Foyer Poems | Examples

Kensington Avenue

The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them
the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life,
settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure 
of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence.

The sequestered moments of distressed awareness,
drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being.    
The truth of trustful conviction sinks under suffering
made with mirage on the ruffled ripples of disorder. 

In homeless languished life’s impoverished landscape,
sorrow-paved avenue contours convoluted uncertainty,
winds to nowhere at the fading fringe of the time future, 
beyond the befuddled perception of toiling time present.

With the faceless faces smeared by the shadows of scorn
they walk on slimy Kensington Avenue of cardinal crime.
Life trampled by insolent wavering footsteps in journey
under the stupor of opoids that never ends their pain.

They seek the benevolence of the society to help them
in their search for the lighted path away from squalid environs
for their suffering souls to discern the abode of empathy,
as they strive to find the way out of the dead end avenue.

The Harvest

Time to harvest the blossom of your dream
have you tenderly coddled yesterday's seed
time is the seductive companion of wisdom
the dream of time is to pick up Godspeed.
You've entered the golden foyer it seems
is the reality of day as plush as the daydream.
its colors maintained, still bright as conception
or dullened like the skin of horizon's deception.

In the serf's vase, a blossom gaudily sits
within an eternity so heartlessly clipped.
Goals only half met pocked with regret
you've come so far-far up from the crag
the crystal of the dream withering to hagfish.
It was all about the gifts of the voyage within 
the dorsal fin currents -a tidepools lone gem.

Pages From Decrepit Seasons

Before midnight ticks, I turn to my 
    interior world ,
One that cradles myrhh
of reminisces  and sagas,
Allowing breaths to inhale the agony
and radiance of loved ones' trails
now beyond my physical reach--

Watching the decrepit portraits on 
   the foyer,  July air greets the dew
on blossoms, monarchs flitting in my yard
then fading softly in the shade--
  reminding me how age- torn, tattered
past seasons have turned this manor down

I am stilled by the rustle
from maples breathing as if their
   whiffs understand my untold ancestry...
Perhaps, I am getting old,
  or maybe wise enough
to scrape my pen amid bundled journals,
  unearthed by many vintage pages
still to come. And go.

1st place

A Distress Dish Of Blue Cheese And An Old Dill

Blue Cheese and Old Pickles Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish

A dish of disappointment
mocks the kitchen chef
two anomalies sitting on his cutting board
all in their glory, dumbfounded
... and unappetizing 
plated for aliens and not humans
or for a horse that doesn’t know better
this recipe’s giving him the blues and he’s seeing red
where …
his yellow brick road has two strangers today
two lost food groups 
arriving earlier in hearses
a funeral procession
mythically carrying the deceased to his kitchen foyer
… some blue cheese and an old dill
that  are down for an undressing 
of his bitter words
like, fudge, where’s the beef
… or better yet Mars is up there
as a cloud of despair hovers over the kitchen 
not a spaceship as one might think
darkness begetting light
salt, pepper and garnishes spooked
… a ready barf bag crashes this meal

the open mind

the mind is open for a change

Headless embrace an easy life a lift down the seventh floor to a foyer and doors that open automatically a café serves one from cooking peeling potatoes and ready-made salads
a walk in the avenue of shops that have empty words while expensive cars drive driven by owners whose sense of beauty is a Musk truck dead steel against the greening grass
then you know there will never be dog hair on the sofa, and there will be no happy, friendly dog you're here and she is content
You plan your escape from the trivial, how fast a lift takes to ground level, but meet an obstacle called old age and the maidens have gone
Finally, you see yourself in the bathroom mirror the ultimate purveyor of truth, the loss is
absolute, but despite that dreams are bigger than you whisper and tell you of a way out

A Performance in Beijing

The Great Hall of the People.

After the performance
she appears above us,
stepping out from
a Chinese painting of heaven.

She descends into the foyer,
camera’s whir.

Once more
we are stunned
by the power of beauty
to command our devotion.

This is her moment,
surely no moment could out-match
this one.

Later, a reading,
tea leaves in a small cup,
dragons circle the rim.
A vision.

There are rumors, suspicions,
political purges,

Her path leads now 
to blood
to Tiananmen Square.

To a final act 
unseen.

