Best Vents Poems
(Inveniam viam)
Far beyond these eerie things, where limits have no scales
Fish are replacing gills, with turbine aerated tails
Sea level’s losing all meaning, for the humpback whales
Ships piggyback them, harpoons syphon wind from their sails
Today I woke up early, lately I’ve let dreams flow
Into an abstract yonder, where visions often go
A wave came over me, up from my downy pillow
When tidal forces passed away, many moons ago
As the ocean waved goodbye, I called for an encore
Behaving like a poultice, the beach drew back old gore
You could’ve bowled me over, sent ripples to my core
Never again I’d sleep soundly, near this bloody shore
After a fretful lie-on, facing truths with each turn
My sundial running on empty, stars can’t always churn
Moribund in dimness, til an old spark can return
Reigniting glory days, (let supernovae burn)
Overhead the vacuum grows, just to make more space
Stretching my dysmorphia, to align with gods face
No one knows for certain, who enhanced his human race
Gave an artful hand, outsmarting evolution’s pace
As life spirals forward, in a world out of control
Entropy dismantles, stripping back our maker’s role
The poet in me keeps goofing, digging deeper holes
He’s a junkie rhymester, overdosing on this soul
So hail all billionaires, who never walk down my street
Flying above fake cripples, with power in their feet
Prodigies of bad and worse, scheming to make ends meet
Leaves an aftertaste of smugness, one that will repeat
As for those big questions, some take a straightforward twist
Two things I thought might go away, stubbornly exist
Not death or taxes, I’m already over that list
Each day I arise, how come lies and bullsh!t persist?
First there was oblivion, til I woke up and saw
Now fully awake, dead ahead looms a fatal flaw
But so long as I can dream, and able to guffaw
It only hurts when I laugh, Don’t you think? vents my jaw
By David Kavanagh
Hms
Categories:
vents, dark, dream, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Voice
Through a vast jumbled valley of cacophony's roar
One voice
In tones of soprano, alto, tenor and bass
Speaks a universal epiphany
In a rumbling
Resonate
Reverberation symphony,
Neither also or bass,
A quest for agreement of the heart's dialect
Through a maze of unspoken speech
A cluster of sighs
Harmonious chorus of shared joy
Singular groaning lament of empathy
Echoes of gossamer laughter
Murmurs of grief's intonation
Piercing vents of apprehension
Quivering titters under the breath
Shadow symphony of breathing
From the four winds - four seasons -
The tongue of humanity
Exhales in unison a plea
Reaching
From dawn's first breath in dappled divinity
To time's conclusion into the immortal voce sotto.
4-21-23
Contest: V Word Challenge
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Categories:
vents, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
"Although I'm familiar with the art of poetry,
no one has inspired my muse
to inscribe my own journal. -
so I placed my soul in her hands." Silent One
I used to be a journal,
daily dips of ink dripped
deep into my dilapidated soul.
Supporting sorrows of the one
who wrote with endeavour,
'letting go,' of the blackness,
infested within her veins.
Endless chapters of vents,
tears, fears and misery,
bleeding from ruptured arteries,
etched upon the fresh fibres
of a canvas of compassion.
In times of fantasy,
I was a field full of her
supressed wildflowers.
In reality, I was her diary
of deep, destructive desires.
Now her pen rests,
with a sharp nib pointing at me.
Like a shield, preventing
her ink to reveal the
truths behind metaphors.
I'm an anthology of her emotions,
wondering how the next chapter
will be written - is there more to confess?
But in her mute melancholy,
I can think of reasons to express,
but many more to remain inkless.
Yet no other 'ink-toxication' can fill this void -
I'LL FOREVER REMAIN WORTHLESS
as what purpose do I have
without her words perpetually
nourishing my empathic existence.
In this slumber, I collect dust,
feeling bare, but in her rejection -
hungering for her verses to soothe.
Categories:
vents, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
I know you are sensitive,
not sentimental,
but it has been four years,
that's one thousand
four hundred and sixty one days,
since enlightened tides kissed
those island shores.
