Best Unclosed Poems
With unclosed lids, but yet I dream
I'm lulled with distant memory
A different place, my mind redeems
I'm drifting back to yesterday
I'm back in time, with younger face
He's waiting by the gate
With tender gladness we embrace
Our new love lies in wait
With spirits young, our lives ahead
The future yet untold
My dream awakes, I'm young inside
When did we both grow old?
Categories:
unclosed, love, nostalgia
Form:
Rhyme
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
Categories:
unclosed, dream, imagery, nature, tree,
Form:
Quintilla
When time past would freeze in winter of discontent
from eternity I’d borrow the spring of time present,
and bloom the flowers of time future in my meadow,
if there was no tomorrow.
The sunburst sky’s spectral flow of heavenly hue
radiated the tinge of ecstasy from the dawn’s dew,
in my unclosed eyes the perpetual painting I’d stow,
if there was no tomorrow.
At the edge of the seraphic night’s tapestry of blue
when the motif of love I lost I’d discover anew,
my dreams I’d lay on timeless moonbeam’s glow,
if there was no tomorrow.
When all the bridges of belonging would burn
a dismayed voyager from the wilds to you I’d return,
with you I’d merge turning to your second shadow,
if there was no tomorrow.
Written : August 21, 2019
January 20, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Categories:
unclosed, fantasy, imagery, time,
Form:
Rhyme
The flotilla of the ivory-varnished sailing clouds,
gliding across the cerulean sky of serenading spring,
turned into the menacing fleet of sudden scare.
Its shadow of invisible danger has changed our lives,
maybe forever.
Tangled in the complex social web of modern life,
the distance created on the track of changing times,
enhanced perforce at coercion of survival instinct.
The widened crevice in kinship will remain unclosed,
maybe forever.
But I still see in the sunburst splendor of dawn sky,
rays of hope etch golden lines on gloomy clouds,
it won’t be long when surely they will melt away.
If there is a time to venerate the ravaged nature,
it’s now.
Wrapped within collapsed wings of the caged bird,
confined psyche crumbles in the abyss of desolation,
fortified it’ll rise from the debris like the sphinx.
If there is a time to keep the morale sky high,
it’s now.
April 1, 2020
Contest : What Matters Most To You
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
unclosed, courage, encouraging, scary, time,
Form:
Free verse
Your flushing face winsome in the wild wind,
the ebony strands of hair insolent, flutter unbridled.
Some swirl squally, threading the gushing gale,
on the ivory forehead their lattice captures my yearning.
The sculpted window panes of the hazel eyes unclosed,
flutter like the flamboyant wings of beguiled butterfly.
Onyx eyelashes line the lissome lids of the eyes,
shelter the dreams in the seamless sapphire sea,
The lilac patina of the luscious lips pursed lissome,
embraces the entrapped silence of latent longing,
carve on your face the contours of cute enticement,
rippling on the pristine petals of florid smile I see frozen.
The resplendent supple cheeks subtly caressed
by the serenading zephyr suffused with vermillion blush,
incandescent in the aurora of the sunburst sequined sky,
I engrave in my enthralled heart your inimitable image.
There I see you glide like a fascinating indigo fairy,
draped in the mesmeric trance of sapphire splendor.
I strive to fathom the profundity of your demure dimension
in the oceanic depth of infinite mystery of opulent charisma.
Soaking the charming shades of your sensuous elegance,
I reach the enchanted edge of expansive imagination,
where in the craving chromatic canvas of my halcyon heart,
in hues of possessed passion I see you as beauty incarnate.
Categories:
unclosed, analogy, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
The Three Islands Sleep!
Sleep, sleep, the islands asleep!
Sleep while the winds blow on her face,
On her trees, and on her mountains and hills,
Sleep when the thieves dressed in suit come in,
Like the befuddled man sleeps in his own vomit,
Or like the overworked farmer, who in his bed creeps.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep with unclosed eyes, like he who can’t sleep,
Sleeps to the sound of alarm, the fight for her life, and her sea,
Sleeps, when the red crimson blood from her vain shed,
Like anesthesia in flesh, make it numb, feel no pain,
Or like the brain hypnotized, would not think for itself.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep when the foreigners come, move her out of her bed,
From the kitchen, living room, on the trees she sojourns,
Sleeps, though her offspring bewail, for some bread and a rest,
For schoolmasters that left, with no school nor recess,
And the peril and risk that play daily on the streets.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep, the three of them sleep, when they empower the fiendish,
To keep the ball rolling, the robbing and defrauding,
When the ballots that are twisted, in their hands feel no different,
Sleep when the liars can lead them, but the truth doesn't reach them,
Or when death sentence upon them, they hear, neither see their grave ending.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep when the corrupt one comes, with false hope to promote,
Like better jobs, new buildings, profuse gifts are given,
Sleeps like the reefs and the cays in the deep,
When the hurricane sweeps, still they all in deep sleep.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sound a sleep!
