Today’s prompt comes straight from Marie Elena Good.
Marie’s prompt is: Take the phrase “Just Beneath (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write the poem. Possible titles include “Just Beneath My Feet,” “Just Beneath This City,” or “Just Beneath the Surface.”
Here is Robert’s attempt at a Just Beneath poem:
“Just Beneath This Line”
Is another line
and another.
Perhaps, a metaphor
will simile its way in
like a deer
wandering out of a forest
nearly axed
out of existence.
Like the time I stood
just beneath your window
and shouted, “Juliet,
oh boy, Juliet,”
until your father
chased me off your lawn
and woke half the neighborhood.
Each line
leads naturally to the next
even if I don’t have a destination
and maybe sometimes
it’s better that way
knowing you’re only here
to be along for the ride.
*****
Thank you to Marie for the great prompt. Click here to learn more about Marie Elena Good.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
beneath this face
by juanita lewison-snyder
just beneath this face
is a tired old latina
ready for the bone yard.
she likes rock & rye
at midnight, 54 proof
and the strings of
gypsy kings to
help induce sleep.
other nights
she lights candles
and dons a night owl tapestry
about her cold shoulders,
her beak hooked full
of muse droppings
which rain like confetti
across her keyboard.
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Creative, great write! I especially love:
“her beak hooked full
of muse droppings
which rain like confetti
across her keyboard.”
My limited muse would never conceive of such a thing all on her own.
Just Beneath My Skin
just beneath my skin
what you can’t see
is my heart
blood pumping through my veins
giving me life
my bones
holding up my frame
guiding me through
the hustle and bustle
of busy schedules
what you don’t see
is the intellect
underneath my skin tone
beyond my hue
the dark skin
that doesn’t allow you to
see the human
the woman
the citizen
who wants
the opportunities from life
that historians have defined as
life, liberty, and happiness
but because
scienc doesn’t allow you
to see underneath my skin
you only see what’s at sea level
somehow society that allows you to
assign derogatory names
to people you don’t know
for whom you’ve willingly overturned
years of civil rights
violated biblical courtesies
so that in the name of God
you have been allowed to treat me
like the slave
that in your mind
was never allowed to be free
and in your mind
Lincoln never signed that declaration
giving me
the same assignment as you
to call America home
yet, underneath my skin
you will never know
what it feels like
to be treated
as second class
not even the mail
gets demoted like this
c) Kellea Tibbs and march thirty one, 2012. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of original march thirty one material without express and written permission from the author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.
Kellea: Such a beautifully penned commentary on the state in which we sadly still dip our toes. We’ve come a long way, but not nearly far enough.
“the intellect underneath my skin tone” – Amen.
On the Border
Just beneath my heart, is a place for you.
I had to remove you from my heart,
But I could only place you so far away,
So you landed right beneath the curve.
They say if you do not feel your heart,
You can not feel or receive love.
Just beneath my heart, is a place for you.
Where you stay in perpetual anonymity,
Without outside notice, with inside stamina,
Counting butterflies and whistling a tune.
So very creative! Nice work!
This is my first time posting and doing the Poem-A-Day !! I really liked this prompt:
Just Beneath your Love
There is no other love
that compares
to that of a parent’s love.
Your love has saved my life.
The fact that you
have never forgotten me
or judged me.
You love me unconditional.
No matter what i say,
do,
your love is always there.
Sometimes,
I think your love is overbearing.
Calling me constantly.
I just didn’t understand,
you have the love of a parent.
Hi “Thinkin,” and welcome! Love your piece, and I am so flattered that my prompt inspired you to write and post. How humbling! Thanks so much for letting me know that. I hope to hear more from you out here.
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/11/06/day-four-just-beneath-a-haiku/
So, so lovely. <3 !!
Just beneath
Just beneath the water
Find glimmer of earth in
Floating kelp
Gather threads to weave thirst away
Just beneath embers
Find a breath of wind
To flame love free to
Soar.
Each element
Must balance as you
Search beneath.
Beautiful, “food.” Especially “Gather threads to weave thirst away.” How very creative.
Beneath My Feet
(Day 4)
Just beneath my feet they sit
lifeless in the autumn air
until I kick, red, gold, russet and
burnt brown leaves and watch
their dance as they fly and twirl
and come to rest in velvet heaps
upon the frozen ground.
Lovely!!
Just Beneath Siddhartha’s Moon
Across fifteen hundred miles,
she calls to say the moon is full
and hangs like a medal
on a veteran’s black coat.
In my sky, I peeks across
the hunchbacked mountains, yellow
like a lamplight sailing softly,
and all I sense is a smile.
Siddhartha said you cannot hide
the moon and sun, and even
the truth. As we watch the ball
cross the only sky we have,
I love that my shadow crosses
the white Bank’s Rose, wondering
if that’s yours on the wisteria.
Richard, you write so beautifully … so poetically …
Transitioning from vacation, catching up…Great poems, love the prompt, Marie!
Day 4
Prompt: “Just Beneath” title and poem
Just Beneath the Golden Gingko
lies a blanket of sunny leaves
glowing even when clouds pass over the sun
tree still cloaked in gold
yet shed enough to lay a mantle
so the green grass contrasts
with the buttery quilt
and I wonder what lies beneath me
that I’ve sloughed off over years
of releasing habits, sins, and clutter
and whether my shed skin makes me gingko lovely.
Hi Karen! Loving seeing you back again! Great piece here. I especially like “the green grass contrasts with the buttery quilt” and releasing habits, sins, and clutter and whether my shed skin makes me gingko lovely.” WONDERFUL!
Just Beneath a Whisper
say anything you wish
just beneath a whisper.
this way, you may never
leave without
your breath touching mine.
How lovely, JR! How very lovely!
A second attempt:
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/just-beneath-this-stretch-of-earth/
Rumors
Yes, I suppose it could be any number of strange
Men I haven’t spread my legs to.
Or perhaps even the dog.
One day perhaps we’ll know.
Certainly your nakedness could not have caused this,
Not you laying just beneath me every night.
I heard your whispers to our friends,
The conjectures, the conspiracy theories thrown
In the drawers like unused condoms in the bedframe
Since you are without responsibility, this
Must be rationalized, the truth synthesized
For public consumption.
Yes, I suppose it could be any number of strange
Men I haven’t spread my legs to.
One day perhaps they’ll know.
Ariel
Wow. Powerful.
Indeed. And the worst type of rumors.
Just Beneath Detroit
is a salt mine that flashes
an incessant reverie
off its scared walls.
Braided beneath a city
it yields nothing but
branch after branch of empty
space. It swings through
the night, without the grace
or morning light, awash
in memories and lonely
graves of paperwork
and rock.
i love this!
I second Julie’s sentiment. Well done.
(Pullin’ for Detroit.
)
One more for yesterday’s prompt. i so thoroughly enjoyed it, Marie Elena!
JUST BENEATH THE SURFACE
Just beneath this wrinkling skin
is the girl walking barefoot
in the backyard
Just beneath these tired legs
is the girl who hiked miles
in Rocky Mountains
Just beneath these aching arms
is the girl who held
her babies close
Just beneath these aging eyes
is the girl in need of a mama
who’s learning to be one
for herself.
Awww! So sweet and touching, Julie! And I’m glad you liked the prompt. You did great with it!
Your poem is a beautiful tribute to motherhood–well-penned. It goes through a sequence and in each are words that touch the heart. (Hope this gets through, it has been hard to post. It takes me about 7 tries to post a poem.)
Just Beneath the Bridge
Is a Troll. It’s the same Troll it always was, with
chicken-of-the-woods face, ears like green-necked
rutabagas and morning breath from getting by
on lumpers with late blight. It still has to hide
from sunlight, hunt when it won’t be seen.
