Best Unlatched Poems
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So young, I was, and so naive
There was no doubt, I did believe
this babe who's latched inside my womb
with ties we had,... would always be
Latched on was he, as he was fed
then later days, our hands instead
Not tall enough to open gates
I would reach the latch for his escape
In time he grew to need more space
The cord we had, still had it's place
The loving ties from birth, so long
were gently stretching.., moving on,
yet still remaining full and strong
In time he grew, to be a man
Our bond had changed, but still lives on
He fell in love, as it should be
His bond with her, I'm glad to see
doesn't mean our own is gone
Songs are sung when lovers part
but no song for a mother's heart
When new adventures come one day
and new roads take him far away
The man he is, has been set free
to be the man he wants to be
The child he was is never gone
She's letting go, yet holding on
If once, one wish, were mine to choose
so many would my thoughts pursue
But one within my heart still yearns
for just one day, the clocks would turn
Together you and I would be
sitting there among the trees
I would lift you up upon my knee
just as we did when you were three…
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For Francine's Contest: Children In Rhyme
So young myself, I was naive'
Without a doubt, I did believe
the babe, then latched, inside my womb
would cling to me eternally
Latched on, was he, as he was fed
Then later on, our hands instead
Not tall enough to open gates
I'd reach the latch for his escape
In time he grew to need more space
The bond we had, would stretch in place
and strain the threads that bound him home
He reached up high to join the wind
Yet ties remained, still ever strong
Years would pass, too soon, a man
Old ties would change, yet carry on
Love came along, as it should be
My eyes, if wise, must let it be
This union blessed, was good to see
Her love for you, the world could see
It didn't mean my son was gone
Songs are sung when lovers part
But no song for a mother's heart
When new adventures come one day
Those new roads take him far away
The man he is, has been set free
To be the man he wants to be
The child he was is never gone
She's letting go, yet holding on
If once, one wish were mine to choose
So many do my thoughts pursue
But one within my heart still yearns
If just one day, the clocks would turn
Together you and I would be
Sitting here among the trees
I would hold you close, upon my knees
then turn you loose, to join the leaves...
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First Poem Submitted To Poetry Soup
Written not long after the weddings of all three of my children
who were all married within 1-1/2 years of each other!
I must have been feeling the empty nest blues and all the changes that came along ! :)
Ella Hyde
1857- 1898
That cad with the freckle on his forehead,
That rascal man beast,
Handsome as a Greek
But devastatingly insecure,
And so deliciously young!
He was the one who stole my pride,
There, behind the Hadley tombstone in the moonlight,
And who,
Breathlessly and with trembling hands,
Unlatched the ruby red necklace
From around my naked neck that night.
It was he.
That cad who swooped down upon my innocence,
Like a maniacal Zeus
In one of his crazy costumes of concupiscence,
And carried me off to nights of brazen episodes,
Splendid spectacles in light and magic,
Of him and me embracing wildly, madly,
In dreamy dances with caresses and kisses.
Only the truly passionate
Could understand these mad scenes in the dark!
I met RS on many a night
In the long concealing shadows of Central Park.
He was my man, but he didn’t know it.
I lived my life here in this dusty town the best I could.
I believe I left my mark in some small but universal way.
At least I knew when to say no to Roscoe Settle.
Now I’d like to go back to my grave and sleep.
I am tired of this rant about The Man Beast.
At 41 I entered here after my bout with diphtheria.
The trees here are my shadowy friends now.
But I sometimes secretly wish I could meet RS.
Just as it was in 1897,
He and I kissing in the garden Gazebo at Central Park,
His hand on the small of my back.
Me trembling with monstrous want,
My ultimate Prince.
Who lied to me like a rat!
She remembers the shimmer
of one Sunday morning
The sun had grown dimmer
on the overcast seas
The color of yellow,
spread long amber fingers
And the sycamore trees
cast strange somber shadows.
There was a threat in the sky
and the faint sound of thunder
Then a flash in the hills, in the blink of an eye,
Clouds gathered so quickly on the hillside, nearby
They rudely unlatched all the floodgates within
When a minute had passed light shined once again
and a radiant sun spread like gold end to end
At the old oak table, she sat in the kitchen
Staring at paper, with a pen in her hand
Searching for muse and the words for a poem,
seeking the magic, to paint with a pen
Hoping for gold in the late summer's bend
While hearing the tapping of rain and the plunder
And as quickly as storms, come out of nowhere,
a floodgate of verses resounded like the thunder
and flashes of lightning struck lines here and there.
