Best Tumblers Poems
Take me to the place where the aromatic fragrance
threatens to envelop our obelisks glorifying death;
to the place where the seraphim of old long to steal your breath
only to resurrect you again,
because they adore your shell-shocked epiphany.
The twinkle of wisteria eyes that say star-struck goodbyes to winters long overdue.
Take me to some place new, yet still lingers with the scent of timeless truths.
Can you whisper epigrams in my ears yet still retain your sunflower youth?
And can such a place even exist ...
where I am me and you are you.
Is this dream of ours only a selfish wish?
Where our heart's desires
will never transpire,
but only take cues from Lazarus,
coming into our own like lilac lust.
I am told there is a beautiful gate
that leads to this tomb of ancient bloom.
Will you let me nourish this timid trust
and receive this skeleton key that dreams of wearing skin -
and if not now, of this would-be genesis ... when?
Please don't tease with someday soon,
but let these tumblers unhinge like zealous zephyr.
I know it will be all that you asked.
I know it will be, for my soul spoke so earnestly: give it a chance.
So won't you carve upon this granite heart
that longs for the easy rain of your embrace.
Etch upon these alabaster walls with love's italic hand,
the seven lettered splendor known unabashedly as FREEDOM.
Let it be the only thing
the angels care to dream,
when imagining eternity.
Let none atone
the only thing
set in stone.
Written February 15th, 2016.
Entered in the contest A Tomb of Ancient Bloom hosted by Justin Bordner.
Chosen Poem of the Day on February 17th, 2016
Placed First
Life is short,
life is spry
like a crisp, little french fry
that gets stolen
if you fail to watch over it.
It's written in the name
of two moments
that hold hands and pass by.
On edges of death,
it startles those
who stay drunk on love
and those who dare to fly.
The brave have so much to do with life
while the meek simply wait to die;
the meek ones,
that like clockwork
tick their way to an eternal stillness.
Life, that we spend fretting
over death
hoping, we can accept with open arms
when faced with the end of it;
life, that we spend dying
everyday,
while trying not to get killed.
We hope, with love,
someday our tumblers will fill
and overflow;
while we quite often forget to give.
Like wild pigeons fluttering
with the morning light,
we try to run and rise.
Leaving poetries, songs
and stories behind;
damaging souls like ours
on rewind,
we crawl and scratch
our way through life.
When validations cease to matter
and you shut
the loud distinct chaotic chatter,
when you love
with all that passion
and with that roaring obsession
which burns within you
without the fear of losing
or dying in the static run;
you know you've learnt
to waltz with life,
with life that is spry
like a crisp, little french fry.
If success were lock
and persistence be its key
Would life's tumblers move?
Once upon a time while touring ancient Egypt land,
A frugal auld tourist from the bonny land of Scotland,
Decided the mysterious pyramids he desired to see,
And he demanded to visit them for a very nominal fee!
He repaired to his hotel bar, sat down and ordered a drink.
He needed ample time upon this bold adventure to think.
After downing several tumblers of Gordon's gin and tonic,
He thought, "By jove! A trip by a camel would be exotic!"
He scurried to the local camel rental agency very much areel,
To haggle with the rental feller and strike up a deal,
That would guarantee a care-free trip to the pyramids and back!
An agreeable pact was struck and he gave the man some jack.
Just a few hot and dusty kilometers out of town,
The camel stopped, snorted and lay down!
The irate Scot hailed a traveler heading back east,
Saying, "Send that guy out here to rouse this insolent beast!"
Rubbing his nose and scratching he head he kicked the camel fast!
The hapless camel broke wind with a most resounding blast!
"Aha!" explained the agent, "The problem was easy to unlock!
This old feller had a very serious case of vapor lock!"
Robert L. Hinshaw,CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
(There was roast chicken too with potatoes and cheese, though in the picture not seen! Before the shot it had been gobbled up...)
A table laid and baskets heap'd,
Sheltered in the deep scented darkness of the trees;
The wild strawberries picked ripe in the elven woods,
Jam in the pots delicious sweet.
Wine's enchanted icy cold, tumblers filled up to the brim,
Been touched with specks of gold, poured from a bubbling spring.
At the foot of the hills, and dressed in black,
I stood there still, and a few yellow'd leaves.
Rising against the wind, a rose bloom twirls in the breeze;
Sends her perfume to the silver greens,
And to the far corners of the vale.
Under the lids, dripping dew from twigs, I watch
The rolling mist that hides her face,
And the forsaken wedding feast.
A shadow falls on her heart.
Beneath the tall oak her secret bed,
The flower simply drops to the earth,
And there it goes to sleep.
