Best Uncoil Poems
Almost everyday
In the cool shade of poetry
I would approach the old tree
That in a lively blossom
Some of which, deep red and blue
Would cast shadow on my rice and bread
Would shake my chromosome, a little,
In my pages so brittle now
The fragrance and forms I would pick up
Yes, of those flowers
Of the intellectual hours
And gather them
I mean the rhythm and the metaphor
The stars of the seer and philosopher
The poet and the scholar
Would gather them
On the water of my small bowl
Of my reflective thoughts and contemplation
In moments of subtle sublimation
A colorful crystallization
The tree is really rich and lovely
Sometimes bubbly sometimes melancholy
It is over a month since
It has no more been bringing out
No cloud and light mixed sprout
Of the lyrics of blossom
To gather and store
For our core
For our sea gull soar
So awesome
On inquiry a friend told me
An arm has got injured
And the spirit unsure
To sap the resources of the soil
To uncoil from it
The flowers of spirit
A book is missing
From my bookcase
A moon from my dream
Like the crows we cannot scream
Still we wish a quick return
From the infirm arm
That, as we learn
Has kept the blooms
_________________________________
09/04/2017
LEAVING A KISS
Shall I leave you a kiss?
Kiss that flowers a love forevermore.
Love that long been just figments of doubts
but if it is you, I will plant my trust.
Sweet tasty things be stirring in hush.
Pathways twisted shall flourish as they uncoil.
Readying a road for baby passion to freely swirl
Emotions constellate shimmering rainbow bright
Moonshine thrives magnifying fine wine delight
If gnawing beastly storms seeps then enclose
breaking to pieces the sky, the sea and our earth
Bitter tears will spill flooding veins in dark haste
slowly killing everything that grows
But upon love kiss on lips of faith and hope
a spark shall dwell cracking perpetual life
banging the taunts twining pain and strife
Resurrecting progress in blooms of green and red
_________________________________
(c) OLive Eloisa
2:57pm
September 09,2014
Contest Name The Poet II
THEME: LEAVE YOU A KISS
Placed 4th
POEM OF THE DAY -- SEPTEMBER 14, 2014
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Drops flung free of Winters' pelt,
pelt pale seedlings strung below
Below the soil, as spring is felt,
felt springs uncoil through melting snow
===============================
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
Don't ask me to apologize for being the monster inside
I refuse to set any agony i have aside
Don't ask me to torch out the fuse i have growing
There is so much torment behind this face without anyone knowing
Don't ask me to unmask this demon i enshrine deep in the dark
It fuels my spirit, whats left of me creating a tiny spark
Don't ask me to let go of the past
All the exploitation has been passed
Don't ask me to neglect the flashbacks you put into my head
So many wounds on my arms from the times you made me bled
Don't ask me to excuse all the sin you created
Cause my heart is buried distant enough it has to be gated
Don't ask me to uncoil and live a little
For how many times you beat me till my bones became brittle
Don't ask me to not dread all of this
I'd have to count the times of deaths i'd nearly miss
You've made me the monster
now don't ask me to apologize
I have been waiting for you through ages
In your lingering aroma, dear rain
For resplendent stories on green pages
With a purple burst of May in my vein
On soil of departure we come and play
We the new green holding red blue and white
In dew-like cool and warm showers of May
The earth in foliage all lush and bright
I laid in mild sun with my ear on soil
Filled my lungs with April mingling in May
Saw and heard the sounds of crimson uncoil
Thousands of poems in the amber ray
Of little pink that from May rain you share
In tree and shrubbery how dreamy you’re
____________________________________________
May 3, 2017
May Showers – Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
Thunderous silence in fresh mountain air
Dragonflies land on a mirrored flat lake.
A trout breaks the surface with but a swirl
Hushed morning stopping to rolling vast cheer.
Eight boats of rowers united in curl
Sixty-four faces combined in their ache
Coxswains urging each stroke with due care.
Rugged peaks fix firm gaze from up high
Each ridge a crease on a wrinkled old face.
Colours camouflaged by tussock and screes
Against this grave setting boats do defy.
