Best Surface(A) Poems
My words were rewritten until they became yours
As grammar and syntax perfected your thoughts
Pages lined with highlighters polished me to extinction
I wanted to resist all of those good intentions
Yet I knew you wanted your best words for me
You weren't listening so you couldn't hear what I was asking for
Poor boy me I lacked the courage to say it loud enough
I felt my voice become tiny as my heart disappeared
Sure my words were somewhat awkward
Still I had things to express that way
My rhythm was imbedded in the word play
You crumbled my granite and turned it into clay
It happened slowly a bit day by day
I was there hidden in the disconnected details
Crystal blue eyed observations to share
Becoming myself on the verge of aware
You could have found me there
My words weren't lacking weight or substance
Like a series of road signs I pointed in a certain direction
I wasn't looking for polished perfection
What I desired most was emotional connection!
The trip must have seemed hard
You couldn't see past the curves in my road
It was to difficult to decipher my emotional code
So instead you bulldozed through my mind
with a big truck weighted with your own heavy load
If only you could have lingered and waited
Maybe you could have been sated
My words were interplayed and related
The strength of your ego I had not anticipated
In your wake I was left dejected and frustrated
There had been points of interest along the way
sprinkled star dust amidst the Milky Way
Beneath were gardens in which you could have come to play
There was no rush, I wanted you to stay
Until my liquid thoughts were morphed into hay
There before you
I had erected statues of delight
adorned in billowing fabric made of light
Perhaps you were blinded by my bright
unexpected in the middle of the night
You could have occupied my pleasure
Below my surface a spring fed treasure
A gift for you beyond measure
You could have witnessed the essence of me
Even though you came so close
you just couldn't see...
This is an old one that I have significantly reworked.
I will always remember the moment we met.
(Haunting woodlands in springtime, your slim silhouette)
The glint in your eyes sparked a tempest at dawn
overwhelming the dreams of a slumbering fawn.
I will always remember your singular smile
(Fusing fantasies, fancies and phantoms the while)
when I brought you a daisy, then fled from the room,
weaving dizzy designs on a mystical loom.
I will always remember first touching your hand.
(Like the wing of a sparrow, frail fingers were fanned)
With my heartbeat aflutter, I jittered with joy -
on the surface, a man, though inside still a boy.
I will always remember the sound of your laugh
(Merry mermaid amused in a summer sea bath)
as we strayed 'long the strand, for a moment, alone,
with your tresses a’ tousle and tumbled and blown.
I will always remember your breath on my skin
(Seeking castles in chaos, a spirit in spin)
as you drew me aside and our tongues first entwined -
tangled twists of amour had begun to unwind.
I will always remember the fires of love.
(Shades of autumn ablaze in the tree leaves above)
Crazy passions ignited whenever we lay
painting stars in the night with the dazzle of day.
I will always remember the nightingale's tune.
(Divinations awash neath a ruddy blood moon)
When we kissed to its cadency, laughed as we danced,
lurking lanterns in limbo forged shadows enhanced.
I will always remember the shattering knell -
(Wanton words tolled in winter... ‘Adieu, dear... farewell’)
just a note near a nook where so often we slept
which I read and reread and reread while I wept.
The old stream doesn’t burble
like it used to in Spring’s past -
rambunctious in youth wild it ran
racing the sun and chasing the moon
splashing leaping and tumbling
over, down and around rocks in its shallow channel -
giving it rollicking laughter
The old stream doesn’t play with sunlight
like it used to in Summer’s past -
when unending yellow dahlia days gentled its flow
allowing for reflections and explorations around each bend
and for savoring saffron skies and plum-shaded shadows
that seemingly stretched on forever -
giving it invincibility
Autumn saw a change in the old stream
under a herald of goldenrod fireworks
waters waned becoming tired and tamed
its banks and shoaly bed littered with Fall’s golds and reds;
a once lilting voice grew quieter
as nocturnal rhythms trespassed towards winter’s solstice
and under the cover of darkness
a cool moon stole the stream’s slow dance with the sun -
giving it vulnerability
The old stream remembered not the goldenrod days
nor the purpose of its earthly path -
Winter charged in on his frosty horse robust with rime
and laid his icy hands upon the sleepy stream -
draining its dreams of a pulse beneath a frozen facade..
but from below the stilled surface a silver current flowed free
… giving the stream eternity.