As the distant music, and the autumn wind from hills;
Fall into a hush, the final notes recede.
For Giorgio AV's : Ekphrasis Contest 01
Our fingers interweave, like a key in a lock
The tumblers click into place, and the world opens
Warm, orange glow between our hearts
Coursing down our arms to each other, tearing through
The amber cocoon around my inner being, awake again to
Your beige perfection, my scarlet, grateful unworthiness
And the vibrant greens and blues around us
Your fluid grace and power unmask your freckles:
The rosettes of a leopardess, proud and powerful
Tan skin and graceful lines, at once camouflaged
Yet with a profound presence that welcomes me
Your mocha eyes lock with mine, and the energy flows
In a growing crescendo of electric blue and yellow
Between us in a complete and perfect circle again
6/8/16
© by Author
FLOWING WATER
Though my boat be shaken and tossed,
Serenity is in the mind, in the soothed soul --
My spirit’s not aching or forsaken. Nor is it lost.
It needs no flow from smoothed shoal.
Not for me still waters, though they run deeply
In the placid pool behind a hinged lock-gate on a canal,
Or slowly with a meandering boat on the Mississippi.
I need contrast : this flowing peace is too banal.
Through a thunderstorm’s raging performance
And the torrent plunging itself to the abyss floor
Peace is in my mind : contrast between wild disturbance
And mild tranquility is my key to the locked poetry door.
Where the flowing tide consumes the sand,
With the week’s hunger of a wolf without balm,
And hurls it about as a carcass of land --
In this ocean storm with wave merciless, I feel only calm.
When the tumultuous shrieking wind and wave break
And spend themselves urgently on the silent sandy slope,
The tumblers of my locked imagination shake
Open, and I feel the lull and pull of peace and hope.
A child in a warm bed listens to the windy rain on pane
And feels the same catalysis : and, peeping at the driven rivulets,
Sees storms and hears the cries of lost sailors on the main,
And falls to sleep contented, secure beneath the coverlets.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck on 24 September 2011
For Francine Roberts’s Contest “Flowing water”
This mental scene came over me while finishing my abnormal psych final:
A pack of about 12 guys all wearing
Sweat pants and no undergarments
**** stars
No white dwarfs here...
They are headed into the strip club for a little fun.
I can visualize the suprise of the bouncers,
the patrons all have a look of protest,
but what are they really going to do?
The wads of cash in hand almost match their...
Oh, you get where I am going with this.
The next sequence for these guys is to chase some viagra
With a few tumblers of jagermeister.
Some of the strippers are going to have more fun
Than they've had since the Harlem Globetrotters were in town.
But poor Lil' Bunny;
It's her first night up there on the swirling stage,
And it's moving like an event horizon.
Her legs are stiff and they're not the only turgid things in this
Flesh arena.
The guys sense her freshness like Crocuta crocuta to the recent kill.
Earlier in the day,
The other dancers told ol' Lil' to really grind on the costumer's lap
In order to keep the money flowing-
"It clicks off the nerves in their brain and transfers all thought
South of the equator."
Yay!
Well, now she is has 12 overzealous guys waiting in queue
With big suprises for her,
And thin veils of cotton covering their junk.
...
I lightly chuckle in class, and then realize
I only have 20 minutes to finish this wonderful test.
Lying there feeling warm and replete
Looking up to the sky, this is real neat
I never thought-that I would see three
But that was just granted to little old me.
The first as I lay in the water so hot
It flashed through the sky, a plane it was not
Within twenty minutes the second one flashed by
Two shooting stars in the same bit of sky…
Before the hour was up the third came into view
What a brilliant night watching the stars that flew
Three shooting stars is my first hat trick of stars
Lying in hot tub they shot from the plough right past Mars.
Three shooting stars I wonder what that means
Were they tumblers or stars, or somebody’s dreams
A wish I would make on each star that passed by
But they still couldn’t match the stars I’d see in your eye.
