Best Turnings Poems
Wrought liquid metal, hued in the fire's of hell,
Pored into a castings shell, then hammered well,
By the angry fists of Satan himself, behold the skeleton key.
Accursed by evil's malevolent spell, one size fits all,
No locked doors can resist against its turnings twist,
Opening unto the supernatural's mystical power, and unlocking
Humanity's hidden passages and darkest corridors,
Leaving no secrets left unspoken or in silence.
Crimson blood spewing forth from corrupted key holes, oozing
Downwards unto the floor below, staining ancient
Tapestries of the royal gentries, and the upper classes refined.
Skull to the cross bones, it possesses a will of its own,
A vile living entity, with its own consciousness.
Molding, reshaping itself at pleasures dark whim,
Feasting on hatred's malice, then releasing it unto the world
Of men.
A twisted wanton thing, laughing with intentions cruelties,
And relishing in our agonies pain.
But *****sapiens are a curious species, never realizing when to
Leave things well enough a lone.
We must know what lies beyond that forbidden
Door, where mankind is not allowed to trespass.
In these dark places of shadows ethereal, it rocks in a fetal
Ball, a creature, waiting to be disturbed, go then seek what lurks therein,
If you dare, only the key knows what it really is, and it laughs,
At our ignorance, mocking us in the darkness.
Four it is the beast, chained and shackled within our worst
Nightmares, a fierce devilish demon, that pierces through the
Darkest of night, to hunt the innocent souls of wayward men.
You've have ventured to far, beyond thy safety zone of no return.
Four death lies in those reddened eyes that watch you within
The darkness.
If you move it will attack, motions movements attracts
Attentions reactions, so remain frozen there is no safety's retreat
Thou'art trapped, again the key so laughs in the abyss,
Mocking at humanity's ignorance.
Shaking with anticipations glee, it begs the next
User to place it into the key hole, of the unknown, come along
Now what can it hurt, just one little peek, let’s look beyond the crimson
Door, as the skeleton key heckles with unbridled happiness.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I Loved Her for the Dance ,
as moving and so becomely like no other.
She stirred Me.Thine faltered Angel's Stately Grace,
showed me once , such things with lone and whispered word .
soul spoke Anon's thrumming Heart a litany did bring.
A Grace that Felled My Daemons Grail aPt trick , it twere and twas .
Reviled now I see them clear , so Crystaline in Shame.
I loved her for the chance , within our times encounter. Infinitely so entangled by design .
So spirited and fractal , whirling while tender turnings did stream a River Blue.Caught handily so firmly there was a time I knew ,
such gravity , so raptured by a dragon .
Flown fast and for the asking for the firmly bodied lasting .
She the Tiamat d'amour woken fresh and born anew.
Often when I sit to write
My mind will wander off
And I think of all the poets
The Soup has gain, then lost
I hope for health and happiness
For each and everyone
And that they keep on writing
For profit or for fun
I know life keeps one busy
With it's twisting and it's turnings
But I would like for them to know
We'll keep a candle burning
Although I did't know them well
Their poems spoke to me
And touched a spot within my heart
In camaraderie
Life is a highway of twistings and turnings.
There may be blind corners not anticipated.
There are no roadmaps to aid in our learnings,
No signs by the roadway, no route designated.
We must keep our eyes open, learn as we’re going,
Some folks whom we meet will point the wrong way.
We may get bogged down by oats we are sowing
And have lost too much time at the end of the day.
We must each travel with faith in tomorrow
Though we can’t be certain tomorrow will be.
There will be days we are plodding in sorrow
But just as surely, some sunshine we’ll see.
We don’t know if our road will be shorter or longer
But never the less we must keep on the track.
Bumps in the road will but make us grow stronger.
No matter how rough there is no turning back.
Written 9/1/12
For Kim's contest
Sing standing atop this rolling blue ball
little that we ever hear stays the same.
Spirits of life sound in the wind for all
there is no one else to ignite this flame.
Earth connects with each single living thing
deep within dwells the soylent shaft to strive.
So this truth can universally ring,
sing its song out loudly and feel alive.
Sense our world's center core, pent-up, stone heat;
when will it irrupt, we cannot be sure -
piercing through the crust down below our feet.
By our letting go, we shall all endure.
Learn the turnings of spirit globally
be the balance to be forever free.
108 words 14 lines Sonnet 2/7/23
Tribute to "Spirit of Life", Unitarian hymn.