Medleys on shore of blushing marquees
Supporting calls surge the rowers fast pace
Crews each pushing for all others to deny.
Canada geese carve the sky in their vee
Graceful wings scooped as they slowly descend.
Almost merging in the landscape behind
Splashes blend as birds land and oars break free.
Rowers increase their methodical grind
While a grand race is nearing its end
Sounds swell as crowds heighten their pleas.
Symbols of an intolerant harsh soil
Grey terraces flank the edge of the lake.
Head down merino ewes quest for their feed
Rowers and sheep joint in differing toil.
Leading boats lunge forward as though freed
Far behind peace returns in their wake
And the triumphant finally uncoil.
20th January 2016
HEAVY TUMBLING STORY
Before forbidden words
dawn to confess
Come... Come.. C O M E...
Uncoil your taste-buds to me
Entrust you health fully to thee
Yours truly,
FOOD
___________________________________
Enamored beyond possible reproach
I opened my mouth for crumbs of tasty
Crumbs later become spoonfuls
Spoonfuls turned to one, two, three plateful
Appetite feast in crescendo of daily treats
Boosting my body: front and rear - pound per pound
My clothes then groan: a cri de couer
Yet, desirous mouth craved for more and more
Eating up to the crust and core of everything
Months passed, Bigger! BIGGER, I come to be.
'Til even walking and standing, I can't do
My room - my only day and night intimate boo
My children, I robbed tardily of their joys
As their focus and attention divided by two
Fats stored everywhere on my bod
Gradually they are killing me - stealing my breaths
An oxygen via prongs must be on beside to help me breathe
My back an archipelago of aching ulcer...
Comestibles become my sweetest agony
Breaking me and my dignity so gently
Obesity then my heavy tumbling story...
__________________________________________________
Food Can't Live with it can't live without it - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
~~~1st Place~~~
©Olive Eloisa Guillermo
10:51pm, Oct. 17, 2014
The Seat by the Toilet - Rob Barratt([email protected])
Yes, the seat by the toilet’s
The best by a mile; it’s
The only seat in which to sit
In the seat by the loo
You’ve a wonderful view
Of the road (and a faint whiff of sh….)
Oh, the seat by the lav
Is the seat I must have
I can straighten my legs down the aisle
I’ve got people to smile at
As they queue for the toilet
It’s the seat for a man of my style
Now the toilet’s so clean
It’s a hygienist’s dream
So you don’t need to wait till the terminus
Rest assured that the rest room’s
Not an infested pest room
Or the habitat of something verminous
In the seat at the rear
There is nothing to fear
And your icy cold heart will just melt
There is room there to dance
Or adjust underpants
If it wasn’t for your safety belt
In the seat by the bog
You won’t sleep like a log
But it’s an en suite location, location
‘Cos if you need a poo
It’s just right next to you
And it’s yours all the way to the station
Though the seat by the privy
May get rather whiffy
When the occupants don’t shut the door
As they exit the closet
Where they’ve made their deposit
Just reach out, turn the knob, por favor
The lavatorial seat
Will not always smell sweet
But it’s clearly the one I prefer
I’ll pretend I’m the driver
And I bet you a fiver
That nobody else will sit ther (Liverpudlian pronunciation)
(sing)
Oh I do like to be
By the WC
Oh, I do like to be close beside it …………..
(speak)
I will know where you’re going
With your to-ing and fro-ing
Bowel or bladder, you know you can’t hide it
So ….. On the National Express
If your body is stressed
And you’re feeling the need to uncoil it
Make your journey complete
And head straight for that seat
Just relax and stretch out by the toilet
(sing) Oh dear, what can the matter be
I like the seat right next to the lavatory
It brings me great satisfaction and happily
Nobody else will sit there.
From the cradle of birth through the complex of life,
to finally the dungeon of death,
generational instincts react when there’s strife,
so a new order, takes its first breath.
In a pristine held valley with forest and stream,
where beauty and colour stand out,
odd shapes have a reason designed for the scheme;
there’s not a straight line thereabout.
So often we stroll through this balance of time,
blinkered and blind to its role.