It used to do all right, but that was when
there were plenty of goats in Gotham.
Now the goats are gone, so are the wagons,
and children don’t wander by in the night.
But the bridge. The bridge is not the same at all.
The whole time they were putting New Bridge up,
Troll had to hide in the culvert. New Bridge is big,
concrete, good for sleeping under during the day,
but Troll is getting so hungry. Nothing trip-traps over
great, grey New Bridge – now giant steel dragons with
white eyes roar across. Troll is so hungry, sometimes
it tries to snatch a smallish dragon, then quivers under
New Bridge, whimpering, and sucking on its mashed paws.
How creative this is! Great work!
Just Beneath the expanse above
Just below the expanse above
My flesh So Weak my spirit so meek
Just below the stars above
On bended knee I bow to thee
Paying homage to the Christ my king
Just below my faith so weak
I trod the path below my feet
I stumble and fall
Cry out and call
Thank you my lord for setting me free
Wired, this is beautiful. Thank you for bringing praise to my heart this morning!
Yes indeed.
Okay, I accidentally posted this as a reply to Daniel’s poem. It was supposed to be down here (sigh). Not sure if I should blame the repeated “you’re commenting too quickly” or just my own sleep deprived brain.
Just Beneath You
That’s my skin
clamped to your skin.
That’s my breath,
mingling with your breath.
When you kiss me, those
are my eyelashes making a web of
love with yours.
I am here, right beneath you.
I can see the bright blue of your eyes
as they look right through me to
an imagined someone better.
Oh, Ina … the hurt of my heart as I read the last two lines … VERY well penned, and excellent take on the prompt. This never occurred to me.
Sad but so good!
Just beneath the garden soil
I planted the prompt
That should have been planted here.
—Just beneath the haze
—I reach out to remember
—what life use to be.
MMT, your words always make me smile.
Just Beneath the Truth
a lie I might manoeuvre
into place; a twining
looped loose as a noose
under a moon split
into halves, not unlike Gaia
wearing her invisible belt
purporting to bisection
hers a prevarication
whistling huge, swallows
shrieking dark
edges, spilling chips rough
as field gems
complex Machiavellian
clouds
I may use
for my own designs
Sly, smart piece, Sharon! Oh my!
Just Beneath the Green Tarp Roof
The light pours in
a milky emerald stream
made magical by the plastic sun
I can barely see.
Sawdust gathers around my feet
while I follow him down the sale aisles,
past marked-down screws, lumber stacked, 2x4s and
bubble gum machines.
It doesn’t last long.
Never does.
Not sure how much longer I have,
but I’ll keep following him down the aisles,
past the small talk and silence and stale jokes,
until one of us finally stops
to admire the light
and breathe in the sawdust.
Great piece here. I especially love this line: “past the small talk and silence and stale jokes” . Powerful.
“Just Beneath the Bell Curve”
Always reaching, not quite breaching
Above—the brightest goes
Esteem undressing, not impressing
Supercilious foes
Wits bereave and underachieve
Lest these thoughts give treason
Assay tough books or rely on looks
Should one forgo reason
Quash dominions, quell opinions
Below—the weak observe
High arcs to court, thus coming up short
Just beneath the bell curve
Love the internal rhyme. Well done!
Oops … and meant to say also the flow. Very nice read!
Thank you so much Maria =)
Just Beneath the Pile
Just beneath the pile
of cases from awhile
hid a new clue
of the scarf that was blue
Fibers were collected
and matched with precision
how would they proceed
who’d influence their decision
Suspects were gathered
and questioned in stride
all the while wondering
how she’d really died
Another affair
a date gone wrong
they’d soon find out
it wouldn’t be long.
Nicely done, Natalija. So subtle, yet the dark subject matter strikes the hard.
Just Beneath the Bottom
Just beneath the bottom,
where the imagination
daren’t go,
past where
the Devil is the landlord
and his giant spiders
rule the terrain,
past the green slime
that clings to
the pond stones;
lower than
the evil, sinful motivations
of all this world,
lower than the
avarice and bloodshed,
the endless cries
of a million defiled corpses
and their besmirched resting places,
underneath it all
the machinery of God,
keeps pumping out
a market for
grace,
good works and faithfulness,
which keeps
the wheel in play,
the planet in rotation,
the heart aspiring,
and the dream alive,
even while in
free
fall.
AMEN, AMEN, AMEN, AMEN!
And sooooooo well written. Thanks so much for this, Buddah!
(wishing you were still on fb, btw)
Just Beneath Your Smile
Just beneath your smile, I know,
Lies a different expression
Than the one you always wear.
Just beneath your happy face
Lies some deep embarrassment
You’d rather die than share.
Just beneath that friendly mien
Lies suffering unknown to me,
But a painful parasite to you.
Just beneath the plastic mask
Lies a heart that’s real, and throbs,
And longs to feel what’s really true.
Just beneath that strong facade
Lies a dream so delicate
A breeze could blow it all to pieces.
Just beneath all your defenses
Lies the child who cries at night
When the world it’s known ceases.
Just beneath that hardened shell
Lies someone wanting to be known
Just for the sake of who they are.
Just beneath your smile, you know,
Is someone I would like to know,
If you would let me in that far.
Wow. So, so much wisdom and recognition contained in this short, well-written poem. EXCELLENT, Miss R!
Just Beneath My Grief
Just beneath my grief
is the impression
that you’re still here.
Your smile filling me
with warm light.
I hear your laugh,
feel your loving touch
until I surface
and realize this
was only a dream.
—- —- —-
just beneath
the surface
of the lake,
fat bass
ignores
my invitation
Two winners. My husband would especially love your second.
Just Beneath This Night
Morning broke
Life awoke
Prayers raised
Worries dismayed
Journeys mounted
Blessings counted
Numbers surrendered
Love remembered
All – just beneath – this night
Such a sweet poem! And love your pen name, rusty.
Thank you, First time out. “Rusty” was our Golden Retriever. We often called him Rusty-dude.
“Just Beneath the Surface”
Lying just beneath the surface
yet unspoken words speak freely
at once solemn and frivolous
in the absence of consequence
Emotion is pure, unrefined
lying just beneath the surface
still untouched by expectation
cloudless and serene as Heaven
Deep unbridled aspirations
are granted license to explore
lying just beneath the surface
a traveller on safari
We’re all common seekers of truth
wanting to belong, have purpose
yet so often leave our own truths
lying just beneath the surface
Ah, yes. Especially love your last stanza, shellaysm.
Just Beneath the Radar
Eyes cast down,
Then flitting up,
Hoping for and
Dreading notice,
She slinks down
The crowded hall,
Holding her breath
And looking away
As he approaches.
She breathes again,
Relieved and so
Very disappointed
That she escaped,
As always, slipping
Just beneath his
Friendly radar.
Awww! Miss R, you’ve expressed what probably nearly all of us rather shy gals have felt at least once in our lives. Well done!
Thanks, Marie! It’s a great prompt, by the way.
Just Beneath the Rice Pot
is a brown paper bag and two rooster
printed potholders. Papi’s kidneys are
declining, his heart kicks him in
the chest. Mami’s love language
consists mostly of perishable expressions.
Papi gets a transfusion; the family eats
from Styrofoam plates in his hospital room.
It is how we dig in to love’s underpinning,
how we factor in as delicate details to our
matriarch’s heart, hot as a wood-burning
stove in the middle of winter. The season
snatched blankets off while we dreamed
of healing. We woke up and felt a chill.
But for now, we knock back pigeon peas
in golden rice and pollo guisado, watch
blood flow into Papi’s arm. Mami blurts out
that she forgot the pot of kidney beans.
My sister asks did she remember the napkins.