Paycheck

Pulling out my card.
Doesn’t seem too hard.
When I’m convinced of my wealth.
Despite new books on my shelf.
Despite sunglasses that are new.
I assumed by account was tried and true.
But when the balance is none.
I find myself feeling undone.
I want to go back.
To stop myself from getting snacks.
I want to undo.
Buying a shirt that is blue.
I hear honking behind me.
At least the receipt for my balance is free.
I leave with no money in hand.
I was going to go to the beach with sand.
But with no money for a picnic lunch.
I suddenly have a hunch.
That my friend will pay what is due.
But then the sky turns a strange hue.
Which helps me remember.
I owe her from December.
I guess I’ll go home.
With no where else to roam.
I know my mom’s advice was true.
That spending too much will make me blue.
I enter the foyer.
The smell of cooking makes me wander over.
My mom is making lunch.
She seems to have a hunch.
On the hammock in the yard, I sway.
I learned my lesson on this sunny day.
She hands me an iced tea.
I start to dream.
Of my paycheck tomorrow.
Which I can spend without sorrow!

Alone With You

You walked through the foyer door
I saw you there and thought of more
I caught your eye from up on stage 
My face went flush when we engaged 
For in that look I said it all
My love for you is nothing small
Alone, my passion would transform
From calm into a big snowstorm

May God bless the drive thru's

Several weeks in to this healing journey.
Grateful of course, there was no gurney..
Now waiting for these bones to knit.
It's challenging for me to quietly sit.
Wheeling around my condo floors,
the metal stripping's are loose once more.
My wheel chair clunks on the foyer tiles.
Some days my arms feel they've walked several miles..
I amble to my car with my walking stick, to run a few
errands lickity split.
I'm grateful for drive thru's, those places one
can just pull up to: drive thru pharmacy to pick up my meds,
drive thru star bucks to clear my head, of course the fast
food options too. May God bless the drive thru!!
Still striving hard not to succumb to my some days
emotional pendulum..
Five weeks down, five more to go, the healing process is
painfully slow.

Watching the Flickers

A lifetime plays out
as you watch a movie screen,
or hang around in the foyer,
waiting for the right movie to start.

Then you realize
that it has always been your light
on that screen -
that you were, fact,
the only projector in town.,center.

Reflections

R.  Resounding peace
E.  Enters to the
F.  Foyer of my spirit
L.  Leaving a lullaby 
E.  Etching an outline
C.  Calming down
T.  The chaos within
I.  Installing instead peace
O.  On the inside of my heart
N.  Never giving back the
S.  Scantions of the chaos I've evicted.

Late nights and Daffodils

"Golden hour is priceless,
But I’ll spend my late nights with you.
When elation is filled with love,
It grows like daffodils –
You are one of them too!

Take a chance with me;
I’ll take the risk of falling.
Even if this will rift my hopes into pieces,
Know that you are worthy to be loved –
It’s worthy, even more, than trying.

“Come inside of my heart”,
There’s a safe haven in me.
Walk in my foyer and don’t be afraid,
Let’s hope for what the future brings.
Would you agree?"

Yellowing of the Foyer

The flesh sashays... so slowly... in time.
Live long enough you'll become orphaned.
Pray. the orphan is filled with chimes of sweet memories.

The soul will certainly release from the chains of flesh...
weave within the silky seams of timelessness.
Travelling well beyond the speed of light
to acquaint with beings in the highest light.

The heart of the ultimate sacrifice is with the orphan 
both young and old.
Whether it be through tragedy, circumstance or attrition
God is with them...forever with them.

Harm an orphan or a stray and within a fraction of an instant,,,
God will arrive at the foyer of your arrogance,
to rub your nose in your cold-hearted piss.

Threadbare

“Your mother’s love, the silent devotion ,the never heard prayers, the unseen  care.” ~~ Shobhna Kanwar~~ 

She stood in the foyer of the church, through the window to the aisle.
Her threadbare clothes hung around her form in denial.
She watched him take her arm, as they approached the groom.
A hush was heard as the organ played in the room.

How stunning the bridesmaids, four beautiful girls, 
The bride exquisite, her delicate lace gown studded with pearls.
The crowd were obviously all well to do,
Men in Versace suits, women clad in Channel and Dior too.

She listened as they said their vows and swore to be true.
She smiled as he proclaimed to his bride “I love you”.
Marriage complete, they would all soon walk out to the street.
It was time for the hagged woman to make a hasty retreat.

He glanced at her but didn’t raise an eyebrow.
She would never be recognized the way she looked now.
It was so long since she had cried, she shed just one tear.
Her dear daughter would never know that her mother was here.

Freedom

You were holding me so tight,
I could’nt  breath
But in a crowded room I did’nt want to be
I struggled and wrestled against you
As I pleaded please release me let me go
Finally you dashed out into the foyer
Whoosh!  Yippee!
 I am a naughty little air bubble that just got free

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