© 1/11/2012 ~GG~
You’ve met me,
but you just don’t know it yet
The dream house that you want,
I once polar bear hibernated there ...
two winter moons ago
The summer fruit of relaxation
that you’re tasting now,
I planted it
two prior vineyard cycles
I’ve always been double moves ahead,
my checkered past
taught me keen ways
to escape poverty dread
The slum lord pitchfork
tossing that Ebenezer heavy eviction bale,
tried to do the Scrooge pinch
But me knew da Judas outcome of da sell
You’re a patsy-come-lately,
a puppet bought for sure foreswore
Tho’ a couple chiggers too twenty-something slow,
worms like you
got oasis left in the wilderness dust forty years ago
What you wanna see,
I already seen
I’m always two pillow turns ahead
in your dream
What you wanna do,
I’ve already done
Me always be two rabbit hops ahead
of your turtle run
Here’s the six-digit green lumber
you need to cellblock 8 learn
The lockup combination number
to make those tumblers turn
My moves are two steps ahead
Me be a r-Evolving, double smoking barrel —
twice-pulled trigger click hot lead
You’re a patient zero, broken wing sparrow:
double goose egg, game over dead
I’m always two giant steps ahead
Where I’m ultra solar at
is where you really orbital wanna be
Meesa is a quantum grasshopper high five,
and you’re a gravity locust low three
I live in your twin borrowed tomorrow,
two steps above your ire paygrade
Truth trimming lie bacon is how I get paid
Two floors down at prime usury sorrow,
open pawn shop roasting in shade ...
You’re a pet loan shark getting chum made
I’m always thinking two steps ahead,
delivering ancient sayings that was future said
Meesa gon make your puffy jaws red,
two steps backwards is where your hubris bled
Where me be perched,
is where you’re trying to DNA air flow
I’m four wind birthed,
you’re a deuce snake eye on a belly roll
Me two steps ahead,
just so you know
You’re frozen in place,
minus-two below
I’m living at the kiss end of the Snow White story,
and you ain’t even got a singularity event Black Hole clue
Me 9 generation Lives looking thru a supernova rearview,
your Seven Dwarves tardy situation is inert glory
Two slave wage fettered steps ahead,
is how it’s always gonna be
Eating my Thanksgiving meal on your Labor Day,
is so Easter morning worthy
Orpheus' long, slow, crawl out of Hell
Has left him nothing -- not even himself!
Long had he traveled, sorrowing, with his bride,
and many terrors endured, and now
Unslings his lyre, and looks at her too soon!*
He rushes back... she meets him... calm... forbidding...
"Eurydice, My Love, so sad, your gaze...
Come quickly, ere the shadows form, and take you... No!
Your form dissolves, before the morning's rays!"
She fades without embrace into the caverns of Hell...
The Tears he sheds, that kiss his lanklorn cheeks
Leave bitter runnels, trails as deep as scars,
Just fruits for shadow-journey, pomegranates...
Forgive poor Orpheus, O Wind! O, Stars!
The Tumblers have rolled back into their slots,
And Orpheus, the Lover who fought Death,
Is lonely now, and the Ravens cast their lots.
*according to the Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Hades, the God of the Underworld, agreed to release Orpheus' dead lover, Eurydice, from the Underworld, with one condition: Orpheus could not look back at her, until she emerged from the Underworld. Once he emerged, he thought she had followed him, turned joyfully around! But she was not yet out of Hell, and consequently, Hades required her to return to the realm of Death.
The water fluttered under the glass boiling in envy of itself
Marching to the sleek inner coating along the candid sphere like a band of drums ready for war
bubbling in heavy camaraderie the steam spoke a final thought and charged on into the night
"why cant I always bubble with such dignity"
Hot chili peppers are so cold to the unknowing, red suit and all buttoned up for the battle to come
Like a solider awaiting his shining moment on the front line
they make their mark by the way they stand so still,
Still like the nutcracker who comes to life only when awoke by the cheffly magician
Like a dream they are waiting for magic to awaken their slumber
As the night rumbles on under the black pot handle
great snowy mountain rests its head it never rests
And then as best it can hot water takes a stand to be noticed
And the cool touch of my mixing bowl greets me
a sprinkling of browned sugar today
A nose of cinnamon to the taste
clear glasses all in a row
tumblers are tumbling across the floor on my toe
My kitchen dances along the symphony's beat
A sugar plum masterpiece of squash, steam, and meat
And my fork waltzes to the tunes it plays like a string instrument to the waltzing flowers floating their way downstream
I spill the spaghetti onto my shoe and the squash laughs a little
I sing to the waters tune and the flowers smile a little
A little more into the water I boil my egg friend and rinse him good
I am interested in what you have to say to me tomorrow
Rambling on to myself I am slightly dripping with sparkle and glee
My ballet of baking completes its final scene
I am scored from the day and seek pillows therapy
Turning down the lights I fear for the moment in my mind when I remember all their might be missed in my kitchen symphony
And all that was, and is, and what might be
As the tile lay still, cold as fallen snowflakes in the night, I rest my head and dream
And I awake again when standing behind the red curtain
-Jess
Amazing acrobats astound awe-stricken audiences. Amy always asks about acts already arranged.
Bouncing bears balance beach balls. Bobby Bear bicycled behind Betsy Bear.
