Best Unroll Poems
Without a shadow's kiss
How blooms a hidden rose?
Without a storm's embrace
How does an oak repose?
In Twilight's waltz, secrets unroll
the mystery it bestows.
Yet in its gently budding leaves
tales of resilience compose.
How should I yearn to climb
I lack the precipice's call?
Cragged visions of distant peaks and
fallow mind
a darkened silent beckon enthrall.
Oh, to forge within,
Oh, why, doubt cloaks my inner child.
In solitude's chains
I hear the introspective thrall.
Yet, tremors are in my soul
and yet a lonely seed begins to climb
A combination of growth
harmonizing with each chime.
Nourished by tears that sow
the fertile sands of time.
My garden of emotions still hints
at a poet’s
paradisiacal paradigm.
Suddenly, a sunlit coast where dreams
unfurl in storms
A canvas painted by aspirations
that gently adorn.
With hopeful brushstrokes
life-captivating stories that plume.
A gallery of memories
a child’s kaleidoscope.
Once upon a solitary,
darkened
locked room.
Perhaps a gardener’s gentle hand
can stir the fallow ground
Fertilizing roots to depths
where true potential
once lost - begged to be found.
A dawn’s soft breath a gentle lure
perhaps to coax my dormant leaves unbound
Awakening possibilities in the quiet
yet, now fertile ground.
In stillness my thoughts emerge
unseen, a quiet vow,
An introspective voyage
on the sea of here and now.
My diamonds form from tears
not battles' echoing crown
I am a jewel of resilience
forged in the soul's darkest hour.
Blue-checkered curtains are faded and drawn,..
after the years since she made them from gunny-sack cloth
The Singer, long idle, now gathers more dust,
with its needle still threaded and the treadle at rest
As I clear out the room, I think of long hours
of foot-peddled power, and strength in her soul.
She would unroll the fabric of roses and flowers,
with determined resilience in dark circled eyes.
But prudence, endurance, would salvage a way
Abandoned and left in a sea of lost dreams
She picked up the pieces, of patterns and hems
Making a living, and raising her kin,
didn't come easy, but she had to win
A life left unraveled, she must sew up again.
Working past midnight. Spindles would spin. Somehow rekindled
to live once again.
Making ends meet. Selvedge edges and hems
Sowing her heart, sowing her skill, and sowing her soul
Sewn together again
______________________________________________________
4/20/18
Death
Words rip through the night sky
They conspire to tear a hole through reality
A reality created in your eyes
Taped tightly to your mouth is a bill of lies
That you have yet to unroll
And it's constricting your ability to breathe
Like a dying bumble bee, your stinger is useless
And as such your threats often fall flat
As flat as the heart buried deep in the ground
Your eyes cause lightning flashes in my mirror
And the sparks cause my hair to stand on end
It's time I took the scissors and shredded your beliefs
So many times I have been expected to bow to you
To take a bow has been the song of my entire life
Faltering to the commands of the many Gods and Goddesses
And now here I stand with a green belt of insanity
Ready to beat the lackluster starlight from your eyes
Ready to watch them flicker and then slowly die
Your words ripped through my night sky
They conspired to tear a hole through my reality
A reality I created in your eyes
I taped a bill of lies tightly to your mouth
One that I have yet to unroll
And it's constricting my ability to breathe
I justify the reasons for my unintended assassination
With the cookie crumbs that litter the far reaches of space
Filtered through memories of a lifetime of torment
It will not be long now before your statue explodes
Sending shards flying over the entirety of life's greatest gift
This gift is what you unwrapped- Death
And now with a stick of dynomite I give you one last smile
One last smile to fill the confines of your prison cell mind
Which has grown frail and decrepit
Tears filter through my emotional machine belt
And slowly fall into a wasteland where they cease to exist
I turn and the butterflies erupt from your heart
The explosion blinds my eyes briefly
And yet I feel more pure than I ever did before
Death is the gift I give to you
It might begin with the sweet songs of birds
when sunrise blooms its glow, seeming divine.
We view the month to see those written words;
“Spring now begins” confirms our current sign.
The resurrection from grim Winter sleep
will move full-swing while buds unveil to stir.
Soft colors of new willow greens will sweep-
blot Winter drudge while brighter views recur.
Fresh hope rebirths the life in every soul
when Springtime flowers crown the rolling fields.
While gushing brooks from melted snow unroll-
the feeling of new life within us yields.
This mystery of rebirth gifts our Spring;
gives promise in new life for everything!
Hey my dear butterfly!
Welcome to a land of joy!
Red, yellow, pink and blue
Flowers that drenched in dew
Yearning for your silent kisses
And glimpsing the scene, gives us bliss
Flowers that just unfold
Awaiting your sweet bound
On seeing you whirling around
Words unroll, pen poems abound
Hey my dear butterfly
Welcome to a land of joy
Plunging into the pure colors of paradise
You make me travel into a land I fantasize
Dancing to the tunes of bliss
You make me sing a song surprise
Hey my dear butterfly
Welcome to a land of joy
On seeing you, flying with your friend
"This is a poetry" utters my mind
And when you fortuitously land on my hand
Rushes the adrenaline, my adrenal gland
Hey my dear butterfly!
Welcome to a land of joy!
After your arrival,
The world looks more beautiful
As you spread joy and beautify!!!
They are not from Chiang Mai,
they are a tribal people
who speak a hill language.
They ride through the night
on bicycles to settle at dawn
beside the Ping River.
Girls' unroll rattan mats
squat beside straw hats brimful
with the tang of burgundy chilies
They have vegetables
grown in lime green waters,
parched salty anchovies,
and plump spearheads
of opalescent fish -
all these are bargained for,
bundled in newspaper,
tied with pink raffia.
Our lives cross here.
A few coins dropped into an open palm,
nods and smiles by a river,
a common currency bridging
alien worlds.
Previous dawns flock together,
gather.
The hedgerows accumulate
with old and new. Sprigs and twigs
bend under the weight of
heaping feathers.
If eyes open too soon
then a few mornings go missing,
some are still catching up
they will fly in backwards
tumbling out
of windswept decades.
Eyes that open too late have to wait,
have to stare at a future blankness
while ears gatecrash the present.
Will the thrown newspaper
land on the lower or upper step?
Such collective collections
determine next steps.
The percolator has mixed together
a thousand morning
yet it arrives in normal time
as one brew.
Outside, beds creak in the tree tops.
blankets unroll.
We find ourselves on the verge
of all previous verges,
swing legs to touch a floor
that rises
to show up once more.
When the trees sway
I become a bird
Clasp the branch
Swing, sing and play
When the flowers unroll
I become a bee
Plunge into the flower
Rinse my wavering soul
When the clouds furl
I become a raindrop
Delve into an oyster
Turn into a shining pearl
When a chrysalis breaches
I become a butterfly
Unfold my wet wings
Virtues of life, I preach
When nature smiles
I emerge as a poet
Rend the veils and rules
Decipher knots and make it simple
June 14 2021
Sudden fever, limbs trembling, the clog in breathing
why now when I wish to sing of the golden coming our way?
Packages piled beneath tree, lilies opening their heart
and I can't think, no story, no news, no hellos.
So I have only my new toy phone and these crazy fish
mating and multiplying and swimming past golden bells.
Who am I kidding, how could I not be productive every minute
when rest is denied me for a cough, swelling at throat.
No excuse, one could say, fish will always be fish, darting
from threat, meeting their feed needs, following children.
So why am I no fish, no human with this glazed brain
when the carols unroll with the bowing of violins, trumpet
of joy. Isn't that enough, sheer piping pleasure blared
to night, to dare fears entrance, to light up world
Isn't that the true message, you and I here, meeting
for an hour, a gift of sharing, the unrolling of fatigue,
the quieting of sorrow with the birth of a new world.
How new? Minutes new, this is enough for joy
to cherish the golden fish swimming into you life
disappearing like tomorrow's sun forever but alive.
Confinement is too much of an excuse
while the papers are spread across the table.
The phone rings:
It is the Boston Massacre.
Those are funny words when even here,
even at this time of wind,
overuse is deadly in the wheat germ.
