"segued" poems - Hello Poetry

#*A thrown flat stone skipped across the snowcapped reflection breaking the mirror glass surface; rippling the glaring still waters the way a trailing piano note slowly decays to a sobering hush A gentle puff of silence segued into a fading whisper's echo* Jesse

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Apr 6, 2018

Apr 6, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC

jesse-stillwater

A thrown stone on still waters

#*A thrown flat stone skipped across the snowcapped reflection breaking the mirror glass surface; rippling the glaring still waters the way a trailing piano note slowly decays to a sobering hush A gentle puff of silence segued into a fading whisper's echo* Jesse

10

I remember when we were young, and the shark fin made by falling water droplets from the back-and-forth sway of windshield wipers on our car window would scare you Because you thought that the spaces we couldn’t reach would form monsters in their crevices, and I would laugh and roll my eyes, like big brothers did. And I remember how, on nights when we would sleep over at grandma’s, the pitter-patter of our puerile feet on hardware floors was the only sound to be heard. Shadows formed where the beam of my flashlight hit, adorned with fading Spiderman stickers and the like- and you would squeal under my whispered protests because of the unfurling octopus limbs that were the leaves of a potted plant. We grew older, and so did my suspicions, as you crept out of the realm of childish make-believe and into a world that even when showcased in daylight was a nightmare. Demons, from the deep fire that enflamed the world’s core tried to penetrate the surface, according to you. But as their hands reached forth out of the earth’s skin, they curled in agony, the evil of the earth halting their conquest. They fossilized and shriveled in autumn’s wake, gray and deadened fingertips just unassuming tree branches, the perennial reaches just fibrous spindles blurring in the sunlight. The world held prospects despite your macabre claims, And as we grew I distanced myself from your melancholic tune. Trees were trees, and bore fruit at summer’s twilight and the friends I made were all of the parts most sweet. I was content with the woman I met, she blonde-haired and lovely her free-falling locks sparkling gold in every light, and her personality as rich and as glossy. I was content with my life of looking away from spaces where our human hands couldn’t reach, demons out of eyesight in the beam of glass city buildings. But as the dusk of one day segued into the dawn of another, I grew weary, each routine just a part of this monotonous human noise to which I, too had voiced. And I found myself driving one day when thunder roared in the sky, rain once again pouring into its shark fin mold. Your voice came into my head, the demon hands that had had died trying to take us over with their evil but overwhelmed by our own brand of hellish wretchedness lined the freshly paved sidewalk, and with a twist of the wheel one unreachable space met another.

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May 3, 2013

May 3, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC

edward-hawthorne

Out of Reach

I remember when we were young, and the shark fin made by falling water droplets from the back-and-forth sway of windshield wipers on our car window would scare you Because you thought that the spaces we couldn’t reach would form monsters in their crevices, and I would laugh and roll my eyes, like big brothers did. And I remember how, on nights when we would sleep over at grandma’s, the pitter-patter of our puerile feet on hardware floors was the only sound to be heard. Shadows formed where the beam of my flashlight hit, adorned with fading Spiderman stickers and the like- and you would squeal under my whispered protests because of the unfurling octopus limbs that were the leaves of a potted plant. We grew older, and so did my suspicions, as you crept out of the realm of childish make-believe and into a world that even when showcased in daylight was a nightmare. Demons, from the deep fire that enflamed the world’s core tried to penetrate the surface, according to you. But as their hands reached forth out of the earth’s skin, they curled in agony, the evil of the earth halting their conquest. They fossilized and shriveled in autumn’s wake, gray and deadened fingertips just unassuming tree branches, the perennial reaches just fibrous spindles blurring in the sunlight. The world held prospects despite your macabre claims, And as we grew I distanced myself from your melancholic tune. Trees were trees, and bore fruit at summer’s twilight and the friends I made were all of the parts most sweet. I was content with the woman I met, she blonde-haired and lovely her free-falling locks sparkling gold in every light, and her personality as rich and as glossy. I was content with my life of looking away from spaces where our human hands couldn’t reach, demons out of eyesight in the beam of glass city buildings. But as the dusk of one day segued into the dawn of another, I grew weary, each routine just a part of this monotonous human noise to which I, too had voiced. And I found myself driving one day when thunder roared in the sky, rain once again pouring into its shark fin mold. Your voice came into my head, the demon hands that had had died trying to take us over with their evil but overwhelmed by our own brand of hellish wretchedness lined the freshly paved sidewalk, and with a twist of the wheel one unreachable space met another.

