A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.
As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.
Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.
Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.
A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
The look of pity on the saleswoman's face said it all
my paint spattered clothing, however the jeans fit
just didn't have that panache, chic pizazz, tongue hanging
inspiration for desire a young woman out to have.
The car dealer took one look at me, led me to the far
corner of the lot, showed me the used hot rods
the beater four doors, the budget cutters like I'd rode
but I wanted glossy black, silver hood ornament, brand new.
Paint is supposed to sit on top of your nails, but underneath
is advantageous when compared to oil, to muck, to dirty guts
so I was a step on the ladder of the working man,
I could even afford to buy hose, which I still don't wear.
There's something to be said for the over glasses, safety
glasses look, white paper coat, something comical
one supposes, but the purple overalls worn for skiing
which suddenly I could afford, made me my nephews joke.
At times I waited for a date who preferred the bar
called and said maybe later, because passion rumbled
between us when we kissed but I didn't want a flit,
disease, broken promise, I wanted to be embraced
Cozy now, body motion are promises and content
passion is beyond me, the bar on the patio in back
the hand I always hold a missing app that answers
more lonely than any mistaken wish that he'd be the one.
Stars, too, I climbed to them in my dream, climbed
the Space Needle and found my self with no safety net
I always avoided those climbs the dreams more nightmare
even though I do what I am told, to reach, to soar.
Sometimes now I wear black on gold dresses which fit
to the nth inch, so I can barely sit, hold champagne
to watch golden bubbles float against the elegant
white linen against starry night event, that's rich, success.
Dump it gladly for a romp on the beach, the missing
something like threads through a woven maze,
like an angel's hope. When I dump it all and seek
there's grace lying on the shores between the rocks
a pooled place where deer come to lick minerals,
boulders come unglued and sail down river
and think, maybe I could do that. Maybe I could
unglue all the expectations and rearrange the world.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
Perseverance is surely the name of the game
With every challenge before you
It applies to the highest mountains you climb
Ignoring distractions is the clue
Roadblocks are there to test your patience
The glitter of gold clouds your eyes
Keep your nose to the proverbial grindstone
Much success will be yours by and by
I certainly haven't achieved all my goals
But employing this theory through the years
Has enabled me to increase the likelihood
Of avoiding many heartaches and tears
Working hard with the goal of cooperation
Bendability when shown a new path
You'll ultimately be placed in a higher standing
Great success will be yours at last
In closing please remember this friendly advice
To assist you in climbing life's tree
Compassion and patience are all important
But perseverance is surely the key
© Jack Ellison 2013
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013
O Lord! Thou art my Coach
I shall never be defeated
Strengthen me for this game
As I humble call on your name
Invigorate my heart, mind and body
When I fall, pick me up and energize me
Grant me the tenacity to win every ball
And courage to stand whatever befall
Yea, though my opponents frighten me
Like roaring Lions out of their den
My great Coach always inspires me
Your pep talk! Your word! Uplifts me
Though fear and despair bites me
Like venomous snakes out of the shadow
My Lord is with me everywhere I go
You prepare a strategy to defeat my foe
When the final whistle is blown
And the team heads to the dressing room
May my Lord, the great Coach when He calls my name
Say “Gideon! You played like a Lion, you played the game”
And surely victory, glory and goodness
Will hunt me all the days of my life
And I shall look up to my Coach forever
Walking with me now and ever!
The Poet Preacher © 2014
Ps 18:39 My Coach has fortified me with strength [energy, power, strategy, capability] for the battle [big game, contest, combat]: He has subdued [vanquished, beaten, massacred, overpowered] my opponents.