Yoli, and I can’t even give proper expression to how impressive this is. One of my very favorites of the day, along with Taylor Graham’s piece. EXCELLENT.
Marie Elena, muchas gracias for your kind words of appreciation. I appreciate your warm emabrce for this.
Beautiful in so many ways!
Julie, thank you kindly. Glad you found beauty in this.
Wow….could be mi familia (mama was a end-of-life dialysis patient for yrs)……great poetic excersize….definately your strength. I forsee a entire chapbook on this very topic down the road. Your writing has a very distinct voice here, muy hermosa.
Wow Thank you so very much, Juanita. Strange how one can find poetry in life events like this. so sorry about your mom. I do appreciate your encourging remarks.
Just Beneath the Lions
While roses, lions, diamonds, and kings
perched atop the Elizabethan chain of being,
far above the goldenrod and ragweed,
slugs and cockroaches, gravel and dust,
peasants and serfs, no one noticed
lurking just beneath the lions, cheetahs,
content with daisies and rhinestones,
fraternizing with sidekicks, vice-counselors,
everyman. They never plotted overthrow,
aware of the danger in high places.
They never bowed and scraped; instead,
they averted their eyes, tucked their tails,
purred softly, as innocent as ticking clocks,
biding their time until illness, old age,
assassination provided a vacancy
best filled by one not only swift of foot,
but sage with the wisdom of the watcher.
I’m always most fascinated by unusual takes on a prompt. This one fits the bill, with your always smart and engaging style, Nancy. Excellent!
Just Beneath The Page
just beneath the page of words
are netherworlds of words
strung as pearls
held in lips and fingertips
tease pleasing orbs
began as common sand
drifting down in wrong places
at right times and forever and ever
rest undetected, unnoticed
then finally
ascend to air amid like-orbed souls
as numerous as Abraham’s descendants
packing eternal promises
and finally
settle somewhere on the page
a page of pearls fresh from Sheol
just beneath
How very lovely and, well — poetic!
Thanks so much again to Robert for the amazing opportunities he provides for us here. And what an amazing group he has drawn in with his challenges! You all ROCK!!
Just Beneath The Threshold
Just beneath the threshold
of the pain that you endure
is a light that shines so brightly
from your heart so kind and pure.
Your eyes remain the window
to your beautiful sweet soul,
while just beneath the threshold
are your dreams that make you whole.
By Michael Grove
This is beautiful, Mike. I don’t know who you wrote it for, but it could have been written for my daughter. Wish I’d written it.
Ah lovely!
Just beneath her heart
I am able to feel More
than she
is able
to tell
even
God.
All my poems this PAD are in honor to my mom
who suffers with Alzheimers, and to the caretakers
who who show us that all life is valuable and that
those who have lost memory deserve to still be treated
with dignity.
Janice, my heart goes out to you and your mom. My own mom had dementia, and her idential twin has been diagnosed with Alzheimers. We feel like Mom is about a year behind her. It’s a terribly sad way to finish out the years remaining here in this life, isn’t it? I appreciate your mention of being treated with dignity. Having this to deal with with my mom and aunt, and having a mentally ill daughter, I cannot stress enough that we need to learn to treat our mentally ill (whatever form it takes) with respect, tenderness, and dignity.
Your short poem is ever-so powerful. Thank you for this, Janice.
*has* dementia. Terrible typo – my mom (thankfully) is still living.
Powerful. i’ve had several friends whose moms have had Alzheimers, and this speaks so much truth is few words. Thank you for sharing this part of your life with us.
Just Beneath My Smile
(a Nonet)
Just beneath my smile lies my pain.
You may not see it buried there,
I hide it well. I have learned
in life it’s better to
smile even when
crying would be
easier;
so I
do.
The Nonet is one of my favorite forms to play with. Well chosen for your subject matter, and well written. Bravo, Karen.
Where now Trajan?
Just beneath the pavement
of any Roman street
lying centuries deep;
those who lived long ago
are now sweet earth’s to keep.
Just beneath the pavement
in small Italian towns
the soldiers marched away
to conquer foreign lands
and further Caesar’s sway.
Just beneath the pavement
around the city walls
catacombs once were filled
with martyrs like sardines,
so many had been killed.
Just beneath the pavement
and farms and fields and lands
of kingdoms far and wide
the glory that was Rome
once conquered, ruled, and died.
Brilliant write, painful to think about. Well done!
An impressive Monchielle, Dan. I had no idea of the power of the form and with your Italian inspiration, you raised the bar.
Today’s poem combines this prompt with that of The Sunday Whirl… A bit strange. http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/11/04/365-creativity-project-day-300/
Brilliant!!
Just Beneath a Lie
Honeyed humor,
saccharine smile,
sugared stance,
artificially
sweetened deceit
colors your under-
handed eyes
serpent coiling
just beneath the lies
forked tongue
tastes a poisoned truth
Ouch. Painful truth, PSC. Well done!
JUST BENEATH THE STAIRCASE
In the coal cupboard
He said he slept as a child
In a foreign land
And I believed his spoken word
As his dad’s heart radiated a coldness
That threatened to encapsulate warmth
To strangle even me
But bearing witness to one truth
Sucks reality from the next.
And years later, laughter bellowing
My gullibility acknowledged
Coal cupboard denied
Truth and logic exposed as
Non-compatible
MeeAugraphie
11/04/12
“bearing witness to one truth
Sucks reality from the next.”
This statement especially rings true. Being a rather gullible soul myself, I can relate to your piece. Excellent write, Meeaugraphie.
I’m marveling at all these talented offerings!
well done everyone.
I am posting my poems on my blog HERE
Great poem, and love your blog site!
Shabbat=Sabbath
Sukkah=in Jewish tradition, an open hut built during the harvest season where farmers slept out in their fields under the stars. The contemporary holiday of Sukkot is celebrated with the building of these open huts and hanging them with seasonal fruit.
Kvetch=complain
Terra=earth
Tzuris=hub-bub, stress.
“Just beneath all the important to dos”
Shabbat comes like a bride, spreads like her veil,
shields and succors like a fruit-hung sukkah.
The plaint I was going to kvetch slips and pales.
I’m whole. I fear nothing. Hallelujah.
If I get stuck in a rut, I’ll set sail
within that rut and find the free delta.
And if my prodigious powers should all cease,
I’ll sustain on candlelight and terra.
Here’s the crux: I don’t fear the loss of ease.
Today, I know a peace that does not fail.
It’s nothing but a membrane, this unease,
and the stress webs of the week—they’re paltry.
I woke up with dissatisfaction fleas,
but now they’ve cancelled their itchy assault.
Shabbat makes this saucy world my pizza.
The tzuris life takes through nobody’s fault
could be a pillar or a grain of salt.
I marvel at your talent, always! Thank you for the lesson, for I’d have been lost without it.
Just Beneath You
That’s my skin
clamped to your skin.
That’s my breath,
mingling with your breath.
When you kiss me, those
are my eyelashes making a web of
love with yours.
I am here, right beneath you.
I can see the bright blue of your eyes
as they look right through me to
an imagined someone better.
ARGH! – this somehow got posted as a reply to Daniel’s poem. Sorry, Daniel. Your poem is wonderful. The blog programming, however, – oy gevalt!
Oy vey iz mir!
Wow, Ina. That’s a massive drama in a very small space. Well done!
Apologies Marie – your prompt has opened a floodgate – but I fear nothing much to quench the thirst
No apology needed, Pearl! Can’t think of a better compliment! Good stuff here. Thanks so much for taking the time to pen and post, in the midst of all your NY troubles. Keeping all of you out there in prayer.
