Best Untrammeled Poems
Garnering complete elucidation
within the untrammeled confines
of several exceptional poetic lines
most certainly deserves validation
Does brevity confine poetic thought
not if readers have a vivid imagination
Comprehension is found where sought
Three lines can be a brilliant summation
Poetry is shadows that come to light
The tears trickling down from my eyes
My emotions escaping in sorrowful sighs
Easing burdens and healing scars as I write
Shuttling beyond the lay
Of the land that may
End at the water,
Splash and fish, tide and otter.
War birds knocking stars from Heaven,
Wolf packs moving, six or seven
Or eight, the modern metabolic rate,
Society redeems the weight of hate.
Reversions to no merry mean,
We wash to make the world unclean,
We wash to upraise our station,
We wash to conclude causation.
Taking my place within the past,
An epic form of gratification,
I won't outlast, the die is cast,
So let's get on with vilification.
Bright sunny days, untrammeled ways or
Other poets' words so light,
Yet I shift and stray, I make the play for
The coming armies of the night.
Freedom and freewill
One of the best gifts bestowed to mankind
I heard it is all around
But how many of us seek and find?
I heard it’s free but many have left lives behind
Having it is like growing wings
Fully stretched and widely spread
Flying over the limits
Untrammeled, powerful beyond measure
What a precious treasure
It remains a wish for many
Whose wings are tied or clipped
Entangled in an invisible web
Wondering to themselves,
How did we fall in this trap?
Is liberty not our birth-right?
From where does this monopoly come?
How come someone else has to redefine?
Then pass the laws when he is done
By which we are confined
Limits to this, limits to that
Now another limit to what to say
And this is only today
Fear for the upcoming days
You can’t freely associate
Nor can you freely express
RIP, freedom of speech is dead.
We hypocritically cheat on ourselves
Silencing the inner voice that we hear
Being wise but yet fools
Thinking there is little to lose.
Then the loss lasts for more than an hour
Losing freedom is losing power
becoming more and more dependent
Slowly but surely disintegrating
Suffering and Enslaved,
Waiting to be released to the grave
It was once just a folk tale
We thought the man will never return
To ever haunt us again
But he quietly carried out his plan
Now I see a dark shadow of a man
Hear the footsteps of his return
Is that him knocking on our doors?
Ironically, there’s no one who knows
Remember?
He always had a thing to offer
Some of it promising to the needs
And some of it very enticing indeed
But the very same man
Always took something in return.
He figured that knowledge is power
Then artfully plunder a little each hour
Once the mind is deprived
There’s not much the poor body can do
Take a look around you
He could be sitting right behind you
Though justification may be in faith,
And hope sustain us through all trouble,
Greater still than either is agape,
The love that comes from God,
The concern for our fellow creatures
Which acknowledges our oneness.
We call it love or charity; in fact
It transcends both those words.
It is at base an unjudgmental affirmation
Of our shared human nature; unlike
Ordinary love, agape flows untrammeled,
No strings attached, no conditions stipulated,
A free-bestowed outpouring of compassion
Unqualified, and seeking no reciprocation.
When we open ourselves to God’s love
And freely yield us up to be its instrument,
Then love’s paradox is plainly seen:
The more we give, the more it lives in us.
