Chests Poems | Examples

Untitled

A pin tickles
your palm
can
ease
those
lovely eyes...
A green
pickle
is bitter
and sweet
like
the love I
imagine
you
could
arrive
without
a fever
with
the
winter's
weather,
with
a sandwich
of gherkins
and melted
fav of cheese.

if we
become
under
sheets
comfortably,
your eyes
will meet mine,
and rub of feet
upon our bodies
and the laughing
of the joking...
and
sincere teasing...
Woman fleecing
of no more
of the pretending,
under shallow
holding
our wishes
in our chests.....

Between dream and memory, I dance on the rain that falls slowly

Between dream and memory, I dance on the rain that falls slowly,
I didn't run from the cold drops, but caught them on the tip of my tongue,
Laughter and chaos spun in wide circles of joy,
I stepped on water with bare soles, and the sky was close to us.
We whispered winter stories under the gray and blizzard-swept sky,
And we bathed in life's puddles, without fear of the cold to come,
We played childhood games, throwing rain toward the stars,
We knew that morning would find us with cold and wet chests.
But what did it matter? For in that rain we found our paradise,
We let fever and cough unite us closer under the blanket,
Sharing warm soups and dreams, embraced from morning until dusk,
In a time that seemed to be only ours, a winter heaven.
It's a dream I fear to lose, a magic that I keep,
A corner of the world where wildness meets love,
Like a story written with white ink on January's sky,
A dream winter, a paradise that seemed so unreal.

Prayer

Prayer is a light
To hearts it is quiet
Hidden inside joys varied
The most sincere servitude

To chests gives cure
To rest for a soul
A drink as a holy water
A seperation between evil and good

Salat is soul's meal
Faithful's meeting with Allah
Holy Throne's cipher
Sky's gates password is salat

With that servant raises to holy God
Prayers reach to house of Lord
Angels get down from welkin when Quran readed
Universe gets silent and listens with all heart

Now let you pray, you too five times a day
Without compulsion and laziness do it by pride
At the judgement day your scales full of good deed
At the recitation and prostration unite with the Almighty God (Allah)

Young Widow

I’ve sold winter coldness to those who’re huge in their chests oncorners of these abandoned streets, where bars aren’t happy with myfootprints in front of every door. Where I hit myself at close range. Where I pay a price to win no game. However, she’s worked all her lifeto bring up all her children within this magical world of theatre & music.She’s convinced that these children won’t fail to understand & accept opera& early rehearsals. I'm bedridden waiting. Welcome to a pigheaded house. Welcometo your fate that befalls many emigrants you plant like beets beside the beetleto see new growth. Welcome to where you don’t fancy a beer before bier afterthe funeral. Something is bedraggled from the hedgerow & that’s your ex’sspecial brand. However, the twigs are dry & brittle, & cracked beneaththeir feet from the beginning. Her children are looking for more spaciouspremises after that premeditated murder in a blighted area where I prescribe hera daily diet chart.

Dweller of our heart

"The essence in us is the same as the essence of the sun”

Dweller of our heart

A sun went out, a silent, sudden night,
and left a shadow where once there was light,
For in our chests, a solar flame still burns,
A borrowed heat that twists and gently turns.
The essence in us is the same as the essence of the sun, 
And so your light, though gone from sight and sound,
Is now a warmth within this hallowed ground.
You live in me, a dweller in the core,
A part of fire I am now and evermore.
Though earth received what was your final form,
You shine within, and keep my spirit warm.

Sprinkled from Above

In a land to the east unseen by man nor beast

There lived a magical folk from the mountains 

Where only love was taught and only joy was sought

And everyone drank from crystal fountains 

A wee folk it is true but their hearts only grew

Till they swelled too big for their chests to contain

So they shared all their love sprinkled high from above 

To help soften the wind and the rain 

But all the faces below whose hearts wouldn't grow

Spent their time cursing the wind and the weather 

So they put all that love on the wings of a dove

And flew high above the hills and the heather

The Virgin Dead

The seeds of war are planted 
in the soil of greed
within the garden of an unholy trinity.
Children of the poor sent off to war
to weave the satin feathers
of a murder of political crows.
The war machine is a stomping beast
spitting out bones 
vomiting over the centuries.

The children of the poor
taking their last ride
to the heart of Uncle Sams 
green-eyed pyre.
They'll will never have wives
nor children riding bikes
bells to carry their name
onto an endless summer breeze.
The parents suffering from chronic mind bleed...
War will never end
black rock and lock heed martin
need a war to test the devils' wares
turn a pretty profit.
Politicians fluffing portfolios  
blood dripping from satin pockets.
Children of the privileged
will never see battlefields of 
broken spirits and open chests. 
Parents of the virgin dead
forever patching broken nests.

A Theatre of Resonance

Amidst the chuckles, basses a horror, 
A unique film, it roars louder, 
An original marvel, staple and peculiar.

Its deep tremors, barely heed,
I feel unease, for its untold magnitude,
In it are mystery chests, often in each episode.

Alongside sealed trusts, a bombshell,
A smiling bright dawn, a dull dusk in unwell, 
A complete breathe, a success so fragile.

