Best Uncoiling Poems
“The broken pieces of our heart like shards of glass are difficult to be glued up. It needs great care and craftsmanship to mend it.” ~ By Poet
The night stood,
veiled like an assassin.
Leaving aside the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
like spirits, from another world
came to haunt.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons
she choked for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn't move.
Should she drink to the lees
the dregs of the bitter potion?
She couldn't wink an eye!
She heard someone asking
'Why should you keep alive
the past in an album
and turn its pages every now and then'?
But...she couldn't help......
Like serpents uncoiling,
memories came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So she kept staring
into the awful darkness broken and wide eyed!
And a thousand birds chant harmoniously, shrill and vibrant,
Bringing spring to forest creatures and urban dwellers;
Come out, come out and breathe the air,
Drink in the azure sky and the golden sun.
Every tree is bright and fresh and standing tall,
Flowers are uncurling and uncoiling in the warmth and light;
Go down to the deep sea and listen to the waves crashing and roaring,
Hold hands and skip along the beach young lovers.
In my kitchen garden the hummingbirds have returned,
Just look at those whirling, twirling wings;
Keep open and uncluttered all the windows and let the breeze in,
Let us leave memories and thoughts of winter winds behind.
Moonbeam evening and sun bright morning promenades are ours,
Nothing is more enjoyable than the perfume of spring to make us hum;
Oh, my heart has been weary waiting,
Put away all winter things.
Quietly bends down a weeping willow tree in the park,
Rest below the shady branches all the day and dream your dream;
Soft like velvet is the grass upon the cheek,
The meadow blossoms within our dream are calling us to come.
Up and down the fields we run like children again,
Valleys lush and emerald green for miles and miles and miles;
Winter snow and chills are gone,
Xmas yuletide is but a distant memory now.
Yes, oh sweet spring has finally arrived,
Zest, joy, happiness and delight is ours to enjoy.
______________________________
February 14, 2015
Poetry/Abecedarian/Oh Sweet Spring
Copyright Protected, ID 02-640-759-14
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Premier contest, Abecedarian,
sponsor Shadow Hamilton, Judged 03/2015
Second Place
Gradually the crystalizing dawn -- more hardened
Than folded steel --- more sharper than
The blade that cuts!
Wisps of thin vapour, once loitering insidiously
At the steps of each staunch door,
Swirling away -- seemingly almost alive!
Coiling and uncoiling. Has all the litheness of a
Dancing girls weightless silken ribbon.
Until, retreating back, high, into some lofty,
Inaccessible mountain...
Dissipates as if just abandoned dragons breath.
The trees and streams are no longer so solemn.
Circling over the temple, above the brittle lands
Frosted chill, red-beaked choughs noisily engaged
In agitated clattering...
But now the temple bells are commanding those
Monks to prayer.
The blind and withered monk, who sits alone
In his unassuming corner, reminds us:-
"An emperor who abuses his power unsettles the
Equilibrium of the whole nation, the workings of
Nature,
And the livelihood of all people;
His responsibility is to maintain harmony in
Himself and the empire...
By acting in accordance with Confucian principles".
It is for them to contemplate what we cannot
Comprehend:-
We are peasants and it is not expected of us
To understand such wise things; nor should we.
We understand the fish and their ways, and the
Ways of the Blue River...
Just as monks understand our gracious lord Buddha.
Rouses the sun. Slowly lifts an enormous sky.
Glistening hoarfrost spun from bramble to
Bush -- strung from bough to branch like
Giant spider web;
Stiffened grasses that so pleasingly crunch
Underfoot;
And from these grasses, droplets of moisture
Ready to be released like slow weeping tears;
They will join with and sweeten the vibrant
Spring waters -- clearer than quartz --
That stream in tripping rivulets over yellow rocks
To splash from shallow cup to pouring pool...
Once you have tasted these waters you would
Have little more need of wine.
Wine is for idle men, or for our warring masters
To drink when celebrating great victory;
What use have we of intoxicating wine?
It is better kept as an offering...
Lest the river Gods grow angry and
Spoil our catch.
As I stand before this old, dilapidated house,
A structure fast decaying and about to crumble,
With its walls painted grey and white,
And the plaster bearing cracks and marks,
Memories leap out,
From the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented, and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of sixteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this big house.
