Best Significantly Poems
My words were rewritten until they became yours
As grammar and syntax perfected your thoughts
Pages lined with highlighters polished me to extinction
I wanted to resist all of those good intentions
Yet I knew you wanted your best words for me
You weren't listening so you couldn't hear what I was asking for
Poor boy me I lacked the courage to say it loud enough
I felt my voice become tiny as my heart disappeared
Sure my words were somewhat awkward
Still I had things to express that way
My rhythm was imbedded in the word play
You crumbled my granite and turned it into clay
It happened slowly a bit day by day
I was there hidden in the disconnected details
Crystal blue eyed observations to share
Becoming myself on the verge of aware
You could have found me there
My words weren't lacking weight or substance
Like a series of road signs I pointed in a certain direction
I wasn't looking for polished perfection
What I desired most was emotional connection!
The trip must have seemed hard
You couldn't see past the curves in my road
It was to difficult to decipher my emotional code
So instead you bulldozed through my mind
with a big truck weighted with your own heavy load
If only you could have lingered and waited
Maybe you could have been sated
My words were interplayed and related
The strength of your ego I had not anticipated
In your wake I was left dejected and frustrated
There had been points of interest along the way
sprinkled star dust amidst the Milky Way
Beneath were gardens in which you could have come to play
There was no rush, I wanted you to stay
Until my liquid thoughts were morphed into hay
There before you
I had erected statues of delight
adorned in billowing fabric made of light
Perhaps you were blinded by my bright
unexpected in the middle of the night
You could have occupied my pleasure
Below my surface a spring fed treasure
A gift for you beyond measure
You could have witnessed the essence of me
Even though you came so close
you just couldn't see...
This is an old one that I have significantly reworked.
A significantly different day
No bread or milk
empty for toilet paper
Reduced opening hours in grocery stores
- Home insulation with
respiratory infection
Rationing on medicines
School closes -
no leisure activities
No daycare
No bus or taxi
No traveling abroad
All aboard aircraft and boat
must in quarantine
Large preventive measure
Dramatic cut in hotel beds
The church cancels all services
Closed office buildings
No cinema or theater
Today our first victim
as a result of the coronavirus
My deepest condolences to the family
~ "Normal life" is paused
Let this time bring out the best in us
12.03.2020
Coronavirus Covid-19 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Team PoetrySoup
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
A star awoken, of dreams freely spoken
All equipped – musicianship
Unbound to conventional forms, to so adorn
A woman’s worth
Au naturel
Transcendence of thought, unveiled soul
Of tears, of joy
F
A
L
L
I
N
Classical calling
A dazzling butterfly, hearts identify
Live on stage, delivered diary
A poetic page, with essence to free
A monumental flow of harmony
Unique individuality
A universal language, a mindful connective
Emotional growth, inner introspective
Live and unplugged
With all that jazz
Rhythm refiner, songs in A Minor
A unique find, true state of mind
Motivational strive
Such inner drive
The extraordinary, piano mastery
Musical milestone, a class of her own
I
C
O
N
I
C
Artistry, scale significantly
Chord composition, resounding fruition
Of passion – piano, vocal poetess
Authentic standard, of no less
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©?
Day 1
I sit to write in peaceful solitude,
while words of tranquil elegance exude
visions of nature's beauty and soft light,
but it's not my muse which has taken flight.
A bastard housefly sails a curvy path,
as irritation grows to rage and wrath.
Essentially, the reason is because
this little jerk emits a galling buzz.
When I think the skumbag's finally stopped,
and I could hear it if a pin were dropped,
the excrement eating insect starts again,
an insidious attack upon my brain.
You would not think a creature who is this small
could find a way to bother me at all,
and yet he drives me completely daft and nuts,
until upon my window, I see his guts.
Day 2
Awaking from a frightful fever dream,
I hear a buzz, and choke down a helpless scream.
The window guts, a subconscious, wishful scene,
before I slept, I missed with the magazine.
One slight move, he's no longer stationary.
Have I misjudged this pint-size adversary?
His flight is like 3-D billiards in the halls,
bouncing off unseen, invisible walls.
Why has this beast chosen me to torment,
to lead me in my sanity's descent
to Hell, a place I would gladly send him
if my worthless Westways could only rend him.
