Long Free rein Poems
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When she takes her life into her own hands
with fingers that read braille
from dot to dot
Refuse to live in the void of darkness
between A-Y
No boat was built
to stand on shore
She wants to remove the writing itch
from dot to dot
Soft words that tickle the tongue
Let light shine in all lighthouses
over the seven seas
Read all favorite books
over and over again
creating images
sprinkled with angel dust
free rein to your imagination
For those who are blind
or visually impaired
a brilliant invention
Read and write
from dot to dot
to a flood of experiences
15.11.2022
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Is there a threshold for pain?
Till this much, you can contain,
Above this, you can complain,
Cross that, you can go insane?
How much can you take that strain?
Is there a threshold for pain?
Can you allow it free rein?
Or will you somewhat restrain?
How much can you train your brain?
How much is assumed humane?
Is there a threshold for pain?
How much hurt can you sustain?
How much calm can you maintain,
When you're assaulted again?
How long from tears you'll refrain?
Is there a threshold for pain?
10th May 2023
{7 syllables per line}
Confronting the reality of your world;
exposed your heart to betrayal and deceit.
And as flags of sweet surrender were unfurled,
love vows, born of passion, tasted bittersweet.
Giving lust free rein opened your heart to pain:
for uprooted dreams were unable to grow.
And thus, seeds of happiness got sown in vain;
stomped underfoot in your dance with Diablo.
Blinded by lies, you lost sight of tomorrow,
for without an anchor of trust, feelings drift.
And failing to find love, you drown your sorrow
within a sea of tears, where currents run swift.
You were never good at the games people play:
deep in your heart, you feel you're not like the rest.
And anxieties climb as years slip away,
searching for answers to why you failed love's test.
Some poems’ births explode (full bore), life ends when written down,
their flow makes toothpicks of my pen, brain chokes on truth laid bare,
a flash that flares, a splash of cognac in cook’s pan (taste’s light!)
While others grow more leisurely, gestation delicate,
they lead me through more sylvan glens (where shadows live - a thing)
and beams of light dance as leaves drift until thoughts’ breeze gets spent.
I covet both but give free rein to muse that pays day’s rent
for fear I’ll miss a gift life shares, perchance a golden ring!
I rarely guess a poem’s end; I’m more its advocate
and track my muse the best I can until day’s touched by night!
My heart is this, to offer grace to fancies muse may dare
embrace, hold dear. Lord, I feel blessed to be my muse’s clown.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
December 7, 2022
Call out that demon by name
It’s how to put him to shame
All this time he had us shunned
His lies have everyone stunned
Stop being pawns in his game
There is nothing there to gain
Can’t believe he’s been maimed
He's not as tough as he claimed
Just purge him with tons of sage
Then put him in that locked cage
He can’t be allowed any free rein
In case he causes even more pain
Now as his power begins to fade
He will lie on the bed he made
Divide and conquer will soon end
Unity is close, just round the bend
Soon as this hostility starts to wane
make way for peace, that’s the aim
Address what was done and said
to leave another broken and sad
Yet another scary demon to face
to stand a chance to win this race
getting to know each other again
Universal love might start to reign
Form:
All it took was that one look, just one
To know that I had to see you again
A hammering heart, I could not outrun
Your “hello” took me to an unknown terrain
Transformed from falling rain, I saw the sun
A once captured heart, again has free rein
My hopes and dreams personified by you
A leap of faith changed my point of view…
Thoughts of you go along with a content smile
Days spend in bliss, hopeful they never end
I sense you will go the extra mile
Love, honesty and trust all part of our blend
As the days become weeks, it’s all worthwhile
Our mutual love continue to transcend
It feels like I have known you all my life
I can picture myself becoming your wife…
When starlings were swimming in the azure lake,
When bats and owls began their nocturnal ride,
When all the Earth under a dark blanket lay,
And man and beast into sweet repose retired,
My Muse, like a sweet temptress, came to me
To set this captive free, to give free rein to my fancy.
She sang into my ears the lovely strains
Of a placid melody, bathing me in sheer delight
Creating in me a passion too intense
To articulate my disjointed thoughts
Into vibrant melodies of beauty and love.
Soon fireflies of thoughts came flitting,
Like bees around a looted honey comb.
