Best Vera Poems
Bernard is writing Esther: "I have a family, a nice shed,
I always take the lead and have never in life been lead.
In the mornings I walk Jess, at night I drink rum, eat bread
But when I see you - can hardly breathe as if I'm already dead."
Bernard is writing Esther: “I have a pond nearby,
Children run there to swim, but often lie
That to swim. I’ve seen it all – Singapore from bird’s eye
From Iceland fjords to Somaly ore plies
But if you are taken away from me – I would die.”
Bernard is writing: "Income, finances, audit,
Jeep with a driver, stereo sound with voice of Edith,
And a thirty percent discount at favorite bar -
I can drink with no cards or cash or credit.
If you look me in the eye - God's staring from afar."
Bernard is writing Esther: "I'm forty eight like others of beau monde who are bald,
I recall who I am with help of visas, passport and driver's license - I'm old.
Flooded trench pit, nuclear grave digger scolds,
Subordinates like ninepins - I count their heads
But if words were also a currency,
Then you're out of my word league, flag of red."
“My little girl, you are just as beautiful as Banshee,
You’ve come to tell me I’ll die but not yet and not she.
Don’t write me, Esther, please don’t write. You’ll see
It's that I would not possess enough soul,
My old tired soul has been savaged by me.”
Categories:
vera, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Green Aloe Vera
Healed by nature's miracle
Terracotta pot.
Categories:
vera, green, nature,
Form:
Haiku
Let it be that - we are simply disconnected
And all of it that was before is now neglected.
Just as in an international call
And I'll stop knowing what you whisper all
Over her right ear,
Petting her mere
Hair. Listening to the cheerful imps
Of your disturbing thoughts. A glimpse.
And recognizing every rustle
Around you. A twitching muscle.
Here's the sound of keys jingling,
Here are her fingers mingling
With your fringe, here's the wind strangled in the curtains,
The load of memories it burdens...
Sms beep, the block is off,
The parquetry squeaks yet the steps are easy,
Flick of a lighter and that's it - the tone. How cheesy...
And I'll stay a bit in the telephone booth
Reciting poems of my youth.
Awaiting for the firing of invisible squadrons in my temples to cease.
Oh would I ever feel the ease?
Of simple being, I'm happy as old colonel Frehley
Who died with a reciever in his hand.
Let it be that as if it's five years past.
And we are all steady here at last.
We're not as booming with the decibels,
But we're worth a 1000 for a ticket.
There might as well be time for cricket.
We are working like real men,
Making money as easy as trimming a bush. We stem.
We're not giving our minds any downtime.
What's mine is mine.
And I am aware of what I am worth.
It doesn't matter that nobody is willing to pay the price.
We run in circles just like mice.
We meet and knock back three
Glasses of Chilean semi dry and you look at me.
And then you say "I am pround of you, Polozkova!"
But no - nothing breaks inside me.
That August we were still drinking outside
And you were wearing
My jacket - we are joking, singing and smoking...
Probably you never knew that from that night on you
Become the protagonist of my hysterics and mimes. All anew.
One day we'll recall this -
And wouldn't be able to believe it ourselves...
Let it be that my vim and naughtiness
Are back; My slouch and flabbiness
Are gone; And nothing's beating me inside
No pain within me would reside.
And there's no need to write
My poems. How can I ignite?
Let it be that I don't sob hoarsely with every chorus
Just like a dyed-haired singer with little morals.
How nice that you're sitting
In front of the screen and thinking
That you're reading
Of somebody else.
Categories:
vera, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Aloe Vera
Surprise herb
Ancient and now
Categories:
vera, adventure, arabic, care, children,
Form:
Haiku
As the soft golden sun
Licked the aloe vera in my room
I felt a red sensation
Coming out in a lovely bloom
I sought to read the book
Lifted it from my chest
And look! It was a soft river
Coming to slowly into a crest
Spontaneously came whispering words
Like the summer breeze in a forest
This way, this way are the birds
They will heal our wounds sorest
These small moments of tremendous wealth
Help retain the windows open
Blowing in great winds of health
Blended with words unspoken
_______________________________
Categories:
vera, beauty, bird, blue, creation,
Form:
Lyric
Try eating an apple without this hurling
Little sigh of yours concerning
The fact that society's sick to its core
And that your soul is so damn sore.
Without pondering, contemplating whether
This perspective and this wheather
Would make a nice or the gretest shot with him
And not considering his whims -
That's what would make a real nice charm.