Yet, I said, "fly to the screen door, for once,
and we'll both be free, you insectoid dunce".
A desperate jack o'lantern, I am hollow.
Everywhere I go, he seems to follow.
Perhaps, the little guy has something to say,
tracing the 3-D model of DNA.
Does he buzz the hundred thirty-seventh psalm?
Could it be that last week, I killed his mom?
Day 3
Hopefully, I think the fly's diminished,
and that soon this monster will be finished.
He seems to be flying slowly like he's drunk.
His decibel measure significantly shrunk.
He's fast and young, but he's aging faster,
giving me the better odds to plaster
him. Who will be victorious in the end?
On whose nerves are made of steel, it will depend.
Day 4
Dead on the floor, two haggard creatures lay.
In one's hand, "you're just like a summer's day".
Riding tricycles and swimming.
Bicycling madly on Chicago streets.
Ah, dear Lord, life was deliciously sweet!
Christmas time glowed in Elmwood Park.
That huge white flocked tree.
We all are here, but lost our fun-loving, Brucie!
Cheering for the Bears at great Soldier's Field,
Or the times at Cubs Park?
At night on swings in the warm, starry dark.
KiddieLand and Riverview, too.
The laughter and the endless joys.
We were truly good little girls and boys.
Now on my inner journey to a most blessed past.
The ongoing wonder of growing up to achieve.
But most significantly, we were taught to believe!
If a gardenia could only speak of our fragrant young days...
I am only here to tell you, I love you.
And each one, an invaluable soul,in my view!
Love and Merry Memories!
~ Cousin P ~
12-22-2020
A tribute to all my cousins.
Merry Christmas
Holiday Hugs
To just wake precious one day,
And see our heavens filled with ribbons in God's sky.
Flying in patterns, every which way.
Satiny and soft~ swishing, as the winds may.
A beautiful, ribbony relief for all of humankind to see.
To uplift not only me, but more significantly...thee!
10/5/2020
3pm PST
Does anyone consider my times of tribulation?
The waters of her oceanic figure guides me still
She leads me beside quiet streams of jubilation
Desolation is nowhere to be seen anymore, for she's a keeper of the radiant rivermill
For you and I to swim to in times of need, away from the adversary
For you and I to nourish our marvelous seed of serenity's sanctuary
Acknowledge my pain-staking regret, left unseen in most stranger's vacant eyes that hopelessly stare
I am left unstable on the table like a weeping infant, fighting life or death in reality's strange nightmare
You thrive on my sorrowful realm of thought that course inside me and I recognized that I needed to apologize because I ignored your cries
You're alive and I survived, so appreciate me for who I've become, not who I was before and we are significantly stronger than we realize
Reach out to adequately hopeful horizons,
Oh godly daughters and sons
And always remember without a trace of fear -
We will be rescued from the waters of Aphradere
As long as we have an incredible interlude
And an everlasting attitude of gratitude
Listen, she whispers in our dreams
As we almost fall away at the seams:
Remember me,
Remember me
Remember me always
For, the waters of Aphradere has reached its interlude…
She doesn't mean to intrude...she just wants to be understood
Listen, she whispers in our dreams
As we almost fall away at the seams:
Remember me,
Remember me
Remember me forevermore
She's the bittersweet rainstorm
That you abhor and adore
She's beyond the norm as she lays unnoticed like a puddle in your dorm…
Drowning in the waters of Aphradere
What's been lost has been lost for many a year
She wants to hold on to you and I oh so dear
To give us cheer, yet it's weighing us down with anxieties that draw near
She whispers steadily:
Remember me - that's my only plea -
As I spiral away and away
Into the drain speedily
Into the interlude of everyday's relief and dismay
Forget and forgive Aphradere's waters of shimmering shame
Give gladness, glory and honor to God's most gracious Name
Grief will not conquer us as long as our final outcome
Is to wait patiently for something bigger than us - His Kingdom
Ah, Wanderlust, my soul for you burned hot!
When fresh and filled with fancy, I could not
sit still for long, for I was wont to flee
the simple life with its monotony.
The moon and stars were mine (or so I thought).
In college when I turned eighteen, I bought
my ticket to that thrill I’d always sought
in lands I’d only read of, far from me;
Ah, Wanderlust!
