Best Sparkless Poems
from the forest, deep, she came
like a jaguar, quietly prowling
drawn there by my late-day flame
typhoon in the distance howling
black hair with a coal-blue sheen
eyes like ink and faultless gold
linen sun dress, white and clean
tawdry tan, with charms, untold
white-cap sea foam licked the sun
then softly tasted sweet, its bright
slo-melting on that briny tongue
and sav'ring still, the fading light
there beside the aqua ocean
palm fronds laid in proper form
with sublime and torrid motion
we let loose our perfect storm
high above, the Perseids streaming
wept the sky, with tears of fire
wishes granted - we, so dreaming
meant for fools to thus inspire
flightless angel birthed in darkness
wrapped me in her pinions, warm
sacred embers, cold and sparkless
burning for that summer storm ...
lost in her - my perfect storm.
There comes a time,
in the early, but
not so early, morn
when, and this is key,
if a portion of an instant
rationed a morsel of a moment -
but a crumb of that fell free
and it cast a deep shadow
whose depths made mockeries
of spelunk;
which you may remember
you'd dreamt of in some past
life and, if from this minusculity
sprang, the littlest offspring,
a hint of a glance of,
a coup d'oeil
the last of day,
the half-remembered,
prior life
when, if you glimpse
the newborn gold,
your heart'll still,
your mind'll still
and yes, your stillness
be distilled into
stiller still
if your heart and eyes
don't again conspire
to draw your mind
to your routine
of first and, perhaps
only, taking in the
most of things
the highlights and the
canopy's myriad meanderings
the rootings at their footings
supposed but rarely seen
in dark, in secret but
carrying no wrong
rather though
in the tree trunks'
simple middle
for a briefest, gilted
eternity, the trees
will burn not from
their crown
nor from their feet
and, despite the ice,
the sparkless space,
the cold steel
darts of insistent
slanting rains,
the trees will burn,
the trees will burn,
and all-at-once
the peripatetic sun,
its whims having won,
will dance along
and share its breath
with everyone
^she_
^she_ had a love/hate relationship with food
she only fed with her eyes,
i was a sparkless firecracker
and spoke English like i hated it.
not the least bit compatible
in any department
at any hour on any menu
she wouldn't even drink the water.
I would slip through the cracks
should she stop staring at me
up and down her beautiful 'it is'
she lit an incense and i was ignited.
i offered up an apple
a yellow delicious manifested
i peeled it for her
but she wouldn't taste it.
i laid eyes on her lips
kissed with dark secrets
an awakening of insects
with equal day and night.
She ate me with her eyes
clear, bright, ripe
it rained on the fruit
and i took a bite.
I spoke to the grain in her ear
i had so much to say
succulent was my speech
She took it all in.
potash, stolen, honey and rye
sup the festal dish don't cry
she had parted the thin line
between a want and it's fill.
I lapsed into that petri-dish
pierced by her green staring
Her warm glassy ogling
all up and down my countenance.
Nourished of palate perception
She relished on her diet.
I indulged as her entrée
feasting her with my gaze.
It would take a while
like a gala supper without wine.
^she_ would have no seconds
no weakness for flavor of the same.
well fed and fed up
she checked me out
her unusual hunger
gave me best regards
No repeats nor duplicates since
such foodstuff is most uncommon
Her daily bread was nurtured
with the edibles of my mind.
The End.
Time fell fast
Things became hard
Worries were vast
Lives begain scared
Hopes endlessly hidden
All things seemed forbidden
Days filled with darkness
Lives consumed and left sparkless
Awaiting the doom
Sitting only in gloom
Heaven wept
No souls were kept
You can never be free of old love
it'll always be caged in your heart and head
At any time the ghost of old love can hijack your brain
turn it into a forest of monkeys
shaking the branches of your memory
tossing fruit of the past(rotten and sweet)
pelting the present
a parrot on each of their shoulders
mocking: you're not living
...ya shoulda picked me
ya shoulda picked me!
You're really living a double life
one in the tangible-one in your monkey mind,
one house brimming with the old love
shuddered and blistered with peeling paint
its rooms filled with wild cherry pits
a bag of cheap mexican gold
copper pots filled with vipers and laughter
a carousel of coyotes and fire ants
zigzagging along box canyon rapids
the big fall just around the bend of night
where everything was deadly but very alive,
it was all about accumulating scars of living.