Just Beneath A Starry Sky
Just beneath a starry sky
once lied a girl under a guy
Just beneath a starry sky
clothes fell in gay abandon
Just beneath a starry sky
the girl that lied beneath the guy
Underneath that starry sky
Smiled and panted heaven’s sigh
And became somebody’s mother
Oh my! Steamy romance novel in 10 lines or less?
But it’s more than that, as the responsibility factor is blatant truth. Another well written piece.
Just Beneath The Starched White Collar
Just beneath the starched white collar
the dapper turned cuff
the gold monogrammed link
Just beneath the blinding white
of crisp knife cut creases
beats the black oozed slime
of a child defiler without remorse
And again your lead in lines contrast the ending very, very powerfully. Makes me cringe, Pearl. Well penned.
Just Beneath The News Story*
Just beneath the story of decimated
Hamilton – resident”s tears and
Property’s dire destruction
Just beneath the news story of the
tiny hamlet on the water
Rides the memory of a summer breeze
Blowing through my hair as I pedaled
Fast and gloriously
Alone
Miles from home in a
Town so foreign it could have been another
Country and I
An adult yet to be born
Stories “beneath” the news stories are plentiful and varied, aren’t they, Pearl? Just glad you are well. Beautiful piece.
i love the way you “see.”
Just Beneath The Silk
Just beneath the pouty glossed purple lip
The smoky come hither eyes of burning youth
Just beneath the silky slip
The bra fine as cobwebbed filaments
Just beneath it all
The pink scar where a breast once swelled
Oh my … the ending really took me off guard. Very powerful use of the seductive “beneaths” leading into it. Wow.
Yikes, this a powerful piece.
I was hoping you would resurface.
Wow….amazing images tell such a big story in such a small space….
Just beneath me
What’s that on the wall?
Please release me
I don’t want to fall
You got me up here
No you get me down
My foot won’t go there
You’re making me frown
You tell me to drop
Are you f***ing insane?
You tell me to drop
I’m not an airplane
I hate rock climbing
I hate it so bad
This ten foot wall
Makes me feel sad.
YIKES! DON’T LOOK DOWN!
Just Beneath her Surface
Just beneath her surface
Discontent simmers,
The secret sorrow
That fuels hidden tears
For her sacrificed dreams,
All hidden
By her delusive smile.
Too often the case. Beautifully penned.
Hi Mary!
I can feel the sadness in this one.
“Just Beneath Your …Smile”
Just beneath your pretentious smile
lies a devil
whose voodoo dolls
stand vigil in
a hidden chest,
pins sticking out of them. We live
through pain invoked,
waiting for the
next stab in our
knee or our eye.
Patiently, we wait for the Lord
to change your black
heart or move you.
Till then, we dance
to block the pricks.
this is great!
the “smile” in the title had me thinking it was going a completely different way. love how it turned so suddenly.
ABSOLUTELY! Well done, Michelle!
Thank you, Marie! You suggested an awesome prompt!
Wow. This is quite vivid.
Thank you, Rorybore, Marie, and Benjamin, for your kind words.
Such lovely offerings today.
Just Beneath Wishes and Wants
Taught to think ahead
Toward needs of tomorrow,
We make our petty lists
Of material wishes and wants.
Beneath the lists stand one’s
Haves and can-be-used-insteads,
Items never seeming good enough
For tomorrow’s glistening possibility threshold.
Pantries occupied by common foods,
Some requiring pots or skillets,
Such a chore of feeding oneself
When the corner restaurant will do.
Last year’s garments clutter
Closets too small to hold
Precious societal identities
In times we’re told are lean.
Holiday celebration needs for one
Could care for one family for weeks,
Should a person stop to consider
Things just beneath wishes and wants.
Powerful food for thought. Bravo, Clauds, and amen!
‘ Just beneath an umbrella ‘
Under the cover
of a wet miserable day
watching the rain
pile on me as i sway
Sheltered by the cover
of increasing breathless smother
wanting for the gust to slow
to help me with my walking flow
Running for cover
a stranger falls underneath
‘sorry can i? may i?’
‘Yes of course’
Out of breath
a little hoarse
when really shaking from within
his smile melting my childish grin
What can happen
on a wet dull day
washing all the problems
of yesterday
Scent of a woman
scent of a man
under an umbrella
what a lovely plan
How romantic! And a lovely plan, indeed, Ber! Made me smile.
Just Beneath the Chocolate
Any kind of cake
is always
at its best—
just beneath the chocolate.
Cookies, muffins, ice cream—
never better than
when they are
just beneath the chocolate.
Pancakes with maple syrup?
Not for me.
I want mine
just beneath the chocolate.
Out of milk for breakfast?
That’s fine by me.
I’ll take my cereal
just beneath the chocolate.
Want to ask for my hand?
Let me give you a plan.
Take the ring and put it
just beneath the chocolate.
In a bad mood?
Give me comfort food.
I’ll cover my blues
just beneath the chocolate.
Candy those yams for
Thanksgiving dinner.
I’ll cook them up
just beneath the chocolate.
And even if there’s no food handy,
I can still can my fix.
That’s why God made fingers
just beneath the chocolate!
Ellen Knight
Ellen, I’m not really aware of your work, but I adore this piece!!
I’m still a newbie – have only been around for a few weeks, but loving every minute of it
Thanks for the feedback.
it’s pretty fun alright, isn’t it?
Just Beneath The Setting Sun
Just beneath the setting sun
Horizon limned in glowing aura
Orange, red and purple hues
Defines another days end.
Lovely vision!
Poetics Asides November Challenge – Day 4
Just beneath __________
Just Beneath Roots
Fir tree hugs edge of wetlands,
obscuring in sumer, the growth
beneath, where grass tufts grow
in fertile black earth. In Autumn,
leaves relocate under the fir.
Spare in winter, grass is gone,
leaves scattered, as do
ashes we sprinkled under
his favorite tree.
All-at-once beautifully sad yet hopeful. Lovely write, Sara.
This is so sweet Sara.
Just Beneath your Eyes
Just beneath your eyes
I can see your pain
and regard your fears
that quickly ravage like gangrene
Just beneath your eyes
are open windows that receive no rain
where there is no jasmine blossom
but field of misery and pain
Just beneath your eyes
there’s an earnest plea for help
for the wounded
in need of healing balm
if I could only keep you from sorrow
administer undying calm
but the best I can do
is wipe away each tear
and warm with a kiss
You are so sweet, Benjamin. What a tender, loving piece. And this is amazing:
“Just beneath your eyes
are open windows that receive no rain
where there is no jasmine blossom
but field of misery and pain”
A thousand thanks
Just Beneath This Sky,
those visible masses of liquid droplets,
are many versions of the same world,
different political theorems
of how best to change things
orated by opposing sides.
Remember riding your bike home from Plainfield
in the middle of the night?
All you could see was winter
and your fingers sent trembles into the handlebars.
This world was bigger then,
longer.
At some point, we all know
that moment when the lack of infinity is realized.
You are running out of time
to write the irrevocable ode.
There is still much to do,
still many times to switch the narrator’s perspective,
frame of reference.
The ocean demands to be remembered as beautifully terrible
and New Jersey is left holding the bag.
It is strange to watch on television
as pieces of your childhood
crumble with the boardwalks
and are dragged out to sea.
Wow. Such a powerful piece, mike. Deserving of a second and third read as well.
Missing you at Bloomings…
LIKE DUCKS ON THE WATER
Grace and gentility,
their mobility exudes all that.
The plate glass pond reflecting
the beauty of the mallards
at leisure. Your pleasure is
in admiring their calm of
this early autumn day.
Just beneath the surface
the impression transforms.
Flat webbed feet pushing
the underwater wetness
to self propel. All above serene
in splendor; all below chaotic as hell!
