Standing outside his house a loaded hearse
Waits to take him on his final journey,
His chauffeur leaning against the gleaming limousine,
Expelling wreaths of blue smoke through his nostrils.
Further along the way eager young faces
Crowd round a temporary sound stage,
Dreaming of their first steps to stardom.
Head down hobbles an old woman
Crossing the street,her stick
Clicking with every painful step.
Oblivious to it all,burbles a baby
In her buggy,her mother
Frowningly wrapped in her daily concerns.
All on the way to who knows where.
Copyright © Denis Bruce | Year Posted 2005
Coach Belichick must have stumbled
New England gets the Jet’s jumbled
Game signals to read
All exposed—was this deed
An interception play fumbled?
Copyright © Duke Beaufort | Year Posted 2009
IN LOVE WITH LOVING YOU
Out of the dark, you'll hear my whistling,
this night bird searching out the heart of you,
who knows the song is you, and meant to sing,
and I, who feel your words, forever do.
In love am I, with all you'll ever be,
though you don't even count me as a friend,
I come and go, throughout your life, 'tis me,
you'll only know as steady, to your end.
This night bird knows the deep inside your breast,
your secrets never shared with anyone,
each tiny pain, you've thought to be a test,
each answer from each question--Life goes on.
Out of the dark, you'll feel me spread my wings,
In love with loving you, and what it brings.
St Croix, USVI March 27,2011
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2011
Life Would Keep Going On? (song version of If You Were Gone)
Someday if you ever chose to go,
This is what I would want you to know:
My life would keep going on.
I would allow you to go free,
To be who and where you’d want to be,
Without annoying you or clinging on.
No, I wouldn’t drag myself around,
Mumbling around, staring at the ground.
I’d still drive to work each day.
I’d watch too much television,
Or bury myself in religion,
Because my zest for life would go away.
I’m not saying that I wouldn’t miss you,
Because deep inside I would.
I wouldn’t ever try to replace you--
I wouldn’t even If I could.
My favorite foods would all taste bland,
And I’d cease to play my baby grand.
I’d stop writing songs and poetry.
My house wouldn’t feel like a home;
All it’s pastels would seem monochrome;
And my pictures would seem a mockery
I’m not saying that I wouldn’t miss you,
Because deep inside I would.
I wouldn’t ever try to replace you--
I wouldn’t even If I could.
If you were ever taken from me,
Freed from the bonds of mortality,
I wouldn’t be left behind.
I’d rather be with you up there,
Than without you in any anywhere.
Your loss would always dominate my mind
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015
A Poets Duty
A sense of structure within a theme
Imagination likened to a dream
Tell a tale set the scene
From life experiences we wean
A tale full of wonderful words
Gelled in rhyme to suit the nurds
A free verse of considerable worth
Exploiting the value of earth
Stories that may be old or new
Containing details not so true
But gives the reader a sense
Of the writer’s thoughts condensed
A poet’s duty is immeasurable to their self
But scrutinized and judged off the shelf
Of published works penned by them
read by those who would condemn
If your words make you feel good
Gives you a feeling of maybe you could
Be heading down the track of knighthood
Or voted to a heavenly sainthood
Copyright © Kevin Fairbrother | Year Posted 2020
The Closed Door
Shut the door
Locked it tight
Kept at bay
All that will ignite
The flame inside
Barely a flicker in sight
There is no silence
Behind the door
For the voices of my thoughts
Are loud and worn
Too many voices yell at me
Telling me what should or shouldn’t be
Is there wisdom behind these voices?
Or are they just critics of choice
My desire is to lock them out
Allow me to discover what I am about
Too much to ask at this date
However; it is dangerous to hesitate
Knock all you want
I will not answer your call
Leave me be
Until I decide to stand or fall
Copyright © Susan Rigo | Year Posted 2020
In awe, I welcome Thor with utmost glee.
The powerful celestial force set free
amongst the hills and over the coarse scree.
The winds that whip and slink — the hailstones loudly clink.
Flashes segue to link — I quell the urge to blink.
My pulse quickens at the rank petrichor.
I ignore being drenched, making my soul soar,
I turn my face to the rain to taste more.
The storm will not abate — it’ll make me very late
for meeting that’ll seal fate — my destiny won't wait.
Our tempers complimenting to a T,
and search for impressive clichés in sync.
Remembering that which had gone before,
I’m quite blasé about the hot debate.
This poem was included in the 11-poem anthology dealing with hailstones, in the online publication Pick Me Up Poetry, March 2022:
__________________________________________________
© SUZETTE SONNET—SUZNET for short (9 April 2021)
A 14-line sonnet of alternating triplets and couplets, concluding with a quatrain.
