Short Shelved Poems

Droplets
now clinging
to a grass wrack-
natural gravitas
shelved....

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Emotions poured out
Thoughts bound together and shelved
Dreams shared on paper

By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX...

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Listen to poem:

old stepladder
still able to climb,
still able to lean,
to prop and lift you up,
now elatedly sublime
a fixture prime in space
in pride of place
grounded
shelved
dishevelled...

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Sandstone, rough, gritty.
Shale.  Cool, layered, shelved.
Beryl. Ugly but if you can keep it for a million years
You will have emerald and aquamarine from beryl.
I am staring at my piece now, watching it not change....

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On my journey, family, romantic loves, places

and friends have deeply dipped me twisted 

then spun in bleary pieced feeling conditions

that time tossed dark-shelved from my vision.



... CayCay
August 29, 2021...

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...

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Dreaming..

A suspicion arises

Perhaps from a book

Or a voice..or a review

Of a lifetime..Or none

Of these..perhaps

A quiet time with

Everything shelved for

A delicious moment..

Allowing Nothing to

Dawn..with a glance

At the shelf..recognizing

Nothing as Dreaming......

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<>SHELLING OF SHOALS

oval souls
bleached out pearls
shelled stone hearts 
obscured cryptic
undercurrents
seaslime backslides
enticing 
Mermaids vice


whiteskull prey lays
shelved on shoals
seaweed eaten
greentail beaten
tidalpools black
sailor coldhole
burial ground



© Kim van Breda—9 December 2015...

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Let’s put that in the parking lot.
It means Mr. Money will postpone a decision.
We drones look at each other.
Anything the boss wants is imperative.

Any suggestion from the minions is delayed.
Put off, shelved, indefinitely suspended.
One of the new employees protests. She is fired.
The rest of us keep quiet, wanting our pay....

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Tattered and soiled, an old book with gold embossed letters on its cover. Discovered in a crumpled heap. A treasure once to be in a library, shelved, to be read. Withdrawn to reveal wonders of the world. Fragile its pages, turning each page with notes in the margins, difficult to read. Engravings of an angelic sculpture, forgotten in time....

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I will

Forget and leave

The past and all its chains.

Foibles, choices, falls I've taken,

Now shelved into memory, locked away.

I'm standing up again to face

Life's battles for I'm free,

Because I hold

The key.


All rights reserved--Cynthia Buhain-Baello---05.23.15

Rictameter poem - nine lines with 

2/4/6/8/10/8/6/4/2 syllables...

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An old shovel
Shelved under the ray
Of another day
Nearly done,
Though the finch still flies
Otherwise, and the mare
Under the glare of
The darkening sun,
Knows the Old Bright Girl 
Has had her fun,
So off to our sleep 
Spots we stumble
Until our Final Grumble,
And we need, again,
The shelved shovel
To end our days,
And all of life's 
Lovely ways....

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Compressive closeness 
Enchanted vision crumpled
In collapsed distance.

Transparent closeness
Masked reality unveiled
In snapped relation. 

Demanding closeness
Stifled freedom fragmented
In ego crisis.

Transgressive closeness
Nascent emotions smothered
In timed attraction.

Unscripted closeness
Unfinished story shelved
In dark memory.

December 10, 2017....

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Her Dream
Her dream grew
Too large 
Imagination spilling
Filling her room 
Needing out
Creeping upon its windowed reflection  
In pane

Shelved dolls listening  
Hearing the dream’s gasp 
Unable to split the seam of weighted eyelids
Lashed
Their response stuck in frozen smiles
Pearly teeth clenched
Anchored in place
No way to alert 
Escape




First Published: Dual Coast...

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day
wait for me
let me swallow the light upon my face
and hope that it will be sufficient to liven me
strengthen the tired to the whole in my heart
and let me void this feeling of lost and hanged presumption
for I cannot wake without my shelved heart beating alone
the loss of your warmth has left me sleep in these long hours
and now a wonder how I could go without a branch to hold on to
wait for me
day...

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"Au revoir, mon amour", these words I cried.
Our affaire de coeur, c'est magnifique...
"Why must our passion end?" I sighed,
"Au revoir, mon amour", these words I cried.
With a kiss, "c'est la vie", he replied,
"our beautiful love, a shelved antique".
"Au revoir, mon amour", these words I cried.
Our affaire de coeur, c'est magnifique!


By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Un, Deux, Trois...Ooh, La, La contest (Cyndi MacMillan)...

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A DOMESTIC STRUCTURED PROSE
Her cardigan on the chairback,
shoes left in the hall,slippers ‘neath
the double bed,undies on the stool.
Handbag filled with this and that,
bathroom shelved of creams and
much besides;wardrobes,wall to
wall.Medicines boxed arranged so neat,
cellphone ready for a call,a text,
a chat,a listening ear,empathy
for one,and all.


Listen to me read this structured prose verse on youtube under my pen name ichtyschiro...

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I wore yellow again today.
Canaried myself in familiar shades.
A honey that haunted and clung to my back,
And clung to my breast, your chest it now lacks.

I fell into a dark decline.
The kind of decline only colours can find.
I wore it, then wouldn't, when you were the last
To see me canaried, then shelved to the past.

I recalled that relic today.
Refused to feel used by it's long loved decay.
Revived it, applied it, and wore it with pride,
A rarely seen creature, a sunnier hide....

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Twilight has entered my life,
realizing that the aging process 
is real and not to be shelved 
and put away for someone else
to contemplate about.

Twilight has entered my life,
like the sun setting into obscurity,
a decline which is not obvious at first
but gathers momentum until it rises
the next morning after dawn.

Twilight has entered my life,
accepting this as a process,
no choice in the matter,
only to keep writing poetry and face
the words with a wrinkled smile....

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Twilight  has entered my life,
realizing that the aging process 
is real and not to be shelved
and put away for someone else
to contemplate about.

Twilight has entered my life,
like the sun setting into obscurity,
a decline which is not obvious at first, 
but gathers momentum until it rises
the next morning after dawn.

Twilight has entered my life,
accepting this as a process,
no choice in the matter only to 
keep writing poetry and face the 
words with a wrinkled smile....

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Has the toll bell been rung
Is the door wide or ajar
What's the chances of us
Or has it all gone too far
 
Ignored and shelved
For many a year
Hardened by my life
There's no Highlander fear
 
In years to come
Would you care where i am
Will you look back and ponder
Has the ajar become slam
 
People have lives
We are given to live
Not to be imprisoned
And watch time sieve
 
Decisions are made
Are they wrong, are they right
We are once on this earth
I won't be home tonight...

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