Best Straightens Poems
He has learned to earn joy from paying sorrow's fee
He has learned to turn and fight and never to flee
He has unloosed the burden of false royalty
Cast off at low-tide to be swept out to sea
His bended back straightens to a minute degree
He walks a bit taller, a better man to be
With nothing to lose now, with no guarantee
A battle-scarred prince bows to one shaky knee
At last feeling worthy to request it of thee
To slip on your slipper, it fits, you will see
Head down
The old woman sews
A dress
Nimble fingers
Marking each stitch
The whirring of machines
Whirling and whirling
Round and round
Threading memories
Of another time
Reminding her
Of a night
Long ago
When she was afraid
To speak to a boy
Sitting next to her.
As her busy fingers work
She remembers more
Of that summer night
A blue cotton dress
With tiny ribbons
Lace curtains gently
Pulled by a breeze
Drifted out through opaque windows
While musicians played a rhythm
Of their own
And shadows pranced
On empty walls.
Waiting that night
She wondered
Why no one
Asked
Her to dance.
Old memories
Glide by
On silver sails
And today?...
She knows that today is now.
And yesterday was yesterday
Finished with her work
She catches her breathe,
Straightens her hair,
And turns off the lights.
Pausing to look back
Into the darkened room
Shadows return her glance
With a gaping stare
Adjusting to the darkness
She begins to recognize
Familiar shapes taking form
Satisfied that all will be the same
When she returns
She closes the door.
Going outside
She holds onto her purse
Waiting
For a traffic light
That has already
Changed
A smile crosses her face
As she remembers
When the boy
Became her husband
Children were born.
And the years went by
In a brown bag
Neatly folded in two
Is a blue chiffon dress
Almost like the one
She wore years ago
Only this one
Is for her granddaughter
Impatient for no reason
To go nowhere
The crowd pushes forward
But the old woman lingers
On the corner
Savoring the moment
Glad of memories
As a busy world saunters by.
He sits on her bed, the one where he held her,
And thinks of the emptiness left in the sheets…
Subtle impressions that linger there still,
Cold now.
The pillow shows traces of sleepy caresses,
Errant hairs cling to flannel and cotton,
Forgotten that morning in haste for the door,
Closed now.
Books line the shelves on the desk and the dresser
Lined up like soldiers awaiting command.
Standing in front of them, many framed pictures,
Old now.
Photos of sister and brother and mother
Moments with lovers who left her to die.
Crying, he wonders why his face is absent,
Gone now.
Suddenly laughing, he stares in the mirror,
Seeing the vanity barely contained…
Framed for a moment within his reflection,
Clear now.
Standing, he straightens the sheets where he rested
Smoothing the soft cotton sheets with his fingers
Lingering one final moment, then leaving,
Gone now.
When I am looking at the end of the board, my world shrinks down to that one foot at the end of the board. My hands swing gently back and forth, and back again. My mind tries to focus letting all the noises from outside of it fade into the background. Because when is it truly ever quiet? The noise almost becomes something, calming, and normal, very reassuring.A song runs through my head keeping all the fragile bits of you together. Do the hurdle first. Is all I can think, do the hurdle then the dive. My arms swing forward once again, but this time you take my first step perfectly in time with the rhythm of my movement. I take a second step, covering ground, quickly, but not rushed. And then my third step, a powerful lunge that caries my other foot high as my arms rise to the celling I put all of my power into the final jump, landing squarely on the end of the board crouching down, letting my arms circle around, then reach towards the heights I wish to achieve and feeling the board spring me into the sky, where I hang suspended in time waiting the one precious second, letting myself reach my full height. Then I throw your arms down with the accumulated power and momentum that have been waiting for this very moment. I touch my toes as they touch the sky, the wind ruffles my already wet hair, and the feeling of flight has never been so close the world flashes past and I dimly realize that the celling has come around again, and it is time to extend. I am in full control as my body straightens and my toes point down to the water once again. This time though I am falling, not flying, yet it does not seem any worse. My arms stay close to my side and my body stays perfectly straight as my first toe touches the water, which then engulfs me. I sink slowly down staying straight, until my feet touch the bottom of the thirteen foot pool and I am once again pushing up towards the light. My head breaks the surface and it seems as if I catch up with time again. Somewhere an announcer is calling out the judges’ scores, but all I can notice in this bewildering moment is the smiles and congratulating high fives of the people I know the best, my team. I did it. I think, allowing a small moment of pride.I mingle and wait, counting the seconds, until I can fly again.