October 14, 2019
Written for Regina Riddle's "1st Corinthians 13:13 Inspiration Contest"
mine myopic eyes and ears
sensually and auditorially seduced
analogous to a melodic aire
this quick rhythmic stuttering transposes
gentle natural orchestral autumnal suite
upon limbs gone bare
respectively via constant flow,
a steady thin vail sans vertical crystal clear
beaded pearls (strung together
like glittering jewels) of water
commingling upon terrestrial firmae
liquid readying diverse flora and fauna for winter solstice,
whose deoxyribonucleicacid hibernation genetically coded
multitudinous genus and species of oraganisms
drinking requisite moisture
inducing sleepiness sans flora and fauna musical lullaby,
simultaneously affecting this petsmart human whose ear
(actually both left and right) play significant role to hear
the pitter patter from the slate gray sheltering sky (gone dark)
where the soothing sound linkedin
to Neanderthal Man, hood didst hark
kin to the occasions
when oblate spheroid (and perchance on a lark
proto primate lived here in what became known
as Schwenksville, Pennsylvania, 19473)
encompassing open space and a small park
within Highland Manor Apartments
low slung brick complex thousands of years ago
this land t'was stark
flush with much more innumerable plants and animals
experienced an untrammeled wilderness
even then coveted moisture fallin from sky
as the meterological machine did wark
possibly operated by forerunner to the aardvark
paws sing to relish the fresh
untainted heavenly spring
delivering delicious tasting (maybe like kool aid),
where pools spring beckoning flying organims
on a prayer and wing
to parry and dart with speed most a may zing.
OLD OAK
In the shadow of solitude now I see Your eyes,
that so faithfully carry about the light
through my thoughts so dark,
and the pen trembles in the hand,
waiting for the prodigal son's acknowledgement.
My one and only, acknowledgements arrive in solitude's embrace,
just like tears, and where there is a tear, there is love,
always faithful and unbribable, invisible but so real
that you can touch it with thoughts
and with the fiery breath in the infinity of solitude.
I admit to using my verses as ransom for my guilt,
(and guilt is my silence),
and I listen to the rumor
that perpetually, like a bat,
whirls across the lonely poet's street.
They say that me and You,
my one and only,
are fantasy, but a pen immersed in ink.
But You know, don't You,
that me and You are perfectly real, full of wishes,
dreams and memories.
My one and only, I am listening to the whisper of the wind
in this warm, dreamy summer night...
It is silent, horribly silent without You,
and the wind's whisper is dying down, farther away, oh so far,
as if called by death to its black hearse,
and I have waited for so many days, months and years to appear,
to bring Your voice to me,
gentle, soft, warm and yearning,
but it is so silent, oh so silent now,
that I can hear the screams of solitude
chase away memories
into this warm summer night,
my one and only, I am standing in the shadow of the dignified oak,
and I am looking into his empty sleepiness,
as if its playfulness left along with You,
it is silent like the wind.
Its dear, green, eternally waking young leaves,
who used to whisper in Your vicinity, untrammeled and confidential,
are completely silent now, completely dead.
Now I am trembling in the shadow of our oak,
fearfully looking at it as it drags its dignified old face along the ground,
its memories are as lively as mine.
Once, yes, once the memories,
who live so inaudibly,
shall become so weak,
so humanly weak,
that they shall find their dark home
next to our wooden crosses.
© Walter William Safar
SONNET FROM CHRIST
I never thought of coming to this evil land
My father sent me though it wasn't a command
I was invisible until I turned dust
It was my father's wish thus a must
You were all uncircumcised until I arrived finally
I came to set you free
I was not unaware of the pain I would go through
They debased me because of you
I was virtually nude when they hanged me on that transit tree
My father's wish came to pass untrammeled
You whom I freed went back and stumbled
After I sacrificed my blood, you subjected me to disdain
My father sometimes feels I came to toil in vain
You hide behind the facade of my commemoration and escalate my pain
loving male, natural of pleasure, quintessentially
rendered suitable to us via way ova our darling daughter.