1. Rhyme scheme: aaa (b1–b2)(b3–b4) ccc (d1–d2)(d3–d4) abcd
2. The triplets are iambic pentameter [*/|*/|*/|*/|*/].
3. The rhyming couplets are iambic hexameter and include an internal rhyme, namely [*/|*/|*/—*/|*/|*/] (alexandrines).
4. Concluding with a quatrain in iambic pentameter that summarises the poem in a rhyme scheme set by the triplets and couplets.
5. The volta is at L9. OR the couplets may define pivots within the poem, ie a tilting or shifting in the mainline of thought. When the latter is employed, it needs to be uniform throughout the poem.
__________________________________________________
LEXICON
ceraunophilia: (n) A fondness (loving) for thunder and lightning and finding them intensely beautiful.
The term is derived from the Greek ‘keraunós’, meaning lightning or thunderbolt. On the flip side, ceraunophobia may be defined as a fear of thunder and lightning.
scree: (n) a mass of small stones that form a slope on a mountain.
segue: (v) 1. (in music and film) move without interruption from one piece of music or scene to another. 2. Move or shift from one state or condition to another.
petrichor: (adj) it describes how rain makes the hot ground smell at the first rains.
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2021
Words will sour
in your lust
for power,
it is these
deeds
that come.
Prayer is lush,
it makes
one cower
but pure
is the cure
that scours.
I fend off
these baleful insults
which tumult
through my brave
innocence.
The flower
of the flesh
is stretched
into power.
I oft come
here
and smell
the daisies
by the lake,
where bones so
fresh
waste away
in your wake.
Copyright © Brian Bronson | Year Posted 2022
Listen to poem:
I stand looking eastward, in the piccaninny dawn
I stand up straight, have a stretch, give out a hearty yawn
I am waiting for the sunrise, one of those times of day
When the beauty of this Place we live, comes with its own display
The horizon slowly brightens, as the Earth revolves
The sun appears to move around, as the dark dissolves
The rays start to stream vertical, the herald of the sun
Then the first part of the orb, a new day has begun
I watch enthralled as colours change, atmosphere in control
It is not long before the sun, is magnificently whole
The shadows they stretch out so far, hard to see the end
They blend into the distant shapes, Goosebumps they can send
As they are growing shorter, and daylight in command
Sunrise has gone for another day, Gods raucous, avian band
Plays all the different bird calls, is not sunrise grand?
All I can do is watch in wonder, was it really planned
As it makes its way across the sky, the Sun sees all the Earth
I think about the miracle, for what my thought is worth
The eons in the past gone by, no doubt the same to come
Just the passing of such time, it makes my brain quite numb
It moves toward its setting point, more beauty to behold
The colours they will vary, but with overwhelming gold
The reds they will be deeper, as the sun sinks in the west
Hard to say which one I think, sunrise or sunset best
As the orb sinks lower, shadows lengthen once again
But this time it's getting darker, daylight is on the wane
We'll have to wait till morning, once more to see it rise
Until dusk we can enjoy, the colour lows and highs
Copyright © Warren Mbaht | Year Posted 2022
Concealed from us the reason of,
My daemons and their mien. Because...
In all this time we never knew,
How deeply I have suffered too.
Copyright © Serge Tolmachev | Year Posted 2023
Imaginary numbers in his mind
Imaginary numbers in his mind
Imaginary counting in imaginary time
Imaginary numbers in his mind
Imaginary letters in his mind
Imaginary letters in his mind
Imaginary words sit 'top imaginary lines
Imaginary letters in his mind
Imaginary voices in his mind
Imaginary voices in his mind
Imaginary laughter, imaginary sighs
Imaginary voices in his mind
Imaginary stories in his mind
Imaginary stories in his mind
Imaginary people live imaginary lives
Imaginary stories in his mind
Imaginary numbers in his mind
Imaginary numbers in his mind
Imaginary nickels, imaginary dimes
Imaginary numbers in his mind
Copyright © Robert Schatz | Year Posted 2023
A Christmas Gift
P. G. Borgia
Dec. 2011
© 2011 P. Borgia
1
An evening of peace, city streets now still,
Snowflakes settle upon your window sill.
Snuggled in your rocker, so pleased to see
A day’s labor of wonder, trimming your tree.
2
Gleaming ornaments, lights sparkling bright,
A shining star, a blessed sight.
Toys piled high; your child will be thrilled,
Ladened red stockings on the mantle filled.
3
Raising your glass to warm glowing embers:
‘Here’s to Santa, he always remembers.’
Grinning at the thought, your eyes gently close.
Your work is finished; you start to doze.
4
Less than a wink, awakened by a tug,
Your child excited, giving you a hug.
“Look, look, Santa was here;
Presents and toys everywhere.”
5
“Can we open them now? Can we please?”
“If I get one more hug.” you playfully tease.