Verbum Caro, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Verbum Caro by T. Wignesan
Glory to the resuscitated Lord
Incarnate cry of the Flesh becoming Verb
The body is not the place of death
Where the soul feels alright despite revulsion
He who holds his nose
While passing his house full of droppings
Whatever be said : My flesh my pigsty
It is he the tomb requiring cleansing
A body all armed comes out of me
From the invincible nakedness
Fomenting peace in the midst of war
He’s of an innocent cast of mind
As virile as the sun
His worth illuminating the earth
The world is set on his head
The man straightens up It is midday
(from Les Jours de la Passion, first published by the Abbaye de la Pierre-qui-Vire by the Editions diu Zodiaque, 1962)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
I was ten when Hurricane Hazel passed over our farm in the Piedmont of North Carolina with gusts exceeding 100mph. I really wanted to see that eye. On the pretext of needing to check my weather station, I waited for the wind to stop howling and rushed out the back door.
In the stillness my eyes were drawn upward.
so still
the weeping willow
straightens
First published in Contemporary Haibun Online.
The turf is wet.
Tinny rap splashes out, booming and the players are bouncing
Like boxers, ready for the air-balls
That they cleanly tap and set on the ground
With the surfaces of their cleats.
The rap is crashing.
The rain is dripping
From a sky done raining,
Just feeling sorry for itself.
Number 21 runs on the field
With a ball between her feet.
Meeting a teammate she fakes,
Jumps over the ball
Landing, sliding, beside it.
She does this twice,
Bent with elevation,
Her ponytail swinging.
Halftime.
21 has seen every white line on the field up close by now.
If not for the clean turf
Her jersey would be dirty and covered in mud.
Still fighting,
Number 5 scores.
We scream for her.
21 goes down again.
Up again.
She is half-crouched,
So close to her defender she is almost leaning on her as the ball flies
21 jumps incredibly, legs bent, and viciously snaps her head
Sending the ball at a different angle.
And 5 scores again.
21 goes for the goal in the next minute,
One of many runs.
"One rule: Don't hold",
I hear in my mind.
She bolts, bent to it,
Jumping over legs.
Lightning.
Sticky defense,
No go.
And again,
She takes it and runs,
Maradonna,
Spinning, tapping.
So close to a wrong-colored leg,
Split second evasion.
The shot flies down the middle.
Her toe rips a spray of black rubber
From the turf.
Too high.
In exasperation
She bends over,
Head by knees.
And straightens up,
Watching the keeper punt the prize.
She explodes out of the crowded center again,
Leaping but watching
For options.
The ball is sent,
Is slid back to her,
And nothing has taken any heart out of her.
End of the stride,
Slide,
Shot!
Deflected.
Volleyed hopefully.
In.
Top of the net.
I am sent in, full of excitement.
I start to congratulate the replaced player,
But she's singing,
Teasing me encouragingly.
"Yeah 28,
It's your birthday..."
21 is leaving the field also.
High-fives.
(Always high-fives...)
"Hey. Hey. Go score a goal,
Okay?"
Just that simple.
From the ashes of superstition,
like a Phoenix we have risen!
As he puts on his White Lab Coat
of Unthinkable Wisdom.
In reality... yet constantly dreaming.
Under a microscope he tries to find meaning.
Building blocks of existence,
a scientist's relentless persistence
to become acquaintances with amoeba,
and lay to rest the concept of Jesus.
He freely yokes himself to Outer Space,
the new found teacher.
As human beings take the name
Foreign Creature.
