Best Unabashedly 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
Dance of the Firebird
Rosita, sultry enchantress,
dazzling Andalusian firebird,
erotically she twirls, proud
like a phoenix flashing across the sky.
Flared ruffled skirt swirls,
in hues of red, orange, and gold,
like a sunset in the throes of Autumn.
Her olive skin glistens with sweat,
as she chases away her demons with
handclapping and a pair of castanets.
Beautiful dancer lost in her dreams,
she’s an exotic flamenco queen.
With campfires reflected on her face,
finger snapping, her tempo heats up,
and she’s afire with passion and grace.
In an essence of exuberance,
she’s possessed in a trance,
swaying like a summer breeze.
She undulates hypnotically like a cobra
seducing its unsuspecting prey.
In a stream of her own thoughts,
a gypsy in love with the dance.
Crushing red rose petals she stamps her feet,
to the guitars’ entrancing beat.
Her sinuous body pulsates sensuously
to the music as she dances unabashedly.
But she’s untouchable as the fire god she serves,
baring her soul to none,
for her heart belongs to the dance.
09-23-2017
Contest: Poems that Paint a Picture - 3
Sponsor: Silent One
Placement: 1st
Within Passion's Dream
A Collaboration with Michael P. Clarke (Vladislav Raven)
Within Passion's Dream I hold you close beside the Ocean of Love.
I behold God's heavenly stars and they hold not the beauty of your temple.
You are the glory in my every thought and dream,
let me taste of your divine lips and love shall flow.
Come dance with me through love's divinity;
oh beauty of my heaven your love does sing.
You are all my tomorrows wrapped in a beauteous dream,
come my beloved in the love we share Within Passion's Dream.
Within Passion’s Dream, you are eternally mine,
as we nestle in the ardent arms of an orange-adorned full moon.
Let me enrapture you with the warmth of my legs and breasts,
entwining you in my vines, drinking deeply from the goblet of love.
Electrified by your sensuous caresses that awaken all my senses,
my beloved, your essence seeps into the pores of my very soul.
Whirling in ecstasy from the sweetness of honeydew kisses,
we twinkle through a star-studded Milky Way Within Passion’s Dream.
Within Passion's Dream I am enraptured by our love,
your temple joining with mine in a passion primal in its bearing.
Let stardust caress us as in love's magic we dwell,
your lips on mine and divinity's song is sung.
I lose myself in the eyes of an angel's face,
swimming deep within memories vision.
One heart, one soul, paradise our aim,
I find your eternal beauty ever before me Within Passion's Dream.
Within Passion’s Dream, I behold the wonder that is you,
sprinkling sunbeams and moonbeams showering me with your love.
Bodies and souls merging, we waltz to melodies
of a celestial symphony divinely orchestrated.
Like juicy golden grapes on a ripened vine,
unabashedly spurting their syrupy sweet wine,
tender tendrils of our love do gently unfold and
our hearts chime in rhapsodic harmony Within Passion’s Dream.
01-18-2017
Poem of the Day - 01-20-2017
Note: Mike wrote the 1st and 3rd stanzas, while I wrote the 2nd and 4th stanzas.
Thank you my friend, Mike for inviting me to collaborate with you on this piece, for your wonderful inspiration, and making it easy for me!
It is the fragrant peel of Florida's fruit that comes in convenient slices.
The savory citrus that packs a punch - to my tongue it simply entices.
It is the sprightly stripe of a clown fish that says, "Look at me," unabashedly (no joke)
To read between the lines it has taught me, and in its splendor I am soaked.
It is the warmth inside a fire though his sister crimson gets all the credit.
It could be the light of your world if your vivacious heart would only let it
envelop you with its curious tone: the love of a rose - the brightness of the sun.
And though we might only think of traffic cones,
and hazard signs - for me - it is the lightness of a pun:
Orange you gonna ask me a question?
About how its wavering pathways on tropical seas
can bring the heaviest heart to ascension?
Or how its marriage of sweet strawberry and sour lemon
has brought to mind our engaging entanglement?
It isn't like the blue that's over our heads,
nor is it like the green that's beneath our feet.
Rather it is the hidden spark inside our hearts:
it isn't showy - but its beauty is discrete. Something to soothe
any gloomy day with gentle subtlety. To tell you the truth
orange is nothing dramatic
(perhaps that's why I like it)
Written March 4th, 2016
For the United Orange Contest hosted by Silent One
***Le Minuit Avec Vous***
The Midnight With You
To have a sensual repast with thee,
Upon a midnight, beneath our beloved
Oakwood tree!
Whenst the world, not a sound doth make.
Just lovers lips heard, smacking of
heavenly, baked earthen cakes.
Goblets, golden with jewels that doth
laugh and twinkle
This midnight repast we, sipping wine
so deliciously, swirl with our tongues.
Finding our bodies tingle.
We, the Romeo and Juliet of our day,
Unashamed to celebrate our lives in our
own private, hot foray.
Only celestial guests join us, the heavenly
moon and we...verily faint at the beauty of
our guests, the constellations.
Kissing unabashedly, in front of these guests.
