Recessed Poems | Examples

Inner Wisdom

. for public domain

Inner Wisdom

We need not attend outward images only;
a recessed feeling of joy may do,
viewing subtler yellows of sunflower petals.

We need not shackle ourselves to metals.
Cold hard steel, rusty cobalt blue,
chain outward senses from inner glory.

We are made to live more than the physical story.
We need to address inner feelings askew.
Their comings and goings fulfill some of us too.

Where the Cans Are

Alone and hungry
left leg aches like a broken peg
in the mugginess of its left slipper.

Not a good day for fixing anything
but the sealed and over salted,
the quickly warmed and spooned
that can be mixed into a taste-less medley
with other sundry comestibles.

The pantry,
(a recessed place with shelf-space),
is a dimly lit store for long kept canned products,
a once carelessly gathered and undated harvest,,
a compulsive cartload
that should never have been bought
opened, and cooked
in any company but strictly my own.

In that larder molders a canned fodder;
here anemic asparagus stalks wrapped in tin
are jammed together with diced jalapenos,
or glossily illustrated kidney beans.
Tomato and noodle soups are haphazardly piled
atop of various loosely defined
stewed meat offerings, including canned Spam
naturally.

After the so-called cooking
(more a revealing of a much mushed-up
mixture of misnamed contents),
I sit down with the steaming plate
allowing the metallic aroma to entice
peckish yet suspicious taste buds.

Fed now with the quickly chewed-over
I’m both glad and grateful
that this ten minute feast
can be wolfed down in so much less time.

The Home On the Hill

They roamed around the curds and whey.
They cut off pads that were lifted on the hill.
They barely are vain beggars, no more to say.

Used to farm across broken walls and gray.
They're thrust because the winds were shrill.
They roamed around the curds and whey.

Not even once is there a unique urging today.
No one judges if you are birling or falling still.
They barely are vain beggars, no more to say.

Why do we go unevenly, to hurl lives away?
In the area surrounding the recessed sill?
They roamed around the curds and whey.

Swap, my punk, and our awful fancy-play.
I will stay sober, so we do not lose this skill.
They barely are vain beggars, no more to say.

Invasion ardor seeks to ruin and decay.
Care to their needs at the House on the hill.
They roamed around the curds and whey.
They barely are vain beggars, no more to say.

Written: November 05, 2022

Folly of Anger

Consider the folly of anger
Recessed it brings on depression,
An emotion that spells danger
Often avoided with concession.

Infantile behavior so disgusting
Adults ought to know better,
In a flash can destroy trusting
Making its victim a debtor.

Slow to anger – a fine motto
With practice it can be overcome,
It generally accomplishes zero
Never indulge the troublesome.

Find better ways to be consoled
Whenever you are displeased,
Simply learning to stay in control
Until your foul temper is eased. 

Written May 13, 2022

The Shapes of Things

Some say that some gains are not worth the risk,
and that their pursuit causes far too much pain.
They say that some things are better left the same.
They say that if it's not broken, don't fix it or make a change.

Sameness is boring and robs us of creativity.
In a quest demanding liquids not to stay,
ROOF-TOPS of buildings were mostly SLANTED.
Rain, sleet, snow, and ice had to fall to the ground.

Moreover, the interiors of facilities are not fond of sameness.
Living Rooms now have a twin sister known as THE GREAT ROOM.
The elevation, more windows, and OPEN CEILINGS let the sunshine in.                                                          
FLATNESS is out, recessed ceilings are in, and the changes look terrific.

There was a time when car makers were far more concerned with mobility.
Energy was cheap and combustion engines had no concern about the wind.
Aerodynamics were yet to be utilized in land travel, and the CARS were BOXY.
OVAL corners and slightly CURBED bodies in vehicles became the SHAPE of things to come.

050922PS

The Unbroken

There are many broken roads set forth upon our path
Shattered from dreams unfollowed, or maybe a former lover’s wrath

We’re birthed from sleepless nights and pain that takes its toll
From a darkness that hides in the recessed corners of every soul

Life surrounds us with beauty, it comes and then it goes
A gift of youth borrowed, then with time our age finally shows

Many hearts will sink, left bloodied and forever bruised
Love is a gift that heals, but at times can leave us confused

Some will find shelter and hide what others seek
They will fortify their walls, leery of turning the other cheek

We must reach out in the night and help them disembark
In order to reach the light, we must first endure the dark

Let’s all stick together, help each other and be outspoken
I know we’re only human, but collectively, we’ll remain unbroken

11/14/2021
“U” Contest, New Poems Only Poetry Contest
Sponsor:  Constance La France

Coaxed By a Stranger

She hid her talents in the deepest darkest recessed corner
Taking it out never, for fear of being called brilliant.
She did not want to be shunned or ostracized, 
Knowing her people well

Then one day she met a stranger who coaxed her a tiny bit
Encouraged her to allow herself to be
She shook out one sliver of a slip of a talent
And began to glow, and began to grow.

An Unsavory Memory

An unsavory memory lurks
haunting her recessed mind
breaking out in a variety of day dreams
and one nightmare when she was eight
pushed back quickly 
by society and socialization and religion
and her mother

Quiescent spirit lady with a white bustle
living in the far corner of her grandmother’s dilapidated shed
the one she was not supposed to be in anyway
unhappy, lost, bereft, holding out her hands
begging for some help 
but she was only eight and frightened.
She ran with her heart beating so hard
she thought it might burst.

