Best Warps Poems
As I sit upon these old porch steps, that I have always known
A weathered stoop, with gray floorboards, that shake with every wind
These creaks and groans, the flaws and chips, ... familiar to my hand
I have come to some conclusion,,,
I've come to understand,
how well I know each board, each slat, the shape, the size,
the warps, the cracks, ...each rusty nail, ....
but not the facts of you.
Oh yes, ... I've seen a glimpse or two,
in photographs. I have a few
I see a robust man, in yellowed hues, of vintage stock...
By a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move.
You stand behind a horse and plow, in coveralls,... a mustache. too.
I do recall, so vaguely gray, as gray as the paint beneath my hand...
a jolly man, a wrinkled face,
with a smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?
Is that me when I was two,... sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?
I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes
so far from where your hopes began
Where the steep cliffs rose and seas were blue.
Today, beyond these furrowed rows,...
tall grasses grow in amber waves
The eyes will wander, and shadows grow
I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,....
who came from you;
a man I never knew.
_____________________________________________________________
(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF4GCLqf9_o
Part One.
A silent yawn, the moon awakes.
Compels its patron planet's shape.
As oceans shift by its command
And with its might recasts the land.
Below the lunar rings of mist,
A strip of cloud, a stolen kiss.
The harvest yields a poet's line
on hay-rides of forgotten rhyme.
Part Two.
While far beneath the grain we reap,
Magnetic powers guard our sleep;
But in this source protecting Earth,
It warps the minds of some at birth
A missing foresight of control,
Malignant thoughts that urge, cajole.
Your moonlit steps they wait to hear;
A twisted grin, as you grow near.
Iambic Tetrameter / Cateletic.
Rhyme / AA-BB
Gene Bourne
02-02-14
.
Maybe not once in a lifetime,
but certainly not often
Someone enters your life
Or maybe enters your life is
not the right expression,
waltzes with you, opens your eyes,
confronts you, questions and
challenges you, inspires you,
accepts you fully and completely,
loves you.
And all the while the wind blows
over this world,
erases love, children, warps war everywhere
forgets the helpless,
dwarfs the powerless.
It's too easy to hide, turn your head away,
bury yourself
in enjoyable pastimes
But tomorrow it is
you, your house is gone
You are exiled, your children
are hungry or killed...
Then what
do you
do?
?
Maybe not once in a lifetime,
but certainly not often
Someone enters your life
Someone who with gentle force opens your eyes,
With beautiful lines, books and music.
And perhaps that is painful
But remember this: it is because he
has a beautiful heart, he
wants the world to be a better place.
***
April 23, 2017,
Copyright © Darren White
The Warp and The Weft
The warp and the weft are different but both thread
Choose any colour you like, through the blues to the red
The warp goes away from you stretching out tight
The weft goes across, from the left to the right,
The shuttle bobs from left to right and back
Weaving some cloth on this intricate rack.
Entwining the threads with colours of desire
From plain coloured cloth to colours like fire
The shuttle passing through leaving a thread called the weft
Intertwining warps, moving to the right and the left
We can learn to be like this wonderful machine
Learn from it’s weaving for life we can glean.
If one goes one way, it is not the end
We can try go the other without having to bend
We can cross over each other but still hold on tight
Like wonderful cloth woven for our delight
.
Two different ways and colours there may be
But woven to make stronger for all to see
We can be useful and strong and woven together
But beautiful and practical seemingly lasting forever.
Wandering the virtual
green fields of home,
I open the farmyard gate
fall into a haze of retrospect.
I see a “LMS Black Five” Locomotive
bellowing upon a utilized line,
ghostly sparks tantalizing
the embankment.
Below a paddock ploughed,
sown with scattered seed
to germinate this memory
of that time past.
I stroll the hoary lane
beneath a pale cold eve,
discover soft mist stirring
upon the low moor, in warps
of time, giving in to modernization.
Mile high bracken upon the Beacon
under a clementine moonlight,
in shadows drifting to and fro
like the tide upon the silken sea.
At the old cottage
in Sugar Hill,
I see a cut glass vase, sitting supreme
upon the polished surface
with rose, carnation and dahlias,
near by a collection of love
in all those wonderful bluebells
from Nesfield.
“In the old Jam Jar”
Entered 2022 Poetry Marathon mile 14 contest
Sponsor Mark Toney
13/9/2022
There was no closure of a proper goodbye.
I tried, but...
no reply.
Your body became limp and cold as
a corpse.
We froze alone
in different time warps.
My ambiguous stutters
wouldn't disappear.
They pinched as they burrowed
like earwigs in each ear.
My mouth opened slowly
to suck the words back in.
Then the dead revived
and embraced my skin.
My heart bloomed in profusion
like first love's lilac.
With lips on lips
you took my words back.
" Like a fish caught in a cruel net;
or a bird caught in a trap,
in the same way a person can be trapped;
by bad things that suddenly happen."
Based on Ecclesiastes 9:12
__________________________________
I have lived life on a collision course,
but, I have now come to a turning point;
and I have wept tears until I am hoarse.
Have been galloping on a magic horse,
never stopping at a single checkpoint;
I have lived life on a collision course.
Have worn bright diamonds and violet quartz,
even in youth smoked an illegal joint;
and I have wept tears until I am hoarse.
But, that is all behind me as time warps,
oh, I never wanted to disappoint;
I have lived life on a collision course.
Have been trapped with no escape source,
even my gentleness- others did exploit;
and I have wept tears until I am hoarse.
At this juncture- a new me I endorse,
my race against time is over- I rejoice;
I have lived life on a collision course,
and I have wept tears until I am hoarse.
