Submissions by Ahavati (Tams)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Don't make me take my pearls off.
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Jun 2015 4:29pm
1st Jun 2015 4:29pm
Gin Joint
Full Moon leans over
Midnight Baby Grand; whispers,
"Please...Play it again."
~
Midnight Baby Grand; whispers,
"Please...Play it again."
~
950 reads
9 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
31st May 2015 11:12pm
31st May 2015 11:12pm
Sonder (Acrostic)
Shakespearean Sonnet, 116, teach
Of the steadfast vow in Love; O, No!
None wavering impediment occur amid
Darkest hour of hope. Sickle cannot deter
Each particle of Star; Time cannot prevent
Rebirth of who we are.
~
Of the steadfast vow in Love; O, No!
None wavering impediment occur amid
Darkest hour of hope. Sickle cannot deter
Each particle of Star; Time cannot prevent
Rebirth of who we are.
~
1062 reads
13 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
31st May 2015 6:00pm
31st May 2015 6:00pm
Señor Tequila
What do you want, girl?"
It was a devil's reject road block full of bullets and blood,
dented cars and endings too long in the making. A lack of
control and the wheel goes spinning onto a "SOLD" sign
and arched brick porch destined to be your new address.
I could no more write this poem than I could speak back
then because I was tired of riding in back seats of convenience
store bags with finger-print glass and brothers screaming to a
hay-fevered radio on a floorboard of trash.
"Talk to me, girl."...
It was a devil's reject road block full of bullets and blood,
dented cars and endings too long in the making. A lack of
control and the wheel goes spinning onto a "SOLD" sign
and arched brick porch destined to be your new address.
I could no more write this poem than I could speak back
then because I was tired of riding in back seats of convenience
store bags with finger-print glass and brothers screaming to a
hay-fevered radio on a floorboard of trash.
"Talk to me, girl."...
969 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th May 2015 1:27am
29th May 2015 1:27am
Regenerative
There is an old bench at the edge of an incline
that I take lunch on. It splinters sometimes, leaving
a sliver of newer wood visible beneath its faded skin.
Beyond that is a young tree split by lightening
during a recent storm. Its wound is still fresh,
pregnant with the soft pulp of newborn rings.
There is an old fence beyond the tree that separates
the edge of the ravine from a manicured green. In the
center is a middle-aged tree of unknown origin to me.
It's weak and recovering from a near-death experience
with kudzu. Its...
that I take lunch on. It splinters sometimes, leaving
a sliver of newer wood visible beneath its faded skin.
Beyond that is a young tree split by lightening
during a recent storm. Its wound is still fresh,
pregnant with the soft pulp of newborn rings.
There is an old fence beyond the tree that separates
the edge of the ravine from a manicured green. In the
center is a middle-aged tree of unknown origin to me.
It's weak and recovering from a near-death experience
with kudzu. Its...
1130 reads
10 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th May 2015 1:56pm
28th May 2015 1:56pm
The Whistle
The sound of my five-year-old
grandson's whistle pierces
the hall half-past his bedtime
Sounding it staves off fingers
of sleep like a Calvary charge
against a nocturnal army
His sabered flashlight slices
the advancing darkness in faith
by an innocent make-believe
As I write, every moment I'm silent
in pretense of not hearing, he retains
a millisecond of childhood hope;
Of superhero strength and imagination
prevailing over shadowed crouchlings
in the walled corners of his room ...
grandson's whistle pierces
the hall half-past his bedtime
Sounding it staves off fingers
of sleep like a Calvary charge
against a nocturnal army
His sabered flashlight slices
the advancing darkness in faith
by an innocent make-believe
As I write, every moment I'm silent
in pretense of not hearing, he retains
a millisecond of childhood hope;
Of superhero strength and imagination
prevailing over shadowed crouchlings
in the walled corners of his room ...
1195 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th May 2015 2:02pm
27th May 2015 2:02pm
Re-write
Mornings are important to the young poem. It struggles
after an extended adolescence. The format has to
be cleaned so it hardly has time to think of you. It needs strength,
bagels and caffeine for the messy tangle of words strewn about
like cheese doodles locked in battle position on the parlor floor.
It will unearth closets full of past, journaled experience
written on napkins and cigarette packs. It will want to stop
because its allergies are flaring. The...
after an extended adolescence. The format has to
be cleaned so it hardly has time to think of you. It needs strength,
bagels and caffeine for the messy tangle of words strewn about
like cheese doodles locked in battle position on the parlor floor.
It will unearth closets full of past, journaled experience
written on napkins and cigarette packs. It will want to stop
because its allergies are flaring. The...
934 reads
11 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
25th May 2015 9:13pm
25th May 2015 9:13pm
Come Monday
Sometimes Love likes to sleep late. It's had
a long night of arranging people into position
for that morning cup of sentence, or dissolving
tablets of discontent from multiple divisions.
Sometimes Love likes the feel of 400 thread
count(ing) shee(p)ts and a feather down mattress,
warm, deep, huskless cotton stroked by heated lines
of noon drifting between a window's cracked lips.
Sometimes Love is tired of being taken for granted,
used in vain through the endless cliches and cheap
metaphor of bad...
a long night of arranging people into position
for that morning cup of sentence, or dissolving
tablets of discontent from multiple divisions.
Sometimes Love likes the feel of 400 thread
count(ing) shee(p)ts and a feather down mattress,
warm, deep, huskless cotton stroked by heated lines
of noon drifting between a window's cracked lips.
Sometimes Love is tired of being taken for granted,
used in vain through the endless cliches and cheap
metaphor of bad...
1080 reads
10 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th May 2015 1:43am
24th May 2015 1:43am
Beloved
The sun has become a Scarlet Ibis ballooning
its great wings in flight until nothing remains
but the instant of its perfect form diving
over me and this lambent hill swarming with
tractor parts and a muddy swimming hole
behind a grey rooted barn of bleached red.
There's a smell to a forgotten farm, dirt
chambers of blood-bone and marrow earth
tilled with the DNA of rusted secrets whose
umbra gnats of reminder skim the soil's surface.
A magpie wrangles its nest with a gingham
remnant of a quilt fragmented in dryness.
...
its great wings in flight until nothing remains
but the instant of its perfect form diving
over me and this lambent hill swarming with
tractor parts and a muddy swimming hole
behind a grey rooted barn of bleached red.
There's a smell to a forgotten farm, dirt
chambers of blood-bone and marrow earth
tilled with the DNA of rusted secrets whose
umbra gnats of reminder skim the soil's surface.
A magpie wrangles its nest with a gingham
remnant of a quilt fragmented in dryness.
...
1027 reads
11 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd May 2015 00:13am
23rd May 2015 00:13am
Resolution
Your strength is flailing, I know. Your sadness,
thick-rooted into every cold corner of the forest,
contained by heaven and hell, loosely scattered
by beasts and fowl, guarded by barbed thickets
you think love cannot penetrate, grows.
I sense you snapping from melancholy weight
in the distant wood, a mother tree giving up
the ghost through underground conduits for a
sapling to nurse the legacy of joy entombed
within the experienced rings of your years.
You have carried life for decades; nests, burrows,
camouflaged leaves against the...
thick-rooted into every cold corner of the forest,
contained by heaven and hell, loosely scattered
by beasts and fowl, guarded by barbed thickets
you think love cannot penetrate, grows.
I sense you snapping from melancholy weight
in the distant wood, a mother tree giving up
the ghost through underground conduits for a
sapling to nurse the legacy of joy entombed
within the experienced rings of your years.
You have carried life for decades; nests, burrows,
camouflaged leaves against the...
963 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd May 2015 2:31pm
22nd May 2015 2:31pm
Love in the Time of Cholera
Spring, 2015
I
You were there from the moment of birth,
a quiet space between trees, the hidden
pocket of air in the creek -- the outstretched
hands within leaves. Yet, I remembered more.
There were days I would sense your dimension
opening above me; I remember rising,
as if lifted so I could float those few inches
above this physical reality.
When I was young, I believed if I was still as stone
you would manifest in...
I
You were there from the moment of birth,
a quiet space between trees, the hidden
pocket of air in the creek -- the outstretched
hands within leaves. Yet, I remembered more.
There were days I would sense your dimension
opening above me; I remember rising,
as if lifted so I could float those few inches
above this physical reality.
When I was young, I believed if I was still as stone
you would manifest in...
1133 reads
7 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st May 2015 3:37pm
21st May 2015 3:37pm
Reprieve
Spring, 2015
The falling Sandal-Tree sheds fragrance round,
Perfumes the axe that fells it to the ground;
It isn't like they aren't trying to reproduce, give birth
to relieve so much drying and pain. Fertility is a gift
of the gods beyond the stratosphere of tangibility.
They're drifting in all the right places, against one
another hushedly, away searchingly, dissipating
into thin veils of a bridal gown waiting at the...
The falling Sandal-Tree sheds fragrance round,
Perfumes the axe that fells it to the ground;
It isn't like they aren't trying to reproduce, give birth
to relieve so much drying and pain. Fertility is a gift
of the gods beyond the stratosphere of tangibility.
They're drifting in all the right places, against one
another hushedly, away searchingly, dissipating
into thin veils of a bridal gown waiting at the...
942 reads
7 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th May 2015 5:30pm
20th May 2015 5:30pm
Syzwgy
2015
Spring has adorned the cornflowers in their blue
robes as it has done for hundreds of years. They line
this road like the royal guard, parting only for drives,
portals that begin and close behind people's lives
where they are born to grow and grow to die.
Young wheat, its adolescent chest billowing against
tares is rising from the ground like mist. Tire
ruts have sliced tracks between the colonies of crops
and bordered wood; it's quiet except for an exodus ...
Spring has adorned the cornflowers in their blue
robes as it has done for hundreds of years. They line
this road like the royal guard, parting only for drives,
portals that begin and close behind people's lives
where they are born to grow and grow to die.
Young wheat, its adolescent chest billowing against
tares is rising from the ground like mist. Tire
ruts have sliced tracks between the colonies of crops
and bordered wood; it's quiet except for an exodus ...
893 reads
10 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Ahavati (Tams)