My soul was wrapped in worn ribbons,
mourning my misplaced muse
and you were a whispering rose,
wilting at the slightest touch.
Bleeding 3am vents,
with conflicting vowels and consonants,
the sirens of your ink screamed
for a silent troubadour to
compose cathartic bloodstreams -
but life is not as pretty as petals and poetry.
A mistress to moonlight,
I found you crying at an apathetic moon,
so I cracked open your volcanic cocoon,
to open your eyes to cinnamon
and persimmon horizons -
now you float like an empyrean butterfly.
I hope you soar forever and know
I could have written for you,
as many verses as you have seen stars,
but we cannot cultivate in fields of unfairness,
where only dead blooms now decompose,
as you keep ignoring Cupid's cries.
Despite contradicting crossroads,
my heart is deep rooted
in wayfarer's wisdom,
knowing when there are no more beats -
you will honour me with a
requiem for an artist.
Simple Musings
Categories:
vents, absence, change, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
(line of inquiry)
Tears fell upon a senseless blank page,
as self-pride suppressed dark vents of rage.
We become silent when words don't engage,
until we are touched by verses from a sage.
Some arrive as a mentor with a mystic gaze,
save us from being misplaced in ego's maze.
As silver serpent skin begins to shed,
we learn to walk a path where the sincere tread.
With poetic expression a tale adorned.
In the early dawn ink's ego was torn.
Quill's rebirth reflecting a radiant sunrise,
evolved the mind to portray sapphire skies.
An alchemist's heart spoke of love's sweet strings.
A melody mutating like butterfly wings.
Vanity cast away, as a cold heart warmed.
A rhapsody of roses with white petals formed.
Emotions weaved words through the veil of time,
in a fusion of metrically composed rhyme.
With each beat, a rhythm of stanzas poured.
In the canvas of life a masterpiece concurred.
In union, poetry whispers through the air,
cosmic swirls only honest poets share.
As ego dies, speech become a divine exchange.
Souls ignite when toxic thoughts begins to change.
Categories:
vents, analogy,
Form:
Rhyme
Well, now that I am registered officially,
into the ranks of those who search and dig,
for gold, and paper that's done and serialized,
or plastic that buys the pleasures on high,
I might as well sit down and think hard,
about all that I will buy with gold and paper,
serialized and plastic that shines,
First a bouquet for mama to say 'thank you'.
and wish her sunshine and rainbows too,
and not sun to scorch her chocolate skin,
but rainbows to herald goodwill and peace.
Then I might try to buy a voice, as loud as,
can be to join all the others that sound,
and call for what a child needs to grow and sing,
the time to play, learn and be loved, more time.
Most of all, I'll ask not to buy this one, it is priceless,
true friends to love now, forever and always, eternally
not perfect because I am far from the best,
but whose love, like mine, does not need justification.
So you see, what I want needs just a penny to buy,
and what I need wants no money to purchase,
so why the hassle to wear a veil and deceit,
to go down the vents, with spade and pans.
And now I will pay the price it will take
to be unregistered officially from the ranks,
of those who dig and search, for gold and paper,
maybe plastic that shines and buys,
and if you want and care, here I offer,
my friendship with no charge, no price tag.
Categories:
vents, friendship, inspirational, life, philosophy,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Some things I think are overhead
Are also underneath my bed
And this is true of you, as well.
So mark my words now, as I tell:
Beneath the clothing bins we store,
Under the stairs and basement floor,
Beneath the tracks of snails and slugs,
The homes of chipmunks, moles, and bugs,
Beneath the cracks where waters run
Through garnet and magnesium,
Below the mantle—an iron core,
More mantle, crust, then ocean floor,
With thermal vents, volcanic glint,
Turtles, whales, and tiny shrimp,
Beneath the driving winds and rain,
We find the stratosphere again.
And deeper still, the moon’s bright face,
Then stars and wonders strewn through
space.
So maybe now my claim is clear;
We rest upon a little sphere, and
“Up” and “Down” make sense alone
To Beings who are stuck at home.
Categories:
vents, earth, imagination, nature, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
Diana, Nature’s Guardian
Defending purity, virtues, by preordained, destine.