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Would that my life carried the pomp and confidence of a bombastic poem an overwrought daytime drama that bad action movie with the guy who’s too cool for this world Would that my rhymed greetings always trumpet a joyful salute blasting awake the tired and sad rendering all introversion moot Would that an invitation for a beer a my place be a more coveted prize than a free trip to space Would that every whipped up snack be a culinary masterpiece gasping in ecstasy my houseguests cling to their seats Would that the very tone of my voice render women to squirm and swoon render babies to giggle and songbirds to croon Would that any awkward silences be scrupulously sifted out cold cut conversations segued from hours to clipped and cleverly crafted banter Would that I’d compose the songs that bring young lovers close that wrench tears from the eyes of those more cynical than most Would that the clip of my canter be the cadence of the soundtrack of enlightenment Would that my goodbyes be an epic flood of emotion my friends and colleagues all so grieved to see me going Would that in life I be bigger than death and in death I be bigger than life. ... But what would all that be would that even be me?

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Feb 12, 2013

Feb 12, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC

isaac-grimm

Musing

Would that my life carried the pomp and confidence of a bombastic poem an overwrought daytime drama that bad action movie with the guy who’s too cool for this world Would that my rhymed greetings always trumpet a joyful salute blasting awake the tired and sad rendering all introversion moot Would that an invitation for a beer a my place be a more coveted prize than a free trip to space Would that every whipped up snack be a culinary masterpiece gasping in ecstasy my houseguests cling to their seats Would that the very tone of my voice render women to squirm and swoon render babies to giggle and songbirds to croon Would that any awkward silences be scrupulously sifted out cold cut conversations segued from hours to clipped and cleverly crafted banter Would that I’d compose the songs that bring young lovers close that wrench tears from the eyes of those more cynical than most Would that the clip of my canter be the cadence of the soundtrack of enlightenment Would that my goodbyes be an epic flood of emotion my friends and colleagues all so grieved to see me going Would that in life I be bigger than death and in death I be bigger than life. ... But what would all that be would that even be me?

44

Cyaneous heaven of cascades Segued into turquoise Besieged by smaragdine forests Pearly clouds strewn in silver sky Opalescent fish scales glinted as radiant honey topaz sun winked Emerald reeds swayed Ruby chrysanthemum blooms Dotted with violescent bellflowers

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Jul 9, 2020

Jul 9, 2020 at 9:29 AM UTC

Meraki

~💎~

Cyaneous heaven of cascades Segued into turquoise Besieged by smaragdine forests Pearly clouds strewn in silver sky Opalescent fish scales glinted as radiant honey topaz sun winked Emerald reeds swayed Ruby chrysanthemum blooms Dotted with violescent bellflowers

9

We were born before the sighs of surrender before the twilight whispered crescendo before the sad sound of the wind ― Ere the raw truth that tells a story through "eyes that are the windows of the soul" ― We were born with eyes wide open with tears that well up of truth unspoken, love arising like a budding flower,.. metamorphosis of fertile heart ― The wheel of life turns unbound an outgoing tide as certain as continuum abides ― an unbroken lariat until the knot comes untied A lonesome dove coos perched upon deserted garden gate; its gentle plea segued into a silent prayer ― Seasons change; supple buds of forlorn love ― wither, unsure if we’re alone or if we’re alone together (?)! .

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Jul 3, 2017

Jul 3, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC

wildisthewind

the tears that are unspoken truth

We were born before the sighs of surrender before the twilight whispered crescendo before the sad sound of the wind ― Ere the raw truth that tells a story through "eyes that are the windows of the soul" ― We were born with eyes wide open with tears that well up of truth unspoken, love arising like a budding flower,.. metamorphosis of fertile heart ― The wheel of life turns unbound an outgoing tide as certain as continuum abides ― an unbroken lariat until the knot comes untied A lonesome dove coos perched upon deserted garden gate; its gentle plea segued into a silent prayer ― Seasons change; supple buds of forlorn love ― wither, unsure if we’re alone or if we’re alone together (?)! .

46

(last night) The day’s raging rains finally stopped, humid summer winds, cooled into soothing breezes. ::::::::::::::::: a pink, purpled sky quickly darkened, calls of crickets, croaks of frogs they got lost in the air. the day’s noise segued to a soft echo of voices, .............f a d i n g ..........g r a d u a l l y :::::::::::::::::::::: 'til burning worries of the mind were calmed, forgotten for the night. :::::::::::::::::::::::::: lights turned somber and amplified a spreading, much awaited silence. All found their places, their own shelter in the comforting dark. nature...was in repose. sally b © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan May 17, 2023

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May 17, 2023

May 17, 2023 at 10:21 PM UTC

sally-a-bayan

In Repose

(last night) The day’s raging rains finally stopped, humid summer winds, cooled into soothing breezes. ::::::::::::::::: a pink, purpled sky quickly darkened, calls of crickets, croaks of frogs they got lost in the air. the day’s noise segued to a soft echo of voices, .............f a d i n g ..........g r a d u a l l y :::::::::::::::::::::: 'til burning worries of the mind were calmed, forgotten for the night. :::::::::::::::::::::::::: lights turned somber and amplified a spreading, much awaited silence. All found their places, their own shelter in the comforting dark. nature...was in repose. sally b © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan May 17, 2023

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You know what here I am You know what I am A forlorn drifter Drifting ever the nearer Close enough to see it almost touch it Definitely pocket full of sand Weighing me down on one side Walking always walking gimpy dragging Like a club foot--everyone stares but never says nothin Like I'm in a big city all shut down at 4 am rapping at windows looking inside Just to see not to hope Or wonder After everything closes before the early people stir I take shelter in a side alley Safe No one draws near for fear No one comes here Other gutters filled with gutterballs, not my gutter I move on I move on I never leave a mark I never land I tread soft and silent For a ******* People need to to know where they're going They ponder they question and they find out Something they already knew That they invented I don't ask questions. I don't want to know. I do know I'm coming up on it though The edge Cause I feel less human Yet strangely twofold more Desperation segued to having not To having too much having very little at all To morose disinterest Brutality to punishment to disengagement Whipped with the thorns of my stupid lie You know, I used to cry I was a silly girl needing learning Silly needed smothering out A spark can conquer a forest and all it's trees No point to die trying If you're dead you're not on your knees

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May 18, 2015

May 18, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC

k---m

Drifter

You know what here I am You know what I am A forlorn drifter Drifting ever the nearer Close enough to see it almost touch it Definitely pocket full of sand Weighing me down on one side Walking always walking gimpy dragging Like a club foot--everyone stares but never says nothin Like I'm in a big city all shut down at 4 am rapping at windows looking inside Just to see not to hope Or wonder After everything closes before the early people stir I take shelter in a side alley Safe No one draws near for fear No one comes here Other gutters filled with gutterballs, not my gutter I move on I move on I never leave a mark I never land I tread soft and silent For a ******* People need to to know where they're going They ponder they question and they find out Something they already knew That they invented I don't ask questions. I don't want to know. I do know I'm coming up on it though The edge Cause I feel less human Yet strangely twofold more Desperation segued to having not To having too much having very little at all To morose disinterest Brutality to punishment to disengagement Whipped with the thorns of my stupid lie You know, I used to cry I was a silly girl needing learning Silly needed smothering out A spark can conquer a forest and all it's trees No point to die trying If you're dead you're not on your knees

46

this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects being ma late mama's boytchik (now, she long since deceased, whose cremated remains of day scattered to all points on compass) fondly referencing both sisters as dabchick incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue, especially when angry, she quickly segued from mild expletive fiddlestick the latter playfully aired, when kibitzing wit bubeleh reminiscing being dirt poor, nonetheless zee mother every now an again homesick regaling the whole mishpokhe (meaning us brood of kids) interrupting herself with frequent non sequiturs discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects as if external forcefield jimmying a joystick interleaving disparate threads with subsequent tangential linkedin snippets with feigned lovesick chatting 'bout cockamamie "Grandpa Moishe" and his chaim yankel posse (to escape hen pecking nudnik "grandma Rebecca"), a trenchant termagent bubba, not averse to incorporate dreck in the same sentence with zayda ostracized him scoring figurative placekick, whence upon his schlepping back home met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick king atmosphere choking tearfully "mother" recounted farblunget anger thick lee palpable extremely discomfiting, particularly when ("mom's") girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt, where penury churned moribund thoughts viz empty cupboards devoid of bare necessities a figurative apropos yardstick.

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May 31, 2018

May 31, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

A Bissel Mashugga

this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects being ma late mama's boytchik (now, she long since deceased, whose cremated remains of day scattered to all points on compass) fondly referencing both sisters as dabchick incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue, especially when angry, she quickly segued from mild expletive fiddlestick the latter playfully aired, when kibitzing wit bubeleh reminiscing being dirt poor, nonetheless zee mother every now an again homesick regaling the whole mishpokhe (meaning us brood of kids) interrupting herself with frequent non sequiturs discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects as if external forcefield jimmying a joystick interleaving disparate threads with subsequent tangential linkedin snippets with feigned lovesick chatting 'bout cockamamie "Grandpa Moishe" and his chaim yankel posse (to escape hen pecking nudnik "grandma Rebecca"), a trenchant termagent bubba, not averse to incorporate dreck in the same sentence with zayda ostracized him scoring figurative placekick, whence upon his schlepping back home met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick king atmosphere choking tearfully "mother" recounted farblunget anger thick lee palpable extremely discomfiting, particularly when ("mom's") girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt, where penury churned moribund thoughts viz empty cupboards devoid of bare necessities a figurative apropos yardstick.

47