Pouring on paper, like rivulets on windows
a floodgate unleashed, were the words in a row
Painting a river, a poem she could own
and words that would capture the late summer storm
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Contest: "Titles" Required using titles of our first 5 poems.
9/17/15
(Titles of my first five poems:)
The Old Oak Table
Dimmer
Yellow
Sunday Morning
Unlatched
Entered again: 'Second Chance for the Unloved Poem' Contest
Sponsor: Jesse Rowe
There is a sudden crowd inside the ribs,
a heavy shifting of weight,
like old furniture dragging across a hardwood floor.
It is the nervous, rhythmic friction
of a thumb tracing the rough seam of your jeans,
over and over,
trying to anchor a body that feels too light.
You stand bare under a noon sun
with nowhere to tuck your hands,
the throat closing up like a dry pipe
around words that refuse to be smooth.
It tastes like the bitter, metallic burn of morning coffee
scalded against the top of your tongue,
the physical evidence of rushing into the day.
Then the floor drops away,
that sudden, terrifying lurch in the gut
when your foot encounters only empty air
on a dark staircase you thought you knew by heart.
The silence follows, heavy as a wet wool coat,
settling into the quiet hallway upstairs
where the floorboards stop creaking,
and you realize the house has gone entirely still.
But the lungs remember how to expand.
A laugh breaks out, unrehearsed, ugly, and loud,
the kind that jolts the shoulders
and leaves you blinking at the sudden light.
It is the cold, sharp shock of air
filling the chest right after the crying stops,
tasting faintly of ozone and salt.
We are of a fragile, clumsy construction.
We bruise against the corners of tables;
we stitch ourselves back up with mismatched thread.
To be alive is just to leave the front door unlatched,
inviting the weather to wreck the kitchen,
and standing there in the debris—
bruised, exposed,
and entirely glad to have felt the storm.
Thence they come, these thoughts again
As I brood, on mind thus dimmed
Fraught with doubt, crossed by light
Naught but rout, mine sublime such night
Shall I muse on love or war
Fall on fuse or seek Paramour
Laugh or cower in shadows of mire
Caraf or bower or madness my sire...
First is love, that Venus sin venal
That gloves us, that makes great what might be menial
Ye Gods that strike us and make us wonder
What askance could discover, instead we blunder
Next is war, to which we hasten, alight
Vex't too far, we hurry, eyes red bright
For what do we stand, for what reason we fall
For lauds or bands, or glory for all
Last is madness, that indefinable mount
Fast it abandons, leaves a cur, a lout
Yet while in this life it hobbles, in-famy arraigns
In eternity recorded is all but fame
William* knew love, was a master unmatched
In his words our nature unmasked, unlatched
Lee* was a genius, in a cause infamous
The perfect warrior, strong-gentle-just
Poe* was a daemon, Pandora, of dark
Yet lauded after, today our 'Goth' art
Which embodiment was true, was pure?
Which could you most admire, follow, ENDURE?
Could you follow if combin'd in all
As Dumas* once quipped, one for all?
What human could be them, combine in power
Would he be tyrant, belov'd?-Sought?-cowered?
Was he Alexander, of whom knowledge bereft
Was he then Caesar, Cleo*-love, General, Epilept*?
I know not who embodied - genii* of three
Yet at some point existed this man, tri-breed
I know which of these I am, maybe
Yet which one are ye, God damned though may be
if needs must decree ye must be
choose from these distinct sep-equal* three.
* Notes
William - William Shakespeare
Lee - Robert E. Lee
Poe - Edgar Allan Poe
Dumas - Alexandre Dumas
Cleo - Cleopatra
Epilept - Epileptic
Genii - distinctive character or spirit, as of a nation,
period, or language (plural)
*Sep-equal - Separate but equal
It was dark...
I was on board
A running mind off the long board
A sleeping mind across the board
A winning mind over a long sword...
I saw children around me
Abducted, crying before me
Crippled, reaching out for me
Worn and disheartened, following me...
On the very same train I'm locked up
Children of innocent faces blotched
Can't imagine how we've all packed up
Can't see any window or door unlatched...
Children of ages five to nine with grime
Teens and adults aged twelve to nineteen
Befuddled and unnourished by torments of time
Soft bodies, bruised and mashed like gelatin...