With faithful diligence I oversee all life that’s birthed.
Celebrating nature as its radiant guardian
Fulfilling life’s desire with independent strength girthed.
I am Diana, Goddess of hunting wild animals.
Protector of the natural world both domestic and wild,
Camels, beetles, jackals, deer, hogs, flowers, myrtles, squirrels -
All in my magical care live wonderful lives beguiled.
Fertility and childbirth, my responsibility,
Accomplished spontaneity living, functioning well.
Reflecting light among the beasts with great nobility.
An accomplished war-like goddess guarding while lives impel.
Hunting dogs track down their prey; fearful deer run. I am there.
Staying in the midst of them observing, balancing, and keeping.
Preying is part of life’s design sustained with greatest care.
Plants and animals live mortal lives wisdom possessing.
Plundering men cause great concerns that must be soon resolved.
Wreaking havoc here on earth, plowing jasmine, balm, mugwort,
Destroying creatures, felling trees, habitats requiem.
Man must change his wasteful ways to prevent my last resort.
Mother to the animals I recycle elements.
Wildlife conservation thrives, careful awareness acting.
Take heed ravenous plundering men, lest my anger vents
And another species takes your place, last choice exacting.
You can find me in my sacred place among quiet oaks.
Cherishing my own chastity, purity makes me swoon.
Walking in my natural world hearing each frog that croaks.
Living flawless beneath God’s sun, reflections from the moon.
© August 1, 2010
Categories:
vents, natureworld, me,
Form:
Quatrain
Christmas is over; everyone's partying, ushering in a new year,
except for the unfortunate few who have no home.
For them, there are no church bells of celebration;
to ring in the New Year.
They sleep in dirty blankets atop steam vents to stay warm.
I can't imagine being them; it's hard to fathom
the nightmares that haunt their meager existence.
Invisible in plain sight,
the cold seeps into their bones, crushing their spirits.
Homeless, human dregs, they're the gargoyles of modern cities.
Facing rejection and scorn, they preserve their dignity in alcohol,
trying to numb reality.
Hope is a luxury they can't afford.
Winter is hell for the mentally sick living on the streets.
Some have lost everything, even who they are as a person,
and it's demeaning and cruel; what was their crime?
Humanity harbors such souls as these at its fringes.
Yet, when I look into their eyes, I don't see a hopeless cause,
I see the same dreams and fears that I see in myself.
And it makes me want to cry!
Why are we so indifferent to their hurt and humiliation?
Is our lack of pity because we're immune to their pain,
or is it because, like Cain, we are not our brother's keeper?
Perhaps it's a little of both!
Categories:
vents, abuse, angst, anxiety, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
2017 a New Memorial Day
My dear country is in disarray,
But its protectors protect it anyway,
Memorial Day finds them far afield,
Unable to laugh, unable to yield.
Lonely, disillusioned over news at home,
Cowardly violence, loud mouthing, moans,
Still they are stronger than these short term vents,
They sleep in sand, in rain, in tents,
Optimistic in their hearts what they are trying to heal,
God bless them today, past and future – that’s how I feel.
Categories:
vents, america, courage, , memorial,
Form:
Rhyme
The little children gathered and delighted in the sight
The sparkling of the river, like tumbling jewels dancing bright
The mermaids in the waterfall did sing ‘Come children one and all’
The children laughed and danced, for the sirens song they did fall.
To the hearts of the little ones stripping down to their underwear
No shame no false pride their innocent souls laid bare
They all jumped into the water; kicked and splashed it was such fun
Then the mermaids stole the laughter, from each and every one.
The mermaid with the green hair had enticed them all to play
Not one of the little children is now with us on this day
Just like the Pied Piper who called them with his lilting flute
They heard the voice of the mermaids, but little children are not astute.
Where were the parents who should watch over children at play?
Why was no one there when the mermaids enticed their prey?
The fairy of the Water World was shocked by what she saw
Her wrath she vents on the mermaids, the crows around did caw
The carrion picked the eyes out and made nests out of green hair
But still the children were gone; no one had taken heed of their prayer
The fairy of the water world shed tears but then thought maybe
Her tears touched the innocent souls, each transformed to a water baby
The water babies are now happy; they can play in water all day
But alas for their poor parents it is on their knees they pray.
There one can still hear the laughter the joy the fun
Also the sound of the waterfall as the terror begun.
© Mandy Tams & Harry J Horsman 2013
Collab with Mandy Tams..
Categories:
vents, child, dark, children, world,
Form:
Rhyme
Eruption of ash,
Earth bleeds as the mountain vents:
A river of flames.
Categories:
vents, natural disasters, nature
Form:
Haiku
Have you ever been a-flyin'
Up in the sky so blue?
If you have you seen the people
Who provide their service for you.
Flying for them is a profession
One of assistance, service, and care.
I often times have mumbled
At some of the things they hear.
Have you ever been a-flyin'
In a plane with silver wing?
If so you have met the people
Whose "attendance" is their thing.
I have seen them courteous and collected
Even in spite of a boor.
Somehow you know they are thankful
When the last one is out the door.
Have you ever been a-flyin'
Up above in a crowded plane?
Have you ever wondered
How those people do not go insane?
Life for them is walking
Thousands of miles each day.
With every step they take on that plane
They try to help in every way.
Have you ever been a-flyin'
Up high...well over a country mile?
Then you must have seen the people
Whose job it is to smile.
Courtesy is the watchword of their profession
No time to give way to personal vents.
So when you get on an airplane
Be thankful for the "Flight Attendants".
Categories:
vents, flying, giving, jobs, people,
Form:
Rhyme
Around that table, picture the scene
Self appointed leaders if you know what I mean
What were the topics on the Agenda that day
The Jewish race is about to pay
Who gave the right for this decision that's made
Who has the right to cleanse and degrade
To decide who lived, to decide who dies
Another chapter, I still wonder why
They came in the day they came in the night
Women and children pulled out of sight
Herded aboard like cattle and sheep
Many a family awoke from their sleep
Dazed and confused as they are taken away
Where will they be at the end of the day
From their warm houses and their warm beds
What must be going through their heads
As they travel through days and through the night
Up ahead, they see lots of lights
They depart the trucks and board the train
Their faces scared under the strain
Asking questions from family and others
Generations, sisters and brothers
Why are we here, where are we going
Windowless carriages with no way of knowing
We come to a stop, soldiers aplenty
Towers and wire, topped with sentries
What can this place be they have taken us to
As we head to large gates as they shuffle us through
Families separated, herded in file
Women and children, not one did smile
Taken to rooms where our heads were shaved
Is this the way humans behaved
Clothes discarded, as we enter the shower
No signs of water no signs of power
Doors slammed as we are all crammed in
History will recall this evil of sins
As we stand in the dark, chanting Jewish faith
Can hear the voices can't see the face
Noises above, do the showers start
The event has begun that tells us Humans apart
Questions and sighs, as walled vents show daylight
Some thing is falling then their slammed tight
A strange aroma starts to fill the air
As all around are screams of despair
Twenty minutes have passed and the quietness is rife
Two thousand people, two thousand lives
Pellets called HCN, or Hydrogen Cyanide
Contribute to this Genocide
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
Categories:
vents, angst, brother, childhood, daughter,
Form:
Rhyme
Harmless guest
Underneath Zoom chair
Some small creature fleeing in confusion
Ah ha, a brown lizard, harmless four-legged guest
Hiding and scared, aren’t you?
So am I
Please do not visit me in bed tonight
Mi-casa-su-casa
prey on insects and spiders all you want
and Thank you
for house cleaning service
Mi-casa-su-casa
Enjoy this big playground
hanging out in small covered spaces
under any couches, chairs, desks, bookshelves, or tables in the house
Closets, vents, baseboards, cushions, and potted plants
unlimited places to hide
One early morning
A two-legged guest picks up his underpants
Surprise!
A four-legged guest skydive dropping onto the ground
fleeing in amusement
Categories:
vents, animal, clothes, funny, house,
Form:
Free verse