Best Slabs Poems
Drawn by subtle intuition
I follow a winding path
into the heart of the woods,
emerging in an open glade
where feeble sunlight falls
upon a moss covered wall.
Isomorphic intimacy holds
me in a trance; latching
the present to the past, as
nostalgia flirts with mixed
emotions. Resting my hand
on the stone slabs I caress
the rough texture with affinity
sensing the agony of collapsed
aspirations, decayed dreams,
and the utter helplessness
of the irreversible.
--------------------
This poem has been published in a PoetrySoup Anthology:
“Reflections on the Important Things” Nov 2023 (print)
"Wall in the Woods" contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Placed 3rd
© 11th October 2020
you May-
think me odd perhaps strange
peculiar and off the wall-
but I
like to wander cemeteries
among rows on rows
I love the tranquility
there is a peace like no other
where hidden birds sing melodies
and little creatures scurry
and time stands still
and I like to read inscriptions
on tombstones in the dappled sun
or rain wet or snow covered
gravestones monolith
flagstones flat and small
all the RIP inscriptions
among rows on rows
the relic stones I do adore
those traces
of family history
faded now and obscure
covered in moss some toppled over
I have to get close to read
and even then it is a mystery
on a bright sunny day
camera in hand journal ready
my mind at peace
I noted one stone inscription
reading U N K N O W N
this of all the stones this broke my heart
among rows on rows
no name no date no record
no flowers ever I am sure
no memorial of any kind
a homeless man, perhaps
or woman, maybe
a baby unwanted so sad
of all the commemorative slabs
the huge monuments with many names
with beautiful words engraved
of remembrance with dates and names
this unknown stone has broken my heart . . .
____________________________
November 9, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/One Stone-Unknown
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9597-09-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Two Word Challenge
sponsor, John Lawless
Second Place
nascent
dawn appears
kaleidoscope
of
color
midnight
sighs
leftovers
of
last night
plateful of
unsaid
words,
a
tablecloth
of rapier-sharp
folds
&
fireplace
dying
to be
kept
alive
sensitive
hearts
feel
powerful
in
mundane
rain
pelting
petals
think
of
others
when eating
remember
pigeon
food
when fighting
remember
seeking
peace
paying water-bill
remember
cloud-nursed
when homecoming
remember
homeless
campers
when sleeping
counting stars
remember
sleepless,
roofless
foodless
healthless
hopeless
be a candle
in
dark
snow
mixed
drizzle ...
dust-covered
man
holds
hand
of daughter
dying
slowly
under
slabs
of
concrete
life
illusion
dream
swoon
ecstasy
oblivion
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 14, 2023
YOUR SELECTION AGAIN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Twas darkness upon the quietly residing heath...
And deathly was the sullen red sandstone tower...
Standing gloomily inside the masons dry-stone walls
Amidst toppling granite slabs and the faded, wilting flower.
Solemn was the chime of the hollow, mournful bell
When tolling out on midnights grimly sombre hour;
And thinly the swirling, unearthly mist
Did so wend abouts her silent, melancholic bower.
Where from a fronded yew of venerable years,
Besides ancient trunks of ivy-entwined gnarly oak,
A chilling screech from a sudden ghostly apparition...
Summoning upon waking resident souls - did thus invoke!
For pale his form in soft white downy flight...
But none paler than that of me...
As across from the stream, held by an unblinking stare -
My shaky fears are transfixed so unnervingly!
Oh wise old feathered sage of long owl-lived age,
Unctuous incumbent of learned perch within black night,
Allow this the moment to calm my pounding heart...
And catch upon my fleeing thoughts - after such a wicked fright!!
The cinnamon scented days
in your grandiose porcelain cups,
as you would like to say,
in grass green warmth of May
of the sandal wood shadow
in your valley
made of three warm words from starry dark,
alongside the moon-circles
It is lovely
A rose dance
In a tipsy trance
A blue Greece peace
descending downward
Shivering moon ice
And Amazon warmth
From mouth to mouth
“Go slow go slow “
Calls the lark
from moon-snow
“Go slow”
Why the distraction?
In the lovely job of translation
from fire to ice
Slice by slice
Dropping all disguise
Into a stupendously charming reality
Of collapsing charm
Then, all on a sudden
Why the reaction
Of sudden interruption?
The lark asks
“Look above
Visit the cascade first
The temples, the galloping horses
The beautiful bird-neck
And the awesome hills”
The cream coloured shaft of sky
beteen the two tension to the hilt
Maddeningly failing
Into freedom of the flood
Tumultuous silence ...
