Best Tottered Poems
A summer evening
The senile sun still
burned us with the foul intent
Of its mid day rage
But, lacking in bite, gave in
Quickly to the taunts of breeze.
It tottered about
In the beach, ran its weak hands
Over wheat fields and
Rested awhile atop the
Banyan’s crown and went to sleep.
8th Dec 12.
Form: Personification in TANKA ( Sylls: 5-7-5-7-7)
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For: Giorgio's 'Impress me-3'
Motif: Nature
As Marion trod the old familiar path
leading to the river of her childhood,
she viewed the willow tree across the river
and recalled with clarity
the event that changed her life
half a century ago - that memory
which for all her adult life
she‘d managed to suppress . . .
She was being chased by Ellie down the path;
Ellie, the fair haired younger sister
favored by their father
and wearing the golden pendant he had given her
when she’d won a spelling bee.
Yanking the pendant from her sister’s neck,
Marion ran into the river’s icy water,
threatening to throw the pendant in.
Screaming, Ellie followed right behind.
Farther into the river’s center, the two girls moved.
Where the riverbed dipped sharply,
Ellie had caught up.
Suddenly the wind blew violently,
The chain with its beautiful pendant
slipped from Marion’s hand
into the swirling water.
Ellie tottered, falling backwards.
Then the river was carrying
Marion’s little sister to the other side.
Marion called out, but Ellie did not answer.
A strong swimmer, Marion swam
to her sister’s lifeless body
on the opposite bank where a nearby willow stood -
witness to her crime.
Marion now was standing where she once had stood
that fateful day. The river had receded with time,
but its current was still strong.
She stood recalling her parents’ bitter tears
and how she had escaped their wrath
inventing her own version of the truth -
that Ellie had run into the water by herself
when the sudden wind came up
causing her demise.
She felt bad, but in the end,
she became her father’s newfound pride and joy.
Something glittered at the water’s edge.
Marion, now heavy and clumsy with age,
moved closer to see. Could it be after all these years?
Yes, it was the pendant, shining in the river’s sludge!
She stooped to pick it up, but lost her balance,
falling forward toward the slanting floor.
As she struggled, a great gust of wind
moved her out. . .farther and farther to the middle.
Before her head vanished below the water’s surface,
she saw that old willow’s leaves flutter angrily.
She could almost swear she saw the form of Ellie,
fair sweet Ellie, beckoning her from the other side.
For Frank Herrera's POEM ENDING WITH A 'CHILLING TWIST' Poetry Contest
Left And Right
Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally
Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade
The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night
The Redout
The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul
Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes
And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence
The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags
Down The Valley
Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance
On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander
On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame
At Night
When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride
amid the bleats of lambs
and the moo of cows
in a far away manger
a baby, swaddled in rags was born
though despicable in some eyes,
He was the clone of Clones
the one, though Heaven sent,
was the humblest of the humble,
who halved history!
He walked the hills of Judea
with disciples many
healed the sick
met people
lived one among them
until three decades
and three years
the cloud laden sky
suddenly turned dark
the spirit of evil
invaded inside
and outside
premonitions
of portentous occurrence!!
at Gethsemane
the fatal rendezvous,
He sweated blood
as coins tinkled,
Judas through a kiss
betrayed his master
was sentenced
by the marshals of power
and was convicted
Pontius Pilate, washing hands,
absolved himself of his guilt
He tottered to Calvary,
lay on the cross, not by nails
but pinned by love
He poured down love
on those never deserved
to his love, there is no end...
among the hisses of revulsion
and the screams of a vengeful crowd
the tremulous cadence
of an agonized cry
“why hast Thou forsaken me?”
died down…..
did Golgotha’s cliffs echo that cry?
The Father kept ‘an aggressive silence’
The Sun (Son) set at noon
darkness shrouded the Earth
the curtain fell
but on the 3rd day
walked out of the grave
defeating Death and Sin!
Our Lord has Risen….!
to this day
the world
hails this victory!!
