Long Rested Poems
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I was set upon a wooden box
With strings fastened to my hands and feet
It seems she promised to make me dance
With her skillful hands I'd feel the beat
The music, I could hear really well
Sadly I was unable to move
That would change according to her plan
Her music had a sinister groove
My knees she crushed with a big hammer
All my other joints broken with such glee
It seems she needed another puppet
Why I wonder did it have to be me
When I screamed she skillfully broke my jaw
Then each finger crushed in her metal vice
She laughed and said, "Oh don't you worry,
I have stored up a whole chest of ice!"
Then she came close, to look in my eyes
Telling me that she much preferred green
Sadly blue was not her color of choice
She wanted eyes that exuded mean
I watched her return, with two glass eyes
And a sharp knife in the palm of her hand
As she got close, I gave her a head butt
she dropped to the floor like a bag of sand
On the very spot where her hammer rested
Thankfully the claw pointed up in the air
The crack of her skull was a lovely sound
I took much pleasure in her lifeless stare
Now there is no one to pull my strings
I sit here waiting with my puppet friends
The room is quiet none of us can speak
We all look like babies, wearing depends!
Most summer nights were hot, humid, and LONG.
Kids were manageable, and the men were STRONG.
Women were smart; could name that tune on any given SONG.
That is, the songs of everyday life, thereby keeping us from the WRONG.
And then, there were the gentle friendly visitors, provisions of Mother Nature.
When the happy LIGHTENING BUGS arrived with LIGHT during the early parts of the NIGHT, we could not help but wonder, "Where's the power plug that gives them their SPARK?" The CRICKETS soothed us lovingly, as we rested and dreamed late into the quieten DARK. No one invited them, yet with delight and playfulness, they faithfully CAME. On clear and dark nights without a SOUND, they lit up the big sky, bringing medicine without PAIN, and
more fun than a kid had a right to; enough to ASTOUNE.
And when the ROOSTERS felt we had slept enough, they CROWED.
They knew that time could not wait; it was time for wheels to ROLL.
Watchmen of the dawn, so faithful to their early morning chores, I wondered who taught them to be so BOLD.
081421PS
The three friends are in Caps; Rhymes are in Caps.
I have seen them stand outside my door,
pleading mother to help stage their show,
on our verandah with stony floor,
tattered clothes, hungry child, wife on tow!
dusty robes speak of miles he walked,
two woven baskets on wooden yoke,
usual wares with which he embarked,
a venomous trade to feed his folks!
with widened eyes I saw him sit down,
his sweat pouring down in summer heat,
mopping face and brow with long sleeved gown,
asks favour of water, food to eat!
rested and nourished his show is on,
a crowd of urchins get a free peep,
melody like from an old car horn,
he blows sharp and sweet but yet so deep.
speckled cobra nearly five feet long,
rocks in anger with an open hood,
heat of summer is no time for song,
disturbed from slumber, how very rude!
As child was overawed by his skills,
such deadly snakes controlled by his Been*,
there is tragedy behind each thrill,
truth of life, often hidden unseen!
snake charmer’s life is twin tragedy,
education denied from a child,
for snake it is to be in custody,
to lose their freedom to rule the wild!
let’s solve this tale with education,
help their children go to a good school,
use their skills to help conservation,
so the snakes roam free, the wild to rule!
*Been a musical flute made from a coconut shell used by snake charmers to distract the snake
Premier contest winner (3)
Written 4/01/2021
9 syllables each line except one that has 10 syllables
‘The Snake Charmers’ poetry contest
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored
if our story ends
as all stories must
i’d want to
remember
each chapter
unfolding
as i sift through
the pages of
memories past
see fate's
written word
scribe how
we first met
recollect
sunnier times
treasured within
hear in my head
out from pages
come to life
the echoes
of laughter
in hindsight
reassess
certain chapters
rested against
their bent corners
not time yet
for dreams
to be ripped
at the seams
nor tattered
and tossed
much rather
i'd fancy
deeper meaning
unveil
lenience and mercy
turn angst to dust
make amends
whilst
old bitter flames
turn to ash
smoldering
bury the past
peaceful at last
unfettered
free to etch
on blankness
of pages to come
draw with ink
of dreams
perched
on the wings
of new love
yet to be
written
collaboration with Line Gauthier
posted on November 28, 2019
Internal Monologue
I guess I am truly getting old.
The time has come to let the old me go.
My face of youth no longer suits.
No longer feeling bullet proof;
More like feeling twenty-percent proof,
When I wake up, still in pieces.
I am sure I went to sleep hours ago.
I’m sure I did, I swear it.
My body does not feel rested.
It’s begging out to,
Get your head tested,
If you think I am moving right now pal!
You’re joking!
I ain’t moving unless there is an earthquake
And even then I will only be shaking,
But I won’t get up yet…
I love this bed.
I am setting up camp,
Understand?
She has not got up yet.