LOL! Love it, Walt! Keith and I joke about that sometimes when walking through SideCut Park. They also have a “laugh” that always makes us smile.
Love the way this is written, and the surprise ending!
Just Beneath the Now…
Just beneath the now
Awaits the ‘then’
We ought to handle it carefully
For it will not pass again
***
Just beneath this present action
Is a test, don’t you know?
Because it is in our reaction to action
That our truest colors show
***
Just beneath frost-bitten flower
and dull November sod
rests the slumb’ring seed ofspringtime
waiting for the kiss of God
Hi Janet
Absolutely exquisite! Love it. Love it. Love it.
Exquisite is the perfect word for the poem and the poet. Warm smiles to you, Janet!
Just Beneath Me
Henry Thomas Thorson
Turned up his snooty nose
Why, that’s just beneath me!
Surely, you don’t suppose
I’d give you something free!
Henry Thomas Thorson
Cocked a querulous brow
Then flicked his fingertips
My man, the things you ask!
He uttered through pursed lips
Henry Thomas Thorson
Harrumphed indignantly
Do you know who I am
Pontificated he
I thought not, stupid man!
Henry Thomas Thorson
While sitting on the pot
Encountered an impasse
The roller held, but air
Nar’ a sheet to wipe his…
(This poem is in Monchielle form, which is Mindful Poetry’s form-of-the-month)
Susan, this is a fantastic take on the prompt and use of form! Bravo!!
Just Beneath My Soul
Lies a blackened casket
Revolting from its chains
Light as a cloud shadowing me
Scratching like a restless dream
Not burdened by its weight
For just beneath its lock
Is my fractured soul
Oh my … so deep and striking. Great write here.
Great prompt, Marie, and what wonderful poetry it inspired. i wish I could comment separately but each post that posts is a victory:) You guys, one and all ROCK! Here’s to poets!…take 10;(
Janet, I’m absolutely determined to acknowledge each and every incredible poem today. It’s the least I can do for the honor of having my prompt chosen to post this month. I couldn’t be more thrilled with the honor, or the amazing poets gathered here. These computer gremlins sure are taxing though, aren’t they?
Just Beneath the Acrylic Wall Art
There’s another wall waiting to begin
if only we can escape the gravitational pull
of this owl’s orange eyes, threaded with
yellow yarn, a big, dark, wooden bead
in the center of each, like a knuckle
in a fist. This is not what I came
here for, to sit on this houndstooth couch
with you, trying to explain what I mean
about walls beyond walls, some world
other than this one where we are
men and women, machines built for
coping, not for understanding
each other, not in any real way, except
through the flesh. You are wondering
about my flesh even now; I can feel it in
your eyes, your male eyes, and we will
never reach that other world, not
together, not this way. You have
your hot toddy, and I have mine; you are
not my ride home, the shoes under my bed.
We are nothing but two people sitting under
an acrylic owl, trying to ignore some things,
pay attention to others, and—for the next
ten minutes, twenty—not confuse the two.
What an incredible piece, and creative take on the prompt. posmic, you always manage a “wow.”
The Contest
Just beneath my congratulations
And the sweet kiss my lips press
Against your blushing cheek
Lies my aching heart . I am trying hard
To be a good sport, and not a “sore loser”
I want you to know I am really happy for you.
But those judges must have been in a big
Rush to get things over with because that
Is the only reason why your poem was chosen
For the grand prize instead of mine.
Marian, this is SOO different than what I am accustomed to from your pen! But I love it even so. (Two of my favorite poets back-to-back — you and Jane!)
Robert, I enjoyed your poem today.
Just Beneath the Artist’s Paint
the celophane body layers down to skeleton.
First the blank epidermis,
no freckles, warts, or scars identify this
white man, palms up, arms slightly lifted
away from his sides, his naked body
asking why, who me, awaits the artist’s
imaginary scalpel to peel the dermis to muscle,
ligaments and tendons white as tennis socks
stretched to hold reddish flesh on bones.
One more lifted layer and lumpy organs
are exposed, red, orange, purple,
like continents on a globe, weighty enough
to warrant cut-out legends of tissue blocks,
a slice of liver here, a window of lung there,
a peek inside thbe heart revealing
empty chambers, a lonely man.
His interior map proves his every depth
has a depth of its own, just beneath.
One by one, the organs lift away
in systems’ rise and fall—
respiratory’s flabby billows,
digestive’s tangle of gut,
circulatory’s heart, arteries, veins,
moving pints of what the drawing
dare not spill here and still be useful
to the student of anatomy.
Peel away circulation to nerves
spidering his body like tattoos,
his poor bald eyes seeing
every electric impulse from the brain,
(see page 274 for full cranial cutaway),
nervous systems lifting to reveal
bones, joints, teeth and sockets
where fleshy parts once dwelled,
featuring an inset look at marrow,
blood’s building blocks.
But what are we to make of this genderless body?
Perhaps the artist found it indelicate
lifting away the testicles and penis,
the breasts or ovaries, complete hysterectomy
or castration at the lift of a sheath.
For full reproductive systems, another chapter
explores both genders, arrows indicating
the ins and outs of procreation and elimination,
even imminent birth.
Having slowly rendered a healthy human skeleton,
one by one, we put flesh back on bones, rebuilding
the body back to its blank state of miraculousness,
almost like puzzling a man from soft mud
and breathing life and imagination into that busy form.
But where is the soul?
Did the artist forget
the soul just beneath
the artists’ paint?
THIS. IS. BRILLIANT. WOW!!!
beneath
my churning lines
like leaves that rustled by
the Autumn of my discontent
soon died
Another one that I have to admit goes over my head.
Just Beneath My Smile
The years have passed when my heart burst and yearned for you
Those days are gone, filled with passionate rendezvous
The moment has vanished when I could have said, “I do.”
Don’t look too closely at the reflection of me.
My eyes are eager to admit the apparent truth.
The hope of true love was lost the day I let you go
Afraid to take your hand, unwilling to take a chance
The scars are real, the feelings unhealed
Such painful agony, just beneath my smile.
Such a sad realization, joann. Well written!
Just beneath this calm façade, I
fear another act of god, I
hope foreboding is mislaid
but just in case: ‘Keep Calm’ displayed.
Another absolute winner, RJ. Your way with words … oh my!
Just Beneath A Smile
By: Meena Rose
A smile is a smile,
Someone once said.
I disagree.
A smile is a sentry
If you ask me;
Veiling intent
Often betrayed by
Tell tale eyes.
Exuding warmth or
Chilling upon sight;
Tread with care -
Alluring eyes bind
Emotions so deep
Roiling them in a
Tempest of desire.
A smile is a smile,
Someone once said.
I disagree.
Oh, wow. One of your best, Meena Rose. You are such a natural poet, so that says a lot.
Just Beneath
Just beneath the cage, quite near,
beats a rhythm one can hear,
where the seat of my affection,
it is simply my connection.
So it beats on year by year;
my heart.
There it beats, beneath that cage
which does not protect nor assuage
the pain or joy, that I may find,
my rib-cage just is not designed
to block the pain or joy engage
in my heart.
With its easy syncopation
and a subtle soft vibration
that accompanies my life,
my every breath through fun and strife
toward its eventual cessation,
my heart.
Just beneath the surface lies
emotion’s heart in body’s guise.
Trust in it when e’er you wonder
what to do, and when you ponder,
listen to its soft advice,
your heart.
Diana Terrill Clark
What a lovely piece, Diana. And yes, it most certainly does not protect.
Here are my Just Beneaths!
http://miskmask.wordpress.com/2012/11/04/just-beneath/
~Misky
Another couple of pieces well worth visiting. Great fun, Misk!