Sleep! Sleep! The three of them sleep, when rain water falls and seeps,
Seeps through their pores, deep down in their souls water leaks,
With thorns, wild trees and tall bush growing from underneath,
The Cassava, plantain, watermelon, sweet potato, food produced choked and killed,
Like invaders our land destroy, but we sit and daydream, since our islands sound asleep.
Sleep! Sleep! The three islands asleep!
Categories:
unclosed, change, community, corruption, environment,
Form:
Personification
Many years ago, way back in time the month of April was known as the Blackthorn Winter,
It was the time of the year when the blackthorn begins to dress in her finest blossom,
Deep in the country the small hamlets custom says is the time for bitter cold weather,
Time for east and north-easterly hard winds chill all, hail, sleet and sometimes snow.
The blackthorns and the plums in sheltered orchards awaken and begin to come to life,
They quickly showed themselves thickly clustered with tiny little green bursting buds,
Blue whiteness of the blossom half revealed, like the wide smile of a beautiful girl,
A rich white that makes your heart and eyes light up at the sight of unrivaled beauty.
Cold are the winds buds of trees swell and they grow like a naturally beautiful woman,
They come forward and bloom standing cold but fearless, determined to wait for the sun,
On cold grounds a lilac stands it looks so green flushed with it's half-unclosed leaves,
A yellow rose fights to start its new life just as custom says in a Blackthorn Winter.
Categories:
unclosed, nature, beautiful, time, beautiful,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I watched them took-off for their search for greener pastures
Adventurers with unclosed or unknown destinations
One thing was sure; they were going to cross the Mediterranean
Their determination overweighed the risk ahead of them
They were so desperate for a better life than their present conditions
Even like armless soldiers at war, they were ready to embark on their journey
These were all disgruntled youths from Africa
Their fingers of anger were all pointed at their leaders and governments
I watched them packed their loads, ready to face the unknown
Their faces proved disappointments from their fatherlands
In their minds, there was no better place than across the Mediterranean
These were jobless graduates from Africa
It was better to die in a strange land than live in a corrupt fatherland
These youths were running away from embezzlement and violation of human rights
But little did they know that all their dreams would be shattered in the Mediterranean Sea
I saw a group of frustrated mothers when the sad news stormed our land
Their dreams for a rich and better life had drowned in the Mediterranean
They cried with accusing fingers pointed at the government
Yet the government showed no compassion for her fallen compatriots
Neither did they express any pity for tears of these poor mothers
How I wished this injustice was rendered to them as well
But there was so little I could do by then
Categories:
unclosed, adventure, africa, grief, journey,
Form:
Epic
Existence is jam-packed with such deadly traps,
You would wonder why its Author made it so;
You never are sure and ever live on borrowed time
For its turns may any time deal you a terminal blow.
You breathe when you find you can,
And will not be there to raise a query
Regarding your untimely and unfair decease,
When short it’s cut your mortal merry.
You suffer and cry when you have a tear,
And still get more of the dreaded stuff;
You make new resolves but your will is weak
And so you forget them all in a huff.
You know the way you should go
But your legs are light and easy to tempt,
So you end up taking the wrong course
And end up ruing the resolutions unkept.
If a believer, you increase your bootless prayers
And hope that someone up there will hear your cry,
But find your very woes increasing day after day
Till you accept your immutable plight and cease to try.
Whether blind rich or church-mouse poor, every man has his woes;
The poor man is ever crying over all the possible opportunities lost,
The young will always have to contend unfulfilled infatuations,
And the millionaire will ever bawl over a business deal unclosed.
So rather than file on through the shortened pages of time,
Men should spurn all the care and feel happy throughout;
In plenty and in dearth, in love and in hate –
For why invest in care and still have to doubt?
Categories:
unclosed, life,
Form:
Verse
Many years ago, way back in time the month of April was known as the Blackthorn Winter,
It was the time of the year when the blackthorn begins to dress in her finest blossom,
Deep in the country the small hamlets custom says is the time for bitter cold weather,
Time for east and north-easterly hard winds chill all, hail, sleet and sometimes snow.
The blackthorns and the plums in sheltered orchards awaken and begin to come to life,
They quickly showed themselves thickly clustered with tiny little green bursting buds,
Blue whiteness of the blossom half revealed, like the wide smile of a beautiful girl,
A rich white that makes your heart and eyes light up at the sight of unrivaled beauty.
Cold are the winds buds of trees swell and they grow like a naturally beautiful woman,
They come forward and bloom standing cold but fearless, determined to wait for the sun,
On cold grounds a lilac stands it looks so green flushed with it's half-unclosed leaves,
A yellow rose fights to start its new life just as custom says in a Blackthorn Winter.