Your new house is freshly painted
everything is uncomfortably perfect
just like you see on a movie set
perfect lines perfect hair
perfect lipstick never smeared
but where's the living-the life
the grime in the corner,
that clownish tangle of underwear at the foot of the bed.
Your conversations are a stepping stone
to get through dinner
this house can never burn down
because it lacks fire
there's only oatmeal and epsom salt
where nothing is deadly but everything's dead
the only scar is not living
You miss the imperfections of the old love
imperfections are the soil of life
where serpents wrap around sunflowers
spitting fiery pearls and manic thorns-
of course there is the crash to follow
but it is worth it
you didn't know it then but you know it now
Where you live now
there are no serpents or sunflowers
there are no exploding pinwheels
there is no fear
discussions are just a sparkless interview in gray
and what about the quiet moments,
are they uncomfortable
or are they filled with monkeys and parrots
slamming into your brain,
screaming
ya shoulda picked me!
ya shoulda picked me!!
The inner sphere of echoed thought beholds
The urn of changing vapor from the height
Of lost remembrance. Darkly, mist unfolds
A weight of madding blindness with such might
That all within the realm of misery is stirred
To joyless life, announcing its pursuit
Of softer voices, pantingly interred
By sparkless fires, unmoved in their dispute,
Outsoared by unextinguished will Earth’s gold to loot.
The mastery of unfulfilled descent
Within the madness of the shattered wreck
Which binds all light to us, dim mortals, lent
By desolation is for Phoenix birds to peck.
Indomitable as the burning heat
Of blazing suns whose rays descend on me,
The task of breathing is a hurtful feat
Whose worth is hard indeed to see.
What oracle might have foreseen my fate’s decree?
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Raindrops on the rosebud,
And battlefields of blood,
And earth and sky in darkness,
And house and hill sparkless.
And shadow in the meadow,
And violets down below;
And birds sing to wood and dale
Of a recurring love tale!
The world yet is sleeping,
The ivy yet is creeping;
Soon awake dreaming land,
For redemption is at hand!
And petals soon open wide,
In the heat of morningtide!
And soldiers return anon,
Earth's battle wounds gone!
The brilliancy come at last!
And all sorrows in the past.
And joys of all things good--
Christ returns--He said He would!
I shouted out within my head,
Angry at the words and comments meant-
To do a task and get it done
I shall not do it! I want to run…
Alas, the adult me just standing there,
Not speaking up just raising my hair.
This hopeless grown-up with sparkless flares,
Who lost her wit, her game, her snare.
My inner me, that inner child,
‘You, the one that screamed and shouted loud!’
Whatever happened to that splendent child,
Independent speech yet strong and wild?
Little squirt who did not care,
For any hurt or demanding dare.
But stood her ground and made a sound,
When nothing suited her realm, her ground.
I need you now to show your face,
Not sweet and cute and ice-cream laced.
But confident in thoughtless words,
To state-
That’s no! I shall be heard!
01 September 2021
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Should he justify himself
for his revengefulness,
which was the outcome
of a well-delivered response?
How bitter is the farewell to youth...
when one is close to scary death!
He wished that the portrait
on the wooden shelf
remained sparkless...
dusted by caring hands!
He wanted to be invincible,
although he seemed feeble;
the pedophile threatened and laughed
and menacingly incited a violent fight,
he was waiting for her father to tremble:
then a bullet ended his worthless life!
Silence dominated the silent street,
shadows hid his body covered with blood!
The red-headed girl was barely ten,
naked were her tender breasts;
" My daughter did not deserve this, "
she was murdered at the hands
of a killer, now she lies in an open coffin! "
May the judge keep me off the prison bars!"
from the forest deep she came
like one jaguar gently prowling
drawn there by my late-day flame
typhoon in the distance howling
black hair with a coal-blue sheen
eyes like ink that shimmered golden
linen sun dress white and clean
tawdry tan with charms embolden
white-cap sea foam licked the sun
softly tasted sweet its brightness
melting ‘pon that briny tongue
sav'ring still the fading lightness
there beside those aqua oceans
palm fronds laid beneath the moon
with sublime and torrid motions
we let loose our fleshed typhoon
high above the Perseids streaming
wept those skies bright tears of fire
wishes granted - we thus dreaming
meant for fools to quite inspire
flightless angel birthed of darkness
wrapped me with her pinions warm
sacred embers - cold and sparkless
lost within that summer’s form ...
lost in her - my perfect storm.
* did you notice the change in metre? *