Were life a novel, mine would have its plot
heat up significantly when I got
to Europe; wondrous sights I was to see.
Romance I even found! But destiny
has deemed adventure would not be my lot. . .
Ah, Wanderlust!
Written 8/15/14 by Andrea Dietrich for the Wanderlust Poetry Contest of nette
onclaude
Dear son,
I am told I should tell you things not in books
It is hard for me to begin
Your mother said only what is in the book I know
I think my dilemma is neither you nor I
But the whole purpose of the book
This letter may turn into if I try to understand me.
And if I am not in the picture
Then your existence becomes questionable. We must
Establish our need for more than mere presence
And this makes us listening to each other significant,
Make this letter existentially important
And you significantly more important than either of us think
I do not read books because I believe all books
Books took a wrong turn just by their necessity to speak
And to make speech more permanent than memory
They disrupted a whole tradition of history to write
What we were, and are becoming
By making picture out of words for reflection
As they tell us who we are
Without beat of tongue, and rhythm of gesticulation
That surrounded the melody of oral communication.
The literary man made an ulterior civilization
Telling us with barbed cynicism: the pen is mightier than the sword
I handled all books carefully like a weapon
For in them are seeds of destruction
Not intended alone for our history
But for the civilization of our identity.
My dear son
Every structure and fiber of our imagination
Is no longer about us
For we have been reduced to incongruous metaphors
Supplanting faith in history
Supplanting us with toxic ideas of utopia
Knowing full well for this dream
There is no remembrance after sleep
For waking is an hypnosis for those in too deep.
Even as I proclaim this preamble on clutches.
Our mind is the most amazing part of our being
Able to astound the most cynical of souls
There is so much more to learn about it's function
About why some are more intelligent than others
Genetics are certainly part of the equation
What makes a serial killer, what makes a preacher
Are our brains significantly different
Is it the environment, is it in the genes we inherit
So much to learn, a vast unexplored world of the mind
I find it sad that at my stage in life
I won't be around to see what lies just around the corner
In recent times progress has accelerated
This blinding speed can be overwhelming
I hear tell that one day, humans will live FOREVER
Not sure this mere mortal could handle that
But it thrills me to think that this will actually be possible
3D printing is now becoming available
To allow us to grow defective body parts
Absolutely amazing but kind os scary at the same time
M - I - N - D B - L - O - W - I - N - G ! ! !
© Jack Ellison 2014
A simple nap the beauty sleeps.
Her stupor is deep.
She seems to be thinking within this dream of a salient existence far away.
Her fingers are interconnected significantly.
With imagery shown from her posture, she interrelates to this world.
Connotation of inner peace is seen when she lies silently sleeping.
The colors that surround her while she sleeps are peripheral to where she meanders.
Labyrinths in time that must be superseded for her to awaken.
A simple nap the beauty sleeps.
Her stupor is deep.
______________________|
Penned on May 11, 2014!
Attack the clutter
In the attic pieces of life
And bits of me
So much clutter, sorting through
Old letters flutter
Unwanted, unread
Daring me to show I care
To reach through time
So dust-dimmed ink
Can speak again.
“Into the sack with you.
I have a job to do”
There’s all this papier maché
A flaming crown with snake entwined
I was the wicked queen
One Halloween
Daniel was a devil
Here are his horns
And a tail in a paper bag
Too good to throw
But this other stuff can go.
Made from the Financial Times
Significantly pink, a gun
So many things begun
I mutter “So long, adieu
This day of clearing clutter
Is so long overdue”
Now that could be a poem
And, right on cue
From a stack of boxes
A sheaf of paper slithers down
Littering the floor
I gather up the poems
Like a gleaner in the field
Picking out choice phrases
And, sitting among the boxes
I read them all
then put them back
Old photographs reproach me
Unsorted, stuffed in envelopes
Waiting for something
Or someone
Who never came
Adieu adieu
Wait, here’s a name
“To Mary
With love from Freddy.
I am in the back row
Second from left”
A group of smiling boys
Dressed as soldiers
Captured
By the camera’s shutter
A sixtieth of a second, in 1942
All dead now
adieu adieu
So much clutter
There’s so much time
Spent sorting through
And in the plan-chest
So many plans
Pause to reminisce
Remember this?