Don’t leave her all alone.
Turn off your phone and hold the water flow.
Just go back to sleep.
But I really gotta pee!
No you don’t, just hold it in.
It’s far too warm for that cold room with the sink.
So lay here with her until she wakes up
And when she does, ask her for a back rub.
I don’t know what you did last night,
But it feels like I slept on a log.
Ignore the dog that is scratching in the kitchen down stairs.
He can hold it in too, unless he hears you, walking down the stairs.
Look. She will wake up in twenty three minutes,
So give me a rest before the invasion of the kids,
The barking dog and the wifely orders;
The chores, the D.I.Y., the school run
And planting those borders!
The shopping’s today and outside looks so grey
And so very, very cold.
I’m feeling too old; my body aches.
I think in bed you should remain,
Just for a little while longer.
You know you ain’t getting any younger.
So close your eyes, just rest them a while,
So when she does wake you up,
With a word of love,
Or a shout,
Or a shove,
You can greet her with a kiss and a friendly smile
And don’t forget to say:
“Morning love.”
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
deepening stillness quietly
by accentuating presence
and softening attention
in receptive silence
enriched by trust and love
melding with the flow
of the one consciousness
manifest as individuated form ...
deepening stillness thus
devoid of lower mind
memory imagery rested
as also expectation
or anticipation
cognisant of each life pulse
as of bestowed enableability
flavours of divine imbibed ...
deepening stillness in the void
of no-thingness vibrational
mind body instrument responds
by resonating gently
with prismatic hues of love
vivified by bliss magnetism
osmotically percolating within
suffusing each pore of form ...
there is no one here, oh hermit
who may pass on this knowing
02-March-2021
'Your best free verse so far this year' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Night rain,
now the sky is drying its wings,
Moths come to rest,
on the dry shadows of damp tree.
There is a fine dust in the warming air,
as if minuscule insects were combing out
the tangled hair of stone angels.
In the green graveyards of tomorrow
lovers embrace the earth,
for even deep within the - not yet,
the world will still be breathing sweetly,
to keep God alive.
When I was a young and light of weight
the stars attracted me.
I considered them far, far away.
Even so, some days
gravity rested to dry its heavy wings.
then a multitude of suns
descended just low enough,
for me to see my face in their light.
Why couldn't I hold your hand? You ask
Yourself in golden bowers of infinity -
Was it because he felt too old to do it?
It was too infantile an act to make?
Questions! Always questions! It is the time.
And I tear myself away from this
I should not defile the memory
Of the dead, or besmerch their truth -
If truth had ever entered into it!
Why could I not hold your hand
And feel comfort in that simple act
of parent, child, and holy ghost?
I, of course, know the reasons why
But it would take near seventy years
To explain them all. Oh so many
Causes for repulsion to have set in -
Explanations that now are built
On retrospective loss and guilt -
I move my leg imperceptibly away
From yours as we sit on that green sofa -
A sofa so hard as to be a penance -
But carry on sitting next to you
Because I felt it was the right thing to do.
And somewhere deep inside there still
Existed the tiny vestiges of love
Bruised beyond all expectations;
Beyond the normality of just relations
Between mother, son, and holy ghost.
Don't worry yourself about it, Mother,
Whilst you have rested in golden bowers
I have taken the stone from my heart
And with great deliberation rubbed
The sharpness off the knife's edge
Blunting it so that it can't draw
Blood from either of us any more.
Just reach across the great divide
And seek out my hand. I promise
It will allow itself to feel your touch -
It will not withdraw and hide.
Life is too short for that.
I feel your arm reach over my shoulder
And turn the page.
© AllenA 2025>/em>
When you walked in
My gaze just froze
I watched you cross the floor
In focus on you
From afar
I stood there wanting more
To spend some time
And talk about
The whimsical and light
To laugh and look
Into your eyes
And lock in with your sight
All day, all night
I'd spend with you
I'll sleep sometime, not now
I wouldn't let
A moment pass
Not loving you somehow
My little bluebird
Fly to me
Alight now on my lap
I'll stroke your wings
You're tired now
So you just take a nap
And when you wake
All rested up
And ready then to soar
I'll fly with you
Anywhere
No longer wanting more
Simply present, with thoughts rested,
awareness self-aware yet purrs
celebrating being alive,
wherefrom creative impulse stirs.
Soul's uniqueness chooses a beat
distilled within our glowing heart,
igniting within mind a spark,
enabling thought patterns to start.
Childlike innocence emotes love
but ego cravings have their say,
identified with mind-body,
causing both heart and mind to sway.
Love employs no force and so waits
for consciousness to become still,
which happens when head melds with heart,
fully aligned with divine will.
Employing free will we may choose
path self-serving or unity,
loving God's presence in all forms;
each breath, an opportunity.
Intent precedes thought, so let's pause,
first enhancing love's vibration,
that actions in thought, word and deed,
entwines us with God’s creation.
24-November-2022