Categories:
unclosed, nature, beautiful, time, beautiful,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I was in a sound sleep
ahem.. ahem...
ahem.. ahem...
Suddenly heard someone cough
Then, i quickly opened my eyes
to just find a heart lying on a thermal surface
wriggling & weeping for support
Oh...unfortunately it was Mine..
My Brain had a stroke watching at a strange sight instantly..
Strong choking feel in my neck..
Mouth remained unclosed for people to hear my voice box scream..
Hands and legs were in paralysed state
Blood slowly kept dripping from my soul..
and tears leaking out of my glorious eyes
Oops...there i stood ..
freezing into a lifeless statue..!
[struck by the storm of ephemeral stillness........]
Gosh..
I urgently wanted Life..!
Unexpectedly, there came my Hero
stood by my side
Gazed..
Gazed deeply into me
Finally touched with his magical fingers
And...wow
i saw myself ..
lying on the couch alive
On his...broad shoulder..!
16-6-2021
~DEEPA.V
NOTE: ALL YOURS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
FIRST PLACE:-)
Categories:
unclosed, absence, heartbroken, hyperbole, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
On a cold April morning the fields and meadows twinkle and sparkle in a low morning sun,
As cold as the east winds are thick frost glitters from the frozen moisture on the grass,
A lilac stands bold and uncaring it's so fresh and green, thick and bushy very beautiful,
It's no longer clustered with mere buds but flushed with half unclosed snow white leaves,
I stand by this brave little flower the bunches of future blossoms are all there to see.
As the lilac shivers in these early spring mornings it waits patiently for some friends,
A little yellow rose peep out from hard frozen ground, then out she comes for a new year,
The bursting blossoms of an old pear tree gives a lavish promise of beautiful sweet fruit,
And the rose bushes, not only have new leaves but very long red shoots, this chilly April,
A syringa is fully dressed in its pale green leaves, amid them, the buds hang abundantly.
Once again the taccamahac is studded with yellow aromatic and sticky leaves out in the cold,
I walk along the plantations and in the fields, large gummy buds appear from chestnut trees,
They're swelling, bursting out impatiently brightening the wood side, in a bright sunlight,
As they look up towards the cold sun they find a little bit of heat in the suns golden rays,
Even hedges have patches of green spreading in a biting east wind that nips ears and noses.
Categories:
unclosed, nature, green, morning, rose,
Form:
Prose Poetry
To fly across a cesspool of land with
eyes full closed and chastity held in hand,
with barriers imposed and doors kept shut
against the blind woes of a darkened vista
And to set down upon an earth of
scorched illusion and tainted meats,
proffering added colours beyond the white
Depravedly impressed footprints on an
unmarked linen sheet, held back by a
rough-hewn hand, made to battle and
guide the way on your unblemished behalf
Alas to sever the chord and introduce the
first breath of stale-aired corruption. To see
the unclosed eye open and know it's
end and all that lies between
To see all creations flaws and triumphs
naked in entirety, and the evolution of
revolution finally succumb to fossil fuels
and population. All of this shall bring a
weeping perspective to a blind man's gaze
Categories:
unclosed, allegory, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Thirty-Two
Late afternoon. Doldrums. The waters stood still. Was She asleep?
Lady Lake then drew her petticoat up to scratch Her shins deep.
At Embryo Islet the siesta-bound birds stirred and squawked.
Did matters of Form and Faith plague only minds of men who weep?
By the spindle Mairie tower wobbled the defiant Sea Anne-Anne fleet:
Galapago Rani of Pharoah’s Independence Square feat
Set course for Pubic Isle with her staunch camera women
But the sail stood limp while Lady Lake puffed Her exhausts down feet
Undaunted she threw rustic baguette crumbs to lasso swan cob
Then to cleave becalmed waters she enticed the cob lob by lob:
Austro-Hungarian Empire looked forward to Waterloo –
Glides and jerks moored her boat on Pubic Isle to ensure her job
From the port-holes of the Préfecture’s seaside ship liner shape
Keenly-trained eyes watched her moves with great approval for her shape:
Chief of Staff thought out loud if she could pose questions for their lot
The wooden bridge to mosque meadow looked saggingly out of shape
Yet again the Commandant strove to clear his throat Writ in hands:
“O! Wise and Learned Mullah! Would’st Thou keep Faith in these here lands!
The dire day wanes fast while this Writ stays unclosed hard and fast…”
“STOP!” cried the Imam. “Maghreb calls! I must hence to avoid bandhs!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
unclosed, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Opportunity comes but in every instance
Look inward and Self-rate your performance
The open doors are still left unclosed
Flash back and see opportunities that you have loosed
Grace is all you need, don't hope loose
Once a lost opportunity can still be the goose!
There's no error in trying again
Opportunity lost can still be regain.
Categories:
unclosed, inspirational, philosophy, lost, lost,
Form:
Couplet