Best Smothers Poems
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throws of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dew drops appear like goose bumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
Thank you Peter for this brilliant collaboration.
Peter is a very talented poet, please check out his poetry.
Sun slowly sinks closing yet another day
Warm golden rays caress the earth's orb
Moonlight peeps through drifting clouds
Stars twinkle suspended from heaven's realm
Silvery shadows slide as dark hues hide
A mist rolls in with silent ease
Wraps around and gives a squeeze
A dead calm smothers daylight to night
Moments frozen in feathery white.
3/31/13
Is my fate to go on living in this impervious place
where everyone dons a mask to conceal his face?
I'm floundering in this troubling tenure of time,
in which no one understands the rhythm of rhyme.
I need to search the deepest corners of my mind
for a region where oblivion is no longer defined.
I hunger to locate a habitat where I can be me,
a sanctuary where my inhibitions can be set free.
Mankind has become such an abstract machine,
all walking to the beat of the same tambourine.
Egotistic are those blind to the needs of others.
A depth of indifference that stifles and smothers.
When did it happen, that it became a world of greed
where everyone wants more than they'll ever need?
Bump into me on the street. No one seems to care.
The oblivion in society is greater than I can bear.
I cling to the prospect of a world in which I behold,
a race of benevolent humans, in stories long foretold,
where no disguise is ever worn to conceal a feeling,
and no secrets are kept for embarrassing revealing.
If there is a place where these human qualities exist,
it's an Eden in which I could more than just subsist.
I wish to withdraw from this callous, obdurate place,
to live where people do not behave as a robotic race.
September 23, 2021
"O" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
We sat in the fallout
of last year’s gift exchange—
smashed angel centerpiece
taped back together
as good as a rogue bomb
if someone mentioned it.
Our voices dragged
like anchors through an ocean—
low, cold, summoning something
older than Kris Kringle.
I strained to recall
a time when it wasn’t like this.
The kitchen table—
a battleship, whipped tension
and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped
once, then twice. Mammaw clutched
her rosary, counting sins like beads
of gravy on the drop-cloth. The whiskey
isn’t worth your soul, she whispered.
Our air was burned sugar—
a water pie, depression-era relic
left too long in the oven.
As they say, it’s the ingredients you have
that bake the cake.
Mom whispered, Let’s just get through it.
The corners of her mouth disappeared—
I knew better.
When my sister reached for a biscuit,
I grabbed her wrist—too hard.
Mine, I hissed. The room turned
quiet, the kind of silence snow wears
before an avalanche.
By sunset,
half of us were crying—
over the ruined pie,
or the family tree
we couldn’t stop cutting down.
When I reimagine it—
and I always do—
I don’t erase or the snowfall
or the tension.
Instead, I break the bread
without a flinch,
leave my sister’s wrist unmarked.
Dad’s carving hand steadies,
and in my version,
we get grandma drunk—
the old broad needed to lighten up.
The angel still shatters—
but this time we laugh,
our elbows knocking it over
reaching for seconds.
In the end, we huddle closer,
ash still falling, we celebrate
cold on the other side of the door.
Our hands stay sticky, glue healing
the angel’s cracked wings,
sugar crystallizing our fingerprints—
we press lightly, only to test for doneness,
we are patient,
we watch as snow smothers our wreckage—
call it DNA, an elegy.
L ove is the one force transcending all others,
O pens those hearts that adversity smothers,
V irtuous, to vanquish all hate, fear and doubt,
E nduring, immortal, and ALL ... life's ... about.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "A Four Line Poem On What Is Love" Poetry Contest, Faraz Ajmal, Judge & Sponsor.
(Eleven syllables per line, as per HowManySyllables.com)
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throes of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dewdrops appear like goosebumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
life is a feather on the wind ~ fallen from a sparrow who's not sinned
borne and adrift upon the air ~ brushed away like a stray strand of hair
fragile wanderer in doldrum streams ~ illuminated by moonbeams
floating on currents o'er the sea ~ never asks, "What's to become of me?"
a wisp, floundering where it doesn't belong ~ when it's done nothing wrong
A living thing, drawing breath ~ before it fell into the sea of death?
fragile are feathers and lives ~ torn asunder when an ill wind arrives
man's mortality smothers ~ but feathers... a sparrow can grow others
I'm but a frail bird tasked to bring hope and spread peace.
How shall I fly high in the sky with such a brittle burden!
My heart pounds in dilemma like a ping pong ball as I release
my wings in the air to take a flight at the height of a dark sky.
As dark as it can be, above me, the cauldron-black sky
with scary scars of blazing explosions emitting blinding light.
