Best Weigh Down Poems
Dedicated to Lorie Jean, Though She'll Never Know
Asleep, I cannot escape my love’s depth for you.
Awake, I cannot deny my loathing towards you.
Confusion and missing settle-stay in my pain’s cliché.
Thoughts of you weigh down my moments every day.
Long is the time I have spilled grief yet failed its release,
but dreams weave my joy strung to net grief’s relief.
Asleep, I see us blend as we did easily back then.
As before, we pool play, float happily and swim.
In sunshine, we decide our age will be just ten
as laughter splashes our feel with child-like appeal.
In dreams, we cook, play cards, take road trips,
critique movies, compete to title older song hits.
Our laughter soars until you ‘ink’, and then we
laugh more, stopping only when laugh sore.
Secrets from one’s lips merit the other’s ears
to heart-hear and hold all told in love-lined folds.
My feet twitch as I dream-walk to your home
and street-met you dream-walking to my own.
In dreams I see all I reality-miss; your face,
voice, moods, humor and unique attitudes.
I live our togetherness, our special groove,
in cherished dream scenes of us as still a two.
As soon as I first wake, reality steals my happy,
smashes the contentment dreams grant me
while missing aches swirl colors of lonely.
I ponder whether while in your own slumber,
you also dream plunder from our past splendor
for assistance with your friend-grief ender.
A true story, based on family oral tradition
from the oldest part of the city of Bern,
capitol of Switzerland, where my mother was
born and raised, in the Nydegghoff)
He lighted the candle with a quivering hand,
his overcoat seeming to weigh down the old man.
He paused in the aisle to genuflect,
and wondered if God knew his heart was a wreck.
He found a pew and got to his knees,
hands clasped together, he sent out his pleas.
He is old and he's tired, now he's alone,
his wife died last Spring, now his house wasn't home.
They'd been blessed with one son, he'd died in the war,
and now there was nothing for him to live for.
He prayed until his knee pain was great,
then sat back in the pew and tried not to shake.
The cathedral was beautiful; he loved the stained glass,
but, oh, they brought memories of Sundays past.
How could he make it through Christmas alone
in a house that was empty, no longer a home?
The kitchen was silent and cold as a tomb,
but her scent lingered on in their modest bedroom.
He said one last prayer, then rose to his feet,
genuflecting again, he went out on the street.
He walked home near blindly, not even aware
of the snow that was landing on his shoulders and hair.
He was cold inside, his heart like a stone,
and he felt completely and utterly alone.
He turned down his street, saw his porch light's glow,
and only then realized it had started to snow.
He opened his gate, thought of making some soup,
but froze in his tracks at the sight on the stoop.
On his porch sat a basket, the old wicker kind,
he thought for a moment, he was losing his mind.
Inside the basket that sat on his mat,
were three tiny kittens and one momma cat.
What a pitiful sight, so cold and so thin,
he scooped up the basket and hurried them in.
He found some canned tuna and warmed up some milk,
gently petting the babies, whose fur was like silk.
He never discovered who left those cats there,
but, as his love grew, he no longer cared.
His wife had loved cats and this comforted him,
as they slept on his head, or tucked under his chin.
The kittens grew quickly, as they're wont to do,
amused by their antics, his love grew and grew.
There was laughter and joy 'til the end of his days,
for God works, as you know, in mysterious ways.
A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.
Gray hills of impenetrable coppice draw down clouds in misty rain.
Limbs and leaves weigh down with invited teardrops that keeps their soul alive.
Forest floor whose dress adorn with verdant ferns, shrubs, and young trees.
Picturesque waterfall's resounding clamor rushes forth in abundance
and streams upon an outcrop of epiphytic moss draped rocks and woody roots.
A tree hollow speaks of creature’s footstep on land of encouraging beauty.
3/31/2019
Poetry Contest: Best free verse 2019'
Sponsored By: John Hamilton
passion and grapes
elixir of lots
life mingled
with venom
power and youth
brush fire fingers
flickering
burning
yearning
caesarean coins
weigh down the neck
of the divine
so called
basket of snakes
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
I never possessed time.
Time that I would call my own.
You see, amidst a broken heart.
I had heard a friend cry.
She said her own heart had been broken.
So I listened, counselled and wiped away her tears.
There was no time to sit and feel sorry for myself.
With a broken thumb.
A pounding headache.
A hard day at work.
I wanted a hot bath and cup of coffee.
To lay me down, I took a couple of pain killers.
But you see, amidst fatigue.
I had heard a cousin sob.
She said she had lost her job.
So I listened, counselled and wiped away her tears.
There was no time to sit and nurse my tiredness.
With a heavy heart upon seeing an accident.
A horrid image in my head that I had to let out.
I went looking for my best friend.
But I had heard her cry.
She said she was not happy in her life.
So I listened, embraced and wiped away tears.
There was no time to share and offload.
With yet another broken heart.
I had told myself to cry and shut it down for once.
