Best Still Poems
Friends, do not forget: there is still beauty
When the darkness comes and shadows fall,
Music, Art, and nature, gentle comforts
When despair is deep and hope is small.
Friends, do not forget: there is still laughter
When we’ve finished choking down our tears,
When the world seems full of desolation
And we grit our teeth and face our fears.
Friends, do not forget: they have not taken
Kindness, love and friendship from our hearts.
If we can resist the hate and anger,
Maybe we can be where healing starts.
We will rise again tomorrow morning,
Sunshine follows even darkest night.
Think of this when you feel close to breaking
As we walk the long road to the light.
November 2016
Do not build a ladder
when I fall into the abyss—
I did not call for climbing.
The thorn in me
is not a riddle to solve,
nor a window to repair.
I am thunder, not your project-
rain needing witness,
not your umbrella.
When I say I’m drowning,
do not throw ropes of reason.
Let me sink into your silence—
weightless, unrescued, yet unalone.
Be the shore that does not move
as my waves thrash and settle.
My pain is not a puzzle.
Don’t match it to your pieces.
It is a wild bird—
let it wheel, let it scream, let it land
uncaged cage on wild earth.
You see my storm
and lash advice like scaffolding,
but I need someone
to taste the torrent,
to say yes—it bites, and burns,
not someone who murmurs
“you should have stayed inside.”
To love me is to shhh,
to hold space as sacred,
to hear with your cells,
not just your ears.
You loved me just a little
You never loved me long;
But you gave my soul serenity
And gave my heart a song.
You loved me for a moment
I found it in your eyes;
But your mouth I could not capture
By temptation or surprise.
Sweet lips that I remember
With a poignant surge of pain
As one remembers fragrance
Of the softly falling rain.
Within this world of wonder
Without warning I feel sad;
The dream I hold still haunts me
For the kiss I never had.
I race for summer's setting sun
as crimson bleed the alder leaves
and still I run. And still I run.
My rival, time, is yet undone.
Past pyramids of flaxen sheaves
I race for summer's setting sun
across the low unbroken run.
Each cow out in the pasture grieves
and still I run. And still I run.
In late September’s crisp blazon
my heart to fragile hope now cleaves.
I race for summer's setting sun.
With slaughter of the calves begun
I fled beneath the killing eaves
and still I run. And still I run.
Our time on earth is under gun.
My burning chest now breathless heaves.
I race for summer's setting sun
and still I run. And still I run.
10/24/17
Tonight my ink is mute
and this quill rests in silence.
I’m searching for the perfumed poem
you’ve placed in my aching soul,
when I found a home
within your aesthetic embrace,
whilst, the honeyed tip of your silvery voice
sketched a sea of flower-patterned stars,
across somber skies, whispering sweet carols
to the evening sun that wanes and slumbers
within crestfallen dahlias.
Was I ever a poet before I saw initials
of your celestial name scribbled in violet vines
across the pearl face of the blue moon?
I never knew words could weigh heavier
than dancing diamonds
glazed in gold,
Until I heard your riveting rhymes
echo rose tinted tunes of lilac feathered longing.
I love you for the way you thaw
frost kissed petals into streaks of
pomegranate prose-
flowing in crystalline compassion.
I love you for the way you’ve painted faceless ghosts
of my bitter cold past with acrylic glitter,
showing me that every thunder-struck meadow
can grow greener blades of faith.
I love you for soothing lucid nightmares crawling within darkness to suffocate my bleeding ink.
How you’ve held my onyx heart
while I struggled to weave silken threads
from emerald tears of angst.
But how can I harmonize the gravity of your spoken serenades
that linger across this cosmic canvas?
Must I steal every jewel from its rightful sphere,
just so that you can see vibrant colors of vehement verses,
reflecting through all that which flickers?
Would you feel me if these metaphors no longer flow in coherence?
Would you be the Emperor
to my throne of darkness
even if I am just an Empress without a crown?
What if I were nothing but a blurred black dot across a constellation of chaos?
Would you still love me If I wasn’t a poet?
Maybe these questions will forever
remain as endless equations
within fractions of no closure.
So tomorrow, if there’s no wind
that can carry these unsent letters to you,
remember my heart is yours till we meet
our unwritten tales,
before the last twinkling twilight fades into sheer nothingness.
And I will still love you even if
butterflies would betray the fragrance
of our undying romance.
It was like the sun did not rise
and mourning birds sang
no morning melody.
The heavens were so grey,
pouring like Noah's floods,
preparing me for the storm,
which drowned my heart.
I felt like a butterfly helpless against the wind.
I had no time to build an ark
nor to sail towards those uneven paths,
which would allow me to hear your last breath.
