Tag: poem

Airtime
It’s a funny thing, someone told me once,
where we decide to let our attention rest.
Blood and suffering, easy contenders
for control of our restless gaze.

What then, if you realized the choice
is actually yours? Up to you, kid.
You are what you eat—or so it goes.
A knowing nod. A truth half-grasped.

I remember being young and fast,
a garden always growing before me.
Each season, an expansion of duties,
raised beds like castle walls.

Berries for pies, spinach that vanishes
like a magic trick—direct your eyes
to my lovely assistant as I make water
disappear into thin air above gas burners.

For my next feat, I will ignore the pain
marketed between car insurance
and cures for restless legs
and irritable bowel syndrome.

At the end of the list, they may cause death,
but so does life, if lived long enough.
In the meantime, here’s a story
about migrating monarchs and strangers

helping complete strangers as waters rise
above sea-level interstates, humanity,
like our breath, just doing what it does,
as wars rage on, vying for precious airtime.

This poem was first published in Beyond Words Literary Magazine (Issue 49, Summer 2024). I’m grateful to the editors for featuring this piece and for nominating it for the 2025 Pushcart Prize.
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July 6, 2024

Human Experience, Mindfulness, modern life, Observational Poetry, poem, Poems, Pushcart Nominee
Requiem for the Lost
The horizon unfurls a silvery veil,
a delicate, mocking promise of tomorrow.

In the quiet tremor of twilight,
ghosts linger, whispering shadows, sinew
threading through the fringe fabric of society.
The weight of absence hangs heavy,
a shroud over the fragile bones of memory.

Soon the stars, cold and indifferent,
will glint like sidewalk shards of broken glass,
scattered remnants piercing the heavens.

The city murmurs a hollow dirge,
a requiem for the lost, the faint silhouettes
against the dying light of day.

dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night #364
Optional Prompt: Sidewalk
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June 29, 2024

364, dVerse, dVerse poets pub, Homelessness, poem, Poverty, Sidewalk
If Only the Weather Were Kinder
We point fingers,
cast blame,
seek a culprit
for our suffering,
and yet

inner struggle
seldom stems
from external storms
alone.
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June 2, 2024

Mindfulness, poem, samsara
With Light, Darkness
Shadows stretch long across the pavement, their edges blurred and soft. As the day’s warmth departs, the cool whisper of night gently arrives with a quiet stillness.

We walk in silence, feeling the embrace of dusk—not dwelling, not raging against the dying of the light, but knowing that this peaceful moment will pass, as all things must. May’s blossoms, in their ephemeral beauty, evoke a silent vigil of memories etched in the heart. Where there is a beginning, an end must follow. With light, darkness. This is the nature of things. It’s okay to smile today.

Twilight whispers soft,
shadows blend with night’s embrace—
the sun bids farewell.

Written in response to Frank’s prompt for Haibun Monday 5/20/24: May Transience

“This week, let’s imbue our haibun with mono no aware. Write on any topic that you like (although bonus points to any choosing one related to May) as long as your haibun embodies that wistful sadness marking the beauty of transience.”

“New to haibun? The form consists of one to a few paragraphs of prose—usually written in the present tense—that evoke an experience and are often non-fictional/autobiographical. They may be preceded or followed by one or more haiku—nature-based, using a seasonal image—that complement without directly repeating what the prose stated.”
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May 22, 2024

death, fleeting, Haibun, life, May, Memorial Day, mono no aware, passing, poem, time
Ambition
There was a time when winning mattered,
pride aglow in victory’s radiant light.
A young mind open to the world,
I filled it with dreams, ambitions.

Lately, with age, I’ve less concern
for rivalries, save one—
the shadow of myself from yesteryear.

To better who we’ve been
bears greater weight
than youthful dreams of transient glory.

Today, Melissa is hosting at dVerse, inviting us to craft a poem inspired by a line from selected dVerse poets. The fourth line of this poem, “I filled it with dreams, ambitions,” is borrowed from “Hidden in my Box” by Björn Rudberg.
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May 22, 2024

Age, Ambition, dreams, dVerse, dVerse poets pub, Mindfulness, poem, winning, youth
Siempre Norte
A harsh, desolate, unforgiving land,
beautiful in the way things with the power to destroy often are.
The nights come on suddenly, the chill embellishing the actual temperature,
while throughout the scorching days,
the sun appears to inch ever closer to the earth,
a returning Mayan deity descending from Omeyocan,
reclaiming dominion over his ancient empire.

The animals who call this place home are rugged,
low-slung, and tenacious.
Armadillos and coyotes, snakes and lizards,
bristly javelina darting amid scrub brush in small packs.
Overhead, the caracara and vultures,
ever-watchful winged predators of the heavens,
glide gracefully, lazily upon ascending thermals.