References made to Buddhist principles of
"oneness", "letting go" and "impermanence"
in the text. Mention of the phrase "Soylent
Shaft" refers to the 1973 movie Soylent Green.
Illustration in colored pencil by G. Gaul
Did You Learn Anything?
Go ahead.
Put your shoes on.
Walk outside and face the nervous day.
Know that your lungs will not resist you.
Know that your heart will still stir.
Put the key in the ignition.
Now turn the crank.
You are back there now.
As if in a dream so ordered.
It is 1937 on Hoover Street.
The oleanders are bleeding.
Perfumed orange trees spit white loogies.
Clean children emerge from green digs.
Mothers hang clothes on uncomplaining lines.
Your grandmother is back there.
She’s wearing black reptile oxfords.
Go ahead.
Walk down the long gravelly driveway.
Pass the back porch steps there.
Pass the red-blooming bougainvillea.
There she is, alive again as she was.
Unfurling laundry with old clothespins.
Singing an old Salvation Army song.
Go ahead.
Talk to her.
Tell her who you are.
“Baba. Baba, it’s me,
Your surviving grandson, Harry.
I wanted to tell you,
I am a poet now.
An engineer of the human soul.
A standard-bearer for the mad,
Dressed in mindful metaphor.
You look young despite the goiter,
There inside your sinewy neck.
It appears and seems as if,
The goiter is a python at sleep,
Scrunched up inside there,
All rolled up like kneaded bread.
I hope it doesn’t hurt you.
I come from the future, Baba.
I know that sounds crazy, but
I am visiting from the year 2020.”
The world of my time screams
In lockdown, like medieval Europe,
People of every nation and tongue,
Too afraid to emerge from their walls,
Too fearful of even breathing in,
Imbibing in, with lost enthusiasms,
Mountain fresh air from the antipodes;
Fearful of catching and releasing It - the
Corona Virus monster microbe moving
Silently across the terrified landscapes,
Devouring the cool mornings,
Aside the neon evenings, even
Robbing the noon day of hopeful turnings.
“Baba, can I stay here with you,
In this golden simple time of 1937?
May I remain here now,
A happy and relieved rider,
Astride this awful depression horse?”
Go ahead.
It is time to return.
Baba died in 1963 and cannot hear you.
Turn the key off in the ignition.
You are back now where you belong.
It is 2020 in the United States of America.
Baba is sleeping in the graveyard now.
You are being held hostage by a germ.
Kick your shoes off now and think.
Did you learn anything?
No! I Am Not Lying To You
No! I am not lying to you.
It seems Life’s turnings here and now contain
Inauspicious shapes of endless goings and comings;
It seems Life’s headwaters of the deep waxed well,
the great steward river, of cold sinew and intractability is
rushing backward through bloody tubes and rusty spires.
It seems Life’s dead people have arisen, unbeknownst
to the living, from astonished graves in gaping graveyards.
No! I am not lying to you.
There was a time indeed when a human person like me,
could calmly sit across from a human person like you,
and the both of us could pleasurably redeem the consuming time with
eyeful silences and poised stares containing muted determinations;
something like destiny showing up and knocking on the door,
saying: “your pizza is here,” and you open the door wearing only
stupid shades while reading with an ivory looking glass.
No! I am not lying to you.
There was a time when life was peacefully secure and placid,
back when the pleased and complacent skies seemed bluer,
safer than today’s chemical shroud impregnated by ejaculating jets,
35 thousand feet above the mad wasteland of spiritual coma;
The pulling dying aimless road to wherever your body is traveling to,
Is now a long coursing road paved with the fallow stones of fear.
These bloody sunsets have a raspy roar heard only in the death pits,
The final hors d'oeuvres served with croutons and screaming dramas;
There is now no turning down the forgotten deserted side streets,
hidden by shady oleander trees wearing bonnets of poisonous fire.
No! I am not lying to you.
We are all
with such or other way
have lead, moved himself or drifted out
from eternal Truth.
We are all
lived in Crist
or hidden of him
attracted to him
or betryed him,
escaping from his commandments
for convenient and comforting
existence in lies.
We are all
have splatted and grouped
for dozen religious and
hundredths branches and currents
growing from one stalk and foundation.
All specters and retrospects
of human searching and breaktroths
turnings and returnings
towards one Truth
with such or other way.
Russian orthodoxies,
Roman Catholics’,
Islam religious,
Anglican churches,
The Protestants confections,
Judaism,
Buddhizm, Sintoizm, Shamanizm and Tengrians
together with Communizms ideologies
These are all absolutely
the recollections of Crist,
prognozing him
predicting his transcendence,
visioning his laws
vaguely, clearly on not so
or creating heavy deformed image
of one Eternal Truth
who coming to us,
or gone near us
or blocked long ago
with our own falsehood, trades and traditions.