I had planned to watch sad movies.
With a box of Kleenex by my side.
But you see, amidst another heart break.
I had heard a sibling cry.
She said she had hurt a person unintentionally.
So I listened, counselled and wiped away her tears.
There was no time to cry and weigh down my feelings.
With a torchlight.
I had decided to do my favorite thing.
On a warm summer evening.
Walk about the park and listen to the night.
Amidst my time of reflection, I had heard a close kin cry.
She said, her husband had cheated and had another child.
So I listened, embraced and wiped away tears
There was no time for me to reflect.
I never possess time.
I don’t think I will ever possess time to myself.
But you see, that’s okay.
I have made my peace with it.
So I guess that’s what someone meant when they told me:
“Straighten up soldier, There is never time to cry”
© Herzel Poshiwa
The journey began from birth
Since presented out into this life,
The brow beating experience,
Gloom besetting this vagabond soul
Are harrowing like the trail in front,
The ancestors had proclaim the future
To be bright, baring all retributions
Encounters in life,
They have spat out hard wine
Cracked the obliging kola nuts
And chewed the Alligator pepper,
Honey gel and Adun had featured in my throat
I have been boiled in salted perfume
And showered with herbal spring,
My soap is dark mushroom from an ancient iroko
Soaked in the pot of palm oil
I am spick and span;
The red-hot emerald from ember of coal
Have burnt into my chord
And swallowed into my belly,
I, lifted up with shaking hands
And showed to the rising sun,
The two hands clasped together
Taken up at wrists with shaky hands
And showed to the setting sun,
My legs brought together
Gripped at the ankles with shaking hands
And turned upside down;
Showing me the underside, inner in of the universe
The world is not trust worthy
Don’t take more than you can chew
Don’t give more than you can chew
You will grow and yet old
Prosper in life yet progressive
Go in peace,
You will not miss it
You will not die
You will not smell
You will not wander
You will not miss the entrance to your abode
You will not suffer reproach
Go with joy,
I then gathered together including
Sack of experience of life on my back
Loaded with my egg on top,
They weigh a tone but, not a weigh down.
I have journey to the end of the ocean,
Climbed to the tallest peak
Tour to where the wind originated,
Seen and met genera diverse in
Mythology, taste, setting in milieu
I have gone to the end of pleasure
And back; still I am on trip.
Winter
Black cloud enshroud blue horizon while migrating birds tweet their last goodbye
Arctic winds weigh down bare naked branches watching blinding storms streak by
Above forsaken lodge tower sequoias like sentinels safeguarding an empty citadel
Hungry bison scrapes damp earth for green grass then uncovers a nourishing well
Immaculate summits shed kaleidoscopic colors pondering the splendor of next fall
Snowflake encrusted serpentine rivers inside the path of an imminent frigid squall
Taking agile steps shivering wolves defend lives at stake to outfox predacious gun
Aging leaves tumble toward battered ground envying the sky waiting for the sun
Penned:
01/10/2018
12:37 P.M.
West Palm Beach, Florida
The sun a brushstroke
In the distance
A streak of crimson
'neath the dark
A palette pale
Of Autumn pastel…
The horizon only
A morbid mark
Purple clouds
Weigh down the sun
Brilliant lit below
Yet dark as ink atop
Cloudbanks press
The glow to none…
And cause the light
To dim…then stop
Violet hues
Mottle the sky
And daylight bruised
Bids the land goodbye
Takes it’s rest
In it’s nighttime nest
Licks it’s wounds
Til darkness swoons
Then once again, e'er true
Our sunny friend
Returns anew…
To once more paint the sky
I got worries on my mind,
And the blues weigh down my soul,
I got worries on my mind,
And the blues weigh down my soul,
Gonna chase those blues away,
Try to make myself feel whole.
Gonna forget my troubles
And hold my head high
Shrug off my demons,
The Lord knows that I’ll try,
The blues is heavy,
And it’s weighing down my soul,
I'm gonna count all my blessings,
‘Til they overflow my bowl.
I got my friends,
I know love without end,
My babe, he stands by me,
And on that I depend,
The blues is heavy,
And it’s weighing down my soul,
But when life feels harder,
I know I’m still in control.
Well I tried lightnin' up
When the blues pulls me down
Tried lightning up
When the blues pulls me down
It’s hard to feel blue,
When good things are all around!
It’s not a social ladder,
Even though you can drop.
It’s really more of a pyramid,
For it’s smaller at the top.
The reason that the smaller end
Is held up in the sky:
A lot more bricks are at the bottom,
Holding it that high.
The top may seem to scrape the clouds.
With rain the sides are slicker.
But on the way up, some may lay
Some steps to make it quicker.
The upper part of pyramids
Weigh down on bricks below.
The way for the top to increase its size
Is to let the bottom grow.
But the top depends on the bottom
For on a fateful day,
The ground might shake, the base may break
And the top will fall away.