______________________
Easter Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
He, a seeker after Truth, set out
on an audacious journey
to see his old master
with a handful of blooms
he paused before the open door.
from deep meditation
the squatted figure, looked up.
in a trance, he saw the silhouette of a man.
on gazing intent, emerged distinct
his former disciple, left long ago
seeing his hands laden with flowers,
the master smiled a recognizing smile.
in close surveillance, the penetrating eyes
gauged him through and through.
the master’s pursed lips opened ajar.
from him, arose a single word-
‘’ Drop”
gentle but firm was its timbre.
he dropped the flowers, one by one.
in sterner voice, the master said,
‘’ Drop”
all at once, he let the remaining blooms
go off his clasp
and down they fell around his feet.
folding empty hands, he stood,
waiting for the master’s behest
after an eerie silence,
once more came the hefty command--
‘’ Drop”
stupified, the disciple queried-
‘’ what more should I drop? “
eyes emitted sparks!
‘’ not the flowers, but your ego”-
instant was his reply.
a spear stuck deep into his self.
as by a whirl wind, his body tottered.
he felt a deep twirl inside.
unfastening the hinges
of the imperious shutters,
a boulder rolled down,
dropping to the ground with a thud.
back home, the disciple gleefully walked,
the clogged fog clearing from his head
ego shorn, here now reborn
in a state of divine transcendence
feeling as weightless as a feather
~Placed First~
8. Jan. 2022
This or That.Vol.9. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
~Placed Fifth~
In 'Ego Shorn, Here Now Reborn' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by-Unseeking Seeker
A Night On The Town
While searching for a book, one that I hadn’t yet read
I stumbled upon a critter and this is what he said:
Although the library is quite cozy and nice;
Could you fancy a night out for the right price?
Howsabout we meet by the bibliotheca shrub?
A groundhog as I adores a good Punxsy pub.
Grab your coat and throw on your hat.
I’m ready to have a friendly chat.
I looked him in the eye and asked him his name
With delight, he said,
“You’re unaware of my fame.
My friends call me Phil, so I suppose you should too
Let’s blow this joint”
And away we flew
We wandered the streets of this charming town
Visiting shops and pubs, up the street and down
We feasted on grub and guzzled much drink
Then, Phil looked at me with a very hard think
“My friend, it’s been fun but it’s three in the morning.”
And he tottered down the street without any warning
I watched as he burrowed under the library steps
Down on my knees and behind him I crept
His words fell on my ears as he waddled out of sight
“My friend, it’s time for you to go as the sun soon brings light.
You see, I don’t mean to complicate.
But in the morning, I must prognosticate.
Meet me again: fight your way through the mob.
That tree over there; in Gobblers knob.
In just a few hours, at the light of the day;
Meet me again; and don’t delay.”
I did just that; I waited on the lawn
When Phil came out with a stretch and a yawn
With a wink and a smile, his eyes met me with regard
Then a man handed me a note. His name was Gerard.
“This note is from Phil. Don’t tell anyone he can talk, or find you I will.”
I took the note from this cryptic subversive
And found it to be written in splendid cursive
"Thank you for the night, full of libations and cheer
Let’s do it all again. Meet me same time next year."
Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
.....................................................
We fought as one,
the blood it run,
All around our feet ,
Our bronze age swords ,
Were not ignored ,
We sliced and diced so sweet,
The dragon came again,
again,
it’s Stinking breath remained,
remained,
Like sulphur as it chilled,
the best of brains,
We tottered on our feet,
When we beat it back,
t’was bloody lame,
Still it fought just fought,
the bloody same,
Our sanity remained insane,
No quarter no retreat,
Its blood all the hollows filled,
We fought, yes fought all day,
Till finally a death did play,
Its part so sorrow-full,
Greybeard lay in the hollow way,
My friend was by the Dragon killed,
So I slashed some more,
and foully swore, *%@!!-
My blade would bloody spill,
His blood and gore, for bloody sure,
Until,
I did that Dragon slay?
I thrust some sure,
my anger raw
At its throat with careful skill,
Blue murder,
I aimed for the throat the more,
I hacked and punched and shrilled!
He reared up in awful pain,
Almost drowned,
by the red blood cloud,
as I stabbed for its heart again,
Through the sticky red blood shroud,
he fell on me teeth a biting see,
I hacked and sliced his throat,
My one good arm and blade were free,
Till crimson was his coat,
The death rattle came to he,
The eater of our sheep,
His spirit soared away from me,
Till,
Death on him did sweep,
So in legend, speak they well,
Of mighty men these two,
And how the warrior Greybeard fell,
When he the Dragon slew.
….