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeat
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many ceremonies of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin,
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold
But as time slowly weakened his torso
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
One day he left the house orphaning it for ever.
Now the house is sadly left to total decay.
Its life gone, its soul frozen,
A fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
For the lovely sounds this house once produced
And pine for the love
That once so luxuriously bloomed around!
He is the sinking of the final red orange sun of the glowing summer
Warmth no longer oozing and seeping into the pores as I lie bare under the skies
Jeweled dewdrops on the morning grass to dampen bare feet all softness under
And the shimmer on the surface of the lakes like the diamonds in your eyes
He is the golden cusp pf Autumn's Fertility
The ritual dance of the scarecrow in the breezes
(Straw coming loose and flying towards you, most certainly
will brush up against you and tickle before he ceases)
And this thinner less lumpy all seeing scarecrow
Seems to be in no remorse: his knowing face will always grin
And his arms will always be raised in a wave to show
He will protect the yellow brown stalks that bend before him
He is the crisp wind that caresses the crinkled foliage
Their rustling like long flowing skirts on a 1940s ballroom floor
These winds chill the fingers and toes and your face with the stinging red roses
Yet when winter beckons the retreating light, we will be frozen at its core
He is silent snowfalls and many winter moons
And the brown earth beginning to expose itself
The uncoiling of green and mud beginning to ooze
And all new life breaking free from its fragile shell
Shiva dances
Within the circle of fire
Expressing harmony
In his perfect figure
The snake on his arm
Is seen uncoiling
The flame in his hand
An endless cycle of birth and death
His cosmic dance
The harbinger of bliss
Destroys the old myths
Creates the new
Releasing men from illusion
He performs his dance
Of creation
Based on Hindu Mythology
October Sky – three haiku
#1
lightning strobes hearts
thunder uncoiling whips crack
eye stinging terror
#2
frosted exodus
wingtips warming on the fly
suns iced crystal glare
#3
cold hoar frost rainbow
saddened cornucopia
tears of failing sun
John G. Lawless
8/19/2015
Proud I am children, proud for sure, proud of day and proud of night
I can finally turn the key in my own door
No latent echoes filled with omnious warnings
Measuring out my freedom in abbreviated noons
And uncoiling mornings with elastic circuit of the sun
I can plant my own ten acres of banana more
Beach my own canoe on the shore
And will cut twenty more yards of sugarcane
If they pay me better now to buy a proper loaf
I come this midnight dividing present and past
Dividing hope from despair and brief uncertainty
About the cloud's timing of the rain.
I come to see my own black sorrows rolled back
To taste the ripe green of land and labour
And peace of sovereign gold
I come for me, and I come for Nanny on the mountain
Looking down, and for Bogle's marching done
I come for brother Sam fired dream of freedom
Do you hear their great spirit chanting us
Garvey on the podium after the black, green and gold
Have taken its place proudly amongst the nations of the world
I hear him thunder "rise ye mighty race, rise"
And feel the lightning of the heroes voice
Those all past, and those to come
This is a great moment in the building of a nation
A great berth of ship before the salt waves lick
The sturdy bow, O ye valiant seamen, no cringeing now
No shackled hopes, no tethered dreams, our coffled hearts
Shall be only what reminds of the bitter voyage past
My soul is breathing like the abeng tonight
Atop its pole the flag of Jamaica in full flight.
A wounded heart cried, filled its lonely glass
Held and felt with anguished hands of sorrow
To pray memories fade as tears trespass
Through years of time her love had to borrow
I try to remember when love went wrong
Only fragmented pictures from the day
She disappeared as her shadow grew long
A marbled world turned quietly to clay
Cataclysm within, covering dreams
With nothing to recognize or save
My eyes counted tears with thinning long streams
and scattered monuments of yesterday
I felt a shared breath with a pain that's kept
and found a heart wounded as its eyes wept
Here's my workshop poem
First change
A wounded heart cries, fills its lonely glass.
Held and felt with anguished hands of sorrow.
Clinging to this drink of hindered morass,
For years of her love I had to borrow
I try to remember when love went wrong,
Only fragmented pictures from the day.
She disappeared as her shadow grows long,
A marbled world turned quietly to clay
Time washes all that memories contain.
Still, loss of love remembered can fade.
The years of regret secretly remain,
Uncoiling ribbons of sadness inlaid.