Another big hug, a sweet bribe for sure,
Moving hand-in-hand to gifts on the floor.
6
With a smiling peek at your child’s wide eyes,
Each gift opened another surprise.
A sense of warmth envelopes your being,
Praising your Creator for what you are seeing.
7
Gift-wrappings and ribbons strewn here and there,
You slowly move back to your rocking chair.
Your child stops playing, gazing up at you:
“Did Santa bring you a Christmas gift too?”
8
Drawing a smile with gleaming pride,
Your little Precious moves to your side.
Searching your thoughts, you simply stutter,
Moments of silence, you begin to utter:
9
“Once upon a time, on a Christmas day,
Santa brought presents on his reindeer sleigh.
One special gift was a stocking of cheer;
When gently I peeked in, my eyes did tear.”
10
“For inside I found a beautiful child ,
Eyes so cute and soft cheeks with a smile.
Today I cuddle that Sweetness in my lap...
Dreaming a child’s dream, enjoying a nap.”
Copyright © Peter Borgia | Year Posted 2023
The night was dark,
the night was deep.
I was standing next to the ocean,
listening to your cries as you all were drowning in the race.
I too took a jump into the water so cold.
Soon, I realized I was at the bottom of the floor.
I pushed myself as hard as I could,
but the ocean currents opposed my motions and made me slow.
I prayed to God to give me a second chance.
I again tried reaching up to the surface,
but soon I realized
I would be hated by the same faces.
Once again, I decided to set myself free,
but this time I was tied by my own lies,
hanging by the strings of my own expectations.
And yes, once again, I knew that these were my own creations.
Goodbye.
Copyright © Abhinav Sharma | Year Posted 2024
powerful and poised, she walks with grace,
radiating strength in every stride she takes.
optimistic and diligent, she seizes each day,
virtuous and wise, in her special way.
elegant and caring, her heart is pure gold,
rising above challenges, her spirit stays bold.
Trustworthy, true, and kind,
nurturing her loved ones with a gentle mind.
optimism defines her, even in the darkest hours,
meticulously working, she empowers.
empathetic and compassionate, she lends a hand,
nursing and supportive, she helps others withstand.
unyielding dedication, the path she paves,
motivating all around her with a spirit brave.
amazing is she, her wise words perceived,
nurturing souls and planting hope like a seed.
Proverbs 18:22.
Copyright © corinne namongo | Year Posted 2024
Hands falter, shaking.
I long to tell you, to speak.
Will you ever know my love?
You blush beside me.
I’m waiting for you, move first.
Love for you ever patient.
Copyright © Makala Schnablegger | Year Posted 2024
I have done everything.
I have survived the harshest winters, braved the fiercest jungles, and fought the most heroic battles.
You have too.
You looked to your friend, your eyes gleaming with secret possibilities. Taking a breath, exhaling your newest plot twist, a hidden magic, or a powerful talisman.
“How about I Am…”
But you never were asking for permission. You were simply weaving a story.
“How about I Can…”
But you already could. You were simply speaking a truth.
I have done everything.
I have lived a thousand lives in a thousand worlds.
You have too.
Dearest Friend, look around. There are glimmers of magic all around. Take a breath.
Watch the trees become a roof and the soil become the richest chocolate.
Watch your arms, Dearest Friend, for they are your strongest wings. Tell me who you are and what you can do.
We must hurry, it’s a school night.
Copyright © Daisy Hansen | Year Posted 2024
“Do you mind if I take this seat youngster?” the old fart said with a smile. He could not. The seat in question was reserved for my plastic shopping bag. Though the bag was only holding two cans of Sprite and a tin of mints, I still felt that it was worthy of its own seat. I had never met the man before, yet I had become well acquainted with the plastic bag as I browsed the aisles of Coles. “Nah, sorry Mate” I responded. As we drove off, the old man struggled to keep his balance due to the buses swaying nature. I giggled aloud.
Copyright © Peter Hicks | Year Posted 2024
You see all those flowers in the garden,
You like the rose more than the violets,
Sunflower seems to catch your eyes,
Marigolds never were your types,
Plucking up all those flowers you go home
and put them in the flowerpot,
You just don't want them to grow,
When those beautiful flowers turn dull and pale,
You threw them out of your house,
Flowers aren't meant to be yours,
They might seem beautiful and delicate,
But they have gone through wars,
The wind come blowing but they have stood tall,
Every night they cry themselves to forestall,
In morning they make your day bright,
Don't you dare to compare one with other,
Cause all of them are so precious and pretty,
They fill earth with elegance and sophistication,
You can't judge the beauty of black lilies with the pov of buttercups,
Love all of them, respect them,
Flowers are creations of the one above all.
Copyright © Manasvi Patel | Year Posted 2024