In a butterfly net, I trapped them all.
They clustered together in a clumsy heap,
Making my darkened zone bright
With little arcs of shimmering light.
I placed them carefully in an ordered strain,
Word after word, in meaningful sequence,
Fashioning them into a beautiful symphony,
Arousing in me mystical spells of joy.
When your Muse comes knocking at your door,
Delay her not, but let her in
And go for a merry ride with her
Into some sleepy glades where silence resides.
There, let her magic wand kiss and caress you
From head to foot and all over,
Awakening your fancy from deep slumber,
Parading before you, scenes of beauty and wonder,
That, songs of passion are born from you
Gushing forth in streams of honeyed dew.
So, write on....!
To everyone's discombobulation,
anarchy and pain
were given free rein.
Liberty is losing its foundation:
while Ukraine fights back,
from Russia's attack.
And so many politicians are corrupt:
that deep-pocket lobbyists pay to disrupt.
Liberty is stumbling!
Global warming is touted as fake news:
though seas are rising.
It's not surprising:
though ecologists beg, the rich refuse.
Money is their king:
Nature's their plaything.
Big business stole a generation's dreams,
promising paradise, while polluting streams.
Liberty is stumbling!
The crazies are taking total control:
creating weird cults:
in which hate exults.
Without condemnation, we've sold our souls:
donning a blindfold
we do what we're told.
Republican fascists are fueling fears:
democracy holds no more value than tears.
White cops shoot black youths and then go out for beers.
Liberty is stumbling!
Its foundation: crumbling.
When letters wait to pounce on a blank page,
when thoughts crowd the mind like frothing scum in a pond
I keep wondering what poetry is to me and to many
Is it not the language of the heart
with no intervention of gray matter
the unlocking of closed vaults
stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain
or giving a free rein to fancy and flying
on magic carpets to lands forlorn
Sometimes it is a glide into a sea of tranquillity
an escape from the humdrum of the world
a flash of liberation from assaults of pain
a sedative to numb the turmoil
a sanctuary for a burdened heart
a window to look at the world through
a companion when one is inconsolably alone
a candle flame in a darkening world
a cloth line to hang the dirty laundry
a water lily blooming in the pool of tears
a shelter in homelessness
sometimes it is a ladder to climb up to Heavens
an angel on wings with tidings of hope
peace in a world braced for war
Poetry, if you are all these let us fall at your feet
bless us in our art, may we splurge in fancy
and conjure up worlds from words!
Our poems may not be light houses
but could be fireflies on a starless night!
Submitted for Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
July. 25. 2022
Submitted for Marathon Mile, No.14. Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
~ Placed First~
Poem on Poetry Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Beta Agustin
For years I'd written myself notes
with names of some I can't remember.
Those I've cheered; stood and applauded.
Protagonists who played Romeo
to my Juliet. Shakespeare would've lauded.
Scribbles that should've been love letters
that would've made me a better person.
There were more than a few endearing roles,
romantic ones, comedies and life's dramas.
Names that have faded on the playbills.
Sometimes I struggle to remember them all
as I recall tears of both joy and sorrow.
There were times when love was undeserved.
Times when I swerved off the virtuous road,
and followed the wrong path that led to heartache...
Regretful am I for having played around
and like a fool, I broke hearts, including my own.
I realized that I had to love myself to be worthy
of love from others. Not the kind that smothers,
but the type that gives free rein to roam and return
instead of burning bridges on paths I'd walked.
Learning to love myself allowed me to see
that there was no need to give up the stage
and wage war in a rage at the time-stealing thief...
the makeup artist who painted wrinkles on my face,
and silver hair that causes a thespian grief.
Age... that sordid bandit who addled my memory.
No standing ovation for comedy that's not divine,
nor for refusing to recite my farewell lines.
My scribbled notes have become love letters
that I should've boldly written to myself long ago.
My emotions are still engaging, for I mourn
the absence of loved ones who are gone
but often appear in reveries and dreams.
I walked in their footsteps but not the light
that gleamed in their eyes on opening night.
Stars still glimmer and shine in mine
but I'm no longer star struck with delusion,
for I stopped wearing the veil of illusion.
It's not what I've done or the words I've said
that I should love about myself. No...
the One I thank and love the most is God above.