Best Which Poems
How a buzz in my pocket
changes the way I think
Like an anagram of the eyes
rearranges how they see
An unseen picture appears
sensitive to my touch
expands on its side
but becomes clear straight up
I’ve opened a family thread,
a child image of me was sent
one I’d never seen before
takes time to comprehend
why temporal snapshots
alter perception, if not my past
and how fractures will be camouflaged
under his thick mop of hair
Yet that kid I barely knew
has somehow willed his way through
as if to check how he’s grown
for back then can’t be known
his future shaped by wounds
that fused together too soon
He’ll face denial shortly enough,
when closure sets in, he’s f*cked.
Maybe a few shallow X-rays
could’ve exposed his flaws
Held them up to the light
until it fully dawned
Guide him past the negatives
where black inverts on white
Instead a darkroom of maybes
tries to redevelop his life
So with hindsight today,
I’ve been X-raying my life away
like an existential poet
finds cracks in perceived certainty
Best to exhume old bones
from beneath dirt and stones,
as undying proof
of foresight’s hidden failures
I won’t write off all my past selves ~
just the one I didn’t see coming
Which is me
By
David Kavanagh
I hate the patriarchy
I hate that men have control over my body
I hate how I have to walk around the city knowing that being pretty is a justification for rape
And I hate that I have to always try and counter that by looking down
Not making eye contact
I hate that I have to act ashamed because some men think confidence is permission
I hate that if all my efforts fail it’s illegal for me to have autonomy in a decision that would change my life
I hate that even though men have no idea how it feels to live in fear they have the power to make fear my reality
They have the power to make fear all I know
They have the power to take my life from me
I hate that when they say they want to save “unborn children”
They mean they don’t want me to have a choice
But when the child is born, they won’t help pay for their food
They shame for struggling when money isn’t available
They shame teen mothers even when the mother was only walking home after a long day of school, when the mother never wanted anything to do with them
And they say it was the girl’s fault because her “clothes showed too much skin” and because “she looked at me, so I thought it was okay” and because “she never said no”
How could she say no
She was scared to fight back
Because in the patriarchy, a woman is a tool
A woman is not her own person
A woman can’t make her own decisions
Because she is not valued
I am used and I know it every day
I am 15 and I already worry because I know this could be me
I am 15 and I worry that my little sister’s life could be ruined because she doesn’t get to choose
I am 15 and I worry about all my friends and my classmates and every girl and woman who has to live with the same fear I do
I am 15 and I know that while this is my reality now, this won’t be my reality forever
I am 15 and I am ready for something to change
There is a little sprinkling of love down deep,
a wee twinkling (light) ---
without which we couldn't exist;
like light upon the sleeping cove,
faint in the thick night,
afar yet it (glows),
the bloom from the rose has kissed the momentous
(moment)
Its (body) stem could only pretend to tear into life;
its little vision once as a puddle for a pond,
now the She-Earth has poured her life breath ---
and wept into wild rivers seeking the edges of the world,
the rain forests welcome her flow of lovely;
rainbow waves, and bubbles to bounce
where children play,
whence the nestled nightingale sings his plea
All of life bound beyond the eye, tethered at last to feel,
to see....
what is in front of thee;
the mountain moans, the mountain groans!
the felt whispered winds all Earth within,
the body weens into mind, emotion, things unseen...
What of worlds, and wolds of vast cosmos,
a quasar billions of might of Earth's sun,
yet a soul singular,
more mighty than thy many quasar flight?
The mother defys death to save her babe ---
in it all the world is saved,
one world enough, upon the galaxies bereaved;
one flower to make a universe,
and set it upon its course of so much more....
One from which flows the waterfall,
the tumbling tender truth;
from kind thought ---
your life to have all anew,
a fresh poured cure, to mold
endure....
what God would have of you;
a mighty wave upon the ramparts,
a new love upon the land,
a bloom forthwith,
sing ye, all Kings and Queens of Earth!