What comes to the eye is not reason nor rhyme,
but wasteland that needs our control.
But bellbirds who call from the tree tops up high,
or boronia scent on the breeze,
and the cascading current that flows with a sigh,
are meant to put our mind at ease,
and surely they will if we’re given the chance,
to seek out these intricate things,
so there is more than a mere fleeting glance,
when we travel on butterfly wings.
When blossom takes over the rim of a shrub,
and the lure of nectar is strong,
pollen is moved through the whole of the scrub,
when the working bee moves it along.
The canopy gorges on sunlight and rain,
and filter them both to the soil,
so embryo seeds, start to swell and strain,
and seed leaves begin to uncoil;
not that you’d notice when you’re walking by,
you don’t see these intricate things,
unless of course you are willing to fly,
and travel on butterfly wings.
Go back to nature; to our dear mother’s arms,
who won’t support queens and kings,
but she will take you on a journey that calms,
if you dream you’re on butterfly wings.
Shield me from this stain I bear,
remove this filth and smut I wear.
Cover my eyes from the evil truth,
discard these lies and hide the proof.
Guard my heart, these beats of pain,
from this spattered torn, loveless stain.
Protect this tired, worn out soul,
the one who beats out of control.
Defend my honor, grace and trust,
uncoil these spoils, away we must.
Preserve the mutiny, oust the pure,
coral the innocent with your evil lure.
Safeguard the takers, fakers and rest,
loosen the chains around this chest.
Release my dignity, vanity and control,
please shield my heart and cover me whole.
Butterfly Wing Man
OH …. would I……could I……should I…..????
Write about the butterfly…….and why?
Awakens from his past ---full fledged
while beneath I stand ---still pledged
To hold my ground – on sacred soil
watch his translucent wings uncoil
A gentle breeze his birth ….. updraft
first touch of joy ‘neath fragile craft
Duty bound in ancestry
I envy him his being free
Watch him praise the rising sun
bathe in the heat that I must shun
Nestled in his petaled bed
I see him slowly dip his head
Promises to nature kept
tears for those who never wept
Wings that change the course of time
Wings – that sadly – are not mine.
12/3/2015
submitted to – Write About Butterflies – Poetry contest
sponsor – SKAT A
She lives there,
across the stream
By the jungle-side.
She’s bathing in the broad shallow stream
Every day with cockcrow,
in the village outskirts.
Her tall chubby body is wrapped up
And she pulls off her tight tunic
With toil.
Unknots her long curly hair
And sets her busty bosom free
And uncoil.
She’s is in high hurry since she’s very chaste
And seems scared in the desolate place.
Sitting in water washes first face
Then oh! Rubs her bust and her base.
Puts on her outfits— seeing sideways
Sitting on toes by the sandy shore.
And rushes home, water
Dripping her disheveled hair,
And dampened attire
Sticking her fat.
She’s motherless, married to a helpless man,
A saintly farmer’s lone daughter, newly divorced.
Oh! Who’ll teach my rigid beloved benevolence!
For, I would wed h’r too—if endorsed!
Like a skeletal skunk
You no longer make scents
You are a rotten moose
No longer worth a buck
Your opinions are like a dead bird
Dreadful and completely fowl
The only thing you have of worth
Is deep inside the soil
Maybe if you bury yourself
A new root may uncoil
If you somehow spring new roots
Like a dead owl I would still give not two undead hoots
Nature's tit- bits!
Gentle droplets of rain
on the colocasia leaves
slide like glossy silver grain
wish these pearls my palm receives
and I weave them into a chain!
A black-pepper vine
climbs round the coconut palm
saying 'am yours and you mine
wish this obsession to my heart embalm!
and me in my love -life assign!
In the moist soil take shelter
black ants and the root-grubs
safe beneath the damp leaf litter
My heart seeks refuge in such secure hubs
and wish my life with deep trust glitter!
A squirrel burries the nuts in soil
leaves there to sprout as it forgets
Trees do come up as bad weather foil
wish I plant in my life such goodness
and let sweetness in others' life uncoil !
© Anulaxmi Nayak,2015