Hazily Poems | Examples

Three Lights

first night—
the soul’s fringe still shining hazily
the last night—
as though knowing time has come
morning comes—
a firefly spends all its light

Happy Days

Happy Days

Each is given breath,
above soil, toil and glory,
mouths expel a tirade,
behind a masquerade.

Each born pure in heart,
soon shattered; broken 
jagged pieces maybe scattered.
Each feels the beats hidden deep inside.

It struggles to love, but rages! 
against tears cried, each supplied 
with both organs, and need,
exhausted moment, emitting seed.

Each with eyes, unable to detect lies,
a tongue its whip sting, able to chastise,
each is not supplied in rubies and gold,
a fool realises, in late life now is to olde.
Each foot step trudge, 
to the hole in soil;
hazily remembers the glory, 
not the toil.  Happy days indeed !

Happy Days

Happy Days

Each is given breath, above soil, toil and glory;
mouths expel  a tirade,behind a masquerade.
Each born pure in heart, soon shattered;
broken jagged pieces maybe scattered.
Each feels the beats hidden deep inside;
It struggles to love, but rages! against tears cried.
Each supplied with both organs, and need;
at the exhausted moment, emitting seed.
Each with eyes, unable to detect lies;
a tongue its whip sting, able to chastise.
Each is not supplied in rubies and gold;
a fool realises, in late life now is to olde.
Each foot step trudge, to the hole in soil;
hazily remembers the glory, not the toil.
                     Happy days indeed !

identity

It’s a searing, wordless pain to be unsure of my own identity 
Lost in the day to day, shackled by the ins and outs of my stoic life
Mirrors look back at me, a hazily dreampt structure of a face without a name
Leeching naivety distorts common sense, never revealing a world of cloaked wicked intentions
I study myself until my eyes crack, in search of a semblance of recognition 
Though it seems I am just and idea crafted by a bleeding heart

The Collector

Pens, and pen knives,
minor gadgets and gizmos,
chopsticks
old zippo lighters,
motheaten books
that crumble an old-fashioned wisdom
into the mush of a quaint twaddle,
words to muddle over
on a day locked into a raincloud.

He collected all sorts -
mostly useless things,
mostly the unimportant, the worthless,
gathering together
all the small curiosities of the bygone,
things often broken and long discarded.

His poetry is a collection also,
a jumble of oddments and offbeat widgets,
stuff he finds hazily dreaming
beside unpaved roads.

Anxious Prone

Crawling on my floor. 
I stare hazily at the intricacies of the wood grain and realize slowly all the messes in my way. 

Curl up, holding myself, prepare yourself darling life is a beautiful maze. 
I feel the cold on my skin, I feel choked from the waters that I swim. 

I dream each night nightmares it's hard to fall asleep. Everything inside of me flows and starts to creep. 

I hold my breath with panic. Feeling isolated and lost on this planet. 

Anxiety surrounds my body. My stomach feels all knotty. 

Can I ground myself. I go from counting 1 all the way to twelfth. 

My eyes become blotchy and the haze rolls away like the fog.
 I release the pressure in my body like a drain with a clog. 

My world starts to pull together. My breathing starts to slow.  
Hopefully in a few minutes I'll be better. 
My strength will surely grow.

Sex Obsession

The Sex Obsession

He was in his middle years, a retired seafarer living far
from the oceans of his youth and dreams had drowned 
in swells of a restless, life.
He lived a slow life, walking his dog in the forest when 
not driving his bike, visiting forgotten villages, trying 
to find a childhood hazily remembered; but what he drew
had been a happy one in a time of war.
One day he met a woman (not a beauty) 
he was drawn into her sphere of sexuality; he was in love.
Intense, longing for her love, lost his life in her arms
in the swirling dance of pleasures, he had long forsaken.
There were times when out walking the dog, he paused
and asked, was there a prize to pay one day?
She came to his house, looking serious she was pregnant
He was jubilant; there was nothing more in the world he 
wanted to be a father to complete his dreams.
No, she wanted money for an abortion. Killing His Child!
His world crashed, the truth, as they had nothing but sex
 He walked in the woods when returning, she had gone.