I started walking inside the cursed train
Children, one by one, followed in pain
Following me like melted candles in chains
Growing up inside the unlitted train that drains...
Then slowly the runaway train stopping and halted.
As I reached the end of the runaway train
Faces of shamed lives wired with strain
An open door swiveling as wind blows the train
A new hope flashing at blown away-train...
Parents longing outside the train are in glisten
Each prisoner of runaway train freed
Me, watching the victims of the stricken
Redeemed and relieved of hearts that bleed...
I woke up... t'was just a dream!
A bright light engulfs the room
and suddenly disappears
ushering a blazing essence
that abruptly evolves in the atmosphere,
buttons unlatched
zippers break loose
shirts collapses over skirts
flesh dancing in flesh
flesh devouring flesh
and impatient breath
whispering soft words in her ears.
Electrified
mesmerized
enraptured
emotions bathing in emotion
exotic moment intoxicated with fear.
listen carefully and tell me what you hear?
sounds thundering beyond steep mountains
doors hammering speechless voices
debris flying high in the air,
but they lie there firing on without fear.
Lights grow dim
and a mysterious sound chime in.
Pum Pum Pum
It must be the voice of an angel
walking up and down his gigantic chest,
kindling a soft fire that rips aimlessly through their ears.
It captivates their emotion
and enflame their burning passion.
dancing and prancing
skipping and dipping
sliding and gliding
they went to the extreme.
Eyes fixed in a steadfast motion
calculating the mysterious sound
chest pressing against chest
chest pounding upon chest
spilling tears of joy all over her face.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Picnics at the Park
I wished that I had stopped
The hands of Mother Clock
From ticking on its tac
As time flew by steadfast.
Bye, bye my toddler sweet
Hello there little princess
New adventures you'll seek
Words small and big you'll speak.
You're so confident at three
A daredevil I could see
Climbing, jumping, hopping
In every closet, hiding.
First time I saw you biked
With training wheels unlatched
Made your Grandma so proud
Love tears bedewed her eyes.
At four you got bolder
Your bike rides went farther
Your hollers were like fireflies
Which I chased them from afar.
Though dusk had already fallen
You're still roamin' in the gloamin'
A guard brought you back alone
Told him 3324 Park St., was your home.
You loved picnics at age five
On the grass, we laid our mat
Admiringly I watched you biked
With your cool sunglasses and hat.
One day when you're past five
Moved miles away I couldn't drive
How I wished that I had stopped
Before. The tic tacs of Mother Clock!
His hard eyes stared me down
The remnant of a smile
Now a distant memory
It’s funny how the eyes can relate hatred
Out of nothing came a blow
It made me see stars-for how long?
I can’t count but I’m a damn good smell sensor
What I did to deserve that smack, I may never know
I miss my friends from that place
I don’t know what they call it but I remember its smells
Urine, poop, fear, and death
Why did I have to go home with this guy?
It started as soon as I got to his digs
Couldn’t hold it
There were others here; I could smell them
But they are gone
I used to remember everything
Now it’s a blur
Head smacks all the time
I hate the stars
What a fool
He took me outside and unlatched the spike collar
Took off, full speed
Not looking back, gonna find another pack
-UNLATCHED-
So young myself, I was naive'
Without a doubt, I did believe
the babe, then latched inside my womb
was bound to me, and would always be
Latched on, was he, as he was fed
Then later on, our hands instead
Not tall enough to open gates
I'd reach the latch for his escape
In time he grew to need more space
The bond we had, would stretch in place
With loving smiles, I watched him play
He longed to grow, and threads grew long
He reached to climb, and fly the wind
Yet ties remained, still ever strong
Years would pass, too soon, a man
Old ties would change, yet carry on
Love came along, as it should be
My eyes, if wise, must let it be
This union blessed, was good to see
Her love for you, the world could see
It didn't mean my son was gone
Songs are sung when lovers part
But no song for a mother's heart
When new adventures come one day
Those new roads take him far away
The man he is, has been set free
To be the man he wants to be
The child he was is never gone
She's letting go, yet holding on
If once, one wish were mine to choose
So many do my thoughts pursue
But one within my heart still yearns
If just one day, the clocks would turn
Together you and I would be
Sitting here among the trees
I would hold you close, upon my knees
then turn you loose, to join the leaves...
~ ~~ ~
RESPONSE
Oh, my child, if just one wish could be our own
The sun would shine for you alone
The moon would make the time grow long
Now many moons have come and gone
and you have grown, and now you know
You have a son........who is your sun
Your son, I know, is growing strong
There'll be a time to let him go
Your child will stretch the ties that bind
Inside, you'll find a tear resides..
For letting go, .....and father's pride
are tied together ,.....such is life
And doesn't come so easily
when love has bound the heart so tight
But go, they must,... and they will flee
and we must trust them well enough
to set them free.......
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For Contest Sponsored by Silent One "Response To Your First Poem"
9/27/15
The howling wind causes the unlatched shutter
to bang incessantly against the faded gray wood
The upstairs window, that the shutter shields,
has spider legs of cracked glass
A black widow house, if ever there was such a thing
All the other windows of this untended house are shuttered tight,
the ghostly occupants within have no incoming light
The years have been unkind to this old, stately Tudor house,
the once opulent flower garden is overgrown
with nettle vines and weed shrubs
It is in the sabbath year of its abandonment,
fallow is the ground upon which it stand in sullen emptiness
It was dubbed the "House of Ruin" by the local gentry,
not so much because of its baleful outward appearance,
but primarily because of its former residents
They were a disgraced political family,
thrust from the public trough, and forced to forfeit
most of their ill-gotten wealth
Corruption and scandal were the dubious garments
that cloaked this amoral family
The house was auctioned off to pay legal fees;
some family members went to prison,
some went on to work in various seedy enterprises:
Escort services, sham real estate ventures,
cyber gambling and other shady businesses
The house was put into a public trust,
but there was never any municipal funds available
to restore it to its former glory
Thus it now stands,
a blight to the surrounding landscape
Paint peeling off the rotted, intricately carved oak wood,
granite stone abutments crumbling, ornate fence and balconies rusted
A house of ruin with a haunting visage
Off and on they signaled, always in rapid fire
casting munitions across my window blind
A garish platoon of aggressors engaged in war
all tossing hand grenades at my haggard mind
Their bullets were blinking in Morse code
flashing in rhythm with droning dissonant jazz
From their stronghold across the asphalt road
they nightly attacked in a tawdry scheme
No clouds as allies to enshroud the moonlight
In cryptic shadows I avoided the street lamp
and the eyes of their sentry. Her stilettos tapping
in syncopation, I slipped by their sentinel vamp
Stealthily I moved, muscles tensed and strained,
I peered through the umbras to launch my attack
An alleyway spotted, and there I ordained
the weapon to silence their nightly escapade
Behind their front line, my hand unlatched the box
I flipped all the switches and pulled out the fuse
The only sounds I heard were patrons moaning
No Morse code signals or stilettos walking in ruse
On my window blinds there were no flashing lights
No tacky neon sign, offering home brewed beer on tap
Victory over the aggressors. I mumbled their last rites
I slept peacefully through the night with a fuse in my lap
There’s a box lying somewhere.
Somewhere in a dusty cupboard.
Somewhere behind old paper, older words, and wounds older still.
Somewhere no one can find it.
I think about it, sometimes.
Sometimes, when I breathe.
Sometimes, when I exhale puffs of grey smoke and let those rashes bleed.
Sometimes, when in the dead of night, my lashes are wet.
Sometimes, when I’m looking somewhere, lost and stumble upon a sunset.
Apples and peaches,
Magentas and vermilions,
Pearls and emeralds,
all strewn across a cobalt, teal sky.
The sky you loved.
I drown in it when no one’s looking.
No one would understand, anyway.
I miss them reflected in that shard of glass we held together.
The one that broke, in giggles and hysterics, that very summer.
The one that I, upon a whim, hid in a wooden chest.
The one that I, with trembling hands, unlatched years later.
Long after you had left.
And it’s much too late
to go back
Much too late.
In a hot summer, a little sparrow
She flied into my room
Through the unlatched window
At the moment we saw each other, I found,
She seemed to be instantly surprised
I watched her a while and said: How things go?
She did not understand at all, only doing flap
She was extremely frightened, I think,
Attempting to go back to sky,
But she seemed to forget completely
She was already trapped inside
She looked like me this moment, I was wondering so
I have to think that she should also silently pray:"
Lord! Let me go ! "
I got up and opened all doors and also
The windows
She instantly fulfilled her expectation
Left no sorrows
So I have acted as a God like this,
That I have been looking for long time ago