***Written in 2015***
These seasons which sing in silent symphonies,
like the hush of a new age,
like portals to pretence,
actualized to change itself;
The winter wind ---
he who loses his cool to birth of Spring,
and July in its hot, hazy adventures,
to Autumn and Indian Summer
are born many a poet,
with its myriad of romantic ink,
and misted-arbor parks;
When Apollo walks his most precious muse
and whispers for those who watch....
'Thy art, for you my gift'
the eolian sings unheard,
but for Wordsworth in his wood,
where we oft follow,
and Coleridge bellowing of its ministries...
All we have is that which seasons sing,
as a nightingale from Keat's tree,
and how Tennyson even became lost in its moss,
covered in dark, rain, snow...
where Maria waited the Lonely Wood....
but from a many colored pallet
we see where beauty lies,
how it bats her eyes in thy soul,
and a feeling of love follows,
for the snowcapped mountains,
and June-green forest,
waking with a galaxy of life,
Bursting upon the rocks....
the breakers in Dover hath held agape ---
the Saxon word-smiths of old,
and from many a pen we have answered,
living in our calendars,
and endless months,
(these seasons which sing in silent symphonies...)
The corridors of life are rarely straight:
Not only do they bend and twist and veer,
We find the way ahead becomes unclear,
Soon blocked by doors -- each door, a different fate.
We’d like to take our time, to contemplate,
But time will press, and each will urge, “Come here,
I lead to bliss. Take me, and have no fear!”
How can we know which course to navigate?
Still in the end we’re forced to make a choice,
Interring almost-futures in the past,
And pick one door to open, if we dare.
We hope the door we choose makes us rejoice,
But this is a decision which will last:
Whatever ends it leads to, we must bear.
December 23, 2019
"Open Me First" Italian Sonnet Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That Which Held Me In A Magical Spell
That which held me in a magical spell
Dark, its winding infinity and heart
Its red beach, covered in sad broken shells
Shreds of humanity once torn apart.
Within hard gaping gasps and stormy sea
Beauty once trampled in mad haste and greed
Else sadden look at folly within me
Why on our own swords we oft fall and bleed!
Deep thoughts and those silent murmurs in life
Echoes of cavernous pains, woe'some woes
Memories dredged up by dire worldly strife
So well hidden that no fear ever shows.
Mortal wondering, malevolent things
Deep sorrows and aches they come and they go
Weak flesh blundering(s), as a dark star sings
Each a dead corpse as lost and blind we row!
That which set me in a revolving maze
Phantasms of meanderings through deep hell
Gasping fears brought on by insipid craze
To search those nightmares we should never tell.
LO! Dare we unsavory black explore
Dawn armor to such inner sanctums raid
Seek long sought answers while we ask no more
Than devil's touch and the cut of his blades?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-28-2020
Rhyme Dark, A bold look inward..
( On the inner ponderings of the human soul
and life's many paths taken )
Love Fruits, Passion's Meals On Which I Once Sup
When I ponder my life, its fleeing years-
Youth with its blessings and its cold dark fears;
Wandering through world and paths not taken
Truth of the sorrows and those forsaken;
Faint gaspings of romantic interludes;
Treasures lost, unforgiving attitudes;
Celebrating those small victories gained,
Savoring what true love in life remained.
Whispers searching soul once so gaily heard,
Morn's sweet call, with its warbling of songbirds,
Lessons learned from sorrows, pain's dark cup
Love fruits, passion's meals on which I once sup
What life was, later what it came to be;
What finally made a good man of me.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-15-2020
Sonnet, ( However 'tis long the journey, 'tis never enough )
Syllables Per Line:10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables:140
Total # Words:100
Which came first the chicken or the egg...
Personally I think it may have been the cock
Jan Allison
28th November 2014
The moonlit sea hides within the scent of waves
which waft and lilt on shores of dreams
Evanescent thoughts of effervescent moments
linger oncemore through nights
where heart was young ,emotions deep and lips unsealed.