Resident Souls

Echoes through the hallway

Of this dilapidated ruin

A stone house made with devoted hands

Ladened once with the life and love of humans


Soft whispers can be heard

An occasional silhouette hazily drifts by

The humans that once lived here

Continue to reside ….

An Impossible Fix

AN IMPOSSIBLE FIX

       I journey through the woodland
    Hazily I gaze at the shadows of an- 
                  intangible reality
    There I love roses and hate thorns
       Its a Journey to my yesterday
           In a region called mind.
  There I chose silence and hate noise
     I choose hard work and hate sleep
        I choose humility above pride
                  I leave no soul hurt
           I leave no bone fractured
         Carefully I make a great fix

        I journey through the woodland
           A journey from my yesterday
      Like an eagle on my today to perch
          Alas! No yesterday was fixed 
         Not even a choice was redone
  For it was just a fruit of imagination 
       Conceived in the womb of regret
 Inside the belly of vain contemplation
            So when you receive a day
   From the hand of Him who never err 
       Forget not every moment to pray 
    Remember good choices to make                     
      For even today will be yesterday- 
     and you can never fix yesterdays.

Wild Blue Yonder

At the shoreline
the sea meets the sand 
            in transparent kiss 
       then draws back to itself 
in divine cycle
       the endless push/pull 
            of ocean rhythm  
                       
Out to sea
the vast expanse breathes             
             in deepening blue tones 
       that ripen like fruit 
blueberry 
      plum 
          blackberry 
          
On the horizon
midnight sea cuts palest blue sky 
          Taranga Island 
      floats hazily
suspended
       in the wild blue yonder
            natures cathedral 



28th August 2022 
Free Verse Old or New Poetry Contest 
Sponsor Joseph May

Summer Is Here

Clouds in the sky drift lazily
Sparkling patches of blue linger,
Mind daydreaming so hazily
Songbirds chirping a moodswinger,
Summer is here
A time for cheer.

Evening sounding so jazzily,
Recording of a scat singer
Distant stars twinkle snazzily,
I am an accomplished swinger
Have no complaints,
And few restraints.

[syllables checked by HMS;
rhymes checked with Rhyme Zone]

THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written May 31, 2022
Submitted to “Posie” Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet

A Pensioner

A Pensioner
An octogenarian - he moved to the retirement home
which promised all-year sun, blue sky, and sedate sea.

A grey, balding, and stooped figure, 
his gait is far from firm as he walks.
Panoramic vistas, crushed-cardboard like hills, 
frame the backdrop to his daily meanderings.  
His dim and distorted memories mimic 
the surrounding mountain range, hazily silhouetted against 
the sparse, cloud-strewn sky. 

A startled hare darts across the gravelly lane, 
to join a squad of exuberant fellows, charging headlong
into the shrub, tails held high – quick flashes of white.
Transfixed, he stops to admire the moor-hen crossing his path,
her brood of chicks faithfully following in line. 

The pomegranate grove sheds overripe fruit, 
sighs with relief, longing for hibernation.
Artichokes, green and bright, proudly claim eagerness to be picked 
to make room for a different crop.

Rebirth and renewal, the pattern of seasons,
calibrate the remaining years, (months and days), for this old man.

Unplug and Break

pull the plug

 the water goes down the drain 
and the lights flicker, hazily groping the smoke's shoulder in vain.

armor is iron chain, to strangle ally.

golden mistress breaks the spine

boasting in your head before your time.

if my body wastes away 

and my heart breaks like a plate

i'll lodge the sharpest fragment i can find in your brain.

Dreams

As the sun shone hazily through the mist.
As the breeze made the wheat lazily twist.
As the two arose from the dreams they dreamnt.
As the poems must start, they also must end.

Tap Water On Viola Strings

Behold a world from green to gold
It's bold to assume It was foretold
Little sprinkles in my coffee mug
Maybe I'm a little smug but I'm snug
Autumn's lullaby wraps me in a hug
Viola strings on the floor 
Covered in tap water gore
Nature's sweat one might fret
Patchwork quits frayed I know guilt
Another day with my cloud brother
Floating lazily and lopsidedly crazily
Predawn fog has my mind acting hazily
From the window I behold
A world from green to gold
And my heart sings
Of tap water on viola strings

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