THE LONELY KNIFE
The lonely man grieving a lie,
a stranger to his life.
No one left to speak his name,
an undeserved strife.
His body tired, his mind replete,
remembering his wife.
Watching the news from dawn to dusk.
What keeps him from the knife?
A dutiful life without complaint,
content to love and live.
The lady was only interested
in what this man could give.
He loved her still despite each shot,
a rude, crude, one sided feud.
A patient placated pac mule
whose love was always skewed.
Manipulating affections,
habitation in his head.
Yet her diary sits unfiltered
on her side of the bed.
He wont invade her privacy
although she's long since gone.
For all of her indiscretions,
her last shot stays undrawn.
This cleuless, lonely, love lorn, man
his ignorance is bliss.
Tis character that just as much
saved him from the abyss.
Is it better that he should mourn
the lost love of his life,
or suffer the truth her betrayal?
Which ever stays the knife!
If you’re a morning person,
Then you wake before the dawn
And thus, it’s dark outside
When blinds are raised or drapes undrawn.
The city’s very magical
When most of it’s asleep.
It’s relatively quiet
And the stillness settles deep.
The subway’s fairly empty
And most stores are shuttered tight,
Just waiting for their owners
To unlock and flip the light.
Museums are less crowded,
As are parks and paths to stroll,
The noises of the afternoon
Still held in some control.
Late risers miss the magic
That the mornings always bring,
But to them, it is the night time
When their joy is taking wing.
Vague narration, like a blurred picture,
No words can fully interpret.
Might be an unknown torment,
Or a glass of fine liquor.
A place yet known, or an answer yet heard,
A time whether a promise, would be kept or broken.
Where lines display, the setting sun,
The night, or the dawn.
A stage still with curtains,
Never knowing what will appear.
A window, with undrawn drapes,
Will either show a smile, or a face full of tears.
This can be redemption, salvation, or despair,
A path that shows nowhere.
Like a point a line would arrive,
Where beings will once again breathe and strive.
It is a land where everyone wants to be.
Something unknown they will try to see.
It is a reward depending on your Labor,
A scale that would judge you,
Or a fate that will be in your favor.
Everything
points to something
the many to the one
Everyone
liege to someone
with fealty’s bow restrung
Everywhere
started somewhere
whose map undrawn curates
Every song
birthed in silence
—where voices incubate
(The New Room: September, 2023)
Like melodies from night leaves sent over
Above the pebbled rivers, her hooves float
Across glens with misty drops of clover
Embroidered in a dwindling dark, she coats
The sleeping land with birdcall's silver notes
A flash, perhaps, between a pine and fir
A starlit ghost, gone as the sunlight stirs
A fabled murmur, unseen and undrawn
Glimpsed as stillness where moons and mornings blur
The gray mare who carries the dappled dawn
2/04/22
D Forms - Dizain contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
First Place
Poem of the Day, 2/06/22
Walking in the cold void,
Armies retreating in paranoid...
Families living in pride,
Flag honouring the patriotic souls...
Medals of honour for the call of duty.
Cold War marking the momentum,
Pearl harbour in the backdrop...
World War warning the after war...
Soldiers abandoning their rifles,
Survivors muffle the scuffles...
United Nations hoisting peace,
United we are,
Undrawn the divisions...
Let the ringlets be,
Our amulets are flambé,
Splash the rum in the ocean,
Brash your heart to glean,
Burghal of the stunted inamorato,
Sensational swain knocking the blistering moderato,
Reveal into my arms,
Sheal the harms,
Heal the rainstorm charms,
Predawn our attachment,
Wiredrawn the moment,
Undrawn the maladjustment,
I love you ardently,
You, truelove diffidently.
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The Map Undrawn
Written in the snow,
by angels...
made from the bodies,
of the innocent.
The way to heaven...
is seen,
fleeting in its passing,
like a dream.
Unquestioned,
by the faithful.
Celebrated,
by the hopeful,
ever thankful.
His mercy!
Prayerful,
and diligent
the remnant remain.
It echoes as if it is a tomb
This once upon enlightened room
The chalk and dust are so long gone
The faces of friends became undrawn
She too, my other, is no longer around
The leaves of lore are colored brown
Always I look but I cannot find
The busy stranger erasing my mind
Stand down
In his bedsit he sits and waits.
Tears fall as he remembers his mates.
In his bedsit alone and forlorn,
No one notices the curtains undrawn.
In his bedsit,amid the damp and squalor,
He can still hear his sergeants holler.
In his bedsit, he sits and stares,
Remembering the noise amid the flares.
The whistle blew and he saw every man,
Go over the top, into bullets they ran.
He too went into that man made hell,
Seeing his comrades fall under the hail,
Running and crawling in the red mud,
Over the wire he went, fear in his heart,
Seeing friends fall and get blown apart.
How he survived those times he doesn't know,
While thousands died both friend and foe.
But survive he did and at last came home,
To walk down his street feeling so alone.
Many years have passed and age takes it's toll,
No one asks him now, talk of war is so droll.
What did you do in the war? No one cares,
No one remembers the old guy upstairs.
So in his bedsit, he sits and waits alone,
For someone to say " Soldier, here is your crown".
Your orders have come for you to stand down.
© Dave Timperley in Remembrance of War, 2018
STALKER
I rue the darkness
follows me
‘neath faded yellow
streetlights
surrounded by the dance
passing shadows
leery
of soft lights.
I fear the demons
that I seek
to keep at bay
the demons that
I flee.
I lurk
beneath an undrawn
curtain
center stage
no lights
no lines
no audience.
I blend
into the shadows
lonely figures
grays and blacks
retreating
into darkness.
I stalk a man
gone
too far, too long
stalking
the demon
stalking
me.
©11/7/2017
submitted to – STALKER – Poetry Contest
Incandescence flows from the very core.
To say, a handful of innocent dust,
Transcending into giant stars that soar.
In a jiffy I’m captured in the gust.
Myriad of colours bring sky alive,
Wanton eyes defeat coward ears, to feast
Upon designs undrawn to time, that thrive
To awaken passion in dormant beasts;
Unraveled emotions set me aflame.
Intellect admonishes a presage.
Deaf to all voices who would dare to blame,
I’m set to welcome the divine message.
Placed 8 for contest 206 any form, any topic, max 12 lines - Brian Strand
Total number of syllables: 120
10 syllables per line – 12 lines.
Rhyme: abab cdcd efef
Soul Survivor
Across the long aisle of dawn
At cost of the core of my soul
Through dense fog I stumble as pawn
In search of long humbled bell toll
Seeking life lines long undrawn
Erased from the tear covered scroll.
Perhaps in a vision I seek
New maps to awaken my past,
Give voice to the bells, let them speak
Un-darken the shadows yet cast
Make sense of the lines that now streak
Cold parchment that I must hold last.
7/12/21015
submitted to – Quatrets – Poetry contest
sponsor – Isaiah Zerbst
Footprints
yet to be made
undo a pristine winter shore.
Nothing for neap tide to make undone
in a lorn quarter moon.
Do not dance me in shimmers off
moonlit incoming wake.
My hands are empty and yours
undrawn.
My feet are numb with tardy
and
Time
has shown itself
without pity.
Heartbeats are counted and written
in the Book.
Dear God, let them be mine.
Not yours.
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