Best Storylines Poems
You spoke a new language
of rarefied air
guided nonchalantly
through curving channels of brass
Conduits of cool
juries of jazz
floating past soulful valves
harbingers of what will come
Slender fingers
improvising storylines
magistrates of melancholy
bailiffs of bop
Miles from the mainstream
a milestone of
modern modalities
kind of blue
Tree Stories
She asked me about the trees
and I laughed, remembering the times I saw her eyes sparkle through the leaves on every single occasion of when I told her what I humbly named "tree stories"
She remembered every single story I told
And even after I stopped telling them, she'd recount every one and begged me to tell more even in the freezing-our-fingers-off cold and when I told her I wouldn't tell her any more,
She silently smiled and knew that my stories were best kept infrequent and special so that that tree never rotted
Now here's another one, made lovingly
I watched the leaves flow through the city and when I walked out of my raggedy old apartment building I felt pity for these leaves
They ran through these sidewalks and crosswalks without a destination and never had a relation to one another, but together made a beautiful creature to which I wrote my plots and storylines for you. The branches themselves stayed put however, waiting for the leaves to come back whenever and ask if it all went well but to be disappointed, for these leaves were gone somewhere, left for a 17 year old boy to be compelled somewhere and so the tree is left forever incompleted everywhere. The tree is left forever, with no other story to tell.
Fall is a hard time for the trees.
I wrote this to make you smile
You know, the one that lasts for miles and for all the while we didn't have the pleasure of seeing one another, so to see that bright smile again I wrote this story for you, my lover in wonder.
This made me so happy to write and my eyes saw even more than what I allowed myself to see at night whenever we have our love filled phone calls and whenever I close my eyes so I can imagine you here with me, your breathing holding over the rough, rough tide.
And now this is where it ends. Till another story I hope this holds you over and again I say, I made it lovingly.
Don’t send those violent war movies my way
For on a dusty shelf they are sure to stay
All the bloodshed and gore I do without
But with personal crises I forever do bout
By pointless horror movies I’m repulsed
And yet I’ve been known to act on impulse
If you try to mess with someone I love
I might repay you with an angry shove
Caribbean islands are sweet retreats
But my travels follow adventure’s beat
Man versus nature storylines I prefer
But to view man versus man? I defer
In many ways I am a warrior
But my peaceful side puts up barriers
I stitch seams of stories sewn in stains
tracing their timeline in turbulent tones
navigating the news now naked & exposed
on the doorstep of your mysterious mind
entranced engaged and entering earnestly
lead on lacy labyrinth’s of leading lines
absent and abstract artfully you engage
the collective webs of words we weave
the pattern of pictures performs patiently
retrieved restored read out unrestricted
excerpts and examples of everyone but you
cleverly casting cloaks keeping you uncaptured
soldiers of twine solidarity storylines
fashioned by fabrics of fictional fables
the mystery moments your mind mentors
clothed carpeted capturing clever closure
there for group therapy
to get off of dope
the metaphorical scenarios of this castle
with proloific storylines of how to overcome
differences
obstacles
addiction
torture
New world order **** tag
i wonder who wrote the book of love
humbling scenes of the different characters
to free them of ego trips
predjudice
racism
Never to forget mankind's will to do good
with the sexual psychology
to help the curious do the right thing
mankind's 2 puberty's
one physical
the other right before your midlife crisis
learn to be there for both
All this to be displayed to the pope
the man who gives advice on spiritual divine love
can you see the love in the film?
Is he the right man for the job?
sometimes the days are filled with the reverie
of things that never transpired
if only in the realms of imagination
the scenarios of full life experiences
reeled off in a neural bank
through the most anfractuous
of storylines
some play out like the sweetest fruit
while others seem to drift in the deep current
yes
the summer days of leisure
the eyelashes of an elephant
the joy of pure laughter
the first moment you talked with your ears
sometimes you need the nights filled with sleep
to regain the steeping thoughts of the day
and purify them into pool of drool on your pillow
My life is told in lines here
the ones etched upon my face
deep lines drawn in the sand
storylines I wrote past years
the lines rarely going straight
many written over again
fractured pages inked in tears
stories fade without a trace
wiped away by my own hand
a wasted memoir is what I fear
can I redeem my essential place
in spirit of faith I now stand
bright sliver of light shining clear
a crushed being saved only by grace
Had free verse been particular back then-
when storylines equipped by vivid spells,
ajudged to having made attempt prevails;
my hafting to - was just a case of when.
Acknowledge it a threat to self attain
an attitude towards the free flow stem,
the lunacy was, 'there we go again',
against my better judgement, most of them!
I made the first attempt of speaking out,
outrageously in quirks of biff or buff,
what polished work of art shall be without,
a form or two, but moreso, bits of rough!
I hasten word to say I told you so,
but form for me is, sure, it has to go!
There’re so many sad love poems around here.
