Nows Poems | Examples

My Body, My Temple

This is MY body. MY temple. MY fortress,
It doesn't come with permissions through the way that I dress.

You have zero rights to do what you please,
If I show some skin, it doesn't make me a tease. 

You cannot grab my cookie and expect to be safe,
You should however prepare to be clocked in the face.

As a woman who's been silent for way too long,
Nows the time to stand up and its time to be strong.

When I dress my body its for my own pleasure,
Not for you to go forcefully digging for treasure.

When I dress provocatively it is NOT for your ease,
It certainly doesn't mean I belong on my knees. 

I choose to dress in all sorts of ways,
Depending on what I'm needing those days.

To feel powerful, confident, sexy or comfortable,
Not for you to sit there and judge if I'm able. 

Women keep rising because we are unbreakable,
We come back harder, stronger and less amenable. 

You don't own me, my body, or my rights,
So stop trying to dominate the women who bring you life.

My best friend

Weather changing - getting warm,
Nows the chance to leave the home,
And spend more time more time with Dora,
My French bull dog the ultimate Explorer, 
She gets excited when I pick up the lead,
Then flips into madness it must be her breed,
From 0 to 60 in a  matter of seconds, 
Using her butt and head like lethal weapons,
Ramming the door and knocking over a vars,
No care in the world and no disregards, 
After this madness we need a short rest,
What is her problem is she possessed, 
Then out in the open blue skies up above, 
This is her domain it's all the smells that she loves,
She then becomes stubborn and wants her own way,
Ignoring all I tell her sit down and just stay,
But I have a pocket it's filled with pure joy,
Treats are my answer it's my only ploy, 
I know it's no Winner she's brainier than me,
If dogs went to Uni she'd have a degree,
A masters in human intelligence, 
If there was such a thing,
I have her on a long lead ,
But I'm a puppet on a string.

Then, the Good Old Days

Then, the Good Old Days
Better than what’s now, always
This law, all obeys

When, in good times past
Bygones better, Everlast
Nows always surpassed

And, back further still
Even better then, until 
The best be all's it’ll

But, this trend is woe
Each past better than then's now
Life keeps getting worse

‘Till, the Now-a-Days
At the bottom of the hill
Things aren't looking up

No, they’re not and won’t
All generations to come
The next Kids Today

Dreaming in Digital

    As the pixels of our images' imagined- dance 
in magics binary 
             as chemicals mingling between us-
in touch's refibering, as element_OFelementals 
entrenched,
drenched in of love's territorial ink
 in it's.environmental sea 
       at moonlit cove
 as stars scream in digital blink

In the silence of a starlit night,  
I hear the whispers of the moon, 
your serenade of gentle grace,  
          satelliting a mood,
as nature paints a tranquil face,  
Time hands brushed strokes to interlace, 
                                  claws for an embrace.
Magic chronochromatic_poetry virtuates 
                                           automatically, as
fallen leaves of the tree of Life, 
                  are we, like the nows' 
           fondest fronds of imagical memories, 
     drifted by and by inbetween reality sea, driftwood 
carried, 
buried in a crypt on the wind's soft sigh,.  
the eternal cosmic expanse of adjoined mind,
In the diodes of pietry of infrared and canvas of 
          4D-shade, Spirit Never Fade, 
find our way to our dream- that finds a way.

Wild Geese At Dawn

Canadian Geese flying south
and trucks on the highway
jostle for space
in my ears.

The trucks remind me of where I am
in time and place,
while the geese remind me of a lifetime
of here and nows
present, with the wonder
of simply being.

The geese moving with the seasons,
following shifting pathways
of water and crops,
honk as they go;
“Here we are, here we go!
All together now,
here we come!”

The trucks meanwhile
just zoom past
heading, who knows where
on their own.

(9/26/22, first published in my 6th book of poems, OUT OF TIME OUT OF MIND, 2022)

A Cruel Disease

Alzheimer's or Dementia 
They are both the same
A disease That has No cure
That eats away the brain

It takes away 
their memory 
And everything 
they knew

Some days they 
can't remember 
Even The closest 
ones to you

They try so hard
Think of your name
But get confused 
And can't explain 

They Start to panic 
Sometimes they cry
They look for help
But don't know why

Feeling helpless 
Or in the way
They try to tell you
But cannot say

Their eyes look sad
And tired to
A blank expression 
As they look at you

You wish that you 
Could turn back time
Go back to when They  
were in their prime

Just to talk
About their day
If dreams came true 
That's what I'd pray

But all you have 
Until you part
Is the memories You keep 
Within your heart 

So don't give up 
Do not ignore 
Cause Nows the time
They need you more
And when that day
Will finally come
They will remember 
What you have done