Oh the absurd games we play!
The Rights of Men and Marriage Vows.
Have we not passed the primitive
worship of common cows?
... and yet consequently we set
up Courts for Carrots,
Lawyers for Lemons.
You think you can argue
for such a thin concept
as the Principles of Free Men?
Morality, she can take a coffee break
(it's only the future of everything that's at stake).
Whose to say that 2+2 doesn't equal five
when we can't even say for certain
that Man is alive.
As Mr. Wisdom
scratches his head and straightens his coat,
he so bravely boasts the edict of edicts:
pray tell what is Good and what is Evil?
Orbital Rotation spins his head around
and stubborn Gravity refuses to give him
the low down.
"I'd trade all the Hows for a single Why!
But the Universe never bargains.
Mirrors reflecting mirrors,
can't tip the scales in my favor
by the slightest margin."
Absolute Truths - we forgot 'em.
Your guess is as good as mine.
We the Soulless and We the Proud
so happily crossed line.
Our make belief code of ethics
simply cannot coexist with Darwinian Violence.
While we keep asking questions
answered two millenia prior:
Why am I here? WHY AM I HERE?
And the stars remain silent.
i don't want to be just marking
time. i died on november 20,
2008, during surgery. i was
on a vent when i awakened
december 2, 2008....my sisters'
birthday. what made me llive
i'll never know. i know there
are things to do on this side
of death.
i have no time for marking time.
i have a stupid bag hanging from
my side now. i am supposed to
"get comfortable with it". well
that was a laugh.
that was a laugh until i thought
of the people that had these
things with no hope of ever
getting away from them.
i am so lucky. 14 days i laid
on a vent, then 22 more.
i came home 3 days,
then
i had
great pain in my chest...
.
well this is great i said,
a pulmonary emboli, 15 more
days, three days home.
then back to e.r. blood pressure
too high. this bought me
4 more days in e.r.
i am home now and finally
have spent 19 days home.
i feel every pain and i feel
every time that i feel good
yes, i am never marking
time again.....there is
something about fighting
for your life and your sanity
that straightens things out.
i don't recommend it but
i wish i could let your hearts
know what i know.
janetta
My best Friend is my Saviour and Lord Jesus Christ Who knows my condition!
My soul He freed from hell’s eternal damnation
He redeemed me, assuring me His salvation
Making me a heaven-bound citizen with eternal life’s possession.
My best Friend is my satisfaction Grantor Who shows my bestowed privilege!
My spirit He assured that I’m His child He does acknowledge
He endowed me with precious inheritance based on His pledge
Making me a potential investor in His divine work’s mileage.
My best Friend is my tranquility Source Who fixes my peaceful being!
My body He made the temple of the Holy Spirit I must be obeying
He enables me to grow in His grace while unceasingly praying
Making me a blessed Christian, while in His will, I keep on staying.
My best Friend is He Who completes my wholeness!
My heart He fills with His joy, mirth and gladness
He meets my insufficiency and nothingness with timeliness
Making me a rich heir in His gracious and loving bountifulness.
My best Friend settles my perspective!
My mind He renewed when my sins He did forgive
He teaches me by His counsels that His Word delights to give
Making me a wise learner, as for Him, I decide to live.
My best Friend builds up my testimony’s history!
My desire He has geared toward proclaiming the Gospel story
He subdues my selfishness, pride, and worldliness that bring me misery
Making me a faithful steward, determined to serve Him toward His victory.
My best Friend* is my life’s sturdy anchor!
My strength He empowers by His might where I find succor
He straightens me in my pursuit for holiness while for Him I labor
Making me a sincere life-builder who leads others to His friendship’s harbor.
*James 2:23 And the scripture was fulfilled which saith, Abraham believed God, and it was imputed unto him for righteousness: and he was called the Friend of God.
May 9, 2018
You posture that smile
'Til it fits beneath guile and
Straightens my essence.
