Best Thuds Poems
An echo of footsteps fill the serene salty air,
muffled thuds like faint taps in slow motion,
moving in a somber sonata over a creaking pier.
The bitter breeze is a harbinger of forthcoming storms,
but in an empty promenade the silence is soothing.
My anchor heart finds comfort at the sun shimmering,
upon a lullaby of waves calming the senses,
I lose my thoughts, almost forget myself,
as they softly caress moist sands,
sinking deep into trodden grains,
each ripple touching my hollow soul
like messengers of prophecies,
with sweet premonitions of pleasure and treasure,
but some resemble embers eternally burning,
leaving behind a directory of debris,
engraving intensely, as each fragment
weighs me down like burdens from a wreckage.
The mind ponders,
how I am a northern shore
whilst my life is a southern coastline.
What could have been and what will be,
what is mine and what is not,
what I actually deserve and what I have got.
In these internal fragilities,
we are like estuaries without an embankment.
But in this stillness the sunset is evidence
how the end can be graceful.
I gaze towards the ceaseless seas,
wishing the tide could carry me away,
but I am a broken boat left to rot
upon cold sands on a winters day.
Sunday Scribble
For long I have been an aimless vagabond
I strayed far, the world being enormously wide.
Traveling to lands foreign, I searched my fortune.
At the end, fed up with all that was alien,
And wishing to withdraw from the world’s bewildering stress,
Decided to set out in search of my roots and my people.
Parents dead, my faint connections with my folks were gone.
My ancestral home was occupied by my brother,
With whom I had hardly any correspondence.
But when I was choked by thoughts of my dear home
And the yearning to visit struck me as an irresistible urge,
Without second thoughts, I boarded a plane,
And headed to my native village with dreams many.
From far I saw my house perched high on a hill,
Dappled in grey, squinting across the field.
Nearing it, my heart began to beat in pounding thuds,
In the excitement of a reunion long overdue.
Alas! There was none to receive me, only some creepy spiders,
Busily spinning gossamer webs over closed windows
Its vacancy haunting me, I tried to ring the doorbell.
But the rusted contraption sat silent on the cracked wall.
What had happened to the family living here?
Have they migrated to some far-off place?
A hundred questions propped up in my mind.
Wished to ask someone, but seeing nobody around,
I stood silent in the weed grown courtyard for some more time.
I thought of the heydays of my life, with a deep yearning,
To run round the house once more as a child
And be under its shelter, to lie down and dream the dreams of old.
Everything looked so forlorn. Feeling suddenly orphaned,
My eyes got welled up with tears as never before.
Hesitant to chew the unpalatable truth that this house will no more board me,
Casting one last glance with a heart laden with memories,
I turned my back from that spectral home,
Which stood silent as a symbol of UNWRITTEN ABSENCE!
Born-torn, scorned and scarred.
Baby's thrown like a bone, choked and charred.
Raised by a mother shackled to Meth,
Dismissed by a father, deserted and left.
Itching for a fix, Mom hunted a high.
Twisting white truth, entangled in lies.
Selling sob stories with emotional pleas,
She abandoned her kin with relative ease.
Time ticked by to the beat of a tear.
Hate accelerates with the fleeting year.
Shattered remnants marked her absent roll.
Mother’s hiatus fueled a bitter soul.
A lonesome heart thuds with empty space.
A drug dubbed “love” was never replaced.
Despite the embrace of another’s clutch,
The kid still cried for mother’s touch.
Born-torn, scorned and scarred.
Baby's thrown like a bone, choked and charred.
Raised by a mother shackled to Meth,
Dismissed by a father, deserted and left.