Beneath me, the brazier ground groaning with an outcry,
shedding tears of sparks that vaporize into nebulous smokes.
In between is the whizzing of weapons, excreting smokes
and urinating radiation that smothers the air with brutality.
Warhead rockets, firing aircraft, missiles, bombs...stoke
the fire of war for the sake of supremacy by killing morality.
Shrills of ruination buried under the roars of madness spree
while the two-legged demons having a bloodbath with big guns.
Colors of bliss faded away and helpless time trying to flee
as achromic misery taints moments with grim stains in gallons.
Ember red blood is the only bold color that flows in streams
dyeing the soil and water with a stench of rotting death.
Once cultivated verdant fields are now burned into coal seams.
Marred by violence, houses crumble like ashes in hearth.
Such horrific images I see all around me as the hearth
of fierce war burns with glaring flames and crackling noises.
I fly, hover and fly with my singed wings as there is a dearth
of safe shelter; my exhausted body trembles with fear.
Would I be able to stop the war? I questioned myself with fear.
Quite a hard-hitting answer I received in the form of a bullet
that pierced my heart and I fell on the ground with tears.
From my smeared blood, poppies bloom around me as I die.
Date: 11/12/2017
If snowflakes set aflame the ground
They touch and wintry winds abet
The flames, would she and I this day
always remain deeply in love?
Yet snow is snow-it’s wet, it’s cold
Its frigid blanket lacks the warmth
That lover’s hearts depend and thrive;
It stifles, smothers all that grows
and extinguishes any fire.
Snow-flames are just a fantasy
An image conjured in my mind
But in my heart our love is true
In any world we two reside
inventible or otherwise.
To bid farewell to you was life's cruel pun
while love remains so deep within my heart,
unending, as flames of fire in the sun.
Death, the dark scavenger, tore us apart.
Without my hand in yours, moonlight grew dull,
facets of stars lost their glitter and fell.
More lonesome than cries of a lone seagull
is my soul when I weep, "Love, death did quell."
Heavenly forms hold meaning for others,
those who soar to greatest height on love's wings.
But I am bereft. Loneliness smothers
when I recall sharing those wondrous things.
To be yours once more would brighten the moon
Of love and life, both were slain much too soon.
The rim of my Erembe in hand,
her quiet pace remains.
Today the Angolan sky spills liquid of my breast,
while her breath smothers the blank sounds
of the tired plains
(Colors of snowbird’s crest)
woven with the smoke and strain
of yesterday.
My little Faiza, how were you able to run?
She carries the lone gaze of hours
dizzily felt four and twenty ago:
the shedding, scraping of blood,
our village skin melts neath the sun,
color of cocoa,
scent of smoking gun.
Bear not burden or shame
upon your desperate frame,
my daughter.
Her face and a diamond linger
I know the worth each brings
(Special love and a shiny finger)
Such pretty things may bring about
a slaughter.
Though never
the same,
Though never
together,
each possesses a facet of pain.
The rim of my Erembe in hand,
her quiet pace remains.
fog weaves silence into the cool morning,
consorting with cousin clouds
as treetops sway and sigh
a lone spark ignites
flames that spread like bold disease
while smoke-smog smothers
skies that cry acid raindrops
onto graves of bark and ash
highways part the trees...
another cigarette butt
tossed out the window
For Constance's "Three Verses" contest (Kimo/Tanka/Senryu)
You can see, but you don’t care
You look past the misery in my eyes and stare at my canvas face, a door closed forever
My thoughts locked inside and yours on the counter
I thought maybe one day you would open that door and pour into me
I pound at the walls of flesh, I scream, but still
Your silence smothers me, my wounds bleed forever, never to be covered
You can see, but you don’t see me
What you see isn’t what you get, but you wouldn’t know, you’d just forget
I’m not that blank canvas, I’m more, open that door and see
See me
You can’t
You couldn’t
Even if you stared forever
Gentle
snow falls softly
sailing on a nonchalant breeze.
Angels appear at the behest of playful
children as layers grow on railings and
rooftops. Stalwart evergreens
sway to a rhythm while
the swirling vortex
of flakes smothers everything. Calm hits
and we breathe relief until the next shake
of this globe in the winter that won’t end.
Devastated by betrayal,
I am left reeling from its sting.
And amidst abject solitude,
I struggle: alone, with my pain.
I hear my heartbeat in my sleep,
racing to accommodate fear.
And it starts pounding, very loud,
as silent screams invade my dreams.
My hopeful eyes scan the night sky
for shooting stars: to make a wish.
But tears have reduced their magic
to distant specks of sparkling light.
Sadness saturates my being:
more profound than ever before.
And loneliness smothers my soul,
entombed in the sound of silence.