TED THE OLD POET*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
with ink-stained hands, Ted conjures up verses
with verses soft, tears he sheds
of dreams past and paths he tread
compassion for himself spreads
*Note:poem originally written and submitted to Poetry Soup, June 25. I later deleted it. This is my original poem.
Alas, all this pile, has not got much sense,
Ha’pence for all the lot;
Had but a clue I been taught,
I’d not compose utter rot.
weathering Wales in bleak winter is hard
though starred sheep remain sleek
taverns roaring fires a feat
making Celtic maidens sweet
~~~~~~~
Relaxed while my muse writes, I watch her think
and link words that ignites
with creative verse insights.
Her thoughts then with me unites.
Pungent scent plays on the breeze ~ what a stink!
One I think, makes me sneeze
Gagging with each breath, I wheeze
Because of that moldy cheese!
They knelt behind a photo booth humming
hymnals to a tooth-
decayed brand of gen X truth—
old gods' wants reclaim the youth.
I said just breathe in, uncompress your lungs—
re-tongue a kindness
in through mouth—now, hold your death.
Pen's pulses, still, stand witness.
My wind chimes entertain me as I write
of bright blooms and cool rain,
nearby fields of golden grain,
and life’s joys that never wane.
Seasons changed, and the rose has lost her smile
In a while, beauty goes
and now she'll bow in repose
As summer comes to a close
I went to search for a used winch in stuff auction market:
found not bad yellow winch
his owner said am from Welsh,
do payment now no more welsh
A day in third month, year to lock in heart:
Twenty-seventh, a start...
To share, live, never depart
Love is such an awesome art.
Silent generation stay stoic, speechless, pout, watching time run out
Boomers shout while Gen X'ers rant
Millenials meanwhile, run fast, breathless, noisily pant
Gen Zs the end now, run can't
A tale of a town at night where birds fly,
They die in the daylight,
If they don’t assume a height,
This position is their plight.
Beard or bard? queried chief counsel, The Spit.
Bared wit: "alike drunkn greif".
Berkspeller loose in the fief!
Beware, none sings from his lIEf...
Endowed with life that’s blest, my heart does glow
as joys flow midst thanks’ zest
to share love of peaceful crest
while praising God*, doing best.
*Psalms 103:2 Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.
June 22, 2025
Honorable Mention, "Straight One-Rhymed Englyn" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney; judged on 7/16/2025
Specific Types of Englyn Poems
Definition | What is Englyn in Poetry?