The roof seems to have come alive
Raindrops now treading softly on tip toes
The skies clouded with cottons full of water
They drip down as though they are squeezed
Black turns white and so they pave way for others
From little pitter-patter to heavy thuds and splashes
They have grown, graciously engulfing everything
I turn over, not wanting to leave my warm covers
I pull up the quilts and try to drift away
But I can’t resist it any longer, the rain tempts me
I’ve always been addicted to rainy days,
Today is no exception…so I jump off my bed
Still encased in my quilt, I settle on the sill
Arms around my knees, I stare at the heavens
Oh! So wonderful, so magical, almost fairy tale like
The line seems broken yet steady, bulky yet graceful
Departed from home, they splash on foreign land
Soon, they seep into the depths exploring the layers
Some fall on silky leaves which make them their own
Some others join their fathers, flowing to the unknown
It all happens with a blink of the eye…
It continues to rain as I shed my warmth
Looking around I realise I am alone,
Except of course for the little raindrops
Who keep me company on lonely days
My only solace on teary mornings
My inspiration when I’m about to let go
My mentors when I need a hand to reach out to
The raindrops are falling and I know today is good
My morning cleansed pure with the flowing elixir
The rest of the sun, still awaiting my arrival
I’m full of spirit…I’m alive with fire fed by water
The raindrops are falling and I know today is good
After all it is raining…raindrops are falling
What could go wrong?
I, Lazarus*, have seen the brickwork sky,
Its throne is made of night!
Its salt and lime are drying to the eye,
My wandering…
a sound! a rumble, and a flash of light!
HHHHHHH! How sweet first breath!
That tasting life had tasted only death!
And what is THIS, that thuds against my tomb?
Awaken, Heart! And greet thy new-found groom!
Who is HE, that speaks with sudden waking,
As though forgotten dawn was newly breaking?
I cannot know, though memory tells me so,
I am a Man, and not a man of dough!
O bright the door that leads me back to life!
But, bidden! I must change my sleep for strife!
Thank you, heart-friend!
I thought that you’d forgot!
Who made me breathe, ‘I AM!’ when I was not.
Forgive! I cannot hear, my head’s like snow,
AH! That’s it, ‘loose the man, and let him go!'
1/31/2017
__________
*Lazarus was a friend of Jesus Christ, who raised him from the dead
A relay of moods dribbles on and on
when euphoric tunes kick in:
Jazz, R& B, slow funk, wild pop
igniting primal ecstasy, in the flesh...raw!
Live music leaves me breathless
as thuds of a drum, the intricate fondling
from saxophones blast these veins...
until intoxicated head convulses,
Pulse beat raised at 110, my torso
gyring in motions unknown—
the cortisol of anticipation surging
adrenaline doses gushing...just then,
Philip Bailey whams a falsetto,
higher than high in a climatic lift;
my whole body possessed without Reasons
on Fantasy’s electric stage—
Another grasp of dismembering reality lures
where smoky thirst begs for more notes;
an elevated zing which drugs my soul …
yet, nights ask for more live concerts.
4/17/2019
For Anthony Slausin: Your Amphetamine Contest
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Earth, Wind and Fire Live Performance
Manila, 2009
Lead Singer: Philip Bailey/ Songs: Reasons, Fantasy
Sample video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1FN6X_86NY
Watch out and wait. In fact stop listen and wait. Is that the wailing of a sail sailing by? Of course it is. The fact that an ironed breeze can touch a nautical knot is common knowledge amongst sailors and sailors are neither shaped sharpened sharpeners nor are they saying still shifts stillness. It is the opinion of the official orange kingdom that stalk the juice makers. Creators of squishing. Causing cannibalistic clothes cheating chatty climbers. It is neither within a dash nor a hash key that a full stop is found. And keys can be symbolic and symbolism of a metric metre can be taken to a few zoos to play with caged controlled boxed up animals who wish to run away. This they do with thuds akin to hooves. Strong fur and beaks can move and snap bars. And all are released. Good. Ha the ball is dancing to a top allegro tune in a sombrero and a tutu. Ha the tail of a car is chasing a cat around. Xxxxx multinational z z z z z. With a hypothetical hypothesis hearing harmonic hopping hippopotami z
his tired eyes yet sparkled with the love of his craft
a love steeped in awe and fear of its impact
the hunched shoulders hovered o'er each stroke of his pen
a quill dipped in an inkwell lined with holy men
frayed ritual fringes swaying this way and that
humming a wordless melody as a zaydie will do
midst reverie about heavenly angels he's winking at
or recalling a tender moment with his grandson of two
but of a sudden, all's darkness
zaydie's head thuds on his workbench
his lamp extinguished for aye ~
the noble craft of a mensch
June 27, 2020
The Old Scribe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
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Notes: The Jewish 'scribe' (sofer) was and is a time-honored profession
'zaydie' is Yiddish for grandfather
a 'mensch' is Yiddish for a person of honor, integrity
No capital letters were used, in order to help convey the
innate modesty of a scribe of holy books.