Which human would have any reservations?
This very silent, intimate space on God's
firmament actually took place.
At midnight be, 'twas the blessed you and me,
Under the eyes of God and His most loving face!
July 10, 2020
6:30pm PST
Those little cracks you wear
on the outside -
why must you dislike them so?
Show them unabashedly,
for every little crease and wrinkle
is the sum total
of all that you have experienced -
the sum of your disappointments and afflictions,
but also the sum total of every single time
you ever smiled!
Neither shrink back in the shadows
nor try to cover your physical flaws.
Rather – let yourself be seen
in daylight’s brilliance -
the amazing you!
Feel the sun caress your spirit’s frame.
Let it paint you
golden.
Aug. 18, 2021
For 'A BRIAN STRAND Libre Vers' Poetry Contest
Where the Pomegranates Grow
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
Adonis I met strolling through an orchard row.
Paradise it was being with my enamored beau,
who adorned me with wildflowers from head to toe...
just outside the city where the pomegranates grow.
Youthful and carefree, we loved unabashedly,
for the gods had blessed us so abundantly.
Unbreakable was our bond and passionately,
we promised to love each other eternally...
just outside the city where the pomegranates grow.
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
we’d glitter like fireflies in a mystical love tableau.
Igniting cool nights with our warm golden glow,
we were twinkling stars in love forevermore...
just outside the city where the pomegranates grow.
04-23-2016
She is
has always been
a safe place for joy
It radiates from her pale skin
Her frame is small and slight
The shadow walkers
fail to see her magnificence
“She’s such a daydreamer”
“When will she ever grow up”
Little magical things
recognize their own
Butterflies flit about and softly land on her
They feel no threat
She has an essential calm
Together they vibrate in harmony
Wordless whispers
Wings of wonder
Joyful oscillations
She leans into her happy
Unabashedly open
Floating on imperceptible notes
A delicate destiny
An eternity of possibilities
Her direct path to joy
It’s so sad the shadow walkers cannot see
They cannot dream
They cannot feel her joy
They are bogged down in the muck of responsibility
Yes, they grew up far too quickly
To them the world is grey.
While drowning in a sea of sadness
I drowned a sea of sorrows inside me.
From the pools of ebony
I emerge anew as...
...A Black Swan...
...for I have discovered black pearls
hidden in shells of mysteries
between myth and truth
beneath a whirlpool of oblivion
that whirls within my core.
I will merrily swim through my tears
and I will boldly soar over my fears
for I have embraced my true essence
as I have eaten those black pearls -
the power of my discovered art
that now rushes through my veins
and gushes out of my heart
as inky black blood.
From my heart I will pour out
the pain that will beautifully paint
papers blank white
with my doleful poems and songs.
My quills are my feathers,
I will shed while I dance unabashedly
to the rhythm of my soulful tune.
I will create art out of my broken heart
before forevermore is forever gone.
On a prickly stem of thorns
a beautiful rose blossoms and sways.
In a mine full of drab coals,
under pressure and heat
forms a shining bright diamond.
Larva is what grows out to be a butterfly.
From the womb of pain art is born.
My sufferings cannot cage me anymore
for I am...
...A Black Swan.
Date: 08/29/2022
Note: For the contest (Free Verse - Old Or New) by Joseph May.
*Placed First*
Beloved,
with preposterous
persistence,
I still search
for your likeness.
Gravitating
toward every
handsome bald man,
I scan the light
that reflects
off their head,
like the globe of home.
I strive for
the sight of bushy,
frost seasoned eyebrows
and hazel eyes
defined with
laugh lines, and I
shape-shift them
to resemble yours.
I hunt for
hearty hands,
calloused and
unabashedly
bleeding from
the weed wacker's
counterattacks.
I hearken to a
Manhattan accent,
while recalling
the name of
your favorite
fruit, "our-ange."
My ears perk
at the pep of
baseball announcers,
the background
soundtrack of
your steady presence.
The scent of rum
comforts me like
your broad-chested hug.
Beloved,
another's
stubbly cheeks
lead me back to grief.
Unattainable
in this stand-in space,
is your love,
beloved.
That amiable
smile that delighted
an entire room
no longer blooms with
its fragrant welcome.
Nocturnal
is my fervent search,
without night vision.
Knuckles outstretch,
but palms clutch nothing.
Beloved, your love
is within
roaming shadows,
splattered upon
the pavement
of nightfall.
Glances of
expansive
remembrance thin,
vanishing
into fumbling
fabrications
and uncertainties.
Yet certainly you
are loved forever,
currently
unattainable
to behold.
4-11-2021
David means "beloved."
Dedicated to my dad
The crowd dots the cavernous hall,
colorfully scatter like a box of fallen jujubes,
a virtual confetti of humanity
with hoots and catcalls, the ruckus roar.
The politicians venture forth unabashedly;
prancing and pandering for chump change
like circus bears on their hind legs,
drool running from the corners of their painted mouths,
captured on camera.
Well-worn platitudes slide through the ether;
wrapped in the crisp new cellophane of twenty-first century jargon
thinly guised in the aroma of hot buttered popcorn;
the moronic masses roar,
behind the orange flames
of plastic lighters.