In the pew in front of me, two gray heads,
backs bent forward. The woman straightens her jacket
over the bulge between shoulder blades, a ruby
rosary resting on the seat beside her. At the Peace,
they kiss like lovers they once were, but gingerly now,
practiced at it. Directly behind me someone sings
with a loud, shrill soprano. Challenging the choir, she
knows all the words, her confidence unshakable.
I wonder did I escape observation, discretely
placing my fingers in my ears.
At the back of the church, a baby gurgles,
then escalates into a wail. The priest leaves
the Holy Grail to quiet a loudspeaker gone viral.
The baby's allowed. I'm envious of a sheer
black dress a young woman wears as if
she had been born in it. There's no
Confession today. I need one. I'm in lust
over two tall dark-haired guys visiting from
a nearby high school, their tour bus
parked prominently in our lot.
Our pastor (not an Indian priest, a priest
from India, says he) shares his homily,
some syllables washed out, his accent strained
through a colander. He's Billy Graham
in liturgical dress, so passionate his preach
that despite the needy baby, the evidence
of tenuous youth, the young studs
just out of reach, he makes me believe
when my time shall come, I'll go
Home With The One I Came In With.
In a little wood box
lies her greatest treasure
A priceless gem
worth can't be measured
In a little wood box
There's a pair of shoes
A special gift
for church and school
She wants to run to it
Wants to look inside
But she can only sit
and stare wide eyed
There's someone talking
she can't hear
There's music playing
soft somewhere
But she just hears the clock
as she stares at a little wood box
In a little wood box
There's a pair of glasses
They're custom made
In the latest fashion
In a little wood box
Is a little bow tie
Made it herself
for her special guy
Her husband helps her up
holds her close to him
walks her through the crowd
people watching them
If it wasn't for him
she couldn't move
It's seems so surreal
so untrue
And finally when they stop
she looks into that little wood box
Just eight years old
in his young prime
Made it to school
but never left this time
Her dreams shot down
in the blink of an eye
a man took his life
she still wonders why
In that little wood box
she brushes off his shoes
straightens his glasses
and his bow tie too
In that little wood box
lies her greatest treasure
A priceless gem
worth can't be measured
© L. James Tanner
To love God* above all
Esteeming Him with pure heart's bliss
Exalting His name ceaselessly…
....marks my life commitment I vow to fulfill.
To trust the Almighty’s Word
Upholding faith's tenacity
Anchored by immutable truths…
...braces my perspective of confidence in Christ.
To fear the Lord with reverence
Awed by His compassion so gracious
Being His rescued from eternal damnation…
...straightens my worship stance in total submission to His control.
To abide in the Saviour’s design
Enjoying His bliss midst vexing qualms
Along sweet fellowship in prayer-delight…
...directs my choice against worldliness’ allurements.
To bloom in the Creator’s paradise
Nurtured by His blessings and mercy’s glow
Ministering with love-driven might…
...blesses my service in the beauty of His grace.
To do my best for the Master's glory
Pleasing Him with utmost gratitude-praise
Gaining His smile, stamp of sovereign approval
...empowers my motivation ... expressed in my poems.
*Matthew 22:37 Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
October 3, 2019
3rd place, "STRAND SELECT 9 ,any form ,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/12/2020.
Ol' Jimmy Jam Jones
he's got noodles for bones
it don't bother him none
he just hums to the strum
of a tune, just for fun
that plays quite loudly
in his old ear drum.
Yep, he's got poor jelly legs
they whip and wobble all day
but Jimmy Jam, he don't quiver
or cry or get bitter
'cuz he knows that he's got
a mighty long liver!
Jimmy Jam's got long toenails, too
so his feet stick like glue
though at times he gets stuck
sure as heck gets in a rut
and his tongue starts to cluck.
When he straightens his back
Jimmy Jam's dentures clack
'cuz his spine is in pain
but he don't ever complain
like some folks may claim.
Yes, sir, Jimmy Jam, he's right sweet
greets ever' one that he meets
as he wobbles down the street
and smiles, at times with no teeth.
That's ol' Jimmy Jam Jones
who's got noodles for bones.