Just relax,
The numbness hits first;
Than an empty mind, followed
By a coughing burst.
Your lack of feeling
Is all part of the reason.
Just a strange sensation, that
Radiates symmetrical improvisation.
You are receding;
Clear of thought
And feeling.
Any of the
Strange sensations…
Just all part of the
Procedure.
A numb reliever; opiate-
Like receivers. A middle-
Path conceiver, and what
A lovely thing…
All the turnings
Of the
Seasons.
I look in the mirror and
I see a girl that's scared to speak
I see fear and disappointment in every word she speaks
I see the untold tears
That nobody wants to speak
Wrong turnings dead ends
She weeps
When alone she screams
Pushing all and everybody that comes close out of reach
Frustration and anger her key
Hopeless drifting with no ambition they scream .
But I see the girl that wants to be happy and free
Be loved by all
Fill life with all and everything that she could be
Make them proud of the women
She is to be
Fill life with all and everything that she could be
Be beautiful be bold proud of who she sees
A masterpiece
Beautifully made she doesn't know that she's unique
Future layed out and planned from god she doesn't see
Heavy heart
With a perfect frame
Painted smile on her face
To cover up the scars that still remain
In the mirror I see
A girl that wants to speak
-Adaam Jagne
Time has flown by as the flapping of the wings
But I will wander singing quietly in the rains,
Hope to lay in the boughs of my creator
For I will be free from this earthly chains.
I have seen the turnings of the seasons
Mortal body questing longevity in reasons,
Hope to lay in the boughs of my creator
Leaving behind those unresolved questions.
When I'll be gone, do not hang window curtains
For I'll be peeping you from the moon's surface ,
You'll see me laying in the boughs of my creator
In the eternity of love, in the serenity of peace.
(for Isiah Zerbst's contest )
Awakened by a siren
Aching like a wound
We're driven out as we utter
The turnings of the womb
Swelling as we're tutored
By the wendings of desire
Swept away by water
Travestied by fire
The vital force of irony
Stabs us like a brier
Churning up a whirlwind
As we tumble in the mire
Vanquished by an idol
Beguiled by a look
Overwhelmed by a smile
Or twisting on a hook
We're spun and cut by the fates
In pursuit or in retreat
Gurgling like infant kings
Or bawling in defeat
Written by © Raven Drake
Try to smile
Through each mile
This life is a free tour on a train…
Takes you here
Takes you there
Tempting to travel again, again…
Turnings you find
Tunnels profound
Train treads on topsy-turvy terrain…
Travel ahead
Turn not behind
Trace, in every cloud, a silver line…
Try to sing
Try to dance
Try to play trifles like simple flute…
Try to laugh
Try to love
This, indeed, is life's perfect pursuit…
MY WORDS ABOUT THIS WORLD!
JOURNEY THOURGH THE WORLD,
IS OF, TWO DOORS.
WALKING THROUGH,
IS, JUST TOO SHORT.
TEAR AND SMILES,
LIVES, IN THE WORLD SO BIG!
JOY AND SADNESS COULD
VANISH,
INTO AIR, SO THIN!
THIS LIFE RUNS ON DIFFERENT
COURSE!
WITH TURNINGS LIKE A
TRAVELLING BUS!
NEVER LET YOUR HOPE BE LOST!!
BUT STRIVE FOR SUCCESS AT
ALL
COST!!
BEING A PROSTITUTE!
IS NOT A SUBSTITUTE!
WHEN ONE IS DESTITUTE!
COS IT TANISH THE IMAGE, ONE
CONSTITUTE!
You have seen it all, the good, the bad
Handled crisis soundly for which you are glad
At an age where you can no longer do physical labour
Why not leave behind a legacy of life in all its flavour
Words of wisdom gathered from experience
Few lines of caution to aid those with inexperience
Some words on values which are depleting day by day
Some thoughts to ponder on life and its way
Some memories of mistakes and your learnings
Some memorable memories of sudden turnings
Crises and how you handled it all
Advice on how to avert a fall
One day death suddenly might come
You may not be there to mentor them
Why not leave behind a legacy for them
Many long for someone to guide them
Future generations will gain a lot
Thank you for lessons well taught
13th March 2021
Inspired by
Line Gauthier contest poetry as a legacy