tis the blessing of this average, contemplative damn
ejected flotsam globular human impish jokester kooky lamb
misunderstood nonestablishmentarian outlier praises quality ram
rod sterling stately treasured undergraduate, ventures wielding yawping zeal
asper near perfect synchronized
ventured capitalone bond to me doth appeal
twas thankful to seminal accomplishment
dearest Eden Liat exhibited
when smart as a whip per snapper abilities did congeal
witnessing passing each grade with flying colors -
electrifying mien kempf as if stung from Alaska Bull worm eel
I ask you to - just take in stride wordy way as sigh guide "sea legs" to feel
along murky medium, how to communicate élan which doth heal
this figurative war torn, self strafed, kamikaze buzz-feeding,
eventually fostered grimacing hangdog ilk insensate
blitzkrieg assailed middle aged married male - during his early decades
endured passivity, while peers viciously throve on me with hate
tread - pock marked psychological scars perforated
positive faith in self, only now I feel great,
whence untrammeled passion presumed murmured between themselves
when alone pondering their fate
two vibrant young adults appear especially well suited,
as two peas in a pod
a radiant ionic bond they plainly equate
(one comprising thee "star student" progeny),
supremely mature to date
and thee well groomed Emmanuel
dust blend harmonious with "Ode to Joy" ye create
such an idyllic sight engendering tears of happiness
buffer and shine each alphanumeric byte, NOT phishing for bait
most pleasing sight assuages psychic purposefulness,
Anorexia Nervosa once ate.
...for Leonard Cohen
They unweave the web of lies for you,
lay platters of forgiveness at your feet,
intrigue falters, and the taint of greed,
their soft embraces dutiful and sweet.
They walk you through the fire with measured gait,
distilling all the hatred and the fear,
'til cleansed and ready for the test of faith
you pass through Heaven's gate without a tear.
Emulsified, the portrait of a waif
takes shape, as if transfigured by the Light,
within the crucible you coruscate,
and glow unhindered, gentled by their might.
A waif in Heaven's eyes is like a king,
untrammeled by the trappings of the crown,
in rags, yet fortified by trust and love,
the Sisters pray, you lay your burdens down.
Momentarily
by Odin Roark
How elusive the quest
To place oneself in sync
Wavelength to wavelength
Response to reply
So many agendas beg ignoring
Those places where integrity remains suspect
Where job
Marriage
Relationships
Friends
Acquaintances
Eye contact
Undeserved pleasures
Even fantasized harmony
Portending confirmation of truth
Are often merely layered fears
Forged in distrust
For lest we forget
No one promised answers
Even as schemas know no boundaries
The road signs always offering direction
To the many of want
Facilitating few of need
They nevertheless remain available
Such goes this phenomenon of plans
Diagramable life
Representation of what might be
But rarely is
What is intrinsically longed for
Yet seemingly uncatchable
Like forever morphing mercury
Still
So desperate are most
Clutching to random connection
Often without reason
That attention from others
Is embraced as self-realization
Perhaps a venture off the beaten path
A bushwhack through the untrammeled past
Might beg consideration
Where revisiting the child within
Will remind how infant outbursts
Conveyed rudimentary logic
When diaper rash urgency
Void of language
Save scream and cry
Defined simple organics
A voicing in search of form
So easy to ignore this
Time’s simplistic message
Reaching back toward the dawn of man
When primitive bone and stone
Drummed the truth of need
Food
Shelter
Cover
When duplicity hadn’t been invented
When progress was preserved by raw instinct
Today
Actuality is in questioned focus
Our civilized regression
This guised-in-furtherance flight
Toward make-believe escape
Has jettisoned logic into the abyss of ignorance
Manipulating instead today’s lie of norm
Into modern truth
The hunt will continue
Beneath self-created imprisonment
To find that somewhere yet to objectify itself
That place where slumbers intrinsic reasoning
Kept safe by nature’s heartbeat
Requires nothing but simple acceptance
Of that known simply as
Ever available
Truth
Searching minds continue
Trusting consciousness will prevail
Even allowing occasional laughter
Along the path where delusions entertain…
Momentarily
I gently beckon inspiration
for dalliance with mother tongue
English Language, each
singular lettered manifestation
familiar to yours truly symbolized
by panoply, sans twenty six letters,
whereby this patient scrivener
luxuriates, when writer's block
yields sudden gush,
nee burst of creativity
dissolving impenetrable wall
mental log jammed impasse,
discourages literary ambitions
dashed exerted forcefulness
'pon cerebral terra incognita
counterproductive grip locks
figurative drawbridge begetting
utmost frustration allowing egress
and ingress constituting obstructed surge
temporarily disabling free and clear
transmission between damned fount
barricading abundant bajillion ideas
silent at loggerheads clangor and din
analogous between unswerving enemies
prepared to fight till the death,
exhausting mental energy expended
attempting armistice with futile results,
hence quixotic oft repeated
time tested metaphor
i.e. deliberate pressure foisted
upon seat of aging cerebral matter
inadvertently coloring fist sized organ
at least fifty shades of gray,
versus unexpurgated brainstorming
linkedin with unfettered restraint
breeds favorable prodigious ideas
jotted/ typed stream of consciousness fashion
modus operandi favorable to engender
receptive access, asper her excellent see
i.e. entrance untrammeled leeway
with minimal clash of opposing
titanic invisible entities
thus, aye abandon battering ram
to experience positive outcome
giving good n plenti profuse flood
unstoppable geyser spewing
plethora of appealing material
to arrange into cogent synchronicity!
...for Leonard Cohen
They unweave the web of lies for thee,
lay platters of forgiveness at thy feet,
intrigue falters, and the taint of greed,
their soft embraces dutiful and sweet.
They walk you through the fire with measured gait,
distilling all the hatred and the fear,
'til cleansed and ready for the test of faith
you pass through Heaven's gate without a tear.
Emulsified, the portrait of a waif
takes shape, as if transfigured by the Light,
within the crucible you coruscate,
and glow unhindered, gentled by their might.
A waif in Heaven's eyes is like a king,
untrammeled by the trappings of the crown,
in rags, yet fortified by trust and love,
the Sisters pray, you lay your burdens down.
Sisters of Mercy
...for Leonard Cohen
They unweave the web of lies for you,
lay platters of forgiveness at your feet,
intrigue falters, and the taint of greed,
their soft embraces dutiful and sweet.
They walk you through the fire with measured gait,
distilling all the hatred and the fear,
'til cleansed and ready for the test of faith
you pass through Heaven's gate without a tear.
Emulsified, the portrait of a waif
takes shape, as if transfigured by the Light,
within the crucible you coruscate,
and glow unhindered, gentled by their might.
A waif in Heaven's eyes is like a king,
untrammeled by the trappings of the crown,
in rags, yet fortified by trust and love,
the Sisters pray, you lay your burdens down.
I have kept faith with my dream
that somewhere in the still shadows
you will come to me, untrammeled and free.
Somewhere we will stand together,
face to face and soul to soul,
in that calm haven where Destiny's wind ceases
and Fate has lost her cruel grip.
I have kept faith with my dream,
although my faith is shaken
and Doubt has dug her trenches round my soul.
O, heart I love, be brave and ready;
ride like some great conqueror of old.
Rescue me and take me with you to the goal.
I cannot travel onward any more alone.
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
'Tis I, your ruin ...
I, the scourge, unseen ... the "C" word
I am death's abettor, the bête noire
So do your worst, in my ruthless wake
The cold chaos of cells that rages rampant
Weaponizing blood and bone and marrow ... and breath
Seething untrammeled as the burn of abandon, afire
I play no favorites, I see no chalk or choice
Health is the meat of my prerogative, the blood of my intent
I strip vitality and strength from bones like a butcher
And hang them raw to be branded ... "terror"
I scrape beauty and flesh to maim motherhood, passion
I divest masculinity of its vital seed, choke the air from lungs, gasping
I ravage little lives before they begin, to glaze their sparkling eyes
I plunder and rape and kill in a thousand myriad fashions
One no less callous or malevolent than the other
And the only weapons you have to raise against me - your only hopes
Are near as vicious and unappeasable as I am, (smiling)
Oh, hear me and fear me, humankind ...
I am chasing, relentless ... your ruin.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Topic Of Cancer" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.