Best Slenderness Poems
On cold evenings
Surrounded by friends
Warm and
Safe
I could stay up forever
Taking strength
From the blackness
Talking
Dreaming
Feeling that I could float upward
And walk with the stars
On their lonely journey
Through heaven.
There was a girl
I was with then
Tall
Graceful
And beautiful
When I first saw her
I wanted to feel her softness
Her breathe on my cheek
Her hand
Brushing against my thigh
When I held her close
And even closer
I wanted her
To say she loved me.
Together
Our love
Had a perfect balance
Of
Teasing and challenge
Spontaneity
Courtship
And seduction.
A subtle change
That I never understood
Came about
The closer we became
The more anger
And resentment followed
When she smiled I was envious
When I laughed she was angry
We broke up
We were young
It was my fault
Her fault
Our fault
Or blame it on the times we lived in.
Outside my room
Footsteps echo
In a long and empty hallway
And like an undeliverable letter
A message scrawled
To no one in particular
Haunting visions are
Returned to me
The slenderness of her waist
The way she arched her back
The touch of her hand
The way she kissed
I feel her presence
Yes, I relive all that.
What knowledge do you have of my home?
Have you taken a walk through the cemetery?
Walking on my tracks, footprints of eternity.
Have you read about the deserts?
Thus roar, thus blow filth,
Have you, met the survivors?
Felt have you, their struggles?
In The dusts that destroy,
That whistled as they sizzled,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
You believe in the reporter,
Who experienced little of a quarter,
Of the life he broadcasts,
You let the television fool you,
Have you walked the fine line?
Have you let hunger define you?
I did. Oh I did sweat in the dust,
Trekked through the cracks,
And I, stood face up with the sands,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irritating me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
I breathed within a twister of dust,
So you wonder not of my eyes as they carry,
The memories of the old struggle,
So wonder not of my skin either,
As it bears the manuscript of my old life,
Yes I move immaculate, but do you know of my heart?
Let you not be fooled by my slenderness,
My strength far flows beyond my weight,
So I lift a whole continent with my pride,
And if I have to, I will put my life aside,
Just to fix a smile on mama Africa's face,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
A fool that I am not- is the fool that is you,
Mama is beautiful, yet you only see,
As far as her horn, and the slums,
Where the strongest among us might've been born,
Yes mama is beautiful, yet you neglect to see her exquisiteness,
How could you go to my house,
To only document the cracks on my walls?
Couldn't you walk in to my living room'
And maybe peek in to my kitchen?
Thence you might see the beauty that is my home,
How long will you only look at,
Just the color of this book's exterior?
When will you ever walk in it,
To see the beautiful illustrations within?
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're unreasonably riling me,
Cause the fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
You entered my life when yours seemed grim,
affected lonesome heart on a chancy whim.
Weak and sick, you fought to justly live,
knowing indeed, you had loads of loyalty to give.
Wiry - thick- gray mane crowned your debonair grace,
accenting strength and slenderness to your youthful face.
Fourteen years you honored our humble abode,
strutting whole backyard, showing off what you owned.
Age griped your lean physique, riddled your body and soul,
deep down inside, I knew it was your moment to go.
One night you slipped away in the moon-less dark,
took my love - my first feline - but left your mark.
My sweet Simon - my Sam Bo, appeared by either name,
when you adorned my home, my life has not been the same…
Copyright © 2016 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "I Love My Pets” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Feb. 18, 2016
1/20/16
long, thin, slenderness
pathway leading to remorse
stream cannot change course.
(January 24, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
I stand to see
To see the rising sun
Why stand? I sought to know
To know 'True souls'
Miles I've come
Come to unveil the truth
For my slenderness they ignore
Ignore I from their mad dreams
Subjected to my principles
Principles that none know
For I dream to write
Write what none has
Reaching to your memories
Memories which to you are nightmares
That one person I fear
Fear to ever meet
Have they not told you yet?
Yet I admire their philosophy?
'R.I.P.' they say to the gone
Gone never to age
What's the point?
Point on what haunts?
A eighth of your trust I need
Need, indeed for a second
They never sleep
Sleep to they slither away
Away to the deepest abyss?
You better think again
Again I reveal the truth
"True Souls," they go by name.
Root
self-worth
mild ascend
from earth, to sky,
trip without moving.
world is a high love chord.
in a state of unmatched mirth
Hearts may wander, and life unfolds
break the mold of our unwise nightmare.
bounty of thoughtful sprinkling and motion
shades of sight carried by the divine stream,
filling oneself with fairness and faith.
stand this route in braced quietness
merely choosing for time frame,
brand of our deep psyche,
turn down craving pangs
serve our life part
slenderness
fearless
bliss
thrill
set back
which you could
to board watchful,
making us feel good
whispering in low gasps,
cosmic awareness as mind
complying with the ambition
allows love to rule over our deeds,
Spectroscopic, motionless adventure.
Written: November 28, 2022
Journey without movement Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Scarlet trees, do not mind if I keep looking at you
Your branches point to the endless, sun-kissed roads,
Point to where my heart wants to be!
When I gaze at your slenderness
The thousands of hands that might have touched you
And the storm engulfing the breath of million souls
Which might have crossed you,
On foreign land, you give me the simplest of pleasures,
And the happiest of times,
Day and night.
When the sun has set and all the windows are glowing
A part of you still lingers on the darkest alleys,
One that is mine,
One that is ever so brimming with glorious crime,
I look at you from my little watchtower
Wondering, how many stories you have woven
In between the cobwebs of your branches,
How many kisses you have swathed in morning dew drops,
How many lonely walks have you carved
On the veins of your beautiful scarlet leaves…
Oh! Scarlet trees you have inspired
These words out of ecstasy,
For it is only when the crescent moon shines,
And the sky is dark blue,
I let my fingers dance
For they love the tune of the unforgettable
And they love the pain of a homeless soul
On a lost pursuit.
Distances (II)
by Michael R. Burch
There is a small cleanness about her,
as though she has always just been washed,
and there is a dull obedience to convention
in her accommodating slenderness
as she feints at her salad.
She has never heard of Faust, or Frost,
and she is unlikely to have been seen
rummaging through bookstores
for mementos of others
more difficult to name.
She might imagine “poetry”
to be something in common between us,
as we write, bridging the expanse
between convention and something...
something the world calls “art”
for want of a better word.
At night I scream
at the conventions of both our worlds,
at the distances between words
and their objects: distances
come lately between us,
like a clean break.
Published by Verse Libre, Triplopia and Lone Stars. Keywords/Tags: love, relationship, relationships, communication, distance, distances, convention, books, bookstores, art, literature, poetry, writing, chasm, abyss, divide, Faust, Frost, clean break
The dreampt sky took to the horizon like fall leaves covering the iced over ground.
Pure as ever I sit and read your letter sent by wings from all over.
The slenderness of your words and a wonderous chill down the spine of my
back.
Flutters from under sounded deep beneath me,
A gaze of a wolf tracking its pry suddenly startled by the awaking of the ground,
running off.
Wings of all sorts of color covered scents elapsed the dream like a front page
cover.
The rainbow colors sent sparks high into the glazed look sky,
Just sitting as everything spins.
Wings approached me again friendly, yet ready to strike as it came to a s top on
my hand.
My hands held open as a rosefelt pricked my fingers.
A peice of paper had fallen, yet the wings had already parted for home...
A tear stained the surface of my face as it turned pale;
Curious to know if you were really here.
My hand got moist... blood seemed to drip from the rose and soon from my eyes.
I had felt the joy of both gifts in a mere dream.
Awoken by flutters at my front door, I too for to become a full set of wings.