And he felt the soft palm on his forehead
He came to
It was the nurse
By his hospital bed
‘Yes ?'
‘Sir, you have to ....'
'The chemotherapy?'
'Yes Sir'
A gentle smile on her face
A sandal wood shade
Of a different kind though
And ice slabs
In almost absolute temperature
_________________________________________________________
20/01/2017
Chirpy birds disturb my deep sleep.
Sky pastels reflect in a somber ashen tinge.
Sun seems to be lost in a floating mist,
cloaking wet slates and chimney smoke.
As lamp lights reflect upon puddles,
poured into uneven pavement slabs,
it seems like an abundance of angels,
wept like irritated insomniacs overnight.
In the backdrop of contemplation,
a trash truck thunders and plunders,
with boisterous waste collectors,
wheeling bins into its hungry mouth.
Sky paints in an apocalypse aura.
Mind is intrigued - pondering,
if only it wasn't just palpable garbage,
that was taken away and forgotten.
I dream that tonight I am a raccoon
And it is here in this body that I store the notion
That my sadness will last forever,
In the treasury of unclaimed awareness,
Where pits of the peaches could never re-sprout...
I dig deep into the indent of a Denver ravine,
Gnaw knee-high into the hollow ridges of hominids and their homelands,
Belly-wade in bottomless mud waters west of wherever they don’t go, though
Lurid in my languor now, I laminate my slick turf onto Continental limestone slabs
And, then, all-at-once, at noon, just like that,
I call it a day.
A tired little raccoon
Can’t bear without a rest
Through the midday...
I arise as the coon falls under.
Reclaiming Human Sorrow, my Wrong-Headed Brother,
Waxing thunderously, now, in the mind’s cluttered cage
In this day of coffee and chit-chat and left-turns,
I’ll dream tonight I am a raccoon.
So that we may both get out and roam.
The congregation
mingled within the silent
stone slabs of their
ancestors, a final goodbye
to yet another
destined to leave this place.
Yet to one, in this his
profound sorrow an
enchanting moment.
He craved! With a soul
sensitive and true to
touch a living memory,
his lips again to caress
her symbolic smile.
His need to glance upon
her northern eyes of blue,
stroke her flowing
“Celtic Flame”
That, while strolling in lanes
of love rebelled against
the moorland breeze.
He desired to paint this
memory of that moment
the very first day they met,
bestow in this a silent tribute
to the emotions within
their secrets, those, no one
else could ever share!
© Harry J Horsman 2007
Giant blowing winds like slabs of butter.
Meltdown like frozen cubes of ice.
Leaves blowing around as trees go bare.
I plant my garden of words and watch them bloom.
From the beginning of time, people spoke their thoughts.
Where words are spoken, people gather round to listen.
People have always come to listen to the songs of poetry.
Humans have always been fascinated by the power of words.
Never has there been a civilization without poetry of words.
Poetry comes from something deep inside us all, raw emotions.
Words sometimes get bloody like the dying of a red rose.
Oh, but isn't a red rose lovely even with all her thorns?
Why are some quiet, while others throw words to the winds?
Why" for others to read, find pleasure within their soft-pedaled words.
The infinite power of words rings out like heaven to me at dusk.
Like blossoms on a beautiful tree, words fall like ecstasy.
The love of words has always come so easily to me.
Confused, but, not for long as our words turn into poetry.
Words are the silver lining like piano key's, in praise of poetry.
Words to me are like beauty and strength coming together.
As we put our words together into songs of poetry.
Let us fly along with ancient dragons, and dance among the skies.
As PAN comes out to play for us, and we dance the night away.
And mingle with the stars and sing our songs to light the night.
As she breathes her last breath, it is in the form of poetry.
Abandon yourself to the moment, it will become a beautiful memory.
12:55am 4/ 5/ 2013
you May-
think me odd perhaps strange
peculiar and off the wall-
but I
like to wander cemeteries
among rows on rows
I love the tranquility
there is a peace like no other
where hidden birds sing melodies
and little creatures scurry
and time stands still
and I like to read inscriptions
on tombstones in the dappled sun
or rain wet or snow covered
gravestones monolith
flagstones flat and small
all the RIP inscriptions
among rows on rows
the relic stones I do adore
those traces
of family history
faded now and obscure
covered in moss some toppled over
I have to get close to read
and even then it is a mystery
on a bright sunny day
camera in hand journal ready
my mind at peace
I noted one stone inscription
reading U N K N O W N
this of all the stones this broke my heart
among rows on rows
no name no date no record
no flowers ever I am sure
no memorial of any kind
a homeless man, perhaps
or woman, maybe
a baby unwanted so sad
of all the commemorative slabs
the huge monuments with many names
with beautiful words engraved
of remembrance with dates and names
this unknown stone has broken my heart . . .
