Sun is always in east or west but at noon in middle a moment
At the Des Moines River’s Road End
There was a sharp tricky right bend
Prickly pines there were ready to defend
Graveled middle, a modern MODOT trend
Weeds that flittering faeries often tend
Mushroom homes, upon whom elves defend
Mother nature sat on haunches to mend
Torn sage weeds, beavers had chewed to extend.
I left the village and trudged towards the small wood,
Junipers, covered with berries that looked so good.
It was an inviting place many knew about
It was luck I found it, few cared I have no doubt.
In the middle, a pond cherished by lots of fish,
Around willow Norway Spruce which was my true wish.
And on the face of the water, large leaves floated,
With white, yellow and purple lotus promoted.
I sat on a rock, watching some birds as they flew,
Elated as the solitude around me grew.
On the other side, a small bridge led to my place.
I had to admire her neat walk, her lovely face.
She quietly sat down beside me, full of bliss.
I leaned slowly towards her and gave her a kiss.
In that inviting place who could ignore delight
I was ready to give her my all heart outright
In that silence, she lay on my shoulder, her head.
In blissful solitude, never a word we said.
1 March 2023
Place 1
Writing Challenge - I Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Off from formal stage's pageantry
Collisions of pewter play tenor to horn
Vessels filled with mead, wheat-gold,
Foam. Monks trade lines with scops
Who tile a church, swapping agricultural
Know-how. The technics prepare
Bard for a solo harp song in a barn
& there’s to the Caddy’s tune gathering sway
Lost so unquotable. Nightshade, potatoes,
ions, herbs, good gods & the animalistic
Sex. From a source outside chaos:
Terms return thermal bundles,
Predicaments inside time's homophony
From alloyed spinal column. A donkey
Drags a blade through red sea's surface dirt
Meshed in with hay dank from contra-
dictory earth—these testimonies to greater-
Thans. Cyber sectors offer testimonials
As a means of convincing discerning surfers to
Bypass impasse & buy by following the crowd.
Data suggests but there’s this thing in hand:
A cattle-bolt electron split down the
Middle; a steel beam cut by narrow flame;
A diamond-footed tub with fresh extracts.
Imagine a pie chart
Through the middle a line
One half is your view
The other is mine
Now imagine a pie chart
All the views of mankind
Some see a small slither
Same approach everytime
appearing knowing and smart
They Self justify or deny
Never wrong and excusable
They're living a lie
Terrified insecurity
Lives deep down inside
If their flaws are seen
humiliation they'll die
These people never change
You have to leave them behind
If you don't you'll suffer more
Hurting you for their pride
The end, the beginning,
nearer than far
The middle a wasteland
—to banish and tar
(Dreamsleep: June, 2021)
a small tremor
in middle america
not enough to scare the cat
but the cat knew
a mess on the desk
the thin vase with its lone chrysanthemum
toppled
spilled water printing a figure
smudged
— moth shaped
in the middle
a cortical cortex
sliced for microscopic examination
in the middle a moth
when tremors threaten
all things run to the middle
across the mid-point of the rug
the cat has fallen asleep
the ink-image crawls away
its wet wings drooping
that night
a dream -
flying through my own head
a small light
in an endless dark
only i
in the middle
Lucy went window shopping
Downtown at the antique shop
They had a sale on lockets
So she went inside to browse
It did not take her long to choose
To spot a round silver locket
She notice it had a black trim
Then in the middle a cameo
Lucy chose this locket
To her it was special
It was different from
the others
It is what attracted her
To this lovely locket
She is pleased to own it
A one of a kind locket
From the antique shop
Up or down
forward or back
Polarity ends
in a panic attack
Start, stop
the stillness portends
The middle a wasteland
lost years of pretend
Before or after
in front or behind
Timing entraps
with the devil’s design
Salvation, damnation
souls to contend
To live or to die
—to start or to end
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)
When it is quiet, and you are alone,
Which does your mind prefer… to
Search for “truths” that have been found?
Or, to question… and to
Find your own answers and truths?
Do you build your labyrinth with the hope that maybe you’ll be lost, pleased to be the monster in the middle, a secret waiting to be slain. You cast away the thread, and disappear.
Is exile simply where you wish to be found?
I wander the halls of a maze within,
Passing through each imagined room, my eyes and voice soften as, inward, I am drawn.
Remember: I asked for this, the Unmasking. I beckoned for
The antithetical, surreal…
Now, be still, and cease your striving.
Have you thought so long of disparities, that now you no longer see in kind?
Have you fought so long, so fervently, that even your freedom is now a bind?
I envy those who know their place; they find––or make––it where they are.
If I were rIch I’d live just here, and
enjoy the bliss of “no bills to fear “
we’d toast our crumpets by the fire
and watch the rooks play on the
distant church spire: and ajacent…
I’d build a trust house for the poor
and broke, placing signs in the garden
saying…
“PLEASE DON’T SMOKE!
Around the perimeter… a barb wire fence, to keep
out preachers and those who are tense…and in
the middle, a barbecue for Kobi steaks, and a garden
for poets who write about “Missouri Breaks”
If your'e with me there's no need to move, honey-baby
sugar, we're in the groove!
What a house! What a lawn! and Everest out the
window…. seen at dawn!
3/11/15
As the gentle winds flow
As the arrow left the bow
All is now understood
In my road I stood
While I'm waiting here
They are waiting there
Many things are give or take
Yet with my fate I refuse to play
I can see the end of the road
No happiness just a load
In the middle a coffin lies
May the gentle wind begin to cry
In a muddle
In a puddle
In a world made of dismay
On a rock in the middle a dragon fly prayed
He was battered
He was tattered
He was in a terrible way
From the things in his heart he tried not to say
All the confusions
All the delusions
All the the emotions he couldn't convey
In his muddle of a puddle in this world of today.
Staring at the face,the pool where Narcissus
Pined and made a star burst to tears
There I stand, where Echo`s sad but delicious
Plea for affection fell on deaf ears.
Treading through oblivious tracks
Lost in blue`s poisoned pinions
Burdens on my shoulders like sacks,
Rinds of red-rust peppered onions.
And where the blades of grass hardly breathes
In the middle a thriving tulip survive
Silver coppice, warts and wretched wreathes;
Blows its bright red bell about and alive.
See! startled Zephyrus returning
Round its robust wheel, melting snow --
The sweet wine of paradise -- dripping
Upon the dry ground to dispel woe.
Numb, as if I had drunk some mandrake,
Deaf to the distant call of friends to fun
I daydream in my heartache
And stumble into a sultry summer sun.