Listlessly Poems

Toward the Faraway

I travel incognito, using a name I once found
in a book of minor sorrows.
I have a longing for the sea, yet languish here
behind the wheel of a rental,
crisscrossing arid lands with many miles ahead.
A white plastic bag flaps on a thorn bush
it could act as a windsock but turns listlessly
in the breathless air.
A GPS guides my mind over a flickering map
toward an ocean that is too far away to reach today,
a place where silver fish leap in the aqueous air,
only to pause as still as stone in an ice-marbled sky.
That shore for now, is bereft of place and time
it can only be imagined through gaps in
rising walls of dust.
The hatchback seems to trundle slowly over
dinosaur bones, dry axles groan under
tired springs.
A hundred miles ahead a fish-restaurant
is getting ready to close its doors for the night.
A Motel 8’s neon lights flicker in a sea spray.
On an unseen shore, snow crab dance and sing
like sirens in the rolling surf.

Blaming a Missing Person

Two small pinwheels once rosy and gay
Have faded in the sun, they are now dingy and gray
How brilliantly colorful they once were, probably
Popping with enthusiasm and joy to some degree

Now they are worn, faded, dull, and listlessly dead.
I have to blame their owner Mr. McFred
He should have brought them in before the snow
Wait; he is missing? How did I not know…

A Sonnet to August

I will miss you so, dear August of mine!			

When September winds blow and the days shift	
Into evening silhouettes of birds,			
Listlessly observing from trees that lift			
Long limbs, where acorns drop for squirrels to dine.	

Many smiles, passionate touches, we share.   	
In summer script, your diary’s warm words		
Shall haunt me into winter.  May your gift			
Survive when I am lonely. When I pine			

Your absent lips, your fragrant rose-strewn hair							
Or hold your sweet sachet of jasmine vine							
Under my pillow as I’m set adrift.							

Sweet August, will you tell me you’ll be true?						
Or will the Fall leaf’s shiver, silence you?

Drunk Dry

Fog unravels its gray threads to smother the sky
and numb the mind,
words slip away to find other mouths
to fall from.

Wallowing in a low funk,
enveloped by a dull dislike
of these sprawling hours,
and this gun-metal sky
shuffling along
as a ghost in carpet slippers.

Into a deep glass of wine
shrinking spirits sink,
listless lips sip mechanically.

Words wriggle away as if escaping a fire.
Idiom and phrase morph into clichés.
Too few words arrive
to pin down or hammer onto a page.

The wine has no taste
it was poured too early, drank too late.

A mist lingers in that headspace
where creativity slumbers listlessly.
Daylight grows old, the mist turns red
it's not the sunset painting these thoughts -
it's a sullen anger.

That anger began to grow around 3pm
with the realization that I really have been
unplugged from myself,
and that today no eyes will see
those lost or found words which appear
when I allow a white electronic page
to turn me on
and not off.

Bluejays

Before the war
bluejays were just bluejays,
then the missiles arrived.
CNN displayed the mounting death count
until it too was obliterated.
Scorched bodies tumbled listlessly,
down deserted streets.
Some took to the sewage systems,
down there in the narrow dark,
rats were frolicking,
paws were pitter-pattering,
and they whirred and cackled
just like Bluejays.

Poetry

In my house there are many windows
I await the shimmering light
to warm my poems
but I am stuck for inspiration
I await for nature
just some simple lea
with truncated river
dithering away listlessly
under azure sky
or a poem about a 
sun baked hippopotamus
under surveillance
of a tourist truck

The Command

The command is to write -
but every day you wake up
saying to yourself:

"I can't write, I was never taught,
my fingers are illiterate appendages
of a cheap Japanese laptop,
my mind is too oddly shaped
it has no dustcover
its pages have wormholes
holes that smaller worms fall through."

Every day the same old thing,

and a plasma screen mocks you,
mocks your open slack mouth,
your dull eyes,
the slow grinding inertia of every thought.

The command is insistent,
it prods the soft belly of your cringing ego,
demands a pound of flabby words
be made flesh,

and so, you tap random keys listlessly
until another string of consciousness
unwinds itself
into a last line,
that if not memorable,
yet at least will not live long enough
to disgrace you.

Poem 1

Jamie stood in silence staring listlessly at the calm bayou below. The water was almost glowing green; as it carried leaf after leaf miles from their trees of origin.

Bluebirds

Before the war
bluebirds were just blue birds.

We danced the fright away,
with crazy made-up steps,
some thought us reckless
but the moon was in our eyes.

Bombs arrived.
CNN played the death count down,
until it too was obliterated.

Scorched bodies
tumbled listlessly,
down deserted streets.

Many took to the sewage systems.
Down there in the stinking dark,
the rats were dancing,
with an insane
and tortured frenzy,
as if

angry bluebirds
pecked
at their maddened eyes.