Alone I sit close to a rock which bears no colour
as softened ripples caress my memory
and silver stars outline the black of empty skies
The cold damp mist covers my eyelid
as the wind blows within my soul
the same old soul which knows each sound
each every rustle of shriveled leaves
brown whitering leaves which leap and creep
in prolonged darkness.
Somewhere so far my breath still mingles
in open fields beneath a sun
which warms the skin of evergreen
amongst white orchids which fill the air
somewhere so far somewhere out there.
Somewhere so far the worn out chords
of a guitar still play their tunes
and broken footprints still mark the path
of my bare shoulders within your arms
as broken voices whisper no words
as early snowfall freezes the years.
.
If I fly the Stars and Stripes
I'll offend the left
Unfurl the rainbow flag
infuriate the right
Red and blue no longer good
ditto the colors of rainbow bright
Perhaps I'll just surrender
and wave a flag of white
Your existence is worthless
never believe
there's hope for you
gaze into a mirror
you are nothing
cease telling yourself
you are somebody in this world
no one deserves you
don't let anyone tell you
you are beautiful
now read it backwards :)
WHICH POEM TO READ?
Adore a poem that fascinates and entices me
Touching each heart string with sadness or glee
Poets that pen imaginatively and bring,
Fantasy to life, love poems now that's my thing,
Then, look for a read with breath taking scenery!
Like it when Poets of themselves describe,
To this kind of poetry I ascribe,
Look for writes, in which I see
The crazy, creative, arty side of me
Or an unexpected ending,I enjoy and prescribe.
To be Entered in
"Fave Poetry Contest" Sponsored by; Line Gauthier
With every now we cite the faithful muse,
the one we know is never there, but
just as certainly our patroness,
our lover for all time, our aged sprite
drifting silently along the screaming front
and those of us who write,
will never let her go.
I'll climb the tower of my ignorance.
I'll praise the circumstance that brings me there,
to curb and rest those wild oars of the mind
however aimed out in the passion of a distant call.
I'll sing those waves of self reward,
of my impetuosity when reason plays the chorus.
There again the mind falls short; the intellect
must feast upon the small perception
of the breath alone.
We must throw up our hands. That which saves us
is our creativity...as if it were enough.
And this poor poet doesn't think it is.
Ironic, isn't it? He takes some joy from that.
~
She was made of the Earth on which she walked,
built by the Love that, from her, poured,
brought to life by the light she shone,
imbued with the innocence that, in all, she saw.
She sang her heart to every sunbeam,
danced her joy for all the Ocean,
painted life upon the Cosmos,
wore the wisdom of each mountain.
She communicated with the trees,
felt the warmth from distant stars,
cradled the souls of the beings she'd meet,
did all that she could to inspire good hearts.
She tended the fires of every sunset,
wandered in cloudscapes all over the planet,
her shadow rejoiced in the full moonlight,
her spirit brushed lifetimes it couldn't forget.
She swam in the night
and flowed with the seasons,
played among air currents,
and bathed in the heavens..
But she saw that not all was right in the world,
and her gentle heart hurt to perceive so much wrong.
She ached with the suffering people inflicted,
and never quite felt she could truly belong..
She crumbled under the waste of greed,
mourned the impediment of impatience,
was torn apart by lies and hatred,
and shattered by all the needless violence..
She bled the oil pulled from the ground,
grieved over prejudice and separation,
wept the blood of billions enslaved,
and cried for mercy, in desperation.
Every war was a cardiac arrest.
Every tree cut down, asphyxiation.
Every polluted river, sepsis.
Every species wiped out was an amputation.
She lost the innocence she no longer saw,
and dimmed was the light she struggled to shine.
She stemmed the Love that barely poured
and sank back to the Earth on which she'd walked.
Humanity is rushing to self destruction
Unless on its knees begs for pardon
Menaced by volcanoes earthquakes plagues
And the war of words which will turn to action
Now is the time to choose which side
In the camp of the saints or of demons to fight
To love or to hate forever two standards
Yahweh will win, renew the earth and his people will run with health
Fourth Place: John Hamilton- Humanity Acrostic-11/17/17