Mice droppings show evidence
that the wheat is defiled.
Be careful, she said,
Be careful of the worms that drill inside.
The cat knows;
she is wise and stretches.
Words connected in my brain
are tenuous indeed,
ephemeral.
Read them and you will know my
building blocks
all scattered across the floor
as my papers are scattered now.
Put the right words in the search box
and you will find me.
Try it.
Lay down the common law,
and unroll it like an old rug
once stored and forgotten.
(What am I doing here in this cold
and desolate winter?)
Feed me building blocks of amino acids,
the healing of the wound.
Comfort me.
There is the light in your soul
Something deep, deep inside
That you want to hide
Because its your precious guide
People are curious and cruel
They want to reveal
The treasure they will steal
And you will never heal
The part of you will be gone
You will never be whole
If you let them unroll
The valuable secrets of your soul
When life takes its toll
revelation will unroll,
permit this sword to...
pierce your soul
Like 2:35
Hidden Beneath the Rainbow
Guatemalan villages have rainbows of dreams.
Magical thought whereupon each soul gleams.
Locked by a culture engraved on the soul.
Harvests where births’ golden customs unroll.
Living antiquated amid pompous brochures
Sleeping upon mats on plank beds or hut floors.
Boys and girls may not date or co-mingle.
Marriages arranged without knowing lust’s tingle.
In homes of adobe an empire is stayed.
Within those four walls, the future is laid.
Bounded by mountains and winding footpaths
Encroached by the world, walking different paths.
Families stay warm around a hearth of three stones,
Braving the simple life without moans and groans.
Stunning people clad in colorful handmade clothes.
The earth is their friend, their skills, and maestros.
Milling their coffee, chili peppers, and corn.
Homegrown products produced feed these freeborn.
Harvests of sweat and self-satisfaction
Hand worked acres and strength still in fashion.
Hidden near volcanoes; tucked in God's hands.
Generations of peoples have loved on those lands.
Glowing beauty shines beneath heat and straw hats.
Faces aglow, tourists hoping for chats.
Gleaming simplicity knows modernization's foes.
That exploited attraction where vacationers go.
Escaping the fast pace and the greediness flow.
San Pedro la Laguna, hidden beneath the rainbow –
© August 3, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
REFERENCES: http://www.artemaya.com/artist_life_bp.html
http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/05-12/a-taste-of-tranquility-life-on-the-shores-of-lake-atitlan-san-pedro-la-
laguna-guatemala.html
If I can not be held in her arms, or weep into the cradle of her neck
and smell the sweet sweat, smoke and cover girl scent
Nor lie in her lap and listen to her choppy lullaby
then I wish I could watch a movie of her life
little clips of happy moments, parties and graduations
I'd like to unroll reel that slowly panned her smile
where her laugh could curl through my heart
and chase this loneliness away.
I wish I could read her journal, and meet her all over again
I want to hear her secrets, the ones she would have told
when I was of age to understand
I want read a letter to me, explaining her love for me
so I feel that wholeness of a parents love once again.
I want to read her script and remember the shape of her hands.
I wish someone would talk about her to me.
I want to hear the stories about my mother
that fate never allowed her to say to me.
I want to know that someone else feels this sorrow
that her impact on the world was not just her love in me
that some one else understands and feels this horror too.
I miss my Mom, but alas, there is no one left to speak.
One-ply, two-ply, three-ply, four:
Whether you are rich or poor,
This is something that you need.
Substitutes won’t do, agreed?
Extra soft or without rolls,
Every brand has matching goals –
Do the job and help us wipe.
We don’t need the extra hype!
One conundrum makes folks nuts;
They won’t stand ifs, ands or buts.
(Pun intended) – This harangue
Regards which way the roll should hang.
Is the next-to-follow strip
On the top for you to rip?
Or perhaps it’s lying under
Waiting to be torn asunder?
Everyone thinks his way’s best.
Please comply if you’re a guest.
When you’re on another’s bowl,
Use his method to unroll.
One last thing I’d like to mention –
This is one superb invention;
For without its grand debut,
I can think of one word – EEW!
July 31, 2012