Maybe hold your hand and hear you
call my name one last time.
I will never forget that moment of silence,
when the world seemed to pause
and I feel, I'm still standing still,
feeling numb, unable to express myself,
so I supress myself.
Waiting for the birds to sing.
To trigger suppressed sentiments,
but there is no metaphor for this void I feel,
like the emptiness of the room,
where you would say;
"my prince has come home"
You would always ask if I was hungry,
still force me to eat when I was not.
Together we would pick
sweet grapes from those vines,
which ran high up against
your sage veranda.
You would always bring out
the pot I cracked,
when I was six,
saying with a nostalgic look;
"Hands of my first grandson broke this."
How you would treasure such memories.
The season of death has returned,
to steal my jewel away from me.
I look in dismay at discoloured fallen leaves,
scattered like my emotions.
Will those fruits ever taste the same,
now that your precious hands cannot pick them?
Who will treasure what I broke?
You used to always call grandpa's name,
now I know you are together again.
Mama still calls for you,
I say to myself, she has gone, mum,
as has her laughter and her smile.
There will be no more hugs,
no one to call nanna now.
The sky still remains dark,
but the floods seem to be easing
and
I know one day the sun will return,
as will the birds,
singing in your remembrance.
a few missing pieces
ones we may never find
the beast stares down at us
just waiting to pounce
three bloodied blind eyes
can't see the pink butterflies
psychedelic lies flow down stairs
colourless swirls checker board squares
check
where's your mate
blind in life
blind in death
who will save us
save us
save us from us
students with razor blades
cut their arms in school
no one questions their scars
it takes a village to raise a child
only women carry the bleeding lily
have to answer to strange twisted clocks
strum a lonely shape
on strings that bite
play till the tips break
until the skin shows bone
who will save them
save them
save them from us
wounded hands
won't speak to me
maybe people just die
no mention of our sins
grey clouds loom over earth
where is the man
who parted the waters
the large belly
the long beard
where is the one
whose image is ours
is it true
seek and you shall find
who will save us
save us
save us from us
Sept. 20 2016 MY
I will always remember those uneven paths,
which led me to you -
sorrowful reminder of promises I could not keep.
All you wanted was to sit with me for a while,
to talk and maybe try to make me smile.
Yet fate did not let us share the stars,
not even for one night - now there is only darkness.
I will never forget,
how you would sit under the sage green veranda,
sipping on your sweet tea, laughing and chatting away.
Many would sit and listen to your non fiction tales
about when the air was clean and the fields were green,
childhood mischief and forgotten memories.
I'll always remember that glint in your eyes,
the warmth in your smile and that sui generis voice.
Especially when parades of birds would chirp at dawn
and when gazing at fireflies flickering under lanterns at dusk.
The veranda is now silent,
but grandma still calls your name.
The aroma from those abundance of petals still lingers,
but your scent does not appear.
Berries still appear from your affluent olive trees,
but they shall never be hydrated by your hands.
Sweet jasmine still climbs up veranda poles,
maybe trying to reach heaven, to be with you.
Your last words will always live with me:
"Come sit with me, even just for a couple of days."
but the next day you were gone...
Dedicated to my grandfather.
1930 - 18 August 2018.
Silent One
26 August 2018
Would you still love me ... perchance I was half a man?
My carnal, physical core torn from me like ragged raiment,
Off to war in courage and heroic sacrifice ...
Returned by God and country, as barely half of what I'd been -
The half that could never again join with you in passion ...
Would you still love me?
Imagine I was a monster ...
Deformed by happenstance or accident,
Still a man in the technical sense,
But with face and sinews that repulsed even himself,
Though the heart and spirit you adore still thrummed inside ...
Would you still love me?
What if the day came - a reality as viable as any,
When I lost everything of earthly value and worth -
All possessions, comforts, conveniences, and financial securities - gone,
The talents and abilities and experience to support even myself,
Blown to the four winds by careless fate or folly ...
Would you still love me?
Consider if I were human, inside-out ...
The abyssal and dark, troubled corners of my being
Worn on hapless bones like sodden skin,
The fearful ids and psyches, thus laid bare by illness or substance -
Free to dance like a demon for the porcelain moon ...
Would you still love me?
And pray, what if I were YOU ...
And you were the reflection of all that your dreams dare weave,
The horror and ecstasy that awakens you in the night -
Shivers and turns to ice on your faultless, barren skin,
Choking the screams from your chest ...
Would you ... could you still love me??
~ 10th Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 25" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Would You Still Love Me?" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
Would you still love me
If I wasn't a poet?
If I was not
a climbing jasmine
on your window-sill,
a rose-bud in bloom,
the soft zephyr breeze
on an early afternoon.
