Best Those Poems
I speak my thoughts with gentleness
The things I need to say with care
Thoughts held in my hands, gone through my fingers,
balanced on my fingertips...
... sent to my lips.
I speak my words with thoughtfulness
from my faltering tongue
The air swaying rippling with
meaningful sound
I speak my words out loud, they land
where I want them to bloom
Sometimes as small white daisies
Other times as beautiful blue thistles
or roses.
I watch them grow, my eyes follow their
independent will and stubbornness
With pride I stretch my hands
to pick them and arrange...
They grew on me.
***
September 21, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
"America First",
is the worst.
Should not thinking of others,
be your thirst?
Those who are selfish,
end up being cursed!
Soon they'll be last,
instead of first.
Who among you,
prefers guns and war?
Do you really have freedom,
shore to shore?
If most have less,
are you happy with more?
Should the privileged few,
be guarding the door?
Protectionism,
rots you to the core.
In the end,
you won't know who it's for?
What does it mean,
to be "Great Again"?
I'll listen to learn,
try your best to explain!
Were there fields of cotton and sugarcane?
Was it back of the bus perfect,
everyone staying in their own lane?
A pain striped passport,
for those on the soul train.
If you know the truth,
please speak it plain.
I want to find great,
I've wracked my brain.
Whose America are you trying to regain?
Behind those beautiful eyes,
So much anger,so much mistrust,
Always expecting the worst,
Always conversing about the bad
things life has to offer,
Behind those beautiful eyes,
So much hurt,so much pain,
Bottled up bad experiences overflowing,
Crying to be unleashed,to be released,
Behind those beautiful eyes,
High expectation,countless plans,
Many things to still achieve,
So many things you still haven't done,
Behind those beautiful eyes,
Is a body,searching for comfort,
A mind,searching for peace,
And a heart searching for true love,
All behind those beautiful eyes.....
You who throw stones
Held so tightly in your hand
Like it is your all
Your pride
Your hands are bloody
Because you are a sinner
You are a sinner, and you throw the first stones
Stones that come in words and pain
Whether you were the ones who shouted total trans death
Or the ones who wish pain
Or the ones who support a militia divided
You thereby mind me as level with the pigs
And it is sad
I pray for you
For my God said love thy neighbor
To you who hate so many minorities
A sad message I unfold
For those who wish to make decisions for my very own body
And those who are so bold
Racists or prejudice, those guilty of misogyny
You yourselves
Are the faulty minority
I don't know whether his eyes were green or blue,
but what I do know
is that he jumped on my orange cupcakes.
Creamy and delicious
were those high school days.
Eyes drop, shy, mine,
but electricity shocks.
Twenty-five years later
I get that hug, I would have died for,
so many years before.
My best friend almost gave it away,
“Why didn't you tell me?”
(A little too loud)
I said, “That's why!”
Red hair, but what color?
Irish, but what about them eyes?
Surely, they weren't muddy.
It was clear to me,
that I made just dessert,
for you. If anyone else stood near,
I have no recollection.
I think he smiled
and licked his lips.
The hutch
like everything else in this house is
crooked. A slanting hardwood floor
and the burnished ends
of an ancient table.
An ever rounding table
"a table with history" she says,
a lineage with the cut
and lineaments
of the eight-score man who built it.
The eerie, beautiful portrait
of some great- great- great-
someone-or-other
hangs so solemnly with Victorian grace
the nail has begun to bend,
but she will never fall.
One cabinet for the silver
and wine glasses
has been painted triple-white
and sunk into the wall like a safe.
Its shelves boiled clean
to hide their ignoble wood
(probably pine).
Not like the Oak left bare-
the smell and musk
of those dark hand-hewn ceiling beams
and the redolence
from somewhere behind the house
of deep-purple lilacs
growing fat like grapes.
Outside, the painted gardens swirl together
in a dizzying carousel of color and light
with short, fat brush strokes
and heavy, bold shadows;
the flowers burn from the healthy soil
replacing sand from ten years ago.
200 bags of fertilizer and now:
A nightgowned woman plays firefighter
every morning with a green hose,
keeping up with the investment.
All those that I have loved before
and the ones that will come after
would never have those eyes
Oh those eyes the moon of night
those smiling eyes that do not shine
yet glow with comfort in my life
His unforgotten cheeks
a musky scent of blown gardenias
treaded softly in my sleep
His Spring-kissed skin
The fresh sweet taste of last aquatic dew
which poured and reached
my soul within
Without demand I think of him
And whoever said that men
can never smell like flowers
and whoever said that men
can never taste like rain
Those are the ones who never
stretched their arms as far
as to behold the one
and whisper out his name.