______________________________
September 15, 2019
Poetry/Villanelle/Crossroads in My Life
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1181-345-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Crossroads
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
How many have ever heard the song "Somewhere in Time?"
It's a song with only music and with no words or rhyme.
"Fantasie Impromtu" is another one written by Chopin?
Also a song of rare beauty without words thrown in.
These two songs along with "Moonlight Sonata" were played by my son.
He's an acomplished pianist who can play most any run.
He played these songs at my funeral last week.
Don't be shocked all you people keep on sitting in your seat.
You Poetry Soup poets who are sitting there reading this write.
Yes you! Don't turn around and look behind you or look to the right!
Do you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now?
Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
No don't look! You won't see me.
My spirit is floating above your right shoulder freely.
I'm watching you read your poems. Did you get some good comments today?
Yes I saw where you wrote that beautiful verse, and that nice display!
You deserve that nice comment. How about your soupmail? Are there very many?
Did someone tell you a secret? Remember! I won't tell and I know a plenty!
I've been watching you on Poetry Soup for hours writing your poems that rhyme.
You're writing about love and mysteries, about cat tails, building spaceships and rhyme
time!
You're writing of happy new year, time warps, romantic longings and betrayals and how do
you do it,
One of you says your poems are like children to you, one writes of beautiful women
with wit
And one of you even wrote of hanging berries! And all of these wonderful poems I've read.
I have hovered over many of you and you never even knew I was dead,
Such wonderful talented writers we have on Poetry Soup.
Everyone writes his own style that belongs to this group.
So take heed when you sit down to write a new rhyme.
And know that someone's watching you write all this time.
And when you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now.
Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
"I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.'"
- Lewis Carroll
In winter’s cold blast
Window’s form icy crystals
Fairy dust falls as star flakes
Lawns all white, glisten
Moons’ silver bestows magic
Snow veil warps you in slumber
written: 9-1-2019
Writing Challenge 4, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
2nd place
A shored life
awakes the old
patience is a virtue
a wondrous light
a way for the world
one way passage
yielding trifles
abundant returns
nameless faceless
novelties in scrolls
constant to air
The Book of Life
accounts tallies
clearly visible
hidden from sight
chance of a lifetime
warps through glass
bottled sealed.
time slips through our fingers
most unapologetically
ignoring our pathetic pleas
cycles of sunrise followed by nightfall
seem endless yet each day not resembling the next
at least not always, maybe never
but there comes a day for us all
when time stops, stands still
inflicting a wretched pain
it seems like the end
but it's not really
we somehow carry on
till once again time
slips through our fingers
this time almost apologetic
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Recumbent, crippled: a conscious corpse
Life calling for me to follow
Mentality, it warps
Why does my skull feel hollow?
As I wait for the shadows to fall down, to swallow
Emotions exhaust; they yawn, they sleep
I wonder why I'm awake
Why aren't I comatose counting sheep?
Or swimming in some chocolate lake?
What must I do- for God sake?
The black weighs heavy; unyielding, dense
Two jigsaw pieces left fitting
Hair strands react to such alien sixth sense
Perpendicular; lascivious in their sitting
Buried skin is forsaken; solitary, unwitting
Ladders of monotony, the itch to climb
But I'm yet to grapple a rung
Whispers of breathing chant and chime
Whistling from each glass lung
Will my reality sing unsung?
The dark devours me; surreptitious, slow
My body of waning evanescence
When will this serotonin begin to flow?
My prison of subtle quiescence
Paralysed by every cell of my essence
Like Mephistopheles, only I serve a devil within
Post mortem, my thoughts painstakingly dissected
Wounds of the past are tough like pigskin
Restrained to relive still affected
I wonder if they could be ejected
As the darkness lifts no weight has shifted
The day pours into the night
It's not as though I am God gifted
As I am still one with such bastard blight
How am I supposed to stand up and fight...?
Recumbent, can't move: a conscious corpse
Life now screaming for me to follow
Mentality; it warps
Why does my skull still feel hollow?
As I will for the shadows to fall down, to swallow
Sometimes there is freedom in a simple walk.
No speaking, just listening in your mind you talk.
All alone with peace all around you.
No rules, no limits to be bound to.
Just strolling down relaxing paths.
No thought given to worry or how the day is passed.
Being still is also good, take my advice.
you should, for it is rather nice.
Standing in one place for a spell,
can help you find your bearings, it never fails.
Traveling in vehicles seems a crime.
It only bends the truth and warps the time.
Shoes were meant to carry man.
They seem to be a better fit to walk and stand.
So when you are caught in life's big race.
Choose to move at your own slow pace.
"But for the sky there are no fences facing." - Bob Dylan
9/24/18
Slowing down the motor,
running low on gas
The lies, the HOV lane,
the truth off in the grass
The speed counterproductive,
it warps and then transforms
The magic in the stillness,
the beauty heaven born
The light becomes a blurring,
as darkness settles in
Till stepping off the madness,
and travelling within
That fatal rush to judgment,
a quiet now sustains
One choice to stop the treadmill
—all motion rearranged
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
The porch,
Columns of trees, holding the wainscoting ceiling for years;
Reflects his strength.
Wind now rips the bark from their bodies;
As illness wore away his vigor.
Tongue and grove floor laid lovingly,
painstakingly fitting it to the round bark wall-boards;
Mirroring the patience of guiding his children’s lives.
Freeze and thaw, warps and splinters the boards away from the wall;
Strong children move out on their own.
Wine barrel table and chairs,
Seats now weathered, torn and uncomfortable;
The consummate host - his family and friends leave with
laughter and peace.
His aura lingered for a long time –
Sometimes, even now.
Yet once in a while –
As time, like the wind stealing small pieces –
It feels like the porch never was –