Copyright © Gideon Foli | Year Posted 2014
As I sat feeling lost and defeated
Conversing with an old friend
He offered words of encouragement
And this is how he began
My dear, life is far from simple
And it's more difficult the higher you go
For the more you learn, attempt, and obtain
The more hatred people will show
Always give yourself a chance
Don't give up before you begin
It may seem to be a feat in the beginning
But it'll be worth it in the end
Sure, sometimes you will face struggle
And yes, sometimes you'll even fail
However, it's those that stumble and continue on
That will conquer and prevail
Still, once you've reached the top
You're bound to fall and retreat
Yet, the key to obtaining success
It to get back on your feet
So give it an extra effort
Don't hesitate or refrain
Because without some type of loss
There will never be any gain
Copyright © Ashley Smith | Year Posted 2009
A LEGACY SPAN
Daily my precious gift my one and only life
A life which someday may run old and dry
Everytime it's prick with knife and strife
A continuous battle flaming how or why
A day to be with family then bond
A whole day sharing time with friends
A day to roam, reminisce the land
A Church day to praise and transcend
Sometimes, I will meet and kiss rainfall
However, I shall stand ~ try understand
Over heartaches and a jar painful
I wear my gear and take full command
Each Day, I will first stir the urge
To anyone needing some time
I will share opting not to splurge
To love and care my finest rhyme
A passing day will forever gone
My life sparks with Master plan
All things that's done and undone
My dusts dispels a legacy span
January 12, 2014
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014
The beam amidst the raging storm
Like a glum buffalo of fierceness
The seemingly engulfing clouds
The furious and pounding waves
As if a treacherous leviathan
Ever menacing yet perilous
Lo and behold, the sentinel
Stand still amidst the dicey phase
The beam remained unwavering
Static and prompt to repress
Non-submissive yet resistance
Such is a sentinel of vastness
An entry to "Sentinel"
Quatrain Poetry Contest
Copyright © Moon Flower | Year Posted 2016
Pop can Sally stock my pop.
Push the new stuff back!
Bring the old stuff to the front
and space them just a crack.
Sell me one to quench my thirst
but make me get my own.
Reaching further to the back
where cooler ones are known.
Take my change from out of pocket.
Thanks for this cold pop.
Refreshing when I pull it's tab
and help to blow it's top.
Guzzling down what rushes out
and soon to quench my thirst.
Swallowing it quickly now;
allowing it to burst.
Empty now a once full can.
Thanks to Sally and her pop.
The Pop Can Sally Store.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2013
One day while wan’dring far afield
I heard a tortoise shriek
“Oh, curse this shell, infernal cell…
I haven’t got all week!”
I dropped down low, I snuck up slow
then spied him through the brush
and though he scarcely moved an inch
he wailed, “I’m in a rush!”
The world a-turning; daylight burning
the angry tortoise crept.
I asked him what the matter was
and at my voice he leapt.
He ducked his head and pulled his legs
and huddled in his shell.
I laid down in the prairie grass
and waited out the spell.
“I’ve naught but time.” Said I to he,
“There’s no need for your worry.
Besides, I know I heard you say
that you were in a hurry.”
Slowly…just as turtles do
He showed one of his eyes.
Then slower yet, his head appeared
but he refused to rise.
“What do you want?” He asked of me,
“You’ll make me later still!
I need to get across this field
and over yonder hill.”
“The hare’s asleep o’er in the sage
he knows he’s got me beat.
So, there he naps, but joke’s on him…
I’m lightning on my feet!”
“Except my shell keeps getting caught
it’s snagged in all these flowers.
Unholy pack, upon my back
I’m wasting precious hours!”
With that he threw his tortoise fists
and did a little spin.
He almost got me on the nose
then gave a tortoise grin.
The flowers all had lost their grip,
his twirl set him free.
But the thing that happened next
was magical to see.
He gave me a slow tortoise wink
then went off like a gun.
I’ve never seen a beast of field
that he could not outrun.
I sat up in the meadow grass
and gave my head a shake.
A few feet off, I saw some ears,
the hare was now awake.
Although, that came as no surprise
I only can assume…
that he’d awoken at the launch
which made a sonic boom.
I dropped down low, I snuck up slow
then spied him through the brush.
And as he rubbed his sleepy eyes
the tears began to gush.
The world a-turning; daylight burning
the rabbit had just slept.
I asked him what the matter was
and at my voice he wept.
Entry for Burning Daylight
Sponsored by John lawless
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
So few needs that humans have
that some say bread and water.
Forgetting clothes and shelter
to leave you cold or hotter.
Who will make their list up
of what it takes to live?
and who will cross it off
should they be one to give?
Some will call them cheapskates,
skinflints, even misers.
Those who would pass judgement:
ignorant and chastisers.
So share yourself with others,
that rich may know the poor.
and both will be the wiser
forsaking all the boor.
Then think of those with nothing,
to know their many needs.
Remembering food and water
is the least of what they heed.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2015
Those who succeed have skills to lead
the ones whose kudos have not come.
True mentors know success's glow
is most powerful when it's shared.
for contest "Response to Potpourri"
January 18, 2016
#1: "The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies."
Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2016
Show them what they want to see,
Tell them what they want to hear,
The truth is what we claim to breathe,
When none can shoulder what we need.
Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016
The weeping of my unrealized dreams I hear
Coming from the deep well, of unforgiving time
Asking me, their aspirations to betray no more
But give them a chance for a victory sublime!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
28 December 2015
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015
No twelve-step indulgent spree
for getting over you.
I dismissed you in a hurry,
two steps I chose to do...
First, I man-handled my grief.
Spinning one-eighty degrees,
one short cry and I'm debriefed.
Mission accomplished with ease.
Next, I dealt with my revenge
after all, I'm human too.
Hundred-to-one you’ll come unhinged
when you see me with you know who.
Entering into peace at last
interesting truth I find
Ah, c'est la vie - tears are past;
you are a load off my mind.
Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013
They started at the break of day
For happy day of fun.
Each hoped to catch a mess of fish
Before the day was done.
They hurried to remembered spot
Where they'd had past success,
To cast their bait from a high wall,
With some skill, more or less.
These siblings wanted to surprise
Their unsuspecting mom.
The sweet, young miss was Eloise, (Ell-o-wise)
Her brothers Jack and Tom.
At first the fish refused to bite,
But these three persevered.
And each went home with their fair share
Before sun disappeared.
For Edmund Blair Leighton contest
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2013
I used to harbor lofty dreams
Of winning wealth and fame.
I vainly dreamed about a time
When the world would know my name.
But time and those rejection slips
Have tempered my wild dreams.
The ceaseless grind of passing years
Has mellowed me, it seems.
So now I breathe, create, and write
Simply because I must.
No longer do I crave those things
For which I used to lust.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2006
Well, he's goofy and gangly and thin up on top
And his real last name once began with a "Cop"
But I don't give a hoot about all of that
'Cause his box office draw's made his wallet grow fat.
If you listen quite closely to how this bloke talks
And you then watch how oddly he lists when he walks
Why, you'd think to yourself he'd be good as a clown
But I'm not trying here to just put the man down.
He's admitted that comics were where he got "Cage"
And his movies have made that fake name all the rage.
I've not kept a close count on how many there are,
But I tell you, my brothers, his fame extends far.
See, he's got this charisma that can't be denied
Plus a talent for acting that's as high as it's wide.
And he likes to take risks, gotta respect him for that,
Using methods that sometimes will end up falling flat.
One is called, NOUVEAU SHAMANIC, a phrase all his own,
And, then, WESTERN KABUKI, at which you might groan.
So his style's informed by the books that he reads
And he'll work it to death, or until it just bleeds.
It's a high wire act but with no safety net;
His unwavering panache makes me jealous, you bet.
Though I've tried my damned best to perform like this jock
On the set I'm as lame as a bump on a rock.
See, I've wanted to act since I was in 5th Grade
But allowed time to pass, maybe one whole decade
Before trodding the boards once again on the stage
So far back in the days when there was no Nick Cage.
I was hamming it up before Nick changed his name
Unsuccessfully striving to get in the game.
But to date Central Casting is as far as I've gone;
About all I've done there is to camp out on their lawn.
So I've hatched me a plan, will you please hear me out?
Take the shillings you're saving for Nick's latest flick
And, instead of enriching that overgrown lout
Send them here to yours truly, and best make it quick.
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
I stole this poem
with cutlass and eyes
words lusted and trusted
so I took of this prize
it's chests of golden
it's flashing jeweled verbs
and left letters worthless
to be picked by the birds
sailing 'cross bleached pages
under azure blue skies
I stole of my own life
and took what implies
existence on dangerous sees
to the edge of the earth and
boarded keyboard south of the keys
taking every word of worth
pillaging the hapless literati
demanding chains and trinkets
relieving authors boasting haughty
of bootied lines me think it's
better to hold to bright sun
to see glint in the daylight
some pirated pentameter outdone
without sword of pen to fight
so hang me dashed by a yardarm
an' tell lies of me glories
whilst takin' maidens in arm
regaling wild legended stories
but, me matey, ye'd better beware
of plagiarists fast on your tale
'cross oceans of notions they dare
pirate your own words to unveil
to their own laughing lasses and crew
drinking and toasting remembrance of you
what's a pirating plagiarist to do?
- but pirate a poem out of the blue
aaarrgh matey -
I'll be takin' them lines now...
© Goode Guy 2012-12-13
Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2013
Oh, I'm tired of bending my back for a buck;
See, it comes out of falling so far on my luck
That I now have to work with some tools and a truck
And a cynic might say that my plight's gotta suck.