 Inevitable moments, naturally unfold,
In clear skies, they still are blurred,
It's just a dream, in theatres of resonance.

Wrung Betwixt the Sky and Sea

Blue on blue
a sandwich
of the sky and sea
clutching on
jealously
to the distant horizon.

They both join hands,
laugh, 
and emit their
features, 
creatures and apparitions.

Streaming towards you
like they're on 
washing machine wringer rollers,
one spinning out and up
the other,
spinning out and down,
painting the scene 
blue on blue,
silk-screened.

Seagulls soar.
Flying fish leap.
Dolphins hobby-horse.
Fishes flip, flop and swim.
Clouds billow and wallow along.
Waves rush onward with crests 
on their chests.

All this and more, is rolled out at dawn,
then gets rolled away at dusk,
to wring another day.

Mind Powers

What I’m saying. 
What is decaying. 
I have enough at home. 
Feeling sad as that dome.

The office building over there. 
Is as strange as hair. 
There could be enough. 
But treasure chests are tough. 

Mind powers. 
They told us it would only take hours.
Take as much paper as you want to. 
It’s true. 

I had mind powers on my mind. 
They told me there’s something stagnant to find. 
Like a moldy monster. 
Or a dumpster. 

It’s true. 
The office building is blue. 
Coffee, dust, and doom. 
There’s such thing as a living room. 

Metallic abilities which connect them around.
Living things, ants, and a dumping ground.
Mind powers are the structures which give them time. 
There’s isn’t much more slime. 

That’s what I’m saying. 
That’s what’s decaying. 
It’s true, sometimes. 
All my mental finds.

Rivers Jumps Our Banks

Households unhitch, clapperboard hulls creaking -
the sound of storm-lashed rigging, as washing lines
and telephone wires twist
netting loosening foundations.

Where we once believed roots gripped bedrock,
planks bob in the swell, chests and their drawers
billow and fill.

Bed-springs gape, cupboards
turn inside out, what surfaces
is the face-up exposure
of our everyday innards.

Even as mailboxes are torn away,
we refuse to believe that a river and some wind
could move our lives so a far afield,

or that this world was really in fact,
just this shipwreck on a shore
that is always moving.

What we once thought of
as an address,
has turned out to be only a buoy
on an ever-moving wave.

In a land where the shadows of fear dance on endless walls

In a land where the shadows of fear dance on endless walls,
Justice has melted away like a dream scattered by the cold night wind,
Abductions slip through the dense fog like uninvited phantoms,
Citizens torn from their peace for words that burn like flames,
Are taken to hidden places where pain becomes a silent, bitter song,
Torture merges with silence, trying to extinguish living voices,
But the cries of the oppressed soar like birds to the high heavens.
Our hearts break under the weight of the darkness that has enveloped us,
But we cannot let despair swallow us into its boundless depths,
We must rise like a sea of flames, to defend our freedom,
To surround ourselves with brave hearts that shine like stars in the sky,
To allow no one to overshadow the determination burning in our chests,
To not let the system bind us with chains of silence and oblivion,
We must rise with courage and compassion, like an eternal song.

My Travelogue

After two weeks of riding the winds across the world,
I return to the nest where my heart had perched all along.
Meeting old souls and young flames was a melody of warmth,
Their greetings, like golden threads, wove memories into my soul.

Living alone in my quiet cocoon, I had forgotten the dance of life,
But among many hearts under one roof, I felt the fire rekindle.
The walls may have worn the years like ancient scrolls,
Yet the laughter within them lit the halls like chandeliers of joy.

Some lands felt like overflowing treasure chests,
Where a simple coin made me a king, if only for a day.
Others stood like castles on high cliffs, unreachable,
Yet the kindness of strangers built bridges across our differences.

I longed to stand before the great wonders,
But the stormy whims of weather and health held me back.
Perhaps, through the looking glass of a screen,
I shall still taste the marvels of my fleeting odyssey.

Awake Beside A Stranger And My Neck Is Killing Me

fallen so fast in love 
 in spite of my or your
 own good,
helpless in your arms,
 irresponsible 
as you are in mine

held in your gaze I embraced
 all the little dangers within you,
what tempest would befall
 when all of us was
laid bare, done and lovely.

In the cold of November, we lay like angels
 sharing each other’s heat
when morning sun rays came from front
 window shutters, bird on the sill,
it peered in for that last innocent 
 glimpse of us.

We looked to each other’s parting lips,
 the rest was in our beating chests of hearts
or what have you,
our minds racing like rabbits while we caress 
 and mess up our hair,
our clothes thrown in wild abandon in Christmas light
 of the room with pictures along the walls
there is silence and in it we rest.

Three Guesses

Originally published in Out on a Limb, an Anthology for Friends June 2020

Little dogs,
To show how “big” they are,
Growl and snap in a mean gruff bluff;
And “little men,”
Yell and beat their chests and their wives
To prove they’re big, rough, tough.

But when truly formidable challenges
Finally come their way,
Three guesses.
Who’s first to run,
And which dog has his day?

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