The native flora seems overly defensive, if not outright aggressive,
shrouded in wicked spikes and thorns,
ready and willing to draw blood from any intruder
foolish or careless enough to venture too near.
A patchwork of honey mesquite and desert yaupon,
shifting caliche soils spotted with prickly pear and acacia,
yielding to dusty, windswept grasslands,
stretching, rolling, unraveling
beyond the wide, muddy river,
unfolding into eternity.

Here, in this desiccated place, liquid is a luxury,
the continually broken pledge of briefly gathering rain gods,
a dream that almost seems real,
a distant mirage shimmering on the horizon,
urging weary travelers to outlast death just a while longer,
as they traverse the aborted paths
of those who stumbled and faltered,
of those who sat to rest, one final time.

And so one step follows another,
having long since passed beyond the point of safe return,
Always North now, in search of salvation,
a silent prayer echoing in an anguished soul,
a small brown hand tightly clutching her own,
a fragile promise of reassurance passing parched lips,
attempting to shield him from the doubt growing in her own heart.

© Nicholas Allison, 2024

This poem is inspired by the arduous journeys of migrants, who traverse harsh and unforgiving landscapes in search of a better life. Their paths are fraught with peril, and the high death toll along the border serves as a grim reminder of the immense challenges they face. Each lost life is a testament to the urgent need for compassionate and humane solutions to the migration crisis. While I’m not advocating for completely open borders and don’t pretend to have all the answers, I do believe in recognizing the humanity of those seeking a better life. Putting politics aside, we must address their plight with compassion. To learn more and support efforts to address this issue, please visit Border Angels, an organization dedicated to advocating for humane immigration reform and assisting migrants in need.

Siempre Norte, was first published by Wax Poetry and Art Mag Issue 4, on May 15th, 2024, as part of the Socially Engaged Poetry Contest Number 9. I am grateful to the editors for featuring my work.
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May 16, 2024

9, art, desert, Immigration, poem, Socially Engaged Poetry Contest, Wax Poetry Magazine
Divided We Stand
Gone are the friendly policy disagreements
of my youth, replaced by vitriolic division,
my side is right and fuck you if you disagree.

Does time move faster as you age?
Each four-year cycle shrinks to months,
the campaign season never really ends.

The latest outrages, two tumultuous extremes—
a line that is a circle, meeting at the fringe.
Perhaps it’s time to batten the hatches,

and let this latest tempest pass—
surely it will pass, right? This insanity,
is it the new normal, this endless fight?

Threatening to drag the whole goddamn system
down, into the gutter of failed empires,
as politics and relentless news cycles
turn neighbors and friends into mortal enemies.

Inspired by Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #359: Tempest and this article from Berkeley Greater Good Science Center Magazine: When Is Political Polarization Good and When Does It Go Bad?
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April 20, 2024

359, Berkely Greater Good, news, poem, poetry, Political Landscape, politics
North Shore
What I remember most is the ocean.
How in winter, waves would swell thirty feet,
reaching, tilting, then collapsing
to rearrange the beach.
And how we wouldn’t surf,
content to sit in the sand,
hand in hand
on a Friday afternoon,
and simply be.

dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille Monday #199

Pen a poem of precisely 44 words, to include the word “Friday.”
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April 18, 2024

199, be here now, dVerse, hawaii, north shore, ocean, poem, poetry, waves
California Stars
Blinded by city lights and the press of crowded streets,
settled comfortably into the urban trance,
until one clear night, looking up, I suddenly realized
I’d forgotten about the stars.

Too long had passed since I last ventured back
to the pastoral scenes of my youth,
lay upon the cool earth, and peered out,
down, into the boundless cosmos.

Light from the dawn of time racing toward me,
yet somehow arriving late.
The silent gasps of ancient stars,
their essence reaching us only in their final throes,

as the universe hums a beautifully haunting melody,
like a whale’s call echoing across cosmic seas,
breathing into the night air
the very origins of existence.

Written in response to the NaPoWriMo Day 17 Prompt:

“Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that is inspired by a piece of music, and that shares its title with that piece of music.”

I chose the song California Stars from Mermaid Avenue, the 1998 album of previously unheard lyrics by Woody Guthrie, put to music written and performed by Billy Bragg and Wilco.

I was recently reading an article about light pollution, which brought back vivid memories of nights spent under expansive star-filled skies in various remote locations. From the deserts of Marfa and Iraq to the rural countrysides of Central Texas and the mountains of the Big Island in Hawaii—places I either lived during my youth or explored as a young man in the Army. The stars overhead always evoked a profound sense of awe and highlighted our minuscule position in the vast universe. I believe that witnessing the stars is crucial for humans; it’s a connection that is often diminished in big cities where artificial light washes out the celestial wonder of the night sky.
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April 18, 2024

cosmos, NaPoWriMo, night, night sky, poem, sky, stars, universe
To The Past
It feels like you are still with me,
Though I know you will never be again—
Never actually were, just an idea
To address the confusion of non-linear time.

How can I know you so well, tangible
As a tree to the touch—form and shape,
Though slightly hazy, murky around the edges?
I have photographs, proof of your existence,

Or proof that you never actually existed at all?
Pictures of memories that when lived
Were the same as now, the same as tomorrow.
It is and has always been only now.

The photos, I look at them now.
They are of now when they were taken.
An optical illusion, a trick of time and space,
A tracing of a line that is really a circle.
Gone but here.

And yet, at times, I miss you.
Is it silly to miss something that isn’t real?
Or perhaps reality isn’t in question.
But to miss something that is simultaneously gone,
Here, and yet to come.

Written in response to Sanaa’s challenge over at dVerse Poetics to write a poem of address over.

“So, what’s a poem of address, you ask? A poem of address is a poetic form that allows the poet to “speak” to a subject. Most of the time the subject doesn’t talk back because it’s a person who isn’t with the poet, or because the person is no longer living, or because the subject can’t talk back because it is an animal, a place, or a thing so this type of poem is usually in the form of a monologue.”

“For today’s Poetics, I would like you to write in the style of Maggie Smith and incorporate conversational mode of address in your poems. Pour out the first thought, the first thing that comes to mind and let the words take you forward.”
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April 17, 2024

dVerse, dVerse Poetics Challenge, non-linear, poem, time
The Canvas of Foresight
Gazing beyond today’s limits,
Into endless possibilities’ embrace,
The future unfolds—a vibrant tapestry,
Stretched across the canvas of foresight.

With deliberate strokes, we labor,
Cultivating seeds of compassion,
Shaping a world where justice breathes,
And freedom expands, vast and unrestrained.

Perched on the precipice of evolution,
We shake loose the shadows of worn paths,
And stretch ever sunward,
Bound only by the horizon’s call.

Written in response to Melissa’s wonderful prompt over at dVerse: “For today’s poetic prompt: choose one of René Magritte’s artworks featured in this post, or you may choose an artwork found in one of the articles I’ve included links for. Please be sure to let us know which work you’ve chosen. Write a poem about what you see, and what it hides. Look beyond the obvious. What layers of meaning do you see? How does the image resonate with underlying parts of your story? Show us that.”
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March 20, 2024

birds, dVerse poets pub, painting, poem, poetry, René Magritte, Surrealist
Night worn heavy as a cloak
Night worn heavy as a cloak,
streaked with dust of stars long spent.

Deep fractures whisper silent testimony
to the unwavering jury of time
and furtive battles fought against fate.

In the vacuum-hush darkness
a vast cosmos breaths its lament.

Written in response to K.F. Hartless’s post and 40-word image prompt at: https://khartless.com/2024/03/14/petite-pen3-14-2024/
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March 15, 2024

Dark, night, poem
The Morning After
Between the bright mid-summer sun
And the broken fields of folly,
Scavengers circle silently,
silhouetted dark as murder.

Their ever-descending flight paths
Cautiously converge in a macabre dance,
A slow race against the shovels below,
Vying for unearned spoils of war.
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February 9, 2024

Civil War, gettysburg, poem
Dreams of Permanence
The creek behind our home,
usually a dry bed,
splits from the San Gabriel
where dinosaurs once crossed,
leaving behind their steps in stone,
exhibits we share with our children.

Just beyond the creek,
where trees stretched to the highway,
now lies a concrete meadow—
buildings sprout rapidly
like saplings eager for light,
constructed with dreams of permanence,
though unlikely to last a hundred million years.

Forests, given time, will reclaim this land,
perhaps another inland sea,
or, more likely under warming skies,
and retreating rain clouds,
a vast desert.

And someday, some future being
might find a trace of our existence,
captured in time and stone,
and to their young, they’ll whisper,
Behold—homo sapiens once walked here,
before they set their world aflame
and vanished into the smoke-filled corridors of time.
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January 23, 2024

dinosaurs, fossils, History, poem, time
The Capacity of Words
In youth, we were warned to fear
the fracturing wrath of sticks and stones,
rhymes turned gospel, yet failing to see
the danger, the deeper peril our tongues can bear.

Not merely the whip-lash sting of sharp speech
that cuts like thorns, leaving valleys
gouged shallow in gossamer skin,
but the true might of words, when artfully wrought,
to rally unseen crowds into frenzied mobs,
to launch laden ships toward distant wars,
to send young men marching proudly
to untimely tombs.

The capacity to wreak systemic harm,
to kindle the fire in zealots’ hearts,
to burrow below the facade we wear,
unearthing the darkest fragments of our souls
eager for a sign to unleash their fury.

The sway to topple democracies,
to shatter dreams, to dampen desire,
to stoke slow-burning angers into wild,
consuming flames that scorch the earth.

Yet, when wielded with wisdom,
words can forge unbreakable bonds,
liberate the shackled, unify scattered tribes.
and light a path through the darkest minds.

They can offer forgiveness, bring healing,
impart knowledge, express gratitude,
lay to rest the weapons of strife,
and rebuild the cracked foundations of society.

They possess the power to inoculate a community
against the insidious creep of hatred,
planting seeds of empathy, kindness, and understanding,
which can take root and flourish,
spreading wider than we ever imagined.

In words, we find both the blade and the balm,
two sides of a coin, spinning in our hands,
its true weight measured
by how we choose to let it fall.

This poem was written in response to Bartholomew Barker’s Monday Poetry Prompt over at Living Poetry.

“This week let’s write a poem with the words below, side and true in it. This is another of those prompts where I randomly choose three words from a list of the top 1000 words in the English language plus a few of my favorites. Post your poems in the comments below.”

For a deeper dive into Bartholomew Barker’s exceptional work, visit his personal website at bartbarkerpoet.com.
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January 22, 2024

language, peace, poem, rally, truth, violence, words
Vaguely Japanese Houseplant
Draped in shadows, a pale Birchwood table
Mirrors the soft hues of the desert beyond.
It proudly supports a solitary houseplant,
Modest in size, assertive in presence.

Glossy blue-green leaves, gracefully arching,
Reach toward the waning light.
Amidst lush foliage, white spathes bloom,
Like flags of surrender unfurled.

Vaguely Japanese in essence,
An unexpected presence in this Southwest room.
Its name eludes me,
Yet hums a familiar note.
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January 15, 2024

japanese peace lily, plant, poem
Mornings in E Flat Major
The notes from the piano
drift out of the den,
curling around the wall
like raindrops tracing
the flaws
of a weathered window.

In the kitchen, waiting for coffee,
they find me,
mixing with the rythmic gurgle
and soft chuff
of the percolator.

I smile,
happy to hear her playing again—
Chopin in E flat major,
a nocturne from the songbook
I gave her for Christmas
two years ago,
secretly a gift
to myself.
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January 3, 2024

chopin, coffee, Music, nocturne, piano, poem
Chai-Mocha Eyes
The coffee shop I’m writing from today
Is my favorite kind of place.
Stained oak tables and battered counters, arabica brown,
Employee-owned, comfortably crowded,
Angsty barista sporting a shiny nose ring,
And snappy smile under chai-mocha eyes.
Hand-sprawled menu, simple drink descriptions
In dusty blue sidewalk chalk,
Cup capacities plainly listed in the language of the locals,
No need for hasty Italian translations,
Sonos speakers pouring a perfectly brewed soundscape
Somehow seamless from Dylan to Pavement,
Mazzy Star to Miles Davis,
Melodies landing lightly
Amongst the scattered conversation
Of eclectically caffeinated customers.
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December 22, 2023

coffee shop, poem

In-Between Chill

Winter rain etching erratic paths down window panes,
Blurring the world into a watercolor dream,
Painted with a palette of grays,
Slow, rhythmic tap-tapping on the rooftop,
Drumming a steady soundtrack of solitude on cold tin,
Not the up-tempo swing of a welcome summer shower,
Nor the hushed All Blues brushing stillness of winter snowfall –
But that in-between chill,
Too brisk for comfort under the open sky,
Not quite cold enough for the hearth's hot glow,
A damp, dark slate-tinged groove calling you
Back to the bed's blanketed embrace.

December 21, 2023

poem, rain, winter

The Last Time
Most endings slip past unnoticed.
The last swim in the ocean,
the final bike ride home.
One day, you lift your child
without knowing it’s the last time,
their smallness slipping from your arms
before you realize it’s gone.

A final bedtime story,
a last school drop-off,
a closing conversation with a friend—
all ordinary until they aren’t.

We mark the big endings,
but life is a quiet unraveling,
a series of goodbyes we never think to say
until we’re looking back,
wishing we had paid closer attention.
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December 19, 2023

life, Mindfulness, poem, presence

Tag: poem

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