Past Best Free Verse Poems From Poets About to Die on Aug 2, 2022 at 11:23 from a Meteor Strike

Who Is the Best Contemporary Poet?

    The establishment can make you nauseous with its ingrained choices, and when it comes to Free Verse one might be forgiven if they are sick of hearing Walt Whitman, father of free verse. Not all fathers are good. Heaven help us from the children.

    In the 21st Century there are few who are readable without a special advanced translator guru. For the bulk of poems you need to spend thousands of dollars for a college course that will teach you how to analyze a poem under duress and torture. After completing a course of study, you will have learned the art of desensitizing yourself to the agony and pain of reading a poem.

    In today’s world it is still true that Poets are judged by how much pain and confusion they can evoke in a reader, or how well they make the most trivial banality risible.

And to the drum roll

If one searches hard enough through the galaxies one can sometimes circle back to Earth and find something tolerable for the layman. We present for the first decade of the Twenty-First Century 10 poems from Douglas Gilbert:

These were circa 2005

Watching Kindness

I saw you kneel
to heal a boy
who dropped a toy
smithereens a laugh
when your blessing
was an invention
of love new to him
who instantly lost
attachments to pretensions
pretending to be brave, but
became heroic
to embrace you as angel

I see
as did he
and this is
why I love you,
will share you
with the world

Grand ecstasy
when you come home
to me alone

I give you my awards
my affection tonight, but
I will gladly

have you leave
in the morning, for
I am proud to be
a friend to the angel who will
wash the world with my happy tears
and I fear not because

you will return to
the humble blessings
of me
—————————————————

We Are Glowing

From the journey of a dream
I awoke happy, enveloped in you
under covers

Enraptured in the blankets
of home
with you
of you

Our embrace is
the brightness
of us
with us

We are
the morning together
together in love

An awakening
is here to be
for real
at home

peaceful passion
satisfaction day

not dreaming
but being

in the lightness
of us
with us

we are warm
being the morning sun,
like banners waving
playfully above
the river of Love

extremely rippling,
our streaming
child to the river

Ripples of the day
we stream
like banners waving
playfully above
a gentle brook
child to the stream

The child’s babble
joyful enough
to be a gurgle
in a float-along morning

We splash along
embraced
by immersion
and the kiss of the day
fantastic
better than a dream
———————————————————

You In Me

I woke up to my
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream

If I dress to seek you
will I know where
passion gallivants

You haunt me with
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion

I am out to find you
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you

Still Rapid

For me I flushed, a
cheeky glow on me, when
I heard her
laughing in my heart
her oxygen in my
hemoglobin sanguine

Tincture of joy upon my skin
I touched her touch like lunch
of peppers and cherry ducks
in a row of charms
easy to cast as
fruit falling ripe
after blossoms bloom

Vitamin delight I made
floating on her river
tanning, burning in her light

We kissed our meal
to drink the day
a splash of love
in rapids

Throbbing In Crevices

Though there’s little food in Sugar Ditch
the rabbit hoped to hop from me
a foolish-stewing-hopeless creature,
who’d let luck go where
fecal creeks don’t drown
perfumed hope

Broken down in Sugar Ditch
waiting for a scholarship
I was wheeling like
lightning struck me down

The documentary camera came
just before a thunder wash,
saw the open sewer
that’s home to family shame

I pulled out my crying rag
time moaning sack of clothes
and the man heard me sing
while driving lightning roads

Honking horns daring me
to dream away from poverty,
I bent my trumpets to heaven’s ears

But no one told me
evil flies to me
every place I go, and
King Sorrow would reign
over sovereign hopes

I reached the skyscrapers
a tourist of bad timing
had to be the highest
place to see heaven
aside from you

After lightning struck this New York
I was lying under debris,
my quilted sorrow bristling
with cast off bricks

Mortar thoughts around me
being so damn mortal, I
could be thundered away
to the heavenly scene

But a steam pipe was hissing
while lifted stones flew away
like missiles whistling
choruses of dusty blues

Jaws of life jacking time
they slid my body out in time
let the building collapse on through

Thought I heard,
old Joplin singin’
more on Earth
will be slapping you
if you
dodge more bullets
from another fool

And when I sang right out
across the clapping crowds,
my best laid blues
went right to you,
New York girl
in a rabbit hat

Oh magical girl,
my new love,
you kissed the breeze
made illusions
fondle my wishes

Now I dream of you deeply:
my salvation laughing everywhere

To whinny, my dream horse gallops, your
giggling jiggling in my cortex,
cerebral fondness hunting for you
in pulsing fibers
embedded in desire
throbbing in crevices
of nerve-cell books,
passions hiding in no man’s nook.

