never stopped
That was then, this is now
O, to revive a faded fad,
If we never forget how
Good times can still be had
Life, like a cassette tape
With two sides, was designed,
From Side A, Side B can't escape
If you just press rewind ...
“Devoid of decorum and dignity”
Is one of the quotes that I heard.
To know it relates to the POTUS debates
Is as awful as it is absurd.
On one side, a bully whose bluster
Would get him suspended from school;
With no self-control and a hole in his soul,
He’s a pompous, perfidious fool.
On the other side, he who’d replace him
Wants to pacify, help and unite
Yet in making his case, what instead he must face
Is a nasty below-the-belt fight.
In the middle, befuddled and helpless,
Is the person who should be in charge
But when things go off-track, he can’t stop the attack,
Like a substitute teacher writ large.
We watch, feeling sick and despondent,
In shock at how low we have sunk
And that outrage and shame, for which we have no name,
Lingers on in a nightmarish funk.