Don Johnson
Teeter tottered between dock and boat
Boarded with a box of supplies
Security and radio check completed
Sounds of people chattering, horns beeping, and seagulls squawking
Sailboat untied
Drifted away from mooring
Engine engaged
Stern exchanged for bow and headed for horizon
Navigated through channel markers and out into open water
Engine killed and sail hoisted up mast
Sound of water lapping against boat
Sailboat bobbed and turned like a piece of driftwood on the ocean
Light reflected off of metallic objects on boat and turquoise water
Fully furled sails captured the wind
Boat lurched forward and sideways
White knuckle grip on silver plated wheel
Capsize averted by keel
Headed to skyline under captains command
White capping waves and powder-puff clouds seen to the limits of vision
Visibility clear for miles in every direction
Sounds of wind whipping sail and water rushing against boat
Loss of time
Distracted by enchantment
Coast line disappeared
Gripped with panic
Fear of the unknown
Swaying between civilization and solitude
Control regained with self-rationalization
Warmth of sun felt on face
Mesmerized by the sun painting on a canvas of light blue and aqua
Dropped sail and anchor on leeward side of a small island
Snow white sand and coconut trees swaying in the breeze
Dined with silence and serenity
Dolphins played at dusk
Moon rise with waves breaking reflection
Diamonds of heaven sparkling and some falling into the ocean
Gently rocked to sleep by calm dark water
On getting up I looked in the mirror
and to my amazement I saw I was a man
what fun I thought lets have some fun
I dressed in a man's suit and went to work
Driving there in my new porsche
I gave the pretty girls a wave
I got lots of smiles and a few winks
laughing I arrived at the office
Getting a fair few back slaps
as the guys drolled over my wheels
some winks and nudges, suggestive remarks
Hey Joe who's your lucky date tonight?
With this machine the worlds your oyster
listening to their bawdy jokes I hide a smile
And relish the tall tales of their own conquests
so this is what goes on in the men's room
How they would cringe faces red if they knew
that no man was I just a lass who awoke a man
driving home my husband was cooking that night
dressed up to the nines in my best black dress
I had to laugh as he tottered on my stiletto heels
boy did he made a nice woman wearing a long wig
the food he made was no great shakes just uggy
but the love making more than made up for it
Next morning I approached the mirror
and soon saw that I was back to normal
Joe looked at me and grinned in delight
He said I made a better man than him
But we had better keep it quiet
as his co-workers would not live it down
I enjoyed my day as a man very much
seeing life from the other side
written 05/04/2014
contest Gender Blender
The tree tottered
the soil loved the tree
the soil held the turmoil
like a poem holds the lines and stanzas
brimming with the extravaganza of the spirit
The grasses won't let it go
the whistle of the world called
the train was pulling out
the tree willing to join the green procession
There was the sticky honey
and the million bees biting
in the reckless abandon
room following room
Exhume and consume
Yearning for the perpetual doom
There was the effort
Earnest effort
to come out of the savage clasp
the pulverizing grasp
How can you shun the moons
still seeking to bloom inside the nooks of the gloom
We won't let you go
We will remove the hard snow
Look at the crimson arrow
ready to move and grow
till arrived the rainbow
Said the bees
The tall guy had taken away
most of the green leaves
The dwarf one quite a few branches
The dry wood bleeds in silence
A grey compliance
The dark girl had shared the bed
hugging the hibiscus stem and plucking the flowers
as she pleased
as the serpent hissed
the kisses burnt
The tree got aroused and learnt
Time stole the green
The children removed the silken sheen
I am abandoned
Let me go
Let others sow
Me no more
Haven't you noticed the little green folds
from the caring split
Ripples of Narcissus
from the blue unconscious
through the half light half dark passage
emerging on the shivering surface
A mild pain in the cups
A few clouds seeking release through the rains
the light green spike in the vein
The ship cannot be abandoned
till it sinks
The ship loves the blue poetry in the freedom
of wild abandon
The Mediterranean
As wild
as you may lead me into
the deep flowering vacuum
No need to stop the bison
Let’s resume
our sway into the total abandon
For this forest under moonlight I shall not pass again
June 16, 2018
Abandon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
I tottered to the bedroom window
then, painfully, clumsily
drew back the curtains ‘pon my today.
At first glance
morning blinded me with wilful extravagance
reminiscent of a woman at a certain age,
bling-ful, blinding!
Until - unwrapping my senses
I awoke to facts, figures and self-made fake!
Time dripped into view, stuttering
cruel reality, t’was
four thirty-four of too early the clock,
too cruel a symphony,
conducted by maestro insomnia?
Stripped of silver veils
a near final chorus of pink-tipped stars
slipped ‘tween two soft breasted hills
they, distant enough, moist with dew..
an I smiled, drawing my blue towelling robe
around my insurgent wakefulness
denying dreams.
Old oak clock chimed irreverent
as mile away waves thundered gainst a covey of
ancient cliffs, their Jurassic throats
echoing the satiated depths of time past
where soft played the reel
luring me quiet the salt
coating my cheeks ‘tween sanity and sleep.
Trembling my empty mind to work, slowly, slowly
my eyes opened wider than wide
sleep-walking the stupidity of my role
tiI now unaware.
Nary a word penned, nor a need to.
A few blinks away time calls reality:
‘Hello, Monday, welcome to my world!
travelling to my never was,
my yearly time in the yard
spring time back to cold Ohio
gripped in nonsense and melancholy
I travel to old town
misted by the cuyahoga
surprised yet not I find
they tore down the tottered house
tar paper and clapboard
hoary hand pump out front
jutting out of upturned earth
like an oxidized finger accusing
at broken chimney
collapsed walls
19th century brickwork sharded
toppeled into fetid basins
the neighborhood's harshbitten scar
open wounded by the treelawn
old man who once lived there
trapped in darkness and exile
haunts it no longer
memory freed
by oiled machinery and progress
rooftop split
like broken amphora
scattered on the seabed
and so floats my enmity
thermal up and away
updraft and ashes
drift'n bulldozed and scaffold
dissipating on warmer breezes
as if it never was...
My eyes are not what they once were, but
I can see you clearly whooshing from
your mother's womb, sluiced between thighs
the grunts, shouts and cries reverberating
eyes closed, arms slightly waving hello
or gesticulating indignation awakened
as life begins with cries of disbelief
already the first threshold crossed
suckled to your mother, pretty as she was
cradled into household tradition and politics
you tottered and ran and bruised and grew
your parents doting and snapping pictures
thirty trillion miles out, you tottered to a
more formal cultivation of ideas and friends
socialization always a hard lesson for some
you had your share of failings and gold stars
then from seemingly nowhere, a smiled soul
appeared before you and kissed your disbelief
like the earlier toddlers first tentative steps
you pulled into gravity's relationship unawares
ignorance doesn't belie love's true desire
and life at the speed of light still shines
as milestones and markers come and go
and marriage's prism splits into all colors
some quarks, apparently from your joining,
burst out into their own space, unknown matters
yet clearly yours...something comes of nothing
what can you add to this creation...the creation
you split like nuclear fission's lost proton
careened off at around two hundred and ten
to find black holes of your own to fall into
and come out into alternate universes of life
that new alternate, smoothed around two fifty,
looked unlike the universe you knew and yet
in time you see it's the same space turned
inside out, like a T-shirt, still comfortable
four hundred trillion out you walked away tired
and retired from all your tangent demanded
somewhere out here the Nebula Amygdala looms
glowing, clouded, radiant with conception
it seems life's friction slows light out here
thoughts travel back, though it's slow going
near the edge of my space, I turn to see you
but my eyes are not what they once were.
© Goode Guy 2011-05-28
482,047,280,601,006 to be more precise
The young ailanthus tree grew in a narrow yard
Behind a rowhouse in a block facing the boulevard,
And anyone could tell it never would grow tall;
Only its shadow loomed immense at evening on the wall.
It trembled in a breeze. It tottered in a blast.
I'd see it battered to the earth after a storm had passed.
Yet always it would rise, and to its limbs would cling
The thick white snows of wintertime and half-grown cats in spring.
In summer, lush and green, it dreamed and seemed to smile
As though it were a jacaranda on some tropic isle.
With hand-like ferns it reached outward and ever higher
Until one day its growth was stopped by the high-tension wire.
And still another day, urban renewal came,
All of the houses with their trees leveling in its name,
So you would never know, in viewing the debris
That over here stood someone's home and on this spot a tree.
Together we were young, in many ways akin,
But I do more than mourn the void where once a tree had been:
I pray that when life's storms torment and buffet me,
I find that power to survive I first knew in a tree.