You journey through my mind,
scampering mind dancer,
doing wild animal tangos. I embrace

your beauty in the hunt
to capture your essence;
my dogs sense your scent,
a presence so foxy,
they transcend all knowing
rockin’ and rollin’ in serotonin.

I have traveled into you–
touch me there
where thoughts are real
and lightning tingles fine:
hats off to
everlasting good times

When I awake to you
I am in heaven
——————————————————

Sax Piano Bird

If you will play
I will kiss your tune lips
’cause anything goes when
slinking down your keyboard
tickling doleful note doodles
plinking your chords
caressing pianissimo
bopping forte, top a’ ya board,
chording love accolades
staying for improvisations
when cool mistys get hot. I shall be cool

when you transpose the glory
keys to high toned harmony
that sees me exposed
with whistling kisses blown
all sax-ified, but that’ll
be after a race. Y’ know

it was a mystery that
birds of a feather could
get the winner’s name
from the horse’s
mouthwash, but
I heard them say

she plays with her pet cockatoo
at the piano bar
down by the racetrack
at the end of the race, and
I saw you

The bird said, “Leave a tip”
I said, “Baby Needs Shoes to win,
place, or show me a new tune”

She nagged the feathers off it
to snatch bills
out of patrons’ hands

After she played with her cockatoo
I tipped it into a snifter
hoping she’d play with me
’cause I bet on the nag, then
I said
to the showers

I said
To install the clean
in a froth of warmth
above a soapy love,
join me in the shower stall
by the steamy wall
where flights of fancy
are never scrubbed. If you will,

then I, with fragrant soap,
will wash in tribute
the toe that tested my waters,
cleansing the foot feats that two-stepped
when I was a mere calf
and you were knee high
to a love
like a soap opera. Sing

in the shower from your diaphragm
where no melting soap is barred
while I swoosh below your breasts
with swirling helicopter hands
taking off with haste
as whirlybirds land
on nipple pads. When you say

taxi to the terminal
the refueling hose can dock
and the passengers can be served
hot blessings, but remember
the fifth race is soon,
time to place bets
by the river
on the sailboats, although
we could check out
the entries
swimming in the
racing waters

where in trepidation
you can put a toe
in the water of my soul
as I kiss it as
I would a child’s boo-boo

offering you
a future, a splash
of my essence; I
breathe your perfume
a cherry-flavored love

You undress in my river
and I kiss your thigh
in baptism before lips

Like a mallard
I swim aside,
a breast in hand
and hand in bush

All goes swimmingly,
as I reminisce
first kisses
raising my mast,
sailing our ship, and
now anything goes
even past
the sunset,
in moonlit tunes
splashed across the stars
————————————————————

Backward Train

I’m fond of her biases because
she notices differences
like the eye on the back of my head

She’s the only one who
ever came onboard my train
not thinking it impolite
if I stood with my back to her
while I shoveled coal, and
still watched her front.

She did insist once
to stand in front of the furnace, but
we did take a vote to see if
we’d face to embrace–
it was four eyes to one
the ayes had it — although,
I did turn my gun backward once
shooting a bandit thus
keeping the cuddle just
so moving along
the track and train, but

next time I think
I’ll let her take the gun
in her third hand
——————————————————————

Diane Lobbies

She could not cook
what I brought to the nest,
couldn’t cook
lively recipes,
offerings too gamy

I thought I was
a bald eagle, but
Diane said to me:

“I lobby for
your oneness with me
with filibusters in thought
to block a vote against

Tempting shame once
I wore my red shoes
and unused womb,
bled red desires, those
messy wants nested with
last straws of perseverance
trinket twigs of yours

Come, Eagle, fly back
with wiggling gifts
to give us our child
our daily bed
sprung below
our spring to life, although

You emulate the hawk
watching for moves
but seeing no detail
gallivanting with all the wrong ladies
scattering lust to those
who would pluck your feathers

I have made you soup
when you were sick partying,
ladled out love gently
warm and spicy

Come back when
your peacock feathers are stripped
your hawkish manners grounded, and
land here in my nest forever”

Diane asks if
I am an albatross,
as if I would know
where to find
gooney blue skies

I offer to tickle her with a feather
and she is pleased that
we are not birds
just strollers into paradise
————————————————————–

Legend Baby

With lost soft hugs
lost pressing kisses
bear hugs,
Melissa is lost
has left me to be
haunted by ghosts
of guilt, of soul
I deny:
J’accuse my dear
you fooled me
against my nature

Oh Melissa, you
cried upon a star,
told me and the night sky
I was the father though
you had many lovers

Because the baby girl made
a lollipop microphone
I knew she’d be a star
a legend in her twinkle,
no end to promise

You were a mother
who watched bear legend TV, liked bears,
believed every myth seen
as cuteness lied and misled. Earnestly I

warned against them.
Listening to me in jest
smiling at me instead
you said
the wild child laughs. I kissed
the one who chuckles,
your baby luck
the one you suckled, but
you are at an end to sanity
your daughter lost
to your foolish love of all.