Now, I tried putting Parker to paper, but then
A whole lotta nuthin' resulted, so when
The larder was empty at a quarter to Ten
I ran to a place that was looking for men.
They gave me a job scrubbing decks on a ship
And told me be sure and show up with my slip.
So, straight as a laser I sped to the boat
And made enough dough so's to keep me afloat.
In an ideal world I could sell my hack rhymes;
For the nonce, sad to say, I must roll with the times.
For as much as I'd like to go scribbling out verse
I'll be much better fed if I've coins in me purse.
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
With sort of papers bend
I can see it THE END
Though trembling unseen
Like forgot everything it seems
Heart and pen are at sync
Trying to overcome those obstacles
Struggling that horrible fight
As if fear had hold me tight
It's all broken ,there is rage
And confine in tag of failure cage
Yeah I am lost in maze
Fallen with every page
Even life is difficult to cope
But I won't lose it THAT HOPE
I'll aim straight for my success
Failing won't stop me from rising above
I will try try until I succeed
Won't let this failure breed
I 'll root it our like a weed
Then blossom with efforts in new seed
A sheet of paper can't decide my future after all
One never becomes failure with one fall
Summoning knowledge and peace
That's my very aim for top to cease
I shall rise above it,I will rise above it
12 June 2016
Copyright © LEKHIKA DUGTAL | Year Posted 2016
The child's imagination molded life
into myriad visions of dreamlike perfection.
She thought into existence what she wished
and banished all the rest through mere rejection.
Her games and her imaginary friends
gave respite from a harsh reality
where parents slighted her but siblings were
all pampered and revered like royalty.
She found a lovely island in her mind,
where all the brightest flowers were in bloom,
musicians played her favorite melodies,
and she escaped a lonely life of gloom.
There in her island world where she was queen,
fleet fairies danced and fantasy prevailed.
Her mind was a safe haven where she was
the center of attention and regaled
by her adoring subjects. She would sing
and dance despite complaints outside her door
from parents who ignored her until she
made noise and siblings who always paid more
attention to the tv than to her.
At times like these, her island fantasy
grew bigger and enveloped her in love.
There was no better place for her to be!
This child grew up and met with great success.
Her fascinating books keep selling out.
They tell of island fantasies and joy,
of singing sprites and elves that dance about.
Admirers ask, "Where do your plots come from--
and those fantastic characters and themes?
She smiles and says, "When I was just a child,
they drifted to my mind on moonlight beams."
June 5, 2016
Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2016
I slipped on a teardrop and landed upright,
With no tigers or werewolves to scare me,
In the long silent night so salient and tight,
Where there was no hunger and travesty.
Desiderata mounted as a goat passions one,
Front legs up, leaning upon his spritely girl;
Fuel of life, oh twig of gentleness unsprung,
Never do you appear contingent on a twirl.
Winds howled on and on under supervision,
It seemed as if they were tall and even valid;
Rains hit hard my fragile frame of collision,
For nothing and nonchalance did they pallid.
Hiding my face with a wooden, olive scarf,
And umbrella to enhance my laugh stout,
I braced the chill that bade me ill and dwarf,
To retake the lost love that i could not gout.
Vigour of kings, my heart leapt for plenty,
Directivity vitalised my lionising soft breath,
Towards my rock of goodness, my morality,
And I landed stealthily in my own free seth.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016
I moved onto the farm when I was eleven,
To the farm eroded of trees.
I’d stand on the hill in the middle of summer,
Unshaded in a blistering breeze.
Then the winter shook hands and my work it began,
Iron barrow, saplings, and a spade.
I planted, I nurtured, hundreds of trees,
Before I realised I’d been betrayed.
It took a plague of rabbits a week to destroy,
Every tree in my little plantation.
So I replanted each tree, surrounded with plastic,
In a war of land occupation.
Then the sheep we had, broke through a fence,
And devoured every little one.
Damn, new strategy, wire mesh for each,
The regrowth had, now, just begun.
Then a drought, “you’re kidding” every tree turned to dust,
Every tree I’d planted with care.
The drought broke when I was fifteen, so I replanted the hill,
Replanted on a wing and a prayer.
Now, thirty years since, you can’t see the hill anymore,
It’s blanketed by leaves on the trees.
You can now stand on the hill in the middle of summer,
Shaded with a cool, calm, comfortable breeze.
Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016