Would you still love me
If I was not the
sunrise in your day,
the sunset in your smile,
a lavender in your grey.
Would you still love me
If the world of Oz
I didn't give to you,
If all mermaids vanished
in the deepest blue.
Would you still love me
If the calm and gentle rain
was nothing more
than tears of pain,
If the sound of our laughter
was never heard again,
Would you call my name?
Would you still love me?
Would you still love me
If I bid farewell to fantasies,
Acted just the way I am,
not as a pretty princess,
but as a simple island girl.
A fiery stubborn lady,
like those ladies from your past,
with problems,and struggles,
with a voice against injustice,
A protest made to last.
Would you still love me
If the little clown in me
jumped off to be set free,
If you saw beyond
songbirds and fairies,
Would you still love
the scar engraved in me,
I carry daily heartaches
wherever I will be,
Am I too much to handle
Could you still love me?
Would you still love me
f I wasn't a poet
in a magic world of verdant trees,
If you faced my silly moods
and my odd realities.
Could you still love me?
when the glow upon my face
like a moon-jar wears a shadow,
slowly sinks and fades.
Would you still want me?
When my noichette hair
turns white as snow,
my bones would become fragile,
my wrinkles make me whole.
Could you,still love me,
When I become an old bore,
If my hands shake and tremble,
If I fail to remember,
Could you care a little bit more?
Could I curl within your arms
Would you hold me by your side
Could I find you in the stars
on that cold and lonely night.
Would you still love me
If love was all I have
All verses kept unwritten,
All words were left unsaid,.
Could you still love me
If never in a lifetime
A poet I would be
Could you Iook into my heart
Tell me what you see.
Not for the Contest, but thanyou Silent One,your title was inspiring to me,and so the many poems I've read about the topic.
Be still..
There is only now..
Be still..
In this precise moment ..
Tis in the moment..
Your magnificence is born..
Every single breath you take..
Sustains life now..
Be still..
Is to know thyself..
As the light inside you illuminates..
Your senses ignited..
Gracefully lifted..
To truly feel whole..
Live in the now..
Be in the now..
For only the present exists..
If no longer could I inscribe, upon tapestries of rosy skies,
Dreams tinted violet, blossomed in themes amethystine,
And no longer could I weave-in the dreamscapes of life,
Failing to decode the missives of your clandestine smile;
If bluebells, red buds, white magnolias~ blooming spring,
And the tall oaks swaying with the slow dance of willows,
And the zephyrs that undulate ripples, burbling with currents,
Could no longer wow you on the banks of our giggling river;
If rustling trees, whirling leaves, dazzling chromatic glee,
Majestic aspens, sugar maple, fall’s stellar symphony,
And blushed twilight ceding to moonlit night’s euphony,
Could no longer mesmerize you in autumn’s blazing glory;
If frosty season sprinkling snowflakes on enchanted evening,
Bedecking face of prairies, enlivening decaying meadows,
And sun’s aureate mellowed rays glinting elongated shadows,
Could no longer lure you to the splendor of falling snow;
If I can’t infer love from passions amethyst of rising dawn,
If I can’t decipher meaning of your covert, unfolding smile,
If I can’t invoke spring in budding birth of yellow daffodils,
If I can’t show you autumn in a single golden falling leaf,
If I can’t make you feel, winter’s angst in shuttering trees;
Then I am afraid, it must be true, a poet I have ceased to be;
And yet, I hear you say my dear, forever you will love me.
Turn your heart to the word of God
Still your thoughts
Silence your tongue
Surrender your ego
~ His Will be done
I lay here today a soldier
I know some don't understand
I will try to explain
So maybe you can
I served my country
For many a year
I retired long ago
The soldier still here
I put on my uniform
I wore it to foreign lands
The soldier I was
Is still in the man
I have been a husband, father, and friend
To some of you here
But I've been a soldier all along
Even after so many a year
My final salute
I render today
I'm still a soldier
I'm just on my way
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 9/6/2025 12:49:00 PM
( 1st Place )
Written: September 04, 2025
They said the songbird
her wings twisted and torn
should quiet herself...
that the sky held no place
for the fragile or the worn.
Yet she kept a sky tucked inside her - a
place untouched by any hand.
At daylight she let her voice rise
and though her body stayed earthbound,
her song lifted past the edge of flight.
The wind slowed to listen,
branches bent nearer
and the horizon seemed to pause,
stirred by her willfulness .
Each note unlaced an old wound,
each chorus pushed against the walls
of a world that once turned her away.
Her feathers never mended,
yet her dream grew wide enough
to shelter every broken one who followed.
From her we understood:
reaching the sky
was never about wings at all.