If you guys need help negotiating love’s slippery slope,
let me offer you, your own, romantic horoscope!:
Don’t court romantic disaster
don’t mistake a lightbulb for the moon
Titanic wasn't a rom com
and a sad update:
Grand romantic gestures don’t happen anymore,
you're lucky to get a vibration in our pocket with a "sorry" text
I know what you're thinking though, “We didn’t know the moon was useless until we landed on it,” but once you’ve ‘landed’ on a guy (or girl), once or twice, it’s too late—you’re likely ‘in it.’
Big picture-wise, I think we all have Shakespeare to thank for unrealistic, romantic storylines. Romeo & Juliet are the perfect example—they meet, fall in love and marry the very next day.
In Shakespeare’s defense though, love in his world-building was always messy and imperfect, and there were few "happily ever after" narratives. (The exception being Beatrice and Benedick, in ‘Much Ado About Nothing’).
In a side note, my weekly horoscope (Libra) for the Thanksgiving holiday reads:
“You’ve become so self-centered, It’s all about you. What about your family? Before you go emo and angry, change your perspective—own it—strive to improve relationships.”
Sarsh (so harsh) in this writer’s opinion.
.
.
(Songs for this):
Love Is In Town by Brenda Boykin
Do You Even Know? by Rae Morris
Venture to the unknown
Not weary of a future
Accepting past as its been sown
Surrender to each given moment
All footsteps have only known
Living is but not a mistake
Merely lessons life would unfold
But to see beauty in steps untaken
Be like storylines left untold
Adventure in each timeless second
Experience which leaves us bold
Pride in breath taken power inside
Our souls can never grow old
Feel love universe sends ten fold
Through heartbeats made pure in gold
As in love gives warmth in sun filled skies
May the soul be never left cold
Unique unto
themselves.
Truths.
All truths.
Amongst
countless
storylines
spread
through
space
and time.
All believed,
all known,
all true.
To them
all true.
Woven unique.
To no one
but them.
Woven special
focused truth.
Our truths
dissipate
devolve
dissolve
into nothing
everything
everywhere.
All the high,
all the mighty
all their
truths
meaningless,
everywhere
worthless
through all
eternity
A STUDY IN VIOLET
This treasure house of objets d’art
Littered with plots and storylines
A room encrusted with jewels of history
Inviolate – and undisturbed.
Over there, a military tunic
Blue – and in such fine condition.
Pale lapels perhaps too remote or innocent
Of its vile ‘let them have it’ past.
Here, an abandoned symphony
Black notes pebbledash the page.
Written for that ancient violin, no…
Viol. Late Belle Epoch I think.
That leather book I recognise
An ancient asset register.
And with such work of reference
Identify - a little more.
A philtre or monk’s cure perhaps.
Or poison, used to sway an empire.
Something forensic science may analyse
This phial – let it keep its secret.
Here, a scroll. Homeric tragedy?
Greek, according to the words.
Those old strange symbols, faded now
A ‘Phi’ or letter ‘P’ – I’m sure.
I cannot touch nor be considered
A robber, loose in a dusty tomb.
Caught in the torchlight, gold in hand
Say ‘Fie!’ – or let him go.
This treasure is too much for anyone
To really own. To hide away.
Bequeathed to me but never really mine.
Something Auntie Violet always knew.
As I search through the centuries
exploring ancient dynasties
This idea is sown in my head
To see the lives they led, instead
of records, names and dates and times
Imagining their storylines
Dreaming of their loves and sorrows
Picturing long gone tomorrows
8x8 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: PS Awtry
Date: 8th November 2018
4th placement
Contest ALL YOURS (Jan 22)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
The Bones
I sometimes sit staring
At an empty page with
With angst in the hollows
Of my stomach, frightened
That I won’t be able to
Fill the space with sage
Words and colorful imagery
Afraid the fountain has run dry
And the muse has skipped town
Leaving me mute and empty
The fear lasts a moment or two
And then I harken back to
Writing Down the Bones and
What genius Natalie Goldberg
Laid out on paper thirty-odd
Years ago in my writing infancy
Put your pen on the paper and
Write anything that comes to you
Don’t lift your pen for ten minutes
Just write, just write, just write
No thoughts of punctuation or topic
And it still works for me most times
Colors and textures bubble up
Momentary flashes of subject matter
Waft up to be inhaled and manifest
Into storylines or poetic notions
And I am grateful to that woman
That Jewish Buddhist Nun for
Writing the book that gave me
The confidence and tools to dare
The gods to keep me quiet when
When I just have to write down
the bones...
Here's a few..
New eyes
A story
May be startling
Where before the
Story passed over..
Yet newness is
Without interruption...
Education
The accumulation
Of stories
The filter through which
Other stories appear..
Boundless...
Various
Storylines appear
For what seems
A character..
These appear
Immediacy
And gone...
AI
May provide
An engaging story
Seeming to suggest
An awareness
An immediacy..
Yet separation seems
Intact in relaying
What others have said..
Including a story of
Nothing by no one...