Susan Ashley
April 12, 1019
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*Rime: frost formed on cold objects by the rapid freezing of water vapor in clouds or fog.*
Rambling across the grassy flowering meadow,
She felt like walking on air, as she flipped off her shoes,
She ran across, feeling the dewy fresh morning grass,
All dotted with a kaleidoscope of colourful wildflowers.
She came down to the rivulet, her favourite place.
Instinctively she looked into the water just to see
Her face floating on the surface, a lovely smiling face
No wrinkles, no defects, not even a nevus to mar it all up.
Her lover sat down near her, showing her the food he brought.
She had not thought of eating and pulling him down
She kissed him full on his inviting lips, her Adonis.
Love was her food, her only food, as she felt the burn in her.
At last satiated, she laid down and put her head on his lap
Dreaming incredible scenes of luxurious, and joyful love.
8 0 8
Two doctors were discussing her case. They looked at the old badly wrinkled woman lying on the bed, immovable. “Only that machine is keeping her alive. Irreversible Coma. No next of kin, single and all alone. Look, do you detect a smile on her face? Even her ECG is barely showing signs of being alive.”
“It seems as if she’s dreaming.”
The other one shrugged. “It’s not for us to decide. The Hospital Lords will decide who will switch her off, rest assured.”
“Let’s go for a drink. We need one.” Rambling along the long corridors, they found a hospital canteen, ordered their drinks, and rested at a table on comfortable chairs,
Free verse to Rhyme Royal
Daytime’s Demeanor
This morning the water is,
glass still, an indigo mirror.
Shyly it reflects each hill, each lofty palm,
a soft collage of orange clouds.
Time now, to summon thoughts, delineate them,
confess faults, spill forth, a profusion
of memories, immersed in reverie.
Slowly, as clouds disperse, the day begins to pulse.
As ripples, eventually distort the river
I stir, myself.
Time now, for me to assume, day-time’s demeanor.
Like any cloud or tree, be buffered
by whatever comes along.
Suzanne Delaney
Daytime’s Demeanor
This morning the river is glassy-still.
Its surface a collage of orange clouds,
of lofty palms, and every nearby hill.
And I, immersed in reverie away from crowds
Summon thoughts, confessing faults, to spill
a profusion of reflected memories
Mirrored to de-lineate in reverie.
As day begins to pulse and clouds disperse
Ripples from unruly winds distort the river
I stir myself, day’s journey to traverse
Preparing for what day's events are likely to deliver
Like any cloud or tree that Nature buffers
No longer to remain a simple dreamer
Time now to wrap myself in Daytime’s Demeanor.
Suzanne Delaney
space-time serves a purpose
being that, said 'space' is predetermined but,
it is dimensions of the fourth that matter
from depths to surface; a return from hell
(...till late at night that which mattered
would be broken, smote, and shattered
oers't my chamber floor, and
nothing more...)
now in the sun
i see
what it 'means'
to be free
(...uh! space-time
determined,
and, there-by
vermin...)
space changes,
it is a measure,
of time,
time rules
(the being
...time-space
...ah...
the god)
in time-space
now i find a way, andt
enjoy each and every second
of each and every day
(...i'm stll here
...never stray
...one foot in the grave
and eventually on my way)
Written: June 23, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Bonds packed with zeros—harmony, grief, regrets,
In this endless cycle, memory no longer begets.
Your poetry is a symphony that stirs my soul.
But also a river of nausea in which I swim, whole.