I changed baby’s diaper once,
watched her take a first step,
a father sharing labors.

But I was fine, I thought
’twasn’t mine in the end, and
though your daughter cried
I would not bare faced cry
for didn’t I say with logic base:
do not feed the bears,
not flour
not flowers
not porridge.
Hungry bears eat babies.

Listening to me in jest
smiling at me instead
the baby was left alone. That’s why

you could not stop screaming
clawing the tree
scratching your own face, why you
threw the empty baby carriage into the river,
childless

Fathers don’t let bears eat their children,
not the one read
“Goldilocks and the Bears” to sleep, but

if this is my dead baby
I will cry tomorrow.
If I were to believe
this baby were mine
I’d be as crazy as you, Melissa.

They were beautiful
and the woods are ugly.
Melissa’s baby, her Myth, and
my feelings are dead
to drift in my fog hiding
howling vain creatures
biting and sucking to leach
the guilt I deny, but
creature forgive me;
give me back my blood
my guilt, before death
makes me ghostly
too pale to love Melissa again.
——————————————————————

Reading Alabama

Jeannie dreamt of cherry blossom times
when falling cherished petals
rode on her shoulders like
dandruff thoughts
of springs past
jumping with him on bikes
pedaling home
to the sitting room
to shared cherries and
dreams of travel assumed
with sitars on their knees
playing hozannas from the West
like gospel cries
by the Alabama mist they’d seen
kissing faux banjos

1. Kindness

2. We Are Glowing

3. You In Me

(It says link color is not dark enough even though it’s the default link color, but it won’t let you change the link color unless you use the CLASSIC EDITOR but that’s hard to use with the color chart. Maybe need to start it in classic and then change color in the given code?)

(4)Still Rapid

(5)Throbbing In Crevices

(6)Sax Piano Bird

(7)Backward Train

(8)Diane Lobbies

(9)Legend Baby

(10)Reading Alabama

Tell Me Why She Dies

Tell Me Why She Dies

What does a non-believer do
when his love is sick and dying?

I do as best I can
what prayers she wants me to do.
I don’t want to disagree with her at all.

Yes, I say to her,
it is God’s will for her to die

But I don’t believe it
don’t want it,
won’t let it, because

she is perfect,
she is kind, and
she can not die.

I tell her:

Just tell me
what to believe
and I will do that for you

Just tell me
you will not die

And I will come with you
to any church where they love you,
where they’ll save you for me.

Don’t die for me
just because I don’t believe.

You know
I’d let you go
anywhere at all you’d love to be.
Kisses, and let me

make my tears into
rivers of love, but you say

there is another river where

I can not
swim upstream with you.

Go with love and belief
and take my paddle to
canoe yourself into the hands of your God, and

say hello for me.

A Stenographer Records a Child to Make a Card

My Poem For Mommy Steno
(Fiction)

Mommy, a Lady’s writing
big hand for me with commas.
Did you write me down, and
everything? Ok. Here goes:
No wait a second. Ok, umm

Mommy don’t let me cry too much.

I didn’t mean to be mean
to Daddy when he yelled

Didn’t want to make you
go to jail

Mommy, I’ll let him
touch my breast again
if they’ll let you out
from jail

Has he gone to Heaven?

Foster people say
you’re trash

Mommy, forgive me.
Didn’t want you to kill Dad.

Mommy, don’t let me cry too much.

My poem. Is it good, Mommy?

Lady don’t cry. Make it good? Ok?
Make it pretty on good paper.

Happy Song (2)

Actually not happy. An unfortunate tease is needed because the excerpt maker and displayer thing doesn’t format poetry lines and just jumbles it together. Skip this if you’re not in an excerpt box. I don’t really don’t want to copy the beginning with slashes. Do I? Loneliness is being good/One forlorn is/misunderstood///Loneliness is/missing you,/said that I’d wait for you/ And now you’re dead, and/it’s not said/pourquoi/xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Loneliness Song (2)

Loneliness is being good
One forlorn is
misunderstood

Loneliness is
missing you,
said that I’d wait for you
And now you’re dead, and
it’s not said
pourquoi

Did we not
quaff a brew
of brooding love
sweet sadness
You
understood…

My breeziness now…
is whispered song,
the duet is
left for dead and

you said you’d
be a chorus too, so

Life is draining
down a drain, and
all I know is

loneliness
is you

And there is no chorus
’cause
can’t believe this day
at all, and

I cry so loud
my dog
just howls
at me

and he with love
can’t
understand
a melody
that’s coming down
forlorn.