Shamefully dull, life would be,
Without seasons to nourish me.
Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall,
Nature’s blessings the nourish us all
Apathetic and harsh, winter is,
With arctic gales that pierce
Every linen shielding my frame.
Anomalous flakes of snow drift from the sky
As sheets of white accumulate on the ground
And weigh down the healthiest trees,
Teasing those ready for winter festivities.
Once the snow angels and snowmen are made, and
Once the sledding and snowball fights are done,
Into their warm homes, all will run,
Hiding under hoards of fleece
Until it’s time for spring to come free.
Pleasant and lively, spring is,
With liber rains falling lavishly
On soil beds of assorted seeds,
Nursed diligently by the avid gardeners
Who thirst for the sight of the first blossoms
Of poppies, roses, lilies, and tulips.
Blueberries, cherries, and strawberries
Entice the onlookers waiting to pick
The ripest harvest in a timely manner
And savoring them until summer can flare.
Fierce and fervent, summer is
With a feverish breath, that makes rain a treasure.
People gather in masses to absorb the bodies of water
As a radiant sun desiccates the land.
Outdoors, pitchers of lemonade are carried everywhere
And thriving honeysuckle sweeten the air.
Yellow lights of fireflies flicker through the night
As exhausted bodies relax beneath the stars,
Gazing in admiration, until autumn can appear
Calm and homely, autumn is
Wither green, red, and yellow foliage taking over.
Crisp leaves bustle about the ground,
Trapped by flurries of whirring winds
Until they are raked into heaps for children to dive in
And pumpkins growing in preparation to carved or baked.
Families huddle together around brilliant fires
While couples stroll through parks, taking delight in the landscape,
And having picnics until winter’s brisk rise.
The human heart bears the scars of lies,
cause deceit is intrinsic to Man.
And should the bonds of trust unravel,
Reality copes the best it can.
Betrayal is all too familiar;
feeling trapped, with no way to retreat.
For when life's non-receptive to dreams,
you get trolled by failure and defeat.
Wanting to find a pathway to love;
Hope persuades your heart to take a chance.
But when lies overshadow the truth,
dreams collapse as if pierced by a lance.
Struggling in desperation's grip;
teardrops fuel emotional storms.
And fighting feelings of depression,
you're mired in self-doubt, searching for norms.
A wave of confusing emotions
can weigh down a heart drowning in tears.
And tides of regret rise as you sleep;
stirring nightmares and dredging up fears.
Smith’s Octopuses Party On Pontoons
Rumor Has It My Dear
Rumor has it my dear something spectacular is near
Bring your batik hats to our grand lavish scene
Wear flowing Kebeya robes
Let them flow in the air
We’re having our party upon the ocean
On pontoons made of bamboo notions
Flown in from Indonesia with crews
Planks will connect all the segments
Chris Christie will help with construction
Bridging rafts with bamboo shoots & roots
(We understand he understands bridges)
Yachts will punctuate the festivities
Covered in purple red flowers with care
Tied to the floating swaying affair
McCartney and Sting will be there
Octopuses Garden is the theme
And Paul will bring Ringo to sing
The Clinton's and Bushes are on the list
Paparazzi will see if they kiss or do tricks
And who can resist our guests of honor
Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt
The main menu is set like this;
Foie gras loco moco carne
Matusaka beef
Pheasant/Mallard breast roast
Beluga Sevruga, Osetra caviar
Goût de Diamants, Taste of Diamonds champagne
Haute chocolate ice cream
This all seems like a dream
We pray that the weather holds up
The only waves we wish to see is from us
In the form of greetings and pleasantries
The party has been planned for ages
If storms should gather
It won’t really matter
We’re thankful
The Royals, Mr.& Mrs. Smith are here
To weigh down pontoons and rafts
With billions in sacks of gold trinkets
Door prizes for sure, (sorry no doors), for those who attend
500 guests will arrive at the gala
A date with Mick Jagger and two jaguars
Assured for each person as gifts guaranteed
Compliments of King & Queen Smith
Whose parties should never be missed
A mystery guest, no surprise
A legend in his own mind
Mr. Trump and his hair might arrive
Since the pope is preoccupied
We’ll sway to the music with fine company
All are welcome to our heavenly scene
At the octopuses party on the sea
7/11/14 Rumor Has It contest
God/Orisis
In the Jippo book of the dead , {Egyptian}
Weight judge-ment, black hearted is read ,
Against the weight of an Ostrich feather,
A failure is seen evil fed
If you aint been divine,
Just robbed people, fine,
Anubis may fill you with dread, {hades-hell}
Good people have a lightness of heart,
The evil ones weigh-down with their guilt,
Conscience, knows every nasty bit part,
Anubis takes care of the filth,
Assess, reassess, deeds-knife-point to the hilt,
how it’s written on your timeline?
If yer like me you’d struggle to see,
Cos I surely aint the divine:}
Don Johnson
One God policy, pay for your deeds :}