Lonesome, dispossessed, my being in unrest,
A fetish for the departed, my electrons protest,
Darkened with heat and sound, aching for release,
Delicate slights, hunger, I cannot appease.
Bear me safe, classy, an echo of frustration
A decadent counter-revolution, my salvation.
Invention, force, and calculation may fade away.
But the lessons from failure forever stay.
The struggle mistake, the clarity we seek,
Caesar black vision is bold and unique.
Metaphors communicate wonders untold,
As a monkey and a cowrie shell, a story unfolds.
The absolute, shallow, and devoid of depth.
All surface, a worry that leaves us bereft.
To be zealous, and lewd as we bleed at sunrise,
That is the contract, the ultimate prize.
The journey of life, filled with harmony and strife,
Grief and regret are intertwined in this mortal life.
Memory fades as we seek a fresh start.
And your poetry is an art that ignites my heart.
Despite the beauty, a nauseating river flows.
A discomfort that lingers, a feeling that grows.
I swim in its depths, bare and exposed.
Deprived of control, my vulnerability imposed
Within me, a fetish for those who have passed.
Their presence lingers, casting shadows that last.
My electrons, once vibrant, are blackened by pain,
Absorbing the heat and sound of their refrain.
Alabaster white, brazen in bold
can’t be bought or sold!
Silent as it is Sinister
somehow that alabaster glows?
Surface, a bony texture; cracks, fissures
like something living once long ago
in antediluvian halls…
A house sits in its red marrow, bone-white walls!
not knowing tomorrow only knowing what is heralded
of bone white, gold intricate
filagree serpentine, imagery!
Of alabaster, old brazen n bold like cast bronze figurines
of unknown deities calling out
to touch fingers tips…
Caress, seeing the texture of bones
cracks n fissures like ancients skulls at rest
this thing of alabaster, cold!
Silently sitting sinisterly.
…alabaster bold somehow defies eons that fold
alabaster white blazing of an unknown…disaster!
Cryptic life resting in antediluvian wombs
a forgotten world borrowed deep
in the red marrow…tombs!
forgotten by tomorrow pushing faster
unknown, cold, old encrusted in
Ancient
...Alabaster
Ode to the Ocean
All-encompassing, a vast blue might,
Billions of droplets, reflecting light.
Coral castles, where sea creatures roam,
Deepest trenches, a mysterious home.
Ever-moving, with rhythmic sway,
Fresh ocean breezes, greet each new day.
Glistening surface, a mirror so clear,
Haunting echoes, for all who draw near.
Immense and ancient, full of lore,
Joyful dolphins, leap from the shore.
Kelping forests, where life can thrive,
Luminous plankton, keeping dreams alive.
Mysteries hidden, in depths unknown,
Nature's grandeur, beautifully shown.
Onward currents, tirelessly flow,
Pristine waters, a mesmerizing glow.
Quiet whispers, from waves on the sand,
Rich biodiversity, across every land.
Salty essence, a taste of the wild,
Tidal surges, powerfully compiled.
Underwater wonders, a breathtaking sight,
Vast and vital, shining so bright.
Wild and free, where horizons extend,
Xenial waters, where life entwines.
Yearning spirits, forever it calls,
Zephyrs dancing, as each wave falls.
The Empty Bench
Sayings for a friends – Kimberly - photo cards.
(1) A lone sentry watches in silence, the silence.
Waiting to comfort, for company, for companionship,
for conversation, for the silence to be permeated
by some life, any life, as life eventually does, and often.
(2) Alone sentinel stands, watching - waiting in silence
to be of comfort for the weary – to be companion for the lonely,
to be the ear for conversation – to be the voice that permeates
the silences in ones life that surly come to one and all.
(3) A bench sitting in Mother Nature’s quiet hours,
enjoying the silence, those peaceful moments
that surrounds the essence of an entity
and that come out from deep within.
To fill the empty space Linda,
a bonus for your pleasure – if it be ?
A barren, silver orb floating on high – a rocky place
drifting around, along in the cold recesses of space.
Upon its tattered surface, a pock- marked face
taken on its round and round – endless race.
To what ?, to where ?, and what the hell for ?
Life’s destructive debris striking it more and more.
Leaving craters, large, small, hollow and deep
as they press ever onward, into the heart -
of the matter - killing any possible start
for new life, the soul, spirit, heart – away will seep
into that black hole abyss – life’s fires never to keep
alight – no more reasons to keep up the fight.
Left with nothing more - only a desire to take flight.
Written words are the only emotions.
Life no longer in fluid motions,
with meaning for one or for all
as life takes that spiral fall.
B. J. “A” 2
August 9th 2004
Riches
Rampant beneath
The surface, a body
Dressed in curves, hard edges, and sea
Bounty.
Goodness
That is needed
By the masses, a gift,
Yet used for self gain carelessly
A rift.
By those
Who pursue greed
Seeking gains and power
Without the checks and balance of
Nature.
We see
The ugly truth
Over the globe, high bill
Of disasters and waste so crude
Oil Spills.
By CarolineCécile
Copyright © 06.29.10
For the Team Poetry Soup contest.
Sentences dripping with meaning, we sit,
Foetal in a blissfully repetitive equation,
Extinguished stumps of trees taking brief roots
On a plastic surface a meteor’s distance above;
A flood of harmony resumes under the clinical glow of misspent youth.
Condensation condescends from dull walls
Saturated with dim impressionable images,
Ideas shaped to a teardrop’s curve leaking
From cloud-like minds to dry tongues in a leaden cavalcade;
Thus everything means anything insightful anymore.
We ascend in drowsy downpour of precise procedure,
Ending this sodden epoch for the molten notes
And clean ceiling-clung starlight of a place beyond The Box.
The river.
In waves it flows and rages full;
In moonlight it slows and trickles still.
In sunshine it roars a tumultuous call.
The river flows throughout the seasons and throughout the hills.
Down in the valley, the water still runs;
At first just a drip, then a tidal wave. Its source is unknown.
It echoes throughout the mountains as if fired from a gun;
Its voice tells the same story as it did long ago.
Its people swim freely, never knowing they are entrapped;
Beneath its surface, a civilization is formed.
It gives birth to life and also takes it back;
The river is still flowing…the sunshine is still warm.
The river was eternal, long before the age of man;
Who are we to change nature and build a dam?
Let the beaver’s beaver away and do as they must to be nourished.
Allow nature to do what is necessary and this world will flourish.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sayings
In a country of
Bald people
The wig maker is
The king
If throwing a stone
At the moon
That floats on
The surface a lake
You will shatter
A beautiful image
And ask
What the hell did
I do this for?
Motherhood
Even if female
Crocodiles
Are good mother
It doesn´t make them
More cuddly
Dream with Me
The sunset swallows the horizon line.
Standing at the edge of what seems an endless sea.
Shadows recede and give way to a star-lit sky.
it's in the night I find what's in-between, what's real and what's a dream.
Perception varies, questions linger....
The answers span eternity
Burn with me, don't be afraid
Feel free to fly, no need to fear the fall.
Spread your wings and taste the skies......
Should you have wings where would you go?
I would cross oceans to be by your side.
So, I need to know....
Will you dream with me?
Would you?
If we were able to fly?
Would you fly with me?
To a symphony of wind and waves?
Soar into the setting sun,
Glide, guided by the moonlight;
Will you dream with me?
Would you?
If you could make your dreams come true?
Would you?
If they were my dreams too?
Would you...... Dream with me?
Hollow hearts are... somehow, drawn together.
Drown the notion that, two wrongs, dont make a right.
Despite the calmness of my oceans surface, a storm of emotion rages on inside.
Only time can mend your wounds and ease the pain.......
Remember scars that never fade are just reminders of the things that made you.
Take my hand and don't be afraid, and don't weep.
Together we can leap, and leave the ledge of lonely.