* The Nader convention Green Part canidacy 2000 Radio City New York.
Listing A Personal View Of What Poetry Is
1. Poetry is a stone,turned to expose to searching winds once hidden earth.
Robert J. Lindley
2. Poetry is art, mind painted, heart colored and fire risen.
Robert J. Lindley
3. Poetry is a fruit, hanging on a bountiful tree, begging to fall.
Robert J. Lindley
4. Poetry is an ever expanding ocean, begging ever more creatures to swim in its swirling depths.
Robert J. Lindley
5. Poetry is cake on a golden platter, eaten with fork, spoon, butter knife or greedy hands.
Robert J. Lindley
6. Poetry is cherry blossoms, crying for the soft, cool winds to wave their beauty to the awaiting sun and the gasping skies.
Robert J. Lindley
7. Poetry is glistening dewdrops falling upon virgin ground to gift dawn's hope and night's desire to match brilliance of falling moonbeams.
Robert J. Lindley
8. Poetry is man's heart and soul uniting to bless others, while temporarily shielding searching souls against this dark world's poison tipped arrows.
Robert J. Lindley
9. Poetry is brightly sent musical notes that heart sees, mind colors and spirit longs to record.
Robert J. Lindley
10. Poetry is ink blotted, soul driven splashes that cry to be read, beg to be understood and unabashedly sings to give to its readers.
Robert J. Lindley
11.Poetry is a colorful bird, in heavenly flight to a paradise that awaits man's sincere pleading heart and desirous spirit.
Robert J. Lindley
12. Poetry is a child happily playing, a mother joyfully singing and a father blessed to have and so very dearly appreciate loving both.
Robert J. Lindley
Robert J. Lindley, 7-17-2018
Subject, ( What Poetry Is)
Note- This was inspired by reading, The Name Forsakes Me's blog this morn.
Which lists 50 famous quotes on what poetry is.
A beautiful, colorful day elicits fantasy,
beginning with a dawn of tangerine-hued sky.
Envisioning a monarch’s wings fluttering,
into the sky with poetry I fly.
Lovely mellow noon offers pink quince
blossoming beneath a sky clear blue.
I imagine strolling with my love along a lane.
Romance, along with nature, blooms anew.
Radiant sun tumbles unabashedly violet
into its deep, mirroring, rippling sea.
I picture myself as a purple starling.
Winging beyond the horizon, I flee.
Lucid moonlit night opens pensively
as if it were a muse in a robe of bluish-gray.
One of myriad stars I now become,
wishing from Dreamland never to stray.
Traveling through the jaded discourse
With bartered pen and little remorse
Brandishing sharpened scalpel; tour de force
Unabashedly seeking all texts from lexicon to divorce
Developing underlying themes to alter the broader context
Freely abridging each verse to establish the pretext
Isolating each stanza to create a subtext
Inferring connotations to establish a hypertext
Disassociating words to broker more inflection
Delinking phrases building new bridges for reflection
Deconstructing patterns to sculpt out a new direction
Decoding mores and values to foster introspection
Voiding punctuation; compressing verses to scuttle metric time
Extrapolating dominant motifs to devalue the inculcating paradigm
Decoupling dissonant accents to deflower the sublime
Erasing phonetic schemes; disbanding symetrical order; decelerating rhyme
Upon revelation’s flight
Under Orion’s focus
I witness a fiery glow towards familiar horizons.
‘Tis no sunrise
It is a striking reality.
My saddened retinas witness monochromatic pitchforks,
Desolated screams,
Embellished declarations from misguided leaders
And self-made stallions riding into condescending sunsets
Without any earned punctuation to be taken seriously
A House of Eroded Representatives
A village of One
A village of souls
Pushing
Back
…
There was a home upon these well-worn landing strips.
This was my home.
But, these forged rooftops now taste
Withering, hurricane gusts of red velvet cake’s mold
Rusted nails forcibly detached from honored foundations
Unto egotistical coffins
The reality
Shining through meter-less corruptions
Comes full circle
Small doses of poisonous vendettas
Fed from tarnished, silver spoons
Echoes of Cuban Fidel
Lace elasticity of “open arms”
With onyx, unfiltered coffee drops
Coating infant’s petulant lip
Witnessing cotton-less sheep walking with listless fervor
Towards silenced, condemned “Noahs”
I signal pilot within my melancholic wisdoms
To redirect our flight
To a new horizon
To an unsheltered domain
Where even waterfalls still allow
Conducive verbiage to rise
Amongst the unabashedly meek
To a destination
Where stature is defined by all
Not by one
Where character
Is developed under accountabilities’ pen
Where high horses & curtained theatrics
Are the only victims of banned tomorrows
Where honor
Is still defined
Without deleted, impulsive banter
Where friendship,
Love,
Wisdom,
Memories,
Shine
…
Because
Things
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same.
©Drake J. Eszes
“And my ties are severed clean. The less I have, the more I gain. Off the beaten path, I reign.” –Wherever I may Roam by Metallica (my lifelong song)