Posters made for Art School films
Drawings, prints and paintings
They call to me
But I am determined
I put them in the sack
Pieces of life and bits of me
So much clutter,
And when I’m through
I’ll have some space
To move
Adieu
Casualties of an enforced lifestyle shiver in the breeze
Along the rugged roads of old dust and ditches that divide
Rest a group of modest enclosures they call home
Built out of left over wood and delivery slates in 90 degrees
They seem content with their simplistic lifestyles and unsightly miles
Water is delivered in worn out trucks and stored in their homes in discarded tanks
There is no sewer system, very few working water systems are scattered
Yet, if you were to pass through for a visit, the women would be cooking with smiles
During the day, men are bused to work in factories and earn fifty dollars a week
Few people have the resources to receive a doctor’s visit and medications
“Anencephaly” a brain birth defect that their infants have, now significantly rise
When it rains there the roads become virtually impassable and unusably bleak
They are a hard working people with values and a drive to nurture their youth
Bathing their children in the same lavadora they wash their dishes in
Tijuana is among one of the poorest places in the world
With these living conditions, it’s hard to turn your back from the truth
Ssss.....
Splendour smooth sound that sounded severally sometime ago,
Smoothly stealthy sensating my soul.
Sound sounding second by second significantly,
saying ''I love you Thabiso'' not even swallowing a single saliva spit.
Sweet semibreve singsong sounding siphoned from sun set side.
Sexy but not sex slavish,
Just sound sizzling like a snake hizzling.
When slamming slang its signs that theres something serious.
Smooth sound not simple to slay or slip someone slow or solvenly.
Slender with smashing smile and sound splitting my feelings into smithreens.
Soften sonare that sneaks me sodden,meaning saturated.
Souvenir sound deserving sovereign.
Sound sounding smooth like special strings playing in sovereign's ceremony,
spick and span spontaneously stabling spirit putting stamina,
not from stammer but someone stimulating,stupendous,streamlining.
Stereophonic sound that makes me sweat.
I'm not swagging its just that i still remember her sweet swansong swaying
systematic sound as if it sounds from someone from synagogue.
Since from this voice appeared in my dreams.
I stoped snoring and started to have sweet dreams in my sleep.
You will never know when its the end,
but after telling that''I'm in love with the voice''its the end.
This was just a deram
So, I guess a 12 year old
American brown male playing by himself
with a toy gun
is outside your boundary
for normal early-adolescent activity.
Well, I can see why you would need
to draw your boundary
for healthy rationality
outside his grassy field of fire-armed play.
I can see why we need to draw this line
of "only predictably SWM domesticated life matters"
the way we do
to look our friends and children in the eyes
while saying,
"I can accept this loss
as one caused by an unfortunately timed
dual act of accidental wildness;"
But is it not significantly wilder
to fire ballistics at youth
than for youth to fire only ballistic imagination?
I can see that we need to doubt
reasonable risks of public recreation
for some lives
differently than other lives
and times
to gaze into our social-cultural mirror
with both eyes
fully comprehending compassionate integrity:
"We accept that Black Adolescent Lives Splatter
loss across our leaking shared loves and livelihoods,
thereby wilting our collective mental health,
starving our social wealth for future regeneration,
and yet hope we still dream
of somehow re-transposing,
All Lives Matter
in current US ReligiousRight culture.
Now that is egocentric mendacity;
not even Anthro-centric integrity.
We each and all must hunt our way
toward facing our fear of ourselves
our lack of empathy
and mind positive passions
and body healing pleasures
surpassing our neglectful lack of fully activating
Win/Win panentheistic wisdom.
Some hunting ways bring further AnthroSupremacist
Business As Usual
cognitive-affective dissonance;
further failure of Earth's polycultural integrity,
further degenerative ego-traumatizing stasis.
Some hunting ways promise more co-operative co-arising ballast
for culturally active hope.
It is this ballast we seek
between our self/other-reflecting eyes,
hoping to discover peace within as justice without,
and not more enslaving reductive addiction
to ballistics of overly-automated violence
Silent souls
full-will impassioned pleasures
without sufficient time to assess full-intent,
responding to fear of fear ourselves,
right between our blindered eyes
So it becomes challenging to see
a brown male playing by himself
with a toy gun
as well within our mental health care boundary
for normal early-adolescent activity.