"When I stare out into the sea, watching its changing moods, I see the reflection of life there and think of life's tumult and tussle on one side and its ease and peace on the other." _ By Poet
When the world begins to close in on me,
I walk to the beach, not too far away.
The sea, ever alluring and new
Yet never changing, sprawls before me.
A sight to ease my weary heart!
The chilly breeze blowing,
The jets of water, dispersing in smoky spray,
The tides rushing to cleanse the feet-
All so thrilling, offering a calm serenity to me.
Sometimes the billows break and roar,
Creating a wild mayhem
Sometimes, the sea lies quiet with no upsurge,
Producing a steady repeating and fading rhythm
When I hear the tinkling sound,
The gentle waves and wavelets produce,
I am reminded of a maiden’s anklets chiming,
As she inches ahead with steps demure
And heart pounding, to her bridal chamber
On her first nuptial night with dreams galore
At times, the tides become thuds of footsteps,
Down the long corridors of time
Tolling minutes and hours away
Thus, the waves advancing and receding,
And the sea, boisterous and brooding in turn,
Remind me of the eternal flux of life,
And the inevitable ups and downs, we all experience!
April.10.2023
~Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘S’ Words, Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
I seize time when funky drummer songs break
into my body robbing feeling of nerves making me fly
off floors with hips bouncing and shoes sweeping soot on concrete
I leave my history on any ground wherever I scuff my hands
and greet earth beneath me made of cement and sand
roughening calluses in
my upper palm and never do I feel more alive in
doing anything other than breaking
dancing on the floor that my fingers sand
with blood thrashing through my veins till I push and fly
legs flailing toward the moon; only my hands
feel this field of concrete
within the hour, ridges of concrete
rub against my knuckles as I guzzle in
air gasping for breaths that hit my hands
feeling this warmth pat me does nothing more than break
any possibility that I might be dreaming, flying
somewhere or dead drifting with sand
dirt smears its calligraphy in an ink of sand
when my shoes scrape concrete
markings on the floor inscribe stories and time flies
I see scratches my palms and shoes make in
a canvas of floors where I dance till the break
of dawn meditating with music, the bandage of my hands
I read life through my hands
brush rubble or throw sand
dancing off feelings of being lonely breaking
nostalgia of home because I can find that in concrete
the ground teaches me of pain on my skin or inside
my mind as I wander into a song flying
and falling over pebbles that gash my flesh blood flying
all directions and while wiping blood from my hands
I feel my age seeping the years I keep anxiety in
on a path of exhaustion counting thuds of my heart with sandpaper
hands I forge on concrete
I will slide-spin-tap the floor in harmony breaking
my life into stories of me dancing in all worlds I touch, showing the world my broken
rhythm in handling pain with hands pressed on floors people walk on in concrete
cities where I fly into freedom, puffing out, dying breaths, and taking all, breaths of life, in
From Noonlight to Moonlight
I'll chance to mention a jaunt once took, along a sloping ridge; coming up steady o'er jakes ravine, cross the creaking pinewood bridge, tethering up the hosses, to a half charred lightening stricken tree; we gazed right down the 'scarpment at cattle roaming free after muffling up our riding boots in swathes of Hessian brown; stooping right over we made our way, by the darker shadowed ground, we got to to a stand of trees, that offered the needed hide; scuttling there as quick as quick, until we were inside made sure no herders were present, heard no sounds borne on the breeze; we picked out a couple of young heifers, this side of some bouldered scree then raising our crossbows silently, as moonglow licked each bolt; we loosed ..Whoosk.! the thuds)) sounded so strong you almost felt the jolt.: did i see a gleam in Mikkies eye?? could it be a heartfelt tear?? I said we had no real choice you know, my voice edged with tension & fear, a quick smile shot right back at me, as gazing deep in my eyes; she gave a hard kick into my shin, catching me by surprise!! saying now while I' affix the lariats Joe, you vamoose up the mountainside; get the horses and drags back soon, in case the rancher makes a ride, so I lit out for the ridge crest, my heart was beating wild." While swearing that damn hussey's more capricious than a wayward child; once on the ridge i scramble down, back to the waiting steeds quickly pulling the halters loose, my mind intent on speed!! soon I'm back with Mikkie, we pull the heifers onto the drags; then we're coaxing our horses up that draw!! headed for the safety of our own distant and shadowy crags. copyright Joe Maverick.co.uk
SHE IS LADY ZOYA
From rich bucket bills of grandeur bliss
Dawns wobbling chills from cruel treachery
Harsh is the murmur of the night, my Lady
Has Aidos spang slain as disgrace ink reign?