Concaving thought’s that try to escape
They have no substance in the life awake
Like an amoeba a thoughtless form
Trying to manifest in the early morn...
Morning has broken near the wishing well
As the fairies cast their magic spell
Love and sunshine be their quest
And thus invite you as their guest...
Feb.29.2016
Against a night frightened white,
a tall tree stands - skeletal -
transfixing me one winter
on my woodland walk.
Small trees surround the tall one.
They extend icy fingers
as if to help point me out
to the taller tree.
The hairs rise on my arms as
I view the long black limbs of
those old cold men of the woods
reaching out for me.
For the any poem contest #2 Poetry Contest
HEAR THOSE BELLS (Etheree and Tanka combined)
hear?
those bells
wedding bells
one plus one two
it is a magic time
when promises are made
a lifetime commitment two
at the time so easy to do
but there will surely be many trials
two souls in a give-and-take arrangement
many couples fail
fail to give each other space
space to know themselves
and those who weather the storms
owe thanks to god’s bright angel’s
Energy is neither created, nor destroyed
but does transform
witness the log burning in the fireplace
cellulose and lignin combining with oxygen
yielding heat, water and CO2
and with you sitting so close beside me
another transformation's coming on.
Yet cracks appear as we age,
time and entropy take their toll,
and these days we go to more funerals
than weddings and christenings.
We've made arrangements to smooth
our affairs for those who remain and
laid up good whiskey and cognac
for our last remembrance.
I've chosen green burial
in a 500 year forest;
you cremation,
with your ashes
pressed into
a forever
diamond.
While we know our genes
carry on in our children
and our atoms will still cycle,
but there remains the question
of how the bit that makes us
us will merge with the cosmos.
Hold Those Tears Falling From Sullen Skies
Hold those tears falling from sullen skies
floods below, drown the sorrows of lost men.
Enough that mother earth hears thy sad cries
angelic sorrow, weep thou not in sin.
Remain thee stalwart, life may reverse tides
heaping on thee, joy in sweet future times.
Sun again shines, ending dark, stormy rides
thee shall picnic far off in fairer climes.
When mortal spirits race on foolish paths
happiness flows away as morning dew.
Embrace thee not, misdeeds bring evil wraths
walk faithful course, one that is truly new.
Live life, Fate has no power in Hope's lands.
For even Fate yields to angelic hands.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-28-2016
Sonnet
It Was One of Those Mornings
The Worst
We have no eggs left, the milk has gone sour.
Sudden storm and now we lost all power.
My front tire looks flat
And where is the cat?
Set the clocks back so I redo this hour.
The Best
There is commotion and laughter outside.
Dreams unfinished-this now must subside.
I yank on the door,
The ones I adore.
Just for you, Daddy! I have tears to hide.
Who are those funny poets
Be it Jack Ellison or Jan Allison,
their witty pens invariably giggle,
Eileen's passionate words set ablaze
Dave's love lyrics urge us to dance.
While Paul's imagery leaves in awe,
Nette and Andrea trick with riddles,
Linda and Skat the souls of soup,
Carrie's creative brush paints vivid
Frederic lends throbs to emotions
Richard's positivity puts to dance,
Hats off to romantic Tim and Olive
Constance dips her nib in ink of heart.
Judy places at number one to shimmer
Silent one and rob bestow fortunes,
Missed are Carolyn's wise words
and Dr Ram Mehta's brilliant fun writes.
Written Dec 12th, 2015
For contest "Who are those funny poets" by Judy
1st place win
Where have they gone, those days of old:
their melody- simple and sweet;
a blending of the joys that hold
warm thoughts in memories' retreat.
Their melody- simple and sweet:
fires burning, loved ones gathered near;
warm thoughts in memories' retreat-
that peace that hovered to hold dear.
Fires burning, loved ones gathered near;
chores done, the evening shared with zest.
That peace that hovered to hold dear
life's humble ways and means as best.
Chores done, the evening shared with zest.
A blending of the joys that hold
life's humble ways and means as best.
Where have they gone, those days of old?
March 22, 2016
Contest: Pantoum- Old Or New
Sponsor: Joseph May