White paper boat
Her image fled among the trees
his realness to intercept,
some Christmas day! With scenes inept,
beneath dark clouds and deathward's seize.
A mercenary sergeant was
that fought in wars for many years,
ascertained charge to volunteers,
instructing e'er the warfare laws.
The coffee 'pon the mountain glen,
on twilight time of wintertime,
his Christmas warmed (recalled a chime),
the M16 A4's his friend.
A ranger, served elite brigades,
but couldn't tell how life was lost,
his apparition of a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.
He just recalled one Winter morn,
received her mail; on streamlet's banks,
next to the seething tracks of tanks,
he read her vows, on paper worn.
He never knew to phrase response,
and also thought she wouldn't wait;
his quantum was devoid of fate,
proscribing stronghold, Christmas' sconce.
On thawed snow-stream her worn mail goes,
white paper boat, comrade and guard,
his stare kept up, he was shot hard,
upon the snow, two qubits froze.
© 11-22-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Epic, Iambic tetrameter)
Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Contest Name: CHRISTMAS EPIC POEM
(for definitions, please read the "about the poem" text.)
Snow sprinkles the ground
as delicate as sugar
crystallizing the exterior with a romantic heritage
only found in the heart of a child's imagination.
Like happiness it can melt in your hands,
and like happiness it can grow bitter like the ice you slip on
Forming miraculously to the curves of the earth
hugging till the land soaks in it's providence
white like the pages I battle with
Falling so passionately you'd think it was falling in love with the ground
And when it lands,
A blanket of perfection
glistening the season to a crisp
gently the sun arises
"there's no where to go today,
I'm just going to sit and enjoy the magic."
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
In this cold wave I walked coldly in cold sweat.
Taking a brisk walk like we shared in the old times.
Where I was headed for, I couldn’t envisage.
But I was just walking hoping to catch a glimpse of something that could be a muse.
I came across a bridge; what seemed like a labyrinth for lost and found souls.
It was calm but very cold. It was still; the stillness seemed like a still alarm.
The sun was not out-of-town. It gleamed and its sheens were much appealing.
The tides were noticeable. They were out-of-the-way and seemed outpaced.
Though the tides were astronomical, the sea lochs on the far side of the waterway
were impressive in what seemed like an assemblage of oak fern, chinquapin oak and
deciduous trees and displayed a mirror image of the trees with a thin misty
atmospheric effect up-swinging as the warmth descend on the wintry water.
Though I walked in cold sweat, I wished for a cold pack
to sooth my icily feelings created by your absence.
Then my wishes began to pop up.
I wish you were there with me. I thought about what you could do with such sights.
I wish you were fleshly present in my heart.
I wish I could share with you this swift serenity encompassed in a deeply impressive
dignified quality with our hands clamped as we briskly walk on Christmas day.
I wish it happened on Christmas.
There once was a flawed broad named Maude
who wished to spend Christmas abroad
she ate Christmas dinner
with penniless sinners
for that was all Maude could afford.
Well ole Maude brought them black tea from China
and chocolate cakes from a diner
they ate guinea pig
and many a fig
while Maude poured them wine from Carolina.
Yes you've guessed it, I see that you knew
in Peru they eat Guinea Pigs in stew
they wear colorful hats
and watch out for black bats
Maude's dinner will be in Cusco, Peru
A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.
They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.
From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare:
Carnati - sausages kept in special aromatic smoke
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost;
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail,
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled
And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.
This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it the pickles cucumbers jar.)
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
A puppy that wouldn’t stop peeing on my tree.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Two Turtle Doves who dropped a load, as I looked up in the tree.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Three little kittens that my puppy, chased up daily into the tree.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Four sets of ornaments to replace, those destroyed by kittens in the tree.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Five different promises that he would again, put up, The Silly Tree.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Six strands of lights to replace those chewed on, by my little puppy.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Seven hugs and kisses, so I’d PLEASE forget, about the Blooming Tree.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Eight Trolls a milking, chasing cows thru all my hedgerow shrubbery.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Nine Trolls a dancing, that all fell on, my once beautiful garden fencing.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Ten Trolls a leaping, as Caroling candles, burned down into their hands.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Eleven Trolls a smiling and ready to rebuild my burned down front porch.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Twelve Trolls a hammering and a nice big bottle of Tylenol… just for me…
Plus the happy thought, I’d survived a Christmas gift, planned with love… just for me.
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and best wishes for twelve days of Christmas joy.
By CSEastman for: 12 Days of Christmas Contest
The Desert near Ajo, AZ
Funky town. Got to go. Drive up a road--couple a blocks from the Plaza. Road curves becomes dirt. Hard dirt—eroded dirt. Not a pleasant place for a car. Out in the desert as fast as walking through a door. Saguaros poked up everywhere. Three types of Chollas threaten. Jumping, Teddy Bear and the tame Cane. The Teddy Bear amused Zelda. She had batches of spines in her mouth and all four feet. I grabbed a rock and knocked them off. I pulled the barbs out accompanied by soft yips. She went bounding away to the next mess of spines. I woke just before dawn everything was rugged, but the sun was not blocked except by the horizon. Warthogs, those instruments of war—were still plying the sky, but they were high, high and could not be heard. Only the birds. Nothing else. Not a thing. My relations with the others are awkward at best. Harry was no problem, but I had a feeling, he was miffed. I know his wife was, as was mine. Something about talking with no concern for others. “You just go on and on and on. You don’t listen! You are a complete asshole,” Sue said.
Two little candy canes were bought at a store.
Excitement abounded as they’d have a new home, to explore.
Snuggled in a sack with beautiful toys all around.
Theirs was be a happy life, you can be sure, they had found
They arrived at their new home, as in a blink.
And what did they see, oh my, everything.
All that they’d dreamt of, was before them, you know.
And foremost was the tree… that they would call home.
The tree was decorated with such aplomb and fanfare, well done.
The children laughed and giggled as they ran all around.
What a riotous but organized day of joy it had become.
With tinsel, and ornaments, and lights so profound.
The candy canes were finally put on that glorious tree,
As, yes, a few were eaten by you and by me.
The ceremony ended when an angel was placed by Papa on top.
And no one made a sound, then vibrantly applauded as he came down.
Finally they all had dinner in the room beyond, that night.
As all settled in to wait for that illustrious visit, so right.
Joy abounded all over this house as presents were, so nicely wrapped.
And cookies were made to hand all about.
The last of the candy canes would finally be eaten on Christmas Day…
As presents lay opened and children did play.
Now don’t be sad for those two magical candy canes…
They stole a ride with Santa to the North Pole on that special day.
Merry Christmas to all at Poetