Best Triversen Poems
A shored life
awakes the old
patience is a virtue
a wondrous light
a way for the world
one way passage
yielding trifles
abundant returns
nameless faceless
novelties in scrolls
constant to air
The Book of Life
accounts tallies
clearly visible
hidden from sight
chance of a lifetime
warps through glass
bottled sealed.
A crop circle is a large geometric pattern created in a field of crops, such as wheat or barley.
The scarecrow
didn't know
what it was.
At midnight
the moon hid
behind a cloud.
The darkness
was solid
all night.
The light
in the cornfield
in September.
The old cock crowed
it was dawn
and feathers ruffled.
A message was left
in the cornfield
that night.
Blind to the dark
circles full moon
watches in orbit
Aimless rotation
choice or direction
revolves around pattern
Leathery wings
visionless radar
faceless intuition
Howls in a distant
barbarian expanse
alert olive eyes
Kindly conjunction
shared perception
silent awareness
***
Triversen,
June 10, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
MY YOUNGER SISTER
DEAR LITTLE CUDDILY BUBBLY
ONE PIECE OF HAPPINESS HOW COULD
YOU BE SO ADORABLE
MY LITTLE SISTER THE SHINY HAIR OF
YOURS WITH THOSE PULPY RED CHEEKS MAKES
MY DAY DAILY WHICH KEEPS ME HAPPY
THE BRIGHT LIGHT GREEN WITH HUES OF BLUES
AND EMERLAD EYE OF YOURS FILLED WITH HOPE
AND WISHES URGES ME TO CUDDLE THE LITTLE ONE
ROUND AND FLASHY YET VERY SOFT AND SMALL
HANDS OF YOURS REMINDS ME OF MY FIRST
SOFTTOY WHO WAS AS ADORABLE AS YOU
SENSITIVE FRAGILE FEET OF YOURS WHICH DO NOT
FITS IN ANY SHOE OR SOCKS
REMINDS ME OF MY FISRT ONES
BUT MY DEAR SISTER THE HUG WHICH YOU GIVES ME AFTER THE HECTIC
HIGH SCHOOL DAY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT AND
CHRISHED MOMENTS OF MY DAY
Wisdom grows alone
darkness eyes attend
wakes the light slumberer
Deep in wet dreams
respect waves the buried
grounds for divorce
Wind weather attitudes
cries mount
lies draw out
Greens wild the untamed
beast burdens the walled
shaft and base flowers
the unschooled gather names
foothold finds rest
virgin aroused the sleeper
Taste for the end
tomorrow another day
what was paradise?
Soaked leaves of green
bereft of rain
with palms up.
The trunk,
a lanky youth -
feet tall, chest out.
Oak peeks, at prism,
looking through
square window.
Big puffy clouds
not seen,
but thunder is heard.
Inside is dismal,
cloudy and gray,
except for tapping.
Four walls press in
to see
what’s all the fuss…
We asked for nothing more
than a Musik sheet the war
was nearing an end you and
your bruder was quite young
your wounds were healing as
we kneeled at Saint Sebastian
Church Rome 1944 mass wasn’t
the same without the harsh bellows
of Victory sending the birds fleeting
through the chapel as the bells chimed
I’d remember you always every single
time I fondly winded a wooden
coo coo as the milk maids dance
the wood cutter chops the bird
flies out the steeple over frauenkirche
our lady of Munich as we gathered
kirchenmusik our time Marienplatz
Mary’s town house of monks
seeing your tiny face peeking
through the American soldiers
hiding from Hitler amazing even
though you were wounded you
stood fast in Rome awaiting
victory captured a pow a prisoner
of war hard to believe today that
priest were being kelp among
my grandfather platoon somewhere
in Italy keeping you and your bruder
safe sharing lovely hymns throughout
Europe my meeting you while touring
Munich Chaplains arch bishop of Munich
the fondness of shopping in the forst
dining feasting on viener snitzel and
pomfritts a crisp Riesling sways
settled my nerves right before the
guest arrived the clock makers all
lined seeking solace for peace carving
my children toys from wood to take
back home to America my making
guitar keys for violins cellos violas
writing poetry why we were the Musik
who would have thought one of you
would be Pope I always thought
it would have be you Georg you sang
like a Cardinal creating a flock to the
choir many blessings Georg and Joseph
Ratzinger mein kirchenmusik Pope Benedict
May the Lord always be with your spirits
Found in space
possible sighting
worthy of closeup
change of course
wonder on the horizon
a balanced theme
an event of sorts
natural or not
a peculiar thing
mayhaps instrumental
tis unfortunate
no contact
be it but a scene
a wallpaper
our viewing point
seems war-like
set course for home
nothing here but shadows.
the operating room waits in a pale hush
metal holding its shimmer like a vow
shadows gathering themselves into still corners
the air hums with low mechanical dreaming
soft pulses threading through the silence
as if the room keeps time for the living
gloved hands move with practiced, quiet grace
shaping unseen pathways in the air
preparing the body’s hidden journey
the lights rise into a slow white blossoming
illuminating the table like a threshold
where flesh and hope lean toward each other
anesthesia drifts like a pale unfolding tide
smoothing the edges of awareness
carrying the patient into gentle depth
monitors whisper the first faint awakenings
life stirring back through muted circuits
as the room releases its long-held breath