Just Beneath the Surface
Just beneath the surface, trains
rumble in her sleep, oil paints
skate Austrian Alps, huckleberries
transform to jam, wiggling
in tin buckets amid threat of bear
attack. Just beneath the surface, wooden
slats squeak beneath blustery corner
oak tree, carrot tops quiver in cool
northwestern winds. Just beneath the surface,
she’s crumbling at calm of Mozart, shivering
at sight of birch trees, swallowing
away tears sucking down his favorite
chocolates. Just beneath the surface,
she masks lament,
a child deserted.
Fabulous imagery in this tender piece. Excellent, Linda.
at the end
Just
beneath
the sadness
I can make out
the shape of a girl
laughing arms in the air
like the last stroke of winter
the world has stumbled to an end
and she can’t explain this sense of spring
but today she craves joy more than her pain
Oh, goodness … lovely, poignant piece, Andrew. I’m such a fan of yours.
Just Beneath My Breast
Just beneath my breast lives an implant.
A blob designed to convince others I’m still whole – still feminine.
Just beneath my formerly sensitive skin is scar tissue.
A span of gristle that causes phantom itches – on the surface and deep down.
Just beneath my pectoral muscle is a 38-C sac, filled with gel.
A sac that pushes my skin into a gentle bulge –firmer than before.
Just beneath my breast lives an envelope, broken open now.
An envelope whose contents spread like lava – just beneath my breast.
By Kathy Arellano
###
Oh, Kathy … this tells a complete, poignant story. Bless your heart!
Wow…..
Beneath My Feet
Just beneath my feet they sit
lifeless in the autumn air
until I kick, red, gold, russet and
burnt brown leaves and watch
their dance as they fly and twirl
and come to rest in velvet heaps
upon the frozen ground.
This needs to be in a children’s book of poetry. BEAUTIFUL!
AGREED!
Yes, I concur! Highlights for Children or Cricket magazine comes to mind! Get thee butt over to their websites to check on submission guidelines! Good Luck!
cold moon
just beneath the crust of snow
more snow
Always a fan, Cara. Always.
Thank you, Marie Elena. Ditto.
Just beneath the golden crust
Just beneath the golden crust:
a chicken pot pie that I must
turn away from, my oh me,
it’s 1600 calorie!
But, oh that scent – my fork broke in
released the lovely steamy sin;
I licked it clean – I could not waste
that clinging tiny slip of taste.
It’s not for me! I baked this pie
for my hardworking special guy!
I know he loves this crusted stew
and yet, I know he loves me too -
I thought this through bite after bite,
and when my guy gets home tonight
he’s sure to love his pizza pie a lot -
and I sure loved that chicken pot!
KAREN!! This is so much fun! Right up my alley. Thanks for the grins!
LOL!!
JUST BENEATH THE BROKEN
entry, a human figure
sprawls – long dark tresses starred
with shattered glass. Red dress,
silk stockings with a seam; red spike heels
scattered among beads. My search dog
walks right by, under a streetlamp
that should be lit by now, but won’t be,
this evening after earthquake.
Avenue blocked by rubble.
I bend to check the injured lady –
department-store mannequin, wig askew
on her bald synthetic head.
My dog leads me on, under the leaning
entrance. She’s looking for real
people. I switch on my flashlight,
follow her inside to darker
dark.
Oh, Taylor. Your words spear the heart and strike a punch to the gut. You always, always amaze me with each and every piece you pen. Wow.
This one really intrigued me! i really like it.
JUST BENEATH MY STERNUM
It drives my life.
It fuels my muse.
All its requests
I won’t refuse.
Compassion lives
in its confines.
and loves takes root;
a spreading vine.
Here in my chest
a heart beats true,
this engine of life
that’s here just for you.
And another favorite is born.
You had me at “Just beneath my sternum”…… that just made me giggle!
JUST BENEATH THESE LEAVES
The poplar tree that grew much faster than
we expected it to, also incredibly tall and wide
(though we DID ask the man at the nursery what
would quickly fill the empty space left when
our elegant walnut tree went roots up and
breathed its last crop of nuts for the squirrels
to steal) and that has lifted the paving stones
put in place over three summers at the
expense of my back and tediously laid flat,
and is now working to put the garden retaining
wall’s nose out of joint not to mention I trip
every time I walk outside (over the tilting stones)
and its large healthy branches are hanging
over the roof, spitting leaves into the gutters
but
just beneath these leaves
just beneath these branches,
separated from the constant
flow of reality I sit on the
upstairs balcony, and I am
young, listening to the leaves
rustle and sigh around
my treehouse.
*sigh* Julie, you are making me a fan.
You are so sweet, Marie Elena! And thank you for taking the time to comment on so many poems. i know it’s such an encouragement to my “Writer in Progress” heart!
Just beneath these typed words, lies a link to my poem.
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/11/04/just-beneath-this-thickening-skin/
Nicely done!
ALL: If you haven’t clicked on De’s link to read her poem, you are missing out on pure excellence.
Thanks so much, ladies.
Oh no we’re bold again!
JUST BENEATH THIS RUBBLE
Shoes in a pile
laundry strewn
keepsakes and earrings and
an unpiled pile
of books by the bed,
shirts once worn
coffee cups
relics of a failed attempt
to organize
my scarves
and
just beneath this rubble
is a clean house.
Julie, I LOVE this! Adorable, and love the attitude!
Hee hee! Thank you.
Just Beneath the Clouds
Just beneath the clouds
a terrible wall of water,
winds without mercy,
horizontal rain.
Just beneath the clouds,
streets become rivers,
trees fall like matchsticks,
houses crumble and wash away.
Just beneath the clouds,
boats clutter the sand flats,
piers and boardwalks splinter,
a roller coaster lies in the surf.
Just beneath the clouds,
the worst has past, and the worst
is yet to come – how can we
ever be the same again?
Just beneath the clouds,
we help our neighbors,
try to be resourceful, resilient,
watch the sun peeking through.
Especially love your last two stanzas, Bruce. Hard to read and think about, but so well written.
Bruce, well done – so much of the power of nature and the resilience of man
Just Beneath
11/4/12
Just beneath heaven
lies a world
filled with lush fields,
sand, and vast oceans.
A perfect place
for those creatures
He created,
and people who bear
His image
to whom He commanded
“Be fruitful and multiply.”
Amen, Sally! Lovely truth!
JUST BENEATH THE BOARDWALK
tumultuous waves
churn the depths of the sea
just beneath the boardwalk
swelling tide
beats the rotten boards,
weakening their hold
impending wrath
of mother nature
coming on shore
key indicators
enable residents and visitors
to scramble and flee
holding on
to upbeat hopes
of returning to this place of charm
2012-11-04
P. Wanken
Yes. Too true, and so well captured, Paula!
Just Beneath This Mountain
Just beneath this mountain
there’s a valley dark and cold.
You’ve been dwelling there so long
searching streams for flecks of gold.
Climb up from the valley
with a first step brave and strong
and your bright eyes gazing upward
to the place where you belong.
Just beneath this mountain
you can make a brand new start
as you sense it through your soul
and you feel it in your heart.
A new found strength is present
as you face another day.
Just beneath this mountain
you will find a better way.
By Michael Grove
Uplifting and written beautifully as always, Mike. Great job.
Beautiful. Thanks
Just beneath the dark night,
while we hid in basements
and under cover,
the storm came
and the trees in town cracked
and fell.
For days we stayed inside,
flicking the switching,
waiting for light.
Today there are yellow leaves
on the maples still standing
and the wood cutters have come
to haul away the wreckage.
The sky is blue
the color of the sea
that tore the boardwalk
and nearly drowned us all.
I said to save a piece of oak,
make a box and
put it together with dovetails,
varnish it in gold.
Go the beach, and sail your boat.