____________________________
November 9, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/'One Stone- Unknown'
Copyright Protected ID 17-9810-99-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest,
Impress ME' With A New Poem
sponsor, A SKAT
Tenth Place
__________________________
Written for the contest, Two Word Challenge
sponsor, John Lawless
Second Place
He had earned a black belt in tae kwon do
Breaking slabs of concrete with his big toe
And butting planks with his head
Had left him nearly brain dead
Glazed eyes resulted from many a blow
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 7 in Linda-Marie's "Let's Limerick" Contest - October 2010
THE CHURCH AND THE GRAVEYARD
The Graveyard stood behind the Church,
Perhaps they are mysteriously compatible!
Through the front door of the Church you enter,
And with time, through the rear door you exit
and go ;
Forever mingling with Life’s eternal flow!
In the Church marriages are solemnized,
New born babies are christened and baptized.
Hymns and sermons are heard on Sabbath Days ,
And people kneel down in silence to pray.
Some to repent and confess ,
To seek salvation, and are blessed!
And when the older generation pass away ,
In the Graveyard behind, they are forever laid !
Yet amidst death, Life goes on......., -
With the peel of bells and chorus songs!
The world of the dead is surrounded by Life ,
Our younger generations live and thrive ;
For the Epitaph cannot bury Life’s song!!
Green grass grows around the dead,
And trees showers their flowers from overhead !
Bouquets of roses on cold marble slabs ;
A drop of tear the fond memory sheds,
In loss of the loved one, now in the world of
the dead!
While Life surges, swirls and flows all around,
As the dead lie in their graves in silence, -
without a sound!
New Life sprouts, and memories slowly fade….. ,
The Graveyard lies in the Church’s cool shade!
-By Raj Nandy, New Delhi .
Maverick(Vers libre)
Life for me was vain, trying to get gain
In Peterbilt truck, I’ve had the worst luck
Driving in deep snow, bad tempers do show
Praying the roads clear, very hard to steer
Having a tire low, over heats will blows
Many trips are lame, and bosses the same
A trucker’s great fame, stress his middle name
While grinding those gears, on roads never clear
Stresses with no rest, on gear jam express
Old Smoky bear nabs, on the super slabs
Eighteen wheels rolling, not night of bowling
Super slabs tolling, companies folding
Idea of toll roads, trucks carry whole load
No other reason, government’s treason
You want-a see stress, special men/women pass test
It’s concrete jungle, no room for bungle
Life isn’t breezy, for Joe made easy
His loads are made late, from stops at toll gate
`Tis vicious cycle, bless angel Michael
I drove in my sleep, loads on time to keep!!!!
"Dedicated to Joe Dietrich, also a Truck Driver"
For and in Honor of Carolyn Devonshire
And Contest: March Madness
AT THE FINAL GOODBYE
The congregation
mingled within the silent
stone slabs of their
ancestors, a final goodbye
to yet another
destined to leave this place.
Yet to one, in this his
profound sorrow an
enchanting moment.
He craved! With a soul
sensitive and true to
touch a living memory,
his lips again to caress
her symbolic smile.
His need to glance upon
her northern eyes of blue,
stroke her flowing
“Celtic Flame”
That, while strolling in lanes
of love rebelled against
the moorland breeze.
He desired to paint this
memory of that moment
the very first day they met,
bestow in this a silent tribute
to the emotions within
their secrets, those, no one
else could ever share!
first posted 2nd may 2010
IN RESPONSE TO MY FIRST POEM
Our secrets to keep forever
The two of us only will share,
This my darling is my promise
To you so far away down there.
Oh yes I can hear and see you
From this my place far up above,
I listen to your sweet whisper
See us in your portrait of our love.
Alas ‘tis only my bare bones
That lay idle beneath your feet,
Leaving everything about me
In your memory this my treat.
Our precious although short moments
Forever lives on in my soul,
Until one day yet far away
The final end your earthly role.
Then once again true love will meet
Your need to touch my Celtic Flame,
Mine to gaze upon eyes of green
Our lips passionate wild untame!
28th Sept 2015
© Harry J Horsman 2015
Rhein II - The Photograph
-----------------------------
Set between two slabs of green
the slender Rhein is seen.
If she goes from left to right
is no one's surest known.
The sky is overcast above
and no birds there are seen.
I am an admirer, sure,
of green and then the green.
12/29/2018