Long Unobtrusive Poems
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amid scurrying feet,
in the whirling humanity,
with divided aims,
and sizzling brains,
she paused with singularity of purpose.
never in a hurry, more at peace,
on a park bench, alone,
bent and weird, she sat.
when she moved,
her bones creaked,
on rusty hinges!
ragged in dress, torn in body,
face scourged by Time,
its contours deep like ravines.
her withered breasts,
hanging like nests of tailor birds.
hair lying disheveled,
with eyes shrouded in mist,
she looked out into the sinking sun,
never dreading the darkness that falls.
the park bench was her temporary halt.
she sat there every evening
determined to live on,
with the coins habitually dropped,
into her outstretched hands,
by those sailing past her,
unobtrusive self.
like a monument of patience
she sat.
sat, so alone!
~ First Place Trophy Win~
Dec.16.2022
Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest. No.55
I always feel the
stiff breeze in my heart.
The rumbling ,rolling thunder
growls in the overcast, vast,
inky sky.
The lily is asphyxiated
by an utter,
excruciating agony,
it murmurs things
unsaid.
It fills with pure,
deeep-rooted fears,
the verdict is unknown.
Raindrops water my soul
like an endless
angst weaves into the
unobtrusive path.
(Spanish people find September to be very sad:
they call it "the little summer of the quince".)
Somehow, the silver birches simply know.
This splendid heaven, pure refulgent blue
can not abide. The grass fronds, stiff as glue,
like swifts and grillos, uninclined to go,
are troubled by the carking of the crow.
It’s autumn, and the rains are overdue.
A corpse whose hair improvidently grew,
September is deceptive afterglow.
At dusk, a silence falls across the close:
the trees stand tall and motionless, morose:
now unobtrusive, heretofore verbose:
tart evergreens like laurel, tamarind,
immortal olives, silver in the wind,
sing “adios verano, adios!”
Smell of rain after a storm
With lightning, thunder, summer's warm
Water drops from skies above
Bathing all the earth thereof
And when the sun breaks through the cloud
The rays are quiet, never loud
Just like the thoughts I have for you
Silent, unobtrusive, true
Now please don't think that I'm obsessed
I just have time at my behest
And what I do with it is write
And play and plan the coming night
Where I will dream, I know I will
Of bluebirds, lilacs, from the quill
Of pens and pencils that I own
Next day flow words knitted and sewn
Into the shapes of letters and notes
Of music that itself emotes
The songs inside that must come out
Expression's what they're all about
I share them with you since I know
You like to read them all, and so
As long as you would want them to
My pen and pencil write for you
Slithering in the depthless waters
We find the eel—never blinking
Rarely has he seen the sun
Encompassed with mistrust
He’s a soloist of the deep
Calm burning in his soul,
We find his home
Serenely built on the quietude of his spirit
He melts into his cold tunnels
He’s the keeper of the ocean’s secrets
Frowning and gaping
He lifts his slimy head
Watching the strangers swimming along
Catching interest in one or two
Only to assist them in knowing—he’s the devourer of whomever he pleases to
overthrow
He’s so unobtrusive, this little creature
Yet fire seems to burn from within
As if by coming a little closer…
He’d reveal his secrets from beneath the fin
In awe the eel will slither back in his throne of emptiness
Silent desperation was never described so discreetly
Yet he conquers all completely
And survives longer than his kind could ever appreciate
Soloist of the sea
I doubt you desire me to observe
Your slimy, despicable existence
But you are worthy of acknowledgement—
Much worthier than I myself
For truly, my eely presence in these lines
Is diminutive against your profound, human-like indifference
Wooden Box
In my deep deep wooden box I keep: in
triumphant completion of
something’s; depending on
whethers; keyboards with
buttons who don’t make notes audible to
the human ear; descriptions and reports on
equipment and clothing for
a specific activity; a
few arrogant diplomats; cutlery who aren’t
consistent with or
aren’t in harmony or
aren’t unanimous with
cutlery sets; pompous ducks who
scribble notes concerning the annoying to
them smell of
chimney smoke not in an
unobtrusive manner; and finally
people who use the word
“consequently” ad nauseam. However the box isn’t
locked. They can come and
go as they wish.
SURROUNDED
on the
terrace
shimmering
in the
breeze
concerns
of the
present moment
portals
to
a dialogue
conception
has evolved
encompassing
vocal
demands
a dynamic
which rise
to a
vision
expansive
&
searching
but
thoughtful
&
surprising
its resonance
never incoherent
with a
distinctive feel
it evokes
a cluster
of deep
layers of
time
bright airy
unobtrusive
take their cue
to interrogate
& redefine
to hold
a mirror
&lay bare
problems
to
restore
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
For years I’ve passed a sculpture
When I walk at break of day.
It’s very unobtrusive,
Likely meant to be that way.
It’s just one word carved out of wood
And tethered to a sign
Reminding people not to park
Or they’ll incur a fine.
The word is “indivisible”
And in the USA,
It’s front and center in the pledge
That schoolkids learn to say.
We’re meant to think our country
Is united and, with pride,
We pledge allegiance to the nation
Where we all reside.
But lately, we’re divided
Like an apple cut in two,
Each half belonging to a crowd
That’s cloaked in red or blue.
This week I found the sculpture gone
And I was not surprised;
Perhaps the artist figured out
His hope’s been compromised.
Life has become an amorphous mass,
Sans shape, sans structure.
Memories too have begun to rot
And mind has turned into a scrap yard.
My world has lost its tint and throb.
Defeated and decimated,
Like a Black cat I moan.
I long for an about turn,
To reach back from whence I started,
To get out from this quagmire,
To restore all that slipped through my fingers,
In the tangled labyrinthine paths of life!
How I wish to curl unobtrusive,
Into the womb that bore me once,
To be reborn once more as my old self
To enjoy the peace and bliss, now alien.
Like a black cat I moan.
As trees bared by the winter blasts,
Stay in wait for the spring to arrive,
I await a life, fresh and new
And long like a bird, freed from its cage,
To soar into the panorama of the blue.
Before that, I must rip loose
And peel away the covert mask
Sticking tight to my concealed face,
Though it may cause me to bleed.
Exhale the soot of hatred
Polluting my larynx and lungs.
Eject out the venom through my fangs.
Douse the heat and drive the thirst,
For power and pelf, flesh and flush.
Time is up for me to leave the stage.
But ere I make the final bow,
I should fit into a new cast
And become a man again!!
They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay
So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!
Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay
Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine
Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal
An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss
Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake
Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?
What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor
But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016