So be with this yummy apple from this farm,
With its scarlet side and pearl flesh
Instead of a debate with self or a thrash.
How's eating it? Is taste flowing?
How's the first minute of your freedom going?
How do you like this pure, honest
Statement of Mother Nature this still August?
It's great here, right? Having overcome
Triad obstacles and as you stare into the sun,
Seeing flaws of rationality.
Can't eat an apple? Don't start with spirutiality...
Categories:
vera, august, beauty, inspiration, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Those go to Goa who are due
And wired like you and a little screwed,
And inclined to obesity -
Explorers of electricity
The ground smells rich with leaves of tea,
Your footprint on the beach is a seal.
Silence seminar's aimed, weaved
Just for those who were summoned to plead.
Such a coordinate system
Where east is west and where north is south.
Lime, grapes, pomegranate - here listen! -
Are creating inside you a mouth.
My height determines the shadow,
Pulse is dictating shore break with shells.
Today is that day of mellow
When you are finally born as self.
Here you go, an alphabet, dear
And here you go - a whole new planet.
God's pretending he never met
You and that He is not in fact here.
Categories:
vera, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
It was a forties erectile dysfunction scare,
The home had become a war zone,
The warhead was damaged;
The wife was breathing fire,
Auntie Google pointed to Aloe Vera
For remedy with little side effects.
I picked one thorny leaf on the side road,
Squashed it into my water bottle;
Ooops, what a thorny taste,
I soldiered on, I had to be restored;
I kept on sipping.
I was back on track without counting;
Sunrises nor sunsets.
My diamond warhead is back
The wife ululated, what is your secret?
What a wonderful sign!
Now I smear it on my face,
On my arms, upper body,
Soon it will be the whole body;
What a glow,
Got the women staring;
You got a nice fragrance;
One whisphered the night last,
I polish my shoes with it;
Dust sits on them with a grudge.
An ode to Aloe Vera,
The miracle thorny leaf,
Just add water.
Walk in my bedroom,
You see my funny looking water bottle,
Never despise it!
Categories:
vera, health,
Form:
Alexandrine
When Steven leaves Grace, she continues and carries on living
By inertia usually lasting twelve days, giving
Jokes as such “Stevie, it’s ridiculous, but it is your life”
Only then skies start to rot and wither over Steve’s wife.
“It is no longer a life”, Grace is stating as a merchant
“Shape, texture and color of the good is no more a penchant”
No more fail disappointment and victory satisfaction
She says pulling the curtain “And it is just a mere fraction
Of the whole picture, where are you, dweeb? You have diabetes
And who is out there cooking for you when you need it, sweetie?”
Grace sells Steve’s musical intruments not to hurt or to venge.
She drinks in excess forgetting to take care of self. Revenge!
She sits on the porch next to the door like a silent mastiff –
She’s waiting for that holy moment of returning of Steve.
One day Steven does come back with wine, pastry and a new knife.
Looks at her tenderly jokes “Who’s hiding in the closet, wife?”
Grace is hecticly cleaning, rinsing glasses tense as a string
But then breaks down into tears and sobs “Is she thin? How’s your spring?”
“Why are you happily together and I’m alone and cling?”
In one year Steve passes at a blink of an eye “We did everything we could…”
Grace is there to touch his hair and throw a random chunk of earth at him. She should.
And then all disappears – letters and digits – there’s nothing but zeroes a la crude.
One day all that pain (like a pussy cat) is settled within Grace (like in a box)
Real life has another producer some other bar code, other time on the clocks
While hers is made up of those who don’t return overnight or later on to rock
And of sliding heaven doors are working on entrance only. The exit is faux.
Categories:
vera, relationship,
Form:
Lyric
Vera
A woman of complexities – unfathomable – has gone
to a place some believe – for others far beyond.
This woman I have known for many years
who has brought to me - many, many tears,
has now left behind the man I call Dad,
leaving him – in her wake – very, very sad.
The thought of this makes me feel very bad,
for this is not how I’d like to see my Dad.
Vera, has been his partner, his companion, his life,
his nemesis, his mother, his boss and his wife.
Vera, tried in her own inimitable way to be accepted
but for most, it was difficult, she was often rejected.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 11th 2006
Categories:
vera, death, wife,
Form:
Rhyme
So we matured, mama, but, it feels that we are still ever-lasting and it seems,
That time smoothes, levels out our movements but it sharpens our faces and our whims
We’re no longer gun powder and honey, but stone paving as in Europe we’ve seen
Beautiful children, mama so you know, already have new beautiful children.