Ann, this is an amazing piece. Yes, save your piece of oak and sail your gold boat. God be with you.
very touching and well written
Just Beneath the Lies
Just beneath the lies
hides the truth
of who you are
You smile
but we see the frown
and the tears
Don’t hide
from the help
that we offer
For you are
more important
than you know
JW, I assume this is from “real life,” and I hope the one behind the smile listens and allows you in. Well written.
Just beneath
the surface
like a spawning
fish at the edge
of a summer
pond, something
pushes and
nudges. Fecund
and implacable
as a black hole,
it takes all
in. What
comes next?
I hold
my breath.
Yikes! Well written, blue.
Just Beneath the Clouds
Just beneath the clouds
Rays of sunshine
Rain down on the village below
Announcing the storm had passed
To destinations unknown.
Great poem, jlcooper.
(Sorry for the typo – and the one time the ‘you’re posting too quickly’ thingee didn’t happen so I didn’t have an opportunity to fix it.)
just beneath my lip
is an epicurean
dribbled sauce goatee
Just Beneath the Surface
Grief hides in
the jungle of our emotions
ready to stage a sneak attack.
A picture, a song,
a place, a date
may trigger an ambush
no matter how much time
has passed since
the day of the loss.
This opponent will never
sustain a mortal wound,
but its target may learn
how to recover more
quickly after a strike.
Sad observation, well penned.
Amen to this poem….i was hit just yesterday by a song playing in a restaurant….
jJust beneath my lip
is an epicurean
dribbled sauce goatee
Teehee!
Ah! Very clever! Love it!
just beneath my stomach
and further down below
are things that I can’t see
… like my toes
*gigglesnort*
Is it bad that i’m laughing just as hard at the “gigglesnort” from Marie Elena as the poem?
LOL!
It’s Just Beneath My Dignity
“It’s just beneath my dignity to toil in this way,
I mow your grass, I shovel snow, I want to go and play,
There’s poetry I want to write and drawings to be done,
Assassin’s Creed is what I need, a game that must be won.”
“As long as you live here, my son, there will be simple chores,
You’ll put away your dishes, and you’ll wash your filthy drawers,
I know you think your poetry and games make you the bomb.
But get a clue, you’re forty-two, and living with your mom.”
###
LOL <— and I mean that! =D
HA!! Love it!!
DELIGHTFUL!
[From a mother of a 42 - but is not living with me]
OH NOOOO!!! my son (still at home) is 24. Please don’t tell me i have that many more years to look forward to! LOL!!
We Above
Just beneath the subway system,
twilight world, but no one’s missed them:
rats who dance to rolling thunder.
We above know not what’s under
miles and miles of track and refuse.
Insular, we simply recuse
tender selves. But it’s no wonder:
We above know not what’s under
city, commerce, traffic. Furtive
creatures whose lives are revertive,
rats whose lives are torn asunder.
We above know not what’s under
sidewalks where our tread is heavy.
Who could guess there is a bevy
of those rats in twilight blunder.
We above know not what’s under…
###
Love this!
Wow. EXCELLENT use of form in this smart, potent piece. Wow.
Are you doing a different form for each prompt?
I love the rhythm of this one.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
RJ?
Love the Kyrielle, so versital. Well done.
Ok, the “…slow down” guy is back
Just Beneath My Heart
You reside there
wrapped within a cocoon
sweetly lined
with snapshots of your life
moving slowly
page by page as I review
each thought of you.
ooooooooohhhhh. This one is a gem. Nicely done.
A gem, indeed, Michelle!
Ooh, I love this, Michelle. (7th try)
I really like that, Well done.
Just Beneath This
Every decision made
Rests upon the collective
Rational choice actor.
The purpose, determined,
Lies on the foundations
Of our consumption.
The road travelled
Is paved over desire,
Not need.
This is our reality,
And just beneath This
Exists the surplus.
Jared, I’m not familiar with your writing, but this piece makes me want to GET familiar. Smartly penned.
just beneath my feet
earth sinks in
appears closer
room gets darker
vision gets blurry
it’s not a matter of how
but when
And yet another powerful piece, Jac.
Just Beneath My Heart
I think you left a void
when you walked out
of here, on me, but
most of all, on us. For
some reason, I haven’t
been able to resurrect
my soul the way I used
to be able to do, when
you played games like
this before. My heart
keeps beat beat beating,
but I don’t know where
to go from here, not
anymore, not without
you all over again.
Maybe by next time,
I’ll know better. Don’t
say you doubt it—I
don’t care what you
have to say, anyway.
It’s not like your words
ever really concerned
me. So wherever my soul
used to be, it feels like
there’s just this empty
void, and I blame you.
So sad, and one far too many of can relate to. Good job, Eleanore.
Hi Marie,
Thank you so much for your kind reply! I had hoped that the poem would come across as something to which others could relate. I’m delighted to hear that it worked!
Just Beneath the Story I Am Writing
is the story I was living long ago
It is so obvious that I am worried
Some friends may recognize it as they go
So, luckily for me, they’ll never read it.
And just beneath my real story
Is a story I invented long before
To make my everyday more varied
And have some fun there, as I go
So, luckily for me, I’ll never write it.
Just beneath my frozen mask
My face is hiding it forgotten smiles
And laughter, wasted on the go
Amidst the fear it betrays me.
So, luckily for me, you’ll never see it.
***
i like it a lot.
Oh, Mariya … so powerful. So touching. Wow. Bless your heart, sweet friend.
Thank you, DA and Marie – you are so nice
Just Beneath Our Busy Lives
wondrous things await,
lesser ones as well,
visible to the open eye, the willing heart,
not hiding at all, if we choose.
Just beneath that stop for groceries,
a chance to make someone’s day,
to thank that clerk, mention their name,
grateful for their work, letting them know.
Just beneath that amber light,
a chance to slow, to pause,
making it a smile moment,
letting go the held breath, the tension,
every moment a choice.
Just beneath that daily chore,
a chance to notice large small things,
that shining plate, sparkling floor,
the dust-free shelf, your happy child.
Just beneath that illness,
a chance to heal, to rest,
to think about what’s coming,
in this life and the next,
a chance to choose to be here now,
present moment, wonderful moment.
“Ely,” this is SO you. Wonderful piece, wonderful heart.
Fantastick reminder, thank you
i like the way you think.
just beneath the earth
a mere six feet under
my sister and brother wonder
how come we don’t visit them enough
Jac, I read this one several times. So sad.
Oh….
Simple. Beautiful.
JUST BENEATH THE CLOUDS
(A Kautata)
G. Smith
———————————————-
Just beneath the clouds,
A sage velvet blanket lays
Loosely thrown across the land.
tunesmiff, this is absolutely lovely.
Thank you, Ma’ am…
I don’t usually believe in coincidence, but this was the view on approach to Phoenix Friday afternoon… followed by today’s prompt?
Pays to pay attention, I s’pose…
g
OOOOH!!!
JUST BENEATH HER CONCEALER
(a shadorma)
Evidence
of tumultuous
days—and nights—
is swelling
just beneath her concealer;
upbeat charm intact.
THIS!
THIS is BRILLIANT. A wow, wow, WOW.
Just beneath the Misletoe
Just beneath
the mistletoe
I see my breathe
white, and steamy.
imagine you
imagine me
K i S Si n g
passionately
Just beneath
the mistletoe.
OH, GREAT take on the prompt, Billie! Never thought of that one!
Just Beneath The Surface
Simmers my frustration
as the dreaded message
comes again…
I am not posting
comments too quickly,
I am posting
one comment
slowly…
over and over
again.
I feel you. It took me 10 tries 2 days ago to post a comment.
It took me 4 tries yesterday to post a word.
It took me 10 times to post this.
We are hanging in there.
Even though this is the frustrating truth, your poem made me smile, Tracy.
LOL! Perfect!
Just Beneath Excitement
and anticipation
of seeing friends or relatives,
visiting first-for-you places
or having new adventures
lies frustration that air travel is no longer fun
as you take off your shoes,
go through long lines,
sort your cell phone, change and keys,
carry-ons, wallets or purses
in plastic bowls and tubs,
and stand in an electronic archway
while guards stare
and wave wands over your body.
Just beneath joy lies fear
the world is no longer a safe place,
an unescorted bag could be a bomb
and anything could happen
since the towers disintegrated before our eyes.
Connie, this is excellent … and too true.
So well said. It sums up that mix of feelings i always get at an airport.
Wings of Love
Just beneath your pinions
Is where I want to abide
You wrap yourself in light
As your garment where I hide
Beneath your banner of love
Its canopy unfurled wide
Just beneath your pinions
Is where I want to abide
JUST BENEATH YOUR WINGS
SO lovely, Iris!
Just Beneath the Skin
No matter the color
Texture, size, shape,
Or cleanliness
Beats a heart that feels,
Loves, endures, believes,
Hopes, yearns, hurts
Just like our own.
We need know
No more.
THANK YOU FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY, ROBERT!!
Can’t wait to return later to read the responses from the group of AMAZING poets you’ve gathered here!!
Oh, Marie, I love you for this poem!
)
(and not only
Splendid Marie. Love your creativity.
Thanks SO much, Mariya and Benjamin!
Indeed… If we would only know this, we’d know all…
g
Marie,
Beautiful, meaningful poem.
Wonderful prompt – thank you.
Really great poems in the responce to the prompt everyone. MMT
Beautiful poem. Wish everyone could read your poem and take it to heart. What a world we would then live in. (Also, great prompt!)
Just Beneath The Words
Just beneath the words
lies the truth
of what’s being said.
I am always partial to powerful statements made with few words. Thanks for this, Rob.
just beneath the surface,
a seed waits for water,
to find its wings and rise,
rise toward the warmth
of the caring, loving sun;
to bear a fruit, a flower,
spread its arms and fly,
in the flirting spring wind;
to savor the first kiss,
see the butterfly’s colors,
feel the drops of rain;
just beneath the surface,
a life waits to be live.
So lovely, Leo! I’ve been enjoying your poetry very much out here, btw.
Just beneath
my tired eyes
sits my stuffy nose.
My throat is raw and scratchy,
an ache is in my bones.
I am awake,
though some would say,
perhaps I should not be.
For rest, they say is all it takes
to return the me to me.
Awww! Feel better, Chev! (At least you got a cute, creative poem from it!)
Just Beneath This Floor
lives a family of six or more.
Where they came from I do not know-
someplace warm – they’re not ready for snow.
I hear them talking, as I lay in bed
I have no idea what is said.
The words are music from a distant land
where the sun shines hard upon the sand.
Like a lullaby I once remember,
something mother sang one brisk September -
a song of love and beauty known
all I recognize is “Mi Corizon.”
Since we have such difficulty posting, I will say now that the poems we have been share are truly wonderful! I have enjoyed reading everyone’s submissions. What an honor to be among such talented folk! Blessings!
I agree 100% with your comment, Linda. And your poem is lovely and intriguing. Is this from a true story?
Robert- That is one of my all-time favorites of yours!
I know it! Me too, and that says a lot. GOOD STUFF, ROBERT.
>strong>JUST BENEATH THE RADAR
She talks of her mate, a Good and decent man,
the love of a life well lived.
She talks of her Lord, a Good and caring God
who brings love to her life well lived.
She speaks of her Zosia; her baby’s baby
her pride and joy and treasure.
She speaks of her “partner” like he’s her
guide and teacher, but who learns as much from her.
She tells of her Buckeyes (and the proud state with the O’s)
her home and favored land.
But she flies under the radar, a stealth heart
that loves and supports and speaks from that heart.
A Good and loyal friend.
This is a nice well speaking.
Awww! You humble me, Walter. Thank you so much … and yes, you are my guide and teacher, and always will be.
JUST BENEATH THE SURFACE
Calm demeanor,
smooth as glass,
cool as a cucumber,
solid as a rock…
But just beneath the surface
everything is churning.
There’s a fire burning
and you’re yearning to
explode and let your words be heard.
So you let things slide,
and take pride that it hasn’t
gotten to you yet. Just beneath
the surface, never let them see you sweat!
Nicely done Walt!
I love this, Walt!
Your usual excellence, Pard. This reminds me of one you wrote a long while back. Love that style of yours!
Just beneath
is a fine metaphor
implying hierarchy and closeness
in rank
between things and
their surfaces.
For example,
a nice foam capped beer
sweating
its frozen mug -
my commanding
good looks,
your icy stare,
the palpable surface tension
becoming
just too much
to bear.
I like this very much.
Uh huh! Excellent!
Now you got me thinking . . . (attempt 4 to post)
Just beneath the reflection of Narcissis
Just beneath the reflection of Narcissis
translucent globes cluster: over-ripe white grapes
contain in their swelling kernels, frogs.
The skin of light dividing the shore from its depths
paints a floor of tumultuous storm clouds
on the ceiling, and fools the eye with crows and swifts
where a bream flees a largemouth bass, a swallow
away from death. Nothing is what it seems: the key
past upbeat dermal charm and into flesh and plasma
rests in the heart of the sun. Cheat it. Scramble together
clouds and water, birds and fish, and enable
Narcissis to escape his fate, or leave him–
hollow, rotten, beautiful.
Narcissus
You always intrigue me with your words, Barbara. Another great write!
“the skin of light”….love that!!
wow……some really gorgeous writing/lines…..fantastic imagery…..kudos!
Sorry, I just saw that Marie Elena’s words needed to be in the title. So here’s my second attempt and I’m sorry I can’t delete my first and I’m also sorry to have to enter this nightmare of submitting.
JUST BENEATH YEARS OF WONDERING
lies this obvious
little wonder
of
truth
having her first breaths.
Lovely! I like the brevity of this “morsel”, as Benjamin called it
(this is the 10th attempt at posting this, I hope I make it this time)
I agree with Benjamin and Mariya, Andrea. Love it!
THE MOMENT
Just beneath years of wondering
lies this obvious
little wonder
of
truth
having her first breaths.
Sorry, I just saw that Marie Elena’s words needed to be in the title. So here’s my second attempt and I’m sorry I can’t delete my first and I’m also sorry to have to enter this nightmare of submitting.
And now I see, I can’t post any corrections because the website doesn’t allow them. Well, you just strike my title and use my first line as the title, right?
Enjoyed your poem. Short tasty little morsel.
Andrea, on Poetic Asides, all is forgiven no matter how slight the changes are. It’s ok to stray from the path a little, whether proposing a small title change, or if your muse insists on going in an entirely new direction unrelated to the prompt. As Robert harps all the time, the important thing is the writing (or poeming). Write to your heart’s content.
Hear, hear! (And good morning, Juanita!)
Beneath this line
Is a flapping flurry
of washing in a hurry to dry,
in this November
bedevilled by showery
weather.
My first comment, praising Robert’s poem and thanking Marie for her prompt, disappeared after the 8th futile attempt at posting. I pray that my little poem does not suffer the same fate. If it does, I GIVE UP
Hi Viv, Don’t give up!
Viv, always write your poem (and comments) in Word or any other word document, then cut and paste into the comment here. That way, no matter how many times you get that annoying message, you won’t lose what you have written.
flurry hurry showery – love this small stone!
Indeed!! Great start, Viv!
How fun! Love this. Nice job.
ViV – delightful way to start us off.
This is a little gem – very nice!