Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Best Poem of 2011???

Help me choose!

Comment on which poem(s) you like the best. I'm gonna enter them into a contest, but I only want to present my best work. Thanks!

-Dianey Face


Perspective

Gloomy, burdened, dark with pain
its cause I could not find
it slowed my step and thoughts of me
were flooding up my mind.

Then suddenly, through some small sort
of miracle I guess
the cold wind stilled and sunshine brightly
lit upon my face.

I felt such joy and gratitude
and that I will get by.
I am convinced it was a gift:
That comfort from the sky.


Friend

Bits of paper cling to a notebook's spine
Confessions to be pulled out of my soul
I need firm hands to tear them all away
and ears to listen as my words spill out
The job is messy, quite undignified
and yet rewarding when the task is done
Fragile, weak, small without my paper bits
you kindly help me take them to the trash


Princess Di: age 7

A galloping child
knows nothing of guile
head crowned with golden flowers

Holes in the knees
of hand-me-down jeans
escaping the evil king's powers

She's frightened and still
she sprints down the hill
Eyes wide and breath short with excitement

The horses draw near
but the prince she can hear
to save her, much to her delightment

She climbs up a tree
from there she can see
him slaying the guards all around

The king runs away
Her prince saved the day!
He helps her back down to the ground

But now it gets dark
The forest's a park
Her playtime and daydreams are done

Thanking her friend
for the fairy tale end
she goes home to sleep with the sun


Ball

If I had ears I first would hear
The wind's high pitch from moving fast
Then painless crash as I met house
crescendo-ed laughs with each return

If I had eyes I'd keep them shut
For being thrust into the air
would be enough to lose one's lunch
With blurs of color streaming past

My nose would smell the young boy's hands
His sweat from repetitious play
And then, too soon, the paneled wall
the ling'ring cedar still remains

If I had nerves I would feel pain
As bruises blue became rebruised
And wounds were not allowed to heal
Forever suffering-- endless game


Reasons for William

I sit on the dock and watch the boats sail
passengers laughing, enjoying the sun
though some look with longing back to the shore.
I know the feeling -- stuck, trapped, alone

Remember that time? Seems ages ago
we ran down the dock, impulsively jumped
right into a boat. We sailed for a day
sun shone so brightly; the water was fine.

Then after some time it lost its appeal
felt claustrophobic though out in the air
but you steered the boat still farther away.
I wanted to dock but you held the oars.

A storm began brewing, crescendoing wind
the boat began rocking, my hands clutched the sides
the sound of the waves crashing against wood
was just like my gut, and naucious I felt.

Then we tipped over. The rest is a blur.
Somehow I made it, safe, back to the shore.
That's why I sit here and watch others smile
enjoying the constance of my solid ground.


Sir Robert

Like steadfast knight
with foe to conquer, boldly he stands,
with not a sword but
rubber weapon in my father's hands.

He strikes! Impact
causes crumbs to dance on the table.
Mother glares: she
just wants a nice meal, if we're able.

Determined to
slay the small black wing-ed enemy,
he slaps and slaps
but buzzing means the fly still lives free.

Fly swatter hits
right in between celery and chives.
The fiend is dead!
Our father has saved our very lives!

All cheer but mom.
Table is a graveyard for dead flies,
But through her hand
I see her smile, twinkle in her eyes.


Dawn clouds

power lines slice through faintly pink

dawn-streamed cloud

like kitchen's sharpest knife

silently

effortlessly separating

the thick sweet blanket

of "cloud" that mom likes to make

with thawed whipped cream

hint of strawberry jello mix

generic brand of cottage cheese

God's recipe shows no sign

of Miss Muffet's preference

but in His broad bowl we call sky

long, thin leftovers of night

greyish blue

after my eyes have had their fill

the flavor tastes of orange

like mother's after I've already

removed the squishy mandarins

still changing

as rays begin peaking over lofty mountain tips

my eyes taste a

dampened, inoffensive lemon

all traces of night now seem but shadows

as sky lightens

and earth is made ready

for vibrant sun's

reentry


Craig's house


Dusk.
air pleasantly warm
reminding us of a sun-baked day
steady creak of the porch swing
keeps time for a soft orchestra
of crickets
distant highways
and subtle wind
whispering wisely to ancient trees
your sharp intake of breath
indicates the first sighting of a firefly
They ignite!
And gradually the field is a vast galaxy of stars
which live but a moment-
just long enough to fascinate
then, stifled out
one by one
in Night's thick blanket.
Darkness.
like nothing happened at all


Miriam

I see her in their faces
though lacking lines from years still to come
framed in heavy hair
not as white or wispy soft
Mother's movements look so familiar
the way she softly taps the table with her hands
just as she had done
just like Miriam

As they retell her stories re-retold,
passing them from mouth to mouth, reverently
as one should handle one of her precious quilts
I see her in them

The stories form bit by bit
pulled from each memory
sometimes interjection
correction
on the particular wording
she may have used
even so,
the morbidity
of Big Clause and Little Clause
or the shocking lack of mentality
of dear lil' Epaminondas
is clearly communicated

there's laughter at the accuracy
then tears at her memory

I cannot yet recite her words as they
and my youthfulness does not reveal much resemblance
but I see her
in that ancient skirt
its unusual style for these times
but my favorite to wear

I see her
in my desire and attempt
to sew patches of random old projects
into something to keep someone
warm and comfortable
much time is spent
and every stitch says "I love you"
I'm beginning to understand her

She called me "friend"
and I become my own
friend
as I begin to see her in me


John

there's something so poetic
about the candle
never moved, never opened
fire never playfully teasing the wick
the smell of apple cinnamon
never fills the room
never performing the expected task

only touched three times a day
so as to hold a tube in place
as liquid drains
in a slow steady pace
leftovers of some
unsatisfying nourishment
for one who cannot taste or smell

other tools may think it useless
but its consistence is vital
it, being there, near the sink
helps the helpless
live.


My Paul

left thigh unusually warm
from the weight of his head
as he sleeps
seeing him this way
as my heart nearly leaps
from my chest
wishing to be his
wishing to still know more about him.
Life is so beautiful
so short but so full
when he's there to fill it up
was there really a time
in my life before him?
were my smiles real?
did I really know joy?
did I really have love?
no.
and I know
my life will always be filled
with him.
his laugh.
his tears.
his tired sighs.
or it won't be life
at all.

2 comments:

Mary said...

I like "Sir William", "Miriam" and "Ball".

Nae said...

My votes are for "Miriam," "Sir Robert," "Friend," and "Princess Di: age 7"