Crazy clowns crash carelessly. Carousels circle clockwise.
Daring demonstrations dazzle dazed dreamers. Dopey donkeys dance diligently.
Elegant elephants elate everyone, eating everything enjoyable. Eight elephants execute exciting entertainment.
Forty-five feisty flamethrowers fiercely fight fires.
Great Gambino gulps gigantic gems gingerly, giving gasping gazers giggles. Genuine gigantic gorillas gaze goofily.
Hefty horses heave hefty hounds, howling harmoniously. Heavyweights hurl hug hippos. “Hasn’t hurt him,” Hugo Heavy huffed.
Iris indicated it’s impolite if I’m interested in inquiring into immersion into icing.
Joshua juggled joyfully. Jeremiah just jumped jackasses.
Kissing kangaroos kiss kids kindly. Karate kicking kids keep kicking.
Lions lounge lavishly leaving lookers laughing loudly. Lollipop licking llamas licked Lional Lion lovingly.
Many men make mountainous merriment. Mules march, munching Mayberries.
Nineteen nutty nags named Nancy nudge naysayers near nets.
Orange orangutans obey old-timers, opening obese objects.
Portly Peter Penguin parades past pretty Penny Penguin. Penny paused, politely preening. People purchase peanuts.
Quilting-bee queens quickly quiet quails. Quarantined quibbling quackers quickly quiet.
Rabbits run rampant. Robert requests refreshments.
Silly seals steamroll stalled stallions, snorting soundly. Six stallions stomp successively, surrounding such silly seal.
Tumblers take to the trapeze. Three tall tents tower, taller than two tightropes, two trapezes, three tumblers.
Ursula untied ugly umbrellas.
Vexed Venetians volleyed violently.
Wondrous wide-eyed watchers wooed weighted-down wagons.
X-rays x-hausted Xena
Youngsters yelled, yanks yelped.
Zany Zelda’s zebras zigzagged.
Vae victis! Her quick eyes spy out the field.
Reconnoitred, the foe's dispositions have been noted,
quantified, assessed. The forces of order
and tidiness, in neat array,
perfect their alignment, await onslaught.
The sentinels stand guard:
A pot of jam, a jar of marmalade are emplaced
on the strategic salient of the dining-room table.
In battle-dress, knives, forks and spoons,
the infantry, have been fully mobilized. Now battle!
The moment's silence is conflict's omen.
Certain of the issue, she advances,
knowing all order is as brief as day,
while primal Chaos ruled
when all was void.
She crawls towards an unwary footstool,
a defenceless lone straggler near the door.
This, with one fell blow knocked out,
her target would now appear to be the oak sideboard.
With a sideways reel, the feint is over.
Blitzkrieg is launched on the dining-room table,
the heart of enemy operations. She tugs
the table-cloth; a pepper-bomb descends,
inducing heavy sneezing fits
(didn't they outlaw biological warfare?)
Thus repulsed, she makes for the paper-stand;
papers, magazines, ordered by number, edition or day,
take heavy poundings till they lie scattered,
littered on the floor.
The main assault no longer brooks delay! She tugs again -
the infantry charge down.
They miss the mark but make a hellish din.
With head well positioned for cover, she tugs
a third time, and with a mighty splut
the jam-jars teeter, topple and tumble,
and tumblers crash down with deafening jars.
With jammy hands, the victress daubs the walls,
and in triumph commemorates her feat.
By the shindy wakened, Father stalks in,
his face like that of Jupiter tonans
before the fatal blow.
Her sunny smiles pierce the dismal gloom -
O double conquest! Did Gaul, cowering
to the gore-drenched blade, love Caesar,
the British tribes, defeated, bless Agricola?
What smiles leave hard a little tear
makes tender as a lamb, and Dad,
a willing captive to her wiles, gives in -
surrender unconditional.
And Mum?
She'll do the mopping up, of course!
The locksmith of my heart
By
Jude Kyrie
When the night is silent.
Deep into its slumber.
A bright moon smiles its bloom
as its doorway to outer space opens.
In the kitchen the dog sleeps.
Children making dreamy noises
In their rooms.
I feel the tips of her fingers
Upon my skin she is a locksmith
of hearts.
I have known her so long.
Familiar with its mechanism.
She uses the tools of her trade her fingertips
deftly and silently.
I can feel the tumblers falling
on the vault lock.
Her lips caress my skin
The combination has been broken again.
And the great door
to the vault of my heart
creeks open.
All my emotions and love
and desire are right there
in front of her.
She looks at the
hidden pirates treasure.
And takes from me
everything that she wants.
And everything
I have to give her.