We like taking pictures of them in favorable light under shady linden
Life’s smarter than the living, that’s clear after one third of the way to the pilgrim.
All that scared me in childhood is now like a fat guy with ukulele absurd,
Even indicators of future decay are clear and law-governed, not blurred
It’s scary not to die young, mama, but, you see, it tourns out I’m not that rare bird.
I am now everything in one – Jackie Chan and Santa Claus,
My occupation is nothing, mama, but structuring chaos.
All I’m developing, mama, is the skill of holding a pause.
I am no zero mark anymore, no young ovary, no cheeky nestling
It’s “young ovaries” now that stare at me with jealousy as if I am king.
In simple people I give rise to hatred, to complicated jealousy clings.
What about happiness, mama? It is all result of seductives or toxins.
For me it is this feeling I get at night in a taxi quite often, it seems,
When crossing forty second and tenth street, direction from Kabatas to Taksim.
It’s rare that mortality and replaceability is felt to this extreme.
Sometimes I feel as a commander in exile, as weed among grass family found.
In a world where face is all that matters, all that interestes me is the inside out.
Drummers of existence are playing with sticks, waiting for a sign – for someone to shout.
Nope, love could not have saved me from this state – in fact it didn’t, it stalled.
I won tons of beauty here hence it’s natural that I’m fused, come on!
But I’ll sit on your lap, empty to glorify it century long.
Categories:
vera, beauty, god,
Form:
Lyric
Here we part ways, dear. Sorry, excess makes me sick.
You'll visit me one day as an anticyclone.
We ate cheese drinking Port wine few times a week,
Used to chip in for a new bottle like brothers.
From now on we'll no longer see one another.
I will remember you silly, skinny and weak,
Eighteen, a bit drunk and without a real mother.
We knew only excess, there was no middle ground.
You were cute when you laughed. I still recall the sound
Of days at the faculty when like kids we sat
On beige worn-out window-sills to enjoy a chat.
Each his own boss, yet a whiner with a cola.
We part ways here, dear. It's that around
The corner you continue solo.
I won't come to read the burial. There's green grass
And a lake. The car's in the bush, after you pass
The fill. I don't recall how I made it out alive at eighteen.
I don't know how it feels dying at twenty two even if keen.
See you not-soon! Hard to catch up with you, frizzy.
I watch your back as you leave and feel so dizzy.
Categories:
vera, best friend, break up,
Form:
Mabel Vera Cone
1893-1911
No one knew I existed.
No one knew I died.
No one, not even my family,
Knew I lived in the back,
Out back, way behind the small white house
On shady Canobie Street.
No one cared one iota.
No one wondered where I was
Or where I was going.
If loneliness were a flower,
I would be the faded one,
Growing and struggling reluctantly
Amidst the devouring weeds,
Out back, way beyond and hidden there,
Amidst the consuming burdock
And the golden creeping jenny there.
When I died that day,
The last Saturday in moody June,
I was alone and afraid.
No one knew I existed.
No one, not even my family,
Knew I was dying.
Dying in the darkness,
Dying of inescapable isolation,
The disease of misery and melancholia,
Out back, way beyond and hidden there,
Behind the small white house,
On shady Canobie Street.
Categories:
vera, death, lonely,
Form:
Epitaph
So it happens that God is mere
World and therefore he's always seen,
God's happening right now and here
As soon as we converse between
Own thoughts. God's like Testament old,
So is he like Testament new.
We are mango orange string on
His white flax trousers that are crude.
God is interrelation, core
And we are a mere private case
Of God, His arbitrary face
And nothing more.
Categories:
vera, poetess, poetry,
Form:
Lyric
This is your last life, so what you don't agree? -
Born to move belongings, hug friends at the gate,
To buy some ibuprofen in duty free,
To nod at giggling Koreans, notice their traits.
This is your last body, a sound one-seat frame
Waiting in lounge to board for the hut above
Wait a little, baby, thirty-or-so lame
Years and you'll sit to laugh with Him who you love.
If you regret then only that you've seen
You grasp eternal truth hard and belated.
My new fringe does filter the world as a screen
Therefore it becomes a little less-hated.
Sit down and taste everything new that glistens.
If there's anything you can't see from the ground -
Research from above. There's a load not yet found
In last youth, this tough coordinate system.
Dance in your poems, with heels flick in a fling.
A party? No sleep for neighbors and friends hang
Here. And you are so beautiful with your bangs -
Geez, some idiot gets lucky this spring.
Categories:
vera, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form: