Long Flaunted Poems
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Together we rode in heavy silence like a steady drum, and we knew
this wouldn't be the last time
that I would stare out pretending at passing yellow stripes
both of us measuring (or had you even tried?)
at a handful of words. You wanted
Something I never seemed to have. Or that I left unsaid.
(You've said many times before)
But I was measuring instead. I tried the only hand I knew
mimicking the calm you flaunted.
I didn't know anymore.
So I stared ahead at nothing while you drove
resolutely down our street, turning
silently into the driveway that had been
our home for nine long years.
For a few seconds, I held back tears.
(I'd always known you hated tears)
But then turned to you slowly as you cut off the engine,
and smiled, for just a moment.
You smiled back softly.
And like many times before,
we knew that the silence would return to laughter,
or touching, or even just acknowledgement.
With a silent transformation that bore the only witness
to all the reasons we loved at all,
and only we knew.
What is Truth?
2/1/2018
Of late, many use the media to establish a claim,
After retroactive years, I question, is revenge their game?
On harassment claims, some that happened years ago,
Is it publicity, a book deal, or settlement dough?
Some have flaunted assets to reach the ladders top,
And once successful determine, it’s time to stop.
While we never know for sure of the specific act,
The more times it’s repeated it’s often accepted as fact.
Some go through life hustling others as they go,
And besmirching another doesn’t always make it so.
You Don’t Have to Tell the Truth,
You Only Need to Convince The Media That You Are,
And many lives are being ruined
After being tried and found guilty in the court of public opinion.
Tom
In a place called Three was an old Bowthorpe Oak
Where a prince had trumped up a throne,
And though he was young where the lullula sung
He vowed he will always be known.
Jack Russell had noted pledges tall toted
With a strong impulsion to play,
For dreams had been caught from power of thought
By the son of a monarch that day.
There he declared all he was aired
Occupied only originals,
And when he was grown, he would make it well known
Australia is owned by Aboriginals.
Suns and moons passed and decades long last
Melted mere memories of bling,
Rainbow occurred when riches were stirred
For once was a prince now the King.
Though the kingship was told, flaunted, and sold
With profit from all the unplanned,
Excited, delighted and many united
That day the crown took the stand.
Where kangaroos leapt koalas had stepped
Toward the public event,
Which happened to be near a known Embassy
Of certainty Sovereignty Tent.
The air of Jack Russell provided some muscle
Whilst winking at dancing dingo,
And there on the stage a new golden age
Came from a dream long ago.
Sun had transferred love that was spurred
For light was truth that was beamed,
"Australia is owned by Aboriginals"
‘Twas then the King was redeemed.
Too fragile stems hold heliotrope heads
Taffeta flaunted purple pompoms preposterous
Let us lie on the grass, smoke cigarettes
Aft petal papering conjure new year's purpose
Behold from below the branches spread
Frilly dusk shock puffs, dancing shuffle clusters
Obscure wombs become Wilde, paraded
Lying Spring in Winter cherry bloom discovered
Crushed plums, ostrich plumage cabaret
Bud watching binoculars magnify trivial matters
Syrup decay drips paint over Dorian Gray
Individuals strive beside their neighbours' status
Berating stoney belief in banal morality
Seven deadly virtues bruise a perfect husband
Ademant magenta silken siren Cheveley
Upsets good sense in serpent gaudy diamonds
9th June 2022
Written for Contest:
Purple Flowers
Sponsor:
Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
He gave her a bunch of roses
deep red and highly scented
sweetly he romanticizes
With loving heart, her, he teases
with his love before her casted
he gave her a bunch of roses
Some may think he needs new lenses
for with comeliness not gifted
sweetly he romanticizes
With all her sweetness she cleanses
a pure soul she had been granted
he gave her a bunch of roses
Her sense of fun amuses
with her he is so enchanted
sweetly he romanticizes
Over which ring he agonizes
choosing one that could be flaunted
he gave her a bunch of roses
sweetly he romanticizes
I wrote this for a reading I am doing on Valentine's Day yet it is also for all lovers everywhere
You have read that one poem
Over morning coffee luke warm
Then there was another
You read that one too
I flaunted yet another in the cold
Three in one day
Seeking approval
Or at least my words to have sway
Yet
Like a dying a flower
Wilted
Wrinkled from the inside out
Floundering between reality and disillusions
The crashing of the empty wine bottle on the floor
Like the church bells in the village
Announcing the words that seek to run away
For many have read the poems
As I have opened the garden gate
My torment though marches on
For I now know deep deep down in the depth
Not a soul
Has yet to read
The poet
The graveyard is not so deep
A Father Clock chimes from a wall in the dining room, refreshing the idle couple that waited.
It was not as if they were reminded of some pressing appointment or some devoted chores that was delegated.
The furniture in the room where they sat idle was ancient and concealed with cryptic scratches stimulating memories of a once lively lifestyle.
An arrowhead seat, brown and sagging occupied one corner of the room making an impression on the carpet conceding that it's been there a while.
In other parts of the room, the faded blue cut pile carpet flaunted gummy substances and foot tracks that were desperately in need of a broom.
Chopin's Nocturne, (seeking their memories of the days of wine and roses), smoothly flowed evenly from the highly varnished Philco console radio and turntable, graced the room.
He sat in a high wing chair opposite her steeped in an art and literature magazine.
Occasionally his deep brown eyes circle with a gray arc would give into a burning need to close and he would nod off, which was a daily routine.
In the highlights of his years, he was a successful entrepreneur, delightful, sophisticated, a celebrated man among his race.
That was more than two decades ago, and although he still hungers for those days he knew that he has grown miserably slow and not able to keep up in a modern-day virtual place.
She sat in her favorite chair that had conformed to her weight over the years.
In her lap was a start of a colorful throw, knitting needles, and shears.
Her honey color skin was slightly creased with tiny folds around her lips and neck.
The imagery of her once sleek body and beauty she deeply reflects.
Her curly snow-white hair rests on her curved shoulders.
She wished that she had not lived her entire life crippled to vanity.
Yet she would think that the fact is, that on the days and nights when love was a cold memory she was grateful for the memories that realistically were a safety net for her sanity,
They both were adrift on a calm sea of tedium.
Boredom breeds contempt and the closeness they once shared disappeared unobtrusively and conjointly with the years
All was left was the bitterness between them along with the tears.
copyright 2016 Looking At The Light At The Bottom of The Lake.
Special thanks to DT for inspiration
Your shoe sharing’s worth utter admiration
Only one pair of shoes, one purse and one dress -
Women's tough choices - source of daily distress.
I'm faithfully in love with all my shoes
With clear understanding, not confused.
When one is on the go, the others wait
For their turn for a special dress code date.
I don't denounce their origin, per se,
In every one I will step all the way.
After all an Asian make - still a shoe,
If bearing the red brand of Jimmy Choo.
I treat them all with equal tender care,
Designed they are but not designed to share.
I'd lend my toothbrush for a single use
Before you lay you feet into my shoes.
Not implying foul odour, unrefined,
But if that is the case, better me mine.
Too bad, a pair of soles, chic and sublime,
Can only be flaunted, one at a time.
——————————————————————
Two Pairs Of Shoes
Fashion hound, that I am
I have shoes for every occasion
One black pair of Adidas
Probably made by some East Asian
I only have one pair of feet
Why would I need two pairs of shoes?
I can only wear one pair at a time
Besides, I'm easily confused
Should you ever find me out with two pair
And you happen to be in a bind
I am the kind of fella that shares
Just remember, the black Adidas are mine.
July 30 2017
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017
EVIL'S HORN
Is hate the driving force of our endeavors
the fear of heaven’s myth our revelation
our sole remaining choice be now or never
existing in the state of self-cremation
pandered passion flaunted in death’s crumbling mask
denial of a life as its salvation
mindless chanting by the doers of the task
bequeathed to them by memory driven fear
tortured minions sipping hatred from life’s flask
bitter liquid of a time and place unclear
release offered to the victims now reborn
to a kingdom that the living cannot share
an innocence and beauty too soon shorn
by those who boldly trumpet evil’s horn
John G. Lawless
9/12/2014
A touch of smooth ivory, brought laughter to your eyes.
That familiar gazing giggle that creates such a mess,
no truth fortelling nor desiring ever to confess..
bristled in numb hands wrought in unquieted disguise.
Is it too much that I ask? a few fresh ground beans,
shouted impatiently at the empty vessel.
The smell of coffee chiding me as I wrestle..
empty cup bask'd in dream; of one sugar, one cream.
Could you see me turning red with every turn that flaunted,
did guilty pleasure spread, leaving with little other choice.
Or was it embarrassment heard in that admiring voice.
A valentine chore done just for you was all I wanted.
'Oh honey let me help you', whispered into my flushed cheek.
I don't hold a candle to you dear, a truth clear to see..
As you drew near I heard two soft kind lips say,
'My love you're turning the handle the wrong way'.