Best Untended Poems
My poetry garden of late has lain untended and forlorn.
I succumbed to shock and dismay upon entering recently, for I observed that
great disagreement had erupted and now vehemently
raged among adjoining unmade weed-filled beds of subjects and verbs.
Modifiers that had been dutifully arranged and carefully
kept in check upon their trellises now dangled everywhere.
Sentences had spilled out of their beds in fragments or running
on and on while cases of subjectives and objectives shamelessly
intermingled and were now easily mistaken one for another.
Grammar, whose care I had entrusted to first, second and third
persons, lay in shameless disarray, as if no one could tell the difference.
Gerunds casually consorted with infinitives, many
of which had split. I recalled with a sigh how many years it had taken
me to tightly bind them. [To bind them tightly is what I meant.]
Commas were everywhere, rendering those in appropriate
position practically unrecognizable, which I suppose was better than
what had happened to the capitals, now completely ignored.
No reason for the rhyme with forms confused or misplaced altogether.
My lines, unpruned, were of disparate length and hideously incompl
An unfortunate mis-spell had been cast and provoked an infestation,
such that many of my friends had departed without comment.
The contest entry was blocked, so I bowed my head in shame,
turned around and shuffled silently through the exit marked N/A.
Posted July 24, 2014
'Let the Pens Flow - Narrative' Contest
Jenish Somadas
Categories:
untended, garden,
Form:
Narrative
If you could relive one day of your life..
time lost, now retrieved for just a short while.
To thrust old scheming machinations knife,
or return healing to a lover's smile.
Such a fretted frittering those lost days,
though ones you and I will remember most.
Passions reared high in servile dewy haze..
soft breathe warm against skin from dearest host.
Moment waits untended a dreamer's call,
something I can never give you again.
Bodice caught on nail of new lover's wall,
though we may choose to return now and then.
Tarried too long look'g to horizon's edge..
promised heart unharmed, now pulled from a ledge.
Categories:
untended, america, day, dream, heart,
Form:
Sonnet
Old men in blue jeans
Dungarees – that’s what they were called,
heavy, blue denim, metal button fly -
form that followed function. The “cuffs” were
rolled up because inseam sizing and “pre-worn”
softened and frayed only occurred if you got
them from an older sibling.
Time has a way of softening things, Dungarees
included. They shaped themselves to your needs,
became one with your movements, stayed with you
through the tough times, went to town with you,
wore the scars and tears of youth moving forward,
taught the lessons of toughness and tenderness,
of reliable, responsible, dependability.
The clothes did not make the man, the man gave
meaning to the clothes, imbued them with his ethic,
his love, his success and failures, stood with him
in welcome rains and barren fields. The jeans,
flannel shirts, boots, weathered face - caught
between an ever present grin and grimace -
awaited each sunrise with a purpose.
The blue jeans are now faded by age,
highlighted by wear and tear, creased
in the rutted way of old roads – necessary
but untended. They offer the comfort of memory’s
warm embrace, the unspoken bond of a friendship
shaped by the demands of life.
They still walk together, these old men and their
blue jeans, more slowly but no less proudly,
for they have grown old together and know
that “the clothes did not make them men”.
John G. Lawless
1/1/2015
Categories:
untended, mentor, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
The clouds have formed a mare’s tail in the sky,
a fitting image, for I’m being led
beneath them, where in eerie silence lie
abandoned stalls, untended land, a shed.
And on a gate, like some strange souvenir,
a halfway broken sign reads “Wagon Wheel.”
That horses once were bred and ridden here
both grime and span of time cannot conceal.
But farther down a lane, behind some trees,
(where happiness once lived!) awaits my spring -
a large house, shuttered, with its memories.
In front of it still hangs that wooden swing.
Above long grass and weeds it starts to sway.
The ghost of me has now returned to play.
For the Love and Loss Poetry Contest
Categories:
untended, loss,
Form:
Sonnet
A Rose that’s planted in the rocky earth
that, from the summer sun, is parched and dry,
will seldom bloom to its full beauty’s worth
and soon will sadly whither up and die.
A Rose that’s planted ‘mongst the common weeds
and left untended, sad and on her own,
neglected in a garden full of needs,
will never have her gentle beauty known.
To realize the beauty of the Rose,
a garden must be tended with great care,
and too in life, this thought I now propose,
that like the plot, our lives we must prepare.
For Rose to thrive, our garden we must hoe;
in life, the same is true for Love to grow.
February 14, 2022
Poem of the Week - February 20, 2022
Categories:
untended, love, metaphor, rose,
Form:
Sonnet
Across the wide meadow of verdant green,
splashes of pastel pink waved in the breeze.
One of the lovliest wildflowers I've ever seen
appeared to ebb and flow like restless seas.
Delicate, the buttercup, its veins finger-traced.
This wildflower beauty with nectared center
stands patiently waiting with an upturned face,
welcoming pollen seekers with, "Please enter."
Enmass they flourish as a grand gift of Nature.
Growing in profusion, untended, they live and die.
They've inspired artists to paint their portraiture,
and innocently open their petals to the butterfly.
April 12th, 2017
Ode to a Flower(s) Contest
Shadow Hamilton
Categories:
untended, butterfly,
Form:
Ode
Quietly now,
my serenading sky
you to me are!
almost radiant and high, facing the light
be about your plants of green
your strewn paths and needles
let rays tend the weeds that harbour gainst your hand
and trowel deep each foot that steps
they live as do I
mountains waiting ire
I watch and yearn the uprooting
the dislocation, the cast away,
each fibre stretched against the cotton
and the curl of sweat
separates...
Ventures a rivulet down your back,
you are the mystery my love
Knelt neath the shading of time
bowed, from the unforgiving branch,
how do I see you so
a dance
to the music in my heart
a dance
that wealds the tilling grasp,
the pain I feel , is white peaks screaming
curling to kiss the clouds
each bead pours from your diamonds stream
and settles on the rock
catching sunlight on your nape,
a nape I've kissed a thousand times
I live a'neath the bowing branch,
allowed my wallow time
in shadows looking down
timeless tunes a humming
little inconsequential notions
swept back, brushed away
a remembered time when ledges cowered,
in rockbeds so dry of love
like strangled flowers
that grow untended, like lies
reflecting summer sunsets under the
mountains of your
unforgiving eyes...
Categories:
untended, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
Wishing the kiss of sunlight was the warmth of ruddy lips,
the crisp breeze, the sharp scratch, desire.. from your finger tips.
remembering, the emerald grass blades teasing my back and neck,
the heat of earth enfolding me, your wish was not suspect.
The crisp breeze, the sharp scratch, desire.. from your finger tips,
sent shivers of purple passion across my up turned hips.
The heat of earth enfolding me, your wish was not suspect,
promises faithfully taken quickly broke through false neglect.
Sent shivers of purple passion across my up turned hips
to a garden long untended, he came with marksmanship.
Promises faithfully taken, quickly broke through false neglect,
and the damn of longing’s token was broken without regret.
A tear teases eye when the sun shines buys, so much happiness.
remembering, the emerald grass blades teasing my back and neck.
Dreaming of love in the rye grass, star clad in eagerness,
wishing the kiss of sunlight was the warmth of ruddy lips.
* revisited often in my dreams
Categories:
untended, love, passionearth, kiss, passion,
Form:
Pantoum
(Sir Frederick Treves, Victorian surgeon, has the
following claims to our respect: (1) he discovered
and cared for Joseph Merrick, "The Elephant Man":
(2) He followed the route in Italy of the characters
in Browning's "The Ring & the Book", taking
priceless photos: and many more things!)
The Eloquent Man
Sir Frederick Treves enjoys four claims to fame:
the lifelong friend of Thomas Hardy, who
supped with him in the King’s Arms snug: the name
of Joseph Merrick (Robert Browning, too!)
is intimately linked with his: he’s due
a place in heaven for his healing feats:
and yes, he lived here, on the street of streets.
It’s Dorchester, or Casterbridge to some.
And Treves, a native, knew its ways and whims
as well as Hardy did. When he succumbed
to his appendix, genteel pseudonyms
were dropped. Tom Hardy chose the funeral hymns.
He also honored Treves in gentle rhymes,
to mark his passing, in the London Times.
The wretch named Merrick, or the Elephant Man,
could well have lived his loveless life untended,
had Treves not found him. Merrick’s mortal span
was made more bearable, being befriended
by one of London’s foremost. When it ended,
poor Joseph Merrick, long reviled and scorned,
found home in Wimpole Street, where he was mourned.
King Edward feels a grumble in his tripes,
and sends for Surgeon Treves, the kingdom’s best.
“You mustn’t operate,” the sovereign gripes,
“My coronation’s looming.” “Which seems best,”
asks Treves – “a crowning, or cremation?” Pressed
to give an answer, Edward takes the knife –
and Treves the genius saves his monarch’s life.
The poet Browning wrote some novel verse,
or rather, a verse novel: ring and book,
Italian murder tale. Treves was immersed
in it, obsessed with it, completely hooked:
went off to Tuscany, made notes, and took
some photographs, made sketches, thus preserving
the base of fact. The man defines “deserving”!
Categories:
untended, london,
Form:
Rhyme Royal
I sat quietly staring out the porthole window
As we were passing over a village in the low hills
A cumulus cloud casting over its ominous shadow
Far below in the silence of the engine’s shrills,
I wondered where those tiny people were going
Beneath the wing nary a songbird nor butterfly
Alone streaking through the frigid air, the Boeing,
Not a face lifted from village below to the sky
Then it was gone, as quickly as I had imagined,
I rummaged through my satchel of ordinaries
Forgetting a whole community of unexamined
Miniatures, no concern for untended cemeteries,
I had long forgotten when the plane descended
My sweet reveries in solitude, my journey ended.
Written June 10, 2022
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile 1" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Categories:
untended, flying, imagination, people, places,
Form:
Sonnet
Lost Garden
Lacy, lovely lilac wisteria
Drape over an old weathered garden fence,
Behind the gate, the history of a family,
Life loved, life cherished, life spent.
There’s a plaque with a name you wouldn’t know
Pinned on dilapidated boards,
A robin looks down at you from an untended tree,
His song just as sweet in his deserted world.