See Homonym, Will Travel

An Old See-Sea Saw

I have a theory.

Writing you while
missing you here
has been a love lemma,
a homonym dilemma:

I want to tell you
a homonym joke
but it’s in the telling

Y’see can’t write it —
just sounds fishy and
sounds like “c”

But, just mind sailing
on an ocean of love, um

I’m on a “c”-food diet

C note a telling thing
losing voice, joking that
I’m on a “c”-food diet

everything I see I eat
except seafood, Y not

sail home
do tell
see?

Torn by Love

Meager is the cry
of the baby, but
I have tried
not to tear
your torn tissues,
must ask your permission.

Grandmother,
I search for an amulet
to bring you
to soothe you. My
being is torn.

A girl of charm
not of tradition
is in my life, but
I am torn
by love
by being

Grandmother,
I do not wish
to be a tear of the eye
to streak a bloody torn cloth.

I am torn
by love
by being

Though meager was my cry
when you lost your daughter,
I have tried to be a prayer
for you and
for your daughter

Born of your
cries and screams
I pray

Grandmother,
you are
my precious Mother.
What charm may I bring you?

May I pray
for your daughter?
I wish I
had known her,
not caused
her death
though meager was my cry

I am torn
by love
by being.

Meet me
as I am
with gifts
with meager charms.

Grandmother,
there is a girl
who wishes to be
a woman with me.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

I pray in
many ways
we will all
grow together,
born into love
with your blessings.

Grandmother,
cry me into life
beyond tradition.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

Meet me
and her, your
new born-in-law, for

Loud and thunderous
is the cry of happiness

Join us in the rain,
Grandmother

Reading In The Circle Square


Oh please let me read
before the acrobats arrive
to drive me batty
claim my turf
near the museum
or in Central Park

Crowds gather to
see the somersaults
and the gray makeup statue people —
a statue that moves; what
is the thrill?

So I say in my false bass
to carry my voice for three blocks
echoing off buildings:

“Carp not the day, but
kiss the past good-bye,
consume the meats of glory
while salad days are over,
green envy of youth begins,
and I say unto you:

friends, toilmen, bumpkins
lend me your eyes to spy;
I have come to bury Caesar salad
not to praise tyrants as Caesar
fishy and salty like an anchovy

See me praise the dance
on the graves of the grave,
and praise the praise
brought to ceremonials

Cheer me
and I shall be cheered,
for no one can tell me
what the sound is
of one tear clapping
in a thunder kiss
applauding the future”

The Vandals and the Visigoths
the hoodlums of heckler youth shout,
“Shut up Shakespeare creep”
(I translate from the key of F)

But I see her of sultry look
turning to pull me into her
like a force field
to tear me from this
mob of barbarians
into her poetic world of fantasy, and
yes, I’d be her Romeo

I turn to her and read:
“I woke up to my
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream

If I dress to seek you
will I know where
passion gallivants

You haunt me with
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion

I am out to find you
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you”

I fold down my sign
pack up
walk to her
wanting to ravish

She says,
what do you really do

—- Douglas Gilbert

The Dress of Battle

The battle is lost and
I have not saved anyone.
She left with
nothing to wear
and nothing to say
when I sent her away.

Empty wars she said, and
she is not rescued nor am I.

How do you know if
the sun will shine
when the night is dark
and she has left forever

It is so cold alone
to be naked in the night
interrupted by bombs

Why dress for death
when lost blood is warm

How am I to bleed well
when she doesn’t love me anymore
and there is no rescue. Honor?

I don’t think the sun will rise
and I have no clothes
but her memory

Cat Wine

She’s wondering
if there’s been
nearly enough verse in a year
to fill a potion glass with cat wine

If then, perhaps, half a tale more
will be enough this year
to lick happiness
catch the tickle feather
teach puppies to meow and fly,
pussies to howl at the moon,
or play with a ball invitation
where the poetess has
the Cinderella glass
half full enough
to dance with the
Prince without portfolio
who owns a pumpkin farm
where a couple of stars can
twinkle in rhythms like
a rhyme wine glistens