A wounded heart cries, fills its empty glass,
Love forever lost, memories trespass.
With patience, in a concealed place,
in long grass, or a packing case
as unwary prey comes apace
never his footsteps to retrace
With cold eye, beady, dead in space,
Uncoiling with hypnotic grace,
Slow motion skin - an awful lace,
To silent earth, no sudden trace.
A great despair...
Heavy and burdensome..
Hangs like wet wool, covering the motionless night...
From a door...
Within the depths of self...
Realization springs forth...
Uncoiling, like a serpent in strike....
Time is the great equalizer of man...
It paints the picture of truth...
For we all march daily towards death and deliverance...
Loss fills the plate...
Where once,
Tomorrow reined.....TAH
From here and there, I hear him speak
His voice, falling in mild whispers
But he always plays hide n’ seek
Never once I could see his countenance
At times he speaks loud n’ clear
Sometimes so harsh and stern
How he denies my wild longings
With a stubborn ‘Yes’ or ‘No’
What magic and mystery in him stored
I often wonder and am at a loss to gauge
Amid the shards of my broken sleep
I often struggle to decipher his mysterious codes
I sought after him over and again
Down the nights and through the days
But he eludes me like a mysterious sprite
Prancing around and hiding about
When I give up my search after him
He shouts and whistles amid the confused din
And I see faint truths suddenly uncoiling
Forming in me a clearer perspective of life
At the end of my incessant search
I chanced to meet him within my own self
Peering into my depths, I saw him, his face veiled
And a balance held obliquely in his hands
When the veil was lifted from his countenance
I saw him clear, clear as in a mirror
Someone with such commanding air
And so stern with an impassive demeanor
In the still pool of humid silence
I heard him introduce himself
His sound ringing distinct and clear
Leaving echoes in the caverns of stillness
“I am CON- SCI-ENCE, your alter ego
Listen to me, you shall not stray’’!
When he thus revealed himself before me, I stood
Wonderstruck staring into the face that eluded me for long
Honorable Mention
'Wonderstruck' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by
Robert James Liguori
Not a secret to unravel but a feeling to experience;
"Pointe D'amour", I stand alone here, a mesmerised being.
The white warm sand sinks discreetly under my naked toes
As the fine grains ooze in between, awakening my senses.
My hungry eyes take its first sips of merging of colours;
Green hues with the white expanse extending afar and
Inclining towards the crystal clear blue stretched lagoon,
All held under the indulgent gaze of the lapis lazuli sky.
My soul glows in immense sense of well being in tranquility
That reigns, while in contrast my sleeping emotions are
Dragged out of slumber uncoiling lazily to a crescendo,
To match the violently lashing waves crashing incessantly
Against the giant reef in calm water: held vigil since eternity.
Birds' aubade mock my intrusion in this nature's secluded corner,
Only meant for lovers, to explore each other in secret,
Enjoying the ecstasy of climax in such enchanted panorama.
13/08/16
Contest: Wordscape by John Hamilton
Judged 17/08/16 - Placed 4
Atop the calm surface
no truth or indication
of all that is below
caused by great fermentation.
What ever is there hidden
can be seen in real time
eruptions spew to the crater
stench of death is now benign.
We should take heed of everything
below the surface boiling
the bubbles soon will rise
as serpent's scales uncoiling.
A common green
Garden hose coiled
Slithering head bright and erect
Suspended over the gaping crowns
And roots garmented in soil
And I
At the foot of glowing tree
Or flower bush
Tend my garden alone
Whip the flickering water like a tongue
Venom white the foam
Through the innocence of light
Falling
In spatters at the frigid root -
A second promise of life
The leaves bowing
From the blinding force of spray
Turn their dripping mouths away
The upraised hose deseminate
Not I
The hose would lead you to conclude
As if it was the primary source
The water's fount and feed
So I
Kept my eyes in constant watch
On the uncoiling trail in the quivering grass
Inch after inch, inching at my heel
Its rigid head between my fingers twitching feels
The slippery clasp of power
Upon the brooding hose.
Then caught my eye
A butterfly
Meandering away ... something I long to grasp
And let my fingers moan each tenderness
Of silken dust it yields
To tell the softness
Of death, cold, inanimate
Left rigorless
In the imaginations frightened clasp.