Guilt wafted in and out of her life for years afterwards.
She knew that her soul wanted to help the spirit lady.
Fear had kept her out of this shed for the past thirty-one years.
She opened the creaky door, seeing nothing but cobwebs 
until her eyes got used to the dark.
I knew you would return for me, the lady said.
This time she walked right to her, 
armed with knowledge that she could
steer her to Christ’s light.




Written 9-25-2015
Contest: Haunted
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin

Dream Vacation

Sandy beaches, crystal-clear lakes
  Enchanted forests, tasty clambakes
Sailing, swimming, horseback riding
  In recessed caves, mysteries hiding

Air-conditioned resorts
  All the comforts of home
Freshly manicured grounds
  Open spaces, room to roam

Marshmallow roasts round the campfire
  Souvenir discounts for discriminating buyers
Visit G-d's country, drink in the fresh air
  Wonders and attractions for everyone, everywhere

Kick back and relax -- weather's always sunny
  'Till that magic moment when you run out of money

Antique Christmas Ornament

ANTIQUE CHRISTMAS ORNAMENT

An old-fashioned bell that Grandmother send.
Her last old antique Christmas ornament.
Rounded bell, with recessed grooves,
so out-dated, yet still to use.
Place me high upon your tree.
Hang me low for all to see.
So those who come can appreciate me.

I thought you'd toss me out of sight
when your children unwrapped me
that Christmas night.
But with a caring touch,
a tiny bobby pin,
you attached to my top
like a chosen friend.

Each Christmas I held you in my hand
you transported me to another land,
where Grandmother lives
and Grandmother smiles.
Then I remembered you
as I did as a child.

Gingerbread men with candy canes,
forgotten stories with old family names.
Grandmother's thoughts are now from above.
More important than things,
for she left them with love.

Janet Marie Bingham

Six Ways From Sunday

The topic at hand was Jack's carbuncle;
but all I heard was this absurd reply,
Jill sighed, "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle".
She hung up the phone as fast as pigs fly.

A carbuncle is one huge, giant boil.
Jill claims she observed a bright gloriole
resting 'top Jack's head, entwined in a coil;
his recessed eyes forever on a roll. 

Pain in Jack's head and eyes had been spreading
slowly across his face from ear to ear, 
while skies outside held a monkey's wedding.
Sunshine and showers made a rainbow appear.

Jack couldn't see it but this word's from Jill -
Opening the window, touching his head,
rainbow brought healing from their window sill.
Jack's eyes opened as that carbuncle fled.

Magic smells of petrichor, Jack will vouch
caused his cure in a miraculous way.
He testifies of damp dust on his couch.
Both know which's right, six ways from Sunday.  

*a gloriole is a halo

February 20, 2018

No Regrets

Forked path life finding the right best of the days left
Split decisions choices options 
Crossroads with different dead ends
Round about lives without spiritual guides 
Direction that lies through ownership eyes

Sincerely searching soul deep
Recessed puzzle pieced existence 
Instructional heart listening instead 
Hope filled future full of intentional forgiveness
Hollowed electric spirit gift shines
A silver lining clouds thunderous thought 

Lightening caught striking with a solemn rumble
Encourages the righteous path lit 
Rational space to locate a place 
For truthful description my honest opinion
A positive painted perspective 
Accepting of negative life lessons 
No regrets

A River Streams Straight Through Her

She slow- slips feet in poems

Tears trickle from sky- high eyes
down earth's cheeks to find the stream

I love your long water veils
abseiling splashed self down, 
streaming gently life's sheer sails

Father shows me a true source- 
Tugela springs from plateau
spread out with windblown scrub.
Symbiosis exists here.

Vague thoughts of Virginia
wading, stone-weighted pockets
dragged her down deep to depths...
A mind burst by selfdoubt's clouds
touch my unresistant heart.

There's only one way to go,
trained by firmament's full flow-
downpour your loyal consort
sending mind subservient-
twisting those transcendant traits
through trails of least resistance

Aah, River! You flow fullsome
as you rush, rapids gushing 
roughshod through brim-filled banks.
Thunder hails soaking cloudbursts- 
Storms suit well- recessed levels-
Overflow forms new outlets
shaped by pushing poweshift.


Repost from 07/03/2016, in reverse, with adjustments...sometimes just have to change life's direction... : )Reposted: 13/10/2016

Morning Stillness

MORNING STILLNESS


reflective black pool
                when off

   the writer’s image
                   like ink

illuminating morning
         recessed stars

         her cell phone
                    asleep


Kim Rodrigues © 2017

Winter Winds

Racing boastful devil breaths  played tag in a sprint
   stretching through trees than swift and quick slapping
   dropped down low to touch and brush the wintering earth.
A coiled zephyr snaking and winding high in the grayed sky
   entwined between gusty gasps of cold air
   streaming unseen for a wispy song soft and shrill than gone.
Still for a brief second it fell
   quiet and silent, hushed, momentarily at rest
   then rising revived in irritated displeasure of the calm.
Stormy seething flares un-quenched belch in the easterly gale
   speeding wild and reckless in the sudden lurch
   weaving in and out the jet air stream.
Tall grass stood angel like 
   in the dark recessed corners of the fields
   holding an outstretched arm to wave hello and goodbye.
A northeaster blast born of racing westerlies
   blend and twist in the winter unexpected warm
   waltzing in the chill to spiral the seasonal expectations.

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