Tall salmon gladiolas planted by a young happy groom,
An old-fashioned garden by a rugged path
Crowds daisies, larkspurs, verbenas, and wild herbs,
The scent of which would rival the sweetest perfume.
As the gate squeaks when a visitor,
Longs to stroll and reminisce,
There is the chortle of children in the air,
And an empty rubber tire swing, a bench.
The lovers’ spirits hold hands on the path
They trod through a well-lived life,
Though none is left to tend their garden,
Save the birds of twilight.
Categories:
untended, garden, metaphor, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
A flame once burned where embers glow
And deep inside my heart I know
Untended embers turn to ash
And I know dreams are known to crash.
Our love kindled a passion’s fire
That promised never to expire
Somehow, though, time passed us by
And our endless flame began to die
We knew a flame would leave an ember --
We’d soon have nothing to remember
Yes, unattended, embers go
And leave just ashes with no glow
To say to me, “a flame once burned”
Will bring from me this, in return,
“Only, embers, flames and sparks
Can bring light into the dark.”
Ashes, on the other hand,
Still have much at their command
In their warmth remains, you see,
Some hauntingly beautiful memories.
John Posey
12/02/12
Categories:
untended, lost love, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Way up there in the Colorado mountains at around 9000 feet,
There once was a thrivin' village that served as the county seat.
It was a boom and bust town that now lies in desolate shambles,
Its one-time stately buildin's now overgrown with creepin' brambles.
'Tis said that a vein of gold was discovered when a feller dug deep,
To bury a friend who was gored to death by an irate mountain sheep!
His discovery was known as Dead Man's claim and the rush was on,
And to the place hordes of miners, gamblers and rabble was drawn.
There were three or four rowdy saloons on each and every block,
Servin' booze and featurin' high-kickin' women around the clock.
A Methodist church and a school brought a tad of culture to the place.
Folks of finer tastes thought 'soiled doves' paradin' about a disgrace!
An untended graveyard gives witness to the wickedness of the town,
As headstone etchin's reveal the doom of many who were gunned down!
Yet is heard the phantom sounds from saloons from rabble goin' bananers,
Fightin', gamblin' and dancin' to the tinklin' of out-of-tune peeaners!
Northerly winds prod tumble weeds up and down dusty thoroughfares,
Streets once teemin' with humanity goin' about their nefarious affairs.
Now is only heard the ghostly creakin' of rusty hinges on saggin' doors,
When frigid winter winds bear down upon those dreary windswept moors!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
untended, humorous, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
It strikes one at will,
As one whose intent
is to kill,
Causing rumbles and
tumbles in the
stomack,
Making you rummage
for solution down in
the sack!
The causer of all
kinds of ulcer
That entity
accompanied with
bitter pains
Which if untended
lead it can to cancer
And from which there
is loss and no gains!
The solution to be
sought when it
strikes is food
Whether large or
small in quantity
So far as this giant
can be tamed for
good
By it, be it of high or
low quality!
Hunger it is that is
one life's equalities
To both with
reputable and
questionable
qualities!!!
Categories:
untended, food,
Form:
Sonnet
Famed gold crepuscular rays angling down
Knifing in between, through volcanic haze
Hualalai and Mauna Loa’s crowns
Fire Goddess Pele greets fresh island day
Fuchsia blooms explode, steal attention
Pollens mingle on zephyr coastal breeze
Hallowed entry, this tropic dimension
Surf thunder backdrop, soundtrack of the sea
Running shoes crunching the roadside lava
Kaleidoscopic blooms, soon to transmute
Mango, papaya, lilikoi, guava
Untended harvest of paradise fruit
Slow tempo set to the island perfume
Soul dances in the fragrant sensation
Unbridled speed would be this journey’s doom
Not to give in to the exultation
Entering town, the cast of characters
Pungent whiffs of spoiled fish atop stale rice
Green Shangri-La’s dingy inheritors
Tropical Bukowski's frayed paradise
Amphetamine native, drawn skin and bones
Wincing eyes, loose grasp, cigarette homespun
Tribal markings long burnt, faded blue tones
Completed journey, dark side of the sun
Manicured denizens clutter the way
Fair guests at the Royal Lik’a’Heini
Young surf seekers grimace to greet the day
Pakalolo Hostel, skunk-and-briny
Volta at the pier, Triathlon’s temple
Hallowed asphalt, footfalls of history
World’s smartest man living life so simple
Broom pushing, tune whistling, smiling at me
I should run faster; it's Ali’i Drive
Temple of Ironman’s Marathon pride
Vainglorious dreams have boiled alive
Burgeoning pace, a seaside suicide
Fair breeze has halted, sharp rays now reigning
Blanket of torpor fights progress forward
Through fragrant pillow, all fight is draining
A ballistic migraine arcing southward
Demons exorcised, sultry purgation,
Epic journey ends in clear sacred brine
Feet dive in wet sand, a bless’t sensation
Gaia’s ocean of sweat swallowing mine
4/28/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Categories:
untended, beauty, flower, humanity, nature,
Form:
Quatrain