Toll Tell Tale

“toll tell tale”


you’re 
the dead
ringer

i the shiftless
nightshift
dweller

listlessly
listening
for thee

The Frost

Get up at dawn, another late frost
I look around ,and count the cost
Baby apricots, fallen to the ground
Grape flowers burnt crisp and brown
Tomatoes, capsicums and sweetcorn
All wilted and looking forlorn
Beans on the trellis listlessly drooping
Thinking of the work, my body is stooping
But then as I continue to look around
The beauty grabs my heart, so profound
The puddles gleam like sheets of glass
The paddock a carpet of glistening grass
Spider webs hanging on fences everywhere
Like crystal jewellery, so pretty and rare
I breathe in the air crisp and clear
And I feel so glad that I am here
Because this fairyland means a glorious day
Of warm bright sunshine coming my way
So I put aside  my worries and woes
Smile and wait to see how this day goes.
Enjoy natures gift given to me 
Without any debt, totally free

My Cup of Tea

Every morning it’s my habit not so new
of drinking from a brimful cup,
the piping hot reviving brew,
as from bed I listlessly get up.

I try various types of tea and their progeny,
herbal, green, brown and even spicy,
get the satisfaction of a low degree,
often the sip becomes dicey. 

Gaining simple pleasure from concoction,
I get to think is not my cup of tea,
until in the Himalayan hill station,
I taste the famous Darjeeling delicacy.

The aroma of golden liquid delights my sense,
drives me to go on a drinking spree,
turns me into an addict of its pleasure hence,
enthuses me to drink everyday a cup of this tea. 

_______________

February 10, 2023
Contest : A Simple Pleasure
Sponsored by : Julia Ward

A Tiny Christmas Gift

The mouse awoke to organ music.
“strange”  he thought “it’s not Sunday.”
He stirred listlessly
Reawakened by the sound
Of scurrying…whispering
A baby crying…???

On opening his eyes
He gasped….
Two large, brown eyes
Stared over an open mouth.
He froze….not fear
But wonder…

A huge commotion followed.
Nothing to do with him.
Just the preacher
Whispering in his deep voice
And….singing….
He loved the singing
Mostly the hallelujah’s
And the one with the loooong  Gloria’s.

He listened for the shuffling
The drone of the people leaving
Peaking out….
He saw those eyes again
The mouth whispered:
“Merry Christmas”.
A small hand left a broken cookie.

The mouse leaned back
Into the arms of the baby
The lights dimmed in the church
The small hand waved goodbye
The boy and the mouse smiled.


©11/25/2022

Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem
Sponsor - Constance LaFrance

The Art of Patience

In the desolate wasteland of deprivation  
Traversed listlessly by my indigent life 
I tried so very hard for so long  
To smoothen the angularities of our bond. 

Swirling in the egregious whirlpool of indignation 
Sucked into the abyss of despondent neglect
I searched in vain for the path to your heart
The feeling of dismal denial made me run away. 
 
But had I cultivated the art of patience and stayed on
I would have seen the butterfly of yearning return  
Flitting in the changed time on its dreaming wings 
In my sensuous sky with the lattice of your charisma. 

With the whispering wind it would have created the music 
Harmonized with the rhythm of my heart 
Where longing would have danced with ripples of rhapsody 
Roll between you and me to entwine us forever. 

Consecrating the renascent craving called love 
You would have weaved the design of desire  
On the tapestry of heavenly togetherness 
That would have stayed unfurled till the end of time.

_______________

October 31, 2022
Contest : I Chose To Run, But Had I Stayed, Things 
               Would Have Been Like
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon

The Pale Moon

The pale moon emerged languidly from dark gloomy clouds,
                    melancholy hovering listlessly around me,
                 My spirit was low, my heart felt barren empty,
                 in the solitude of dusk, I was looking for thee.

                    life did not feel gleefully blissful, my solo
               journey did not sense like a pleasant symphony
              forlorn heart cried in pain… with ardent longing for you,
            bleak feelings ached with yearning for your warm company.

          The moon has emerged gently, it shouldn't be much longer
            you will return…embrace with your soothing presence,
             softly hold my hand, Darling…clouds have disappeared,
                        kaleidoscopic sky radiates iridescence.


                                            July 25, 2022
                             "One In Five 2" Poetry Contest
                    Syllables (12 and 13) checked by HMS.com
              Theme: The Pale Moon Emerged From Dark Clouds" No. 4 
                                     Sponsor: Joseph May
                                         SECOND PLACE

• Short Listlessly Poems
• Famous Listlessly Poems
• Best Listlessly Poems
• Read Listlessly Poems
• Long Listlessly Poems
• Listlessly Quotes