Why-Bell Sounds

when the inner brains 'why is' be as dome-bell sound...
then there have been  mistakes seen...caught by...
an inner-eye as cause-effects to be...learned from...

hence

that we learn from/by our 'cause-effect' missed-takes means...
that some 'nows' are time to think of making a few more mistakes...
that to learn by mistakes is to sew wings in the heads 'why-is-dome' as...

wisdom


stan sand

D,I,V,O,R,C,E Hiku X 2

a kiss
an affair-
separation


broken nows
echo to the horizon.
on a trail of vows

Human Nature Hiku X 2

farewell handshakes-
destiny's tears
unstoppable

broken vows-
echos to a distant horizon.
on the trail of nows

Down, Fall

    like heavy snow 'pon cedar boughs
        those shadows, long through winter
my conscience weighs the thens and nows
            yet morrows - naught a splinter ...
    where hangs the hope in autumn?

    as masts tick off the sea's green swells
        like clocks tick straight the hours
my thoughts refuse to count the bells
            once tolled for Neptune's powers ...
    where falls the hope in autumn?

    young lovers hide deep in their dreams
        should melting flesh close-bind them
and I masked mine in callow schemes
            so no sweet lass would find them ...
    where rests the hope in autumn?

    so deep and dark, life's oldest quest
        from whence, no soul's returning
and next is what we've deemed as best
            love's flames - those bridges burning ...
    where hides the hope in autumn?

    where hides your hope, dear Autumn?








Copyright © 2022 Gregory Richard Barden

No Regrets

If I could take it all back
Every wrong ever wrought
Every regrettable thing
Every broken wing

I'd lay it all to rest
In an unmarked plot
Over which I would plant 
Quiet thyme
And no-leaf clovers
Lilies of denial
And forget-me-nows

There would be no memorial
No elegy, no eulogy 
No monody, no dirge
Not even a calaverita
Unless one is desperate
Enough to count this poem
This nobituary, if you will    

No lamentation
No regrets
No go-away birds 
No mourning doves
Nor egrets to bear the pall 

Only leave the dead featherless
Laid down without down
To comfort them
And the egrets
Stand stilted and white 
As nothing
Melancholy
As marble statues
In the silk gray dusk 
Like lilies on a grave.

Happy Nows Now

Your fountain of youth has dried up at last
Your poor sullen spirit now flies at half mast
Me, I'm thankful and warm
I've survived the long storm
And happy now's now and the past is the past

12/14/22

Agenda 1

Its now to question 
It's now to dicuss
It's now deny
Any hold over us
By the spawn of
The unconscionable 
The dregs of the dregs
The descendants of 
Misfits septic as pus
Unacceptable beings
Being devoid of true
Soul, lovers of gloom
Who live as in  holes
Like spiders in Webs
They only can kill
If their dens are not
Cleaned out; nows
No time to be still
It's time to be active
Spread the news all
Around , their agendas
Have lost it, Humanity 
Is taking back ground.'

Life Without God

Life without God would be a big question mark ~
The whys, why nots, what nows, where tos and how wills,
If not for Him, we would miss that joyous spark;

Life is a composition of divine stills,
Where God's present in the hills and the valleys,
The whys, why nots, what nows, where tos and how wills;

Without faith in Him, we will not feel at ease,
The whole creation declares this simple truth,
Where God's present in the hills and the valleys;

Man does not know if he will die in his youth,
Or live to a hundred, only God can tell,
The whole creation declares this simple truth;

His thirst for peace, Almighty alone can quell,
It is His pure grace that we're alive today,
Or live to a hundred, only God can tell;

Accept God’s hand in your life, you won’t feel grey,
Life without God would be a big question mark,
It is His pure grace that we're alive today,
If not for Him, we would miss that joyous spark.



17th April, 2022



11 syllables per line


N/A in "An Original Terzanelle" contest
Judged on 5/4/2022


Resubmitted to Constance La France's "Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance" contest

They'Re Always Bullying Me

They never give up!
They’re always bugging me, putting me down 
In their onslaughts of hurtful words, gestures, 
Whispers, e-mails, text and tweets.

I don’t have “just one” good friend.

I tell myself, one more year and they’ll be gone 
Away from me, shifted to our tomorrows 
And best part is - I’ll be gone from them.
But, it’s me that’s gotta live my life, tormented 
By them in their nows.

It’s hurtful in here!

This is where I go to block them out 
As well as their rudeness and their tormentations.
This is my spiritual realm; they can’t get in here.
The only ones here are me and strange voices 
Coming from somewhere,
Telling me there is another way, an escape. 
But, I keep rejecting their voices for I know 
They’re not good ways, only destructive ways.

This is what it’s like in my bullied realm everyday
But, I shall overcome them all - everyone. 

W.C.Hull © 2015-1-5-934 (E)

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