Swarm of bees threats and afire the days
Seems... to live life, one must be on break away
Gowns and golds gone like a storm
Tears a rain clouding the seeds of reform
Never-say-die attitude the tarring rock
Ah! The Lady Zoya got this trait in blocks
Shut down on countless turbulent thuds
Still, she arise like a Monarch from the mud
Royal blood dance viscous to her veins
But to burlesque shows, she swayed in vain
For her children: Nicholas and Sasha.
Her picturesque-like the late Princess Diana.
Huge fire almost killed her children
She changed. Later became, a fashion designer
Simon Hirsch saw a diamond from a spread of roughs
He married and dressed her in lovelier stuffs
The tambourine music of war took her husband life
Penthos again bathe her ever wounded thrive
Yet, love abounds never did she succumb
She strive to strum melodies from the crumbs
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**Zoya Konstantinovna Ossupov is a Russian countess,
a young cousin to Czar Nicholas II during the Russian revolution and World War I..
Terms:
Aidos: shame, can range from a sense of respect
Penthos: grief, suffering
©
9:38pm; November 11, 2014
Kitty Katy, bigger than holsteins
Killed a St. Bernard
Pretty Kitty scratched up my blue jeans
Left my legs all scarred.
My big kitty scares the bejabbers
Out of my sorry hide
Such loud thuds of her pitter-patters
The blood-prints of her stride.
What did she kill tonight?
Who did she rend and bite?
What did she eat?
What kind of meat?
When must I stand and fight?
Kitty wrestled an anaconda
Then ate just the head
I took off on my cherry Honda
Scared I'd next be dead.
I’ve come across the phrase
“If a tree falls when there’s no one there to hear it does it make a sound?”
Even if the trunk thuds to the ground, the echoes travel around to surround the remaining trees far into the woods.
Is it really any good?
Was there any point at all if there wasn’t anyone there to see its fall?
But if this is what makes sense in your head, then realistically, the same could be said about people.
Maybe people just wither away without cause to be missed.
If a person is born and lives their life as they wish, but does nothing to get remembered, have we really made them exist?
If there were only a few people who kept their memories alive till the day they died, their existence didn’t really survive for too long.
Perhaps there was never anywhere for them to truly belong.
So if you never do anything that catches a few strange looks or may end up in the history books, then you’ll soon be gone from the family’s narration in the next few generations, just another lost soul, one more forgotten face who never managed to find their place in this world.
Find somebody who will keep you at the top of their minds, who will get in a few stories about you sometimes, whether they be a new creation, a strange fascination, some kind words or your own eccentric spin on life, strive to be remembered by those that you loved.
Your friends,
Your family,
Your kin.
Die knowing that you always fought for what you believed in.
"Crocodili"
I swim in your holy water
basic rules for survival
shed the skin
like a baptism
immersed in saltwater
the lower vibration
lifted
removed
from that prehistoric place
the dermabrasian stings,
raw, we walk out together
new creatures
into fresh certainty
soft thuds clawed suckling
on uncertain shores
the feelings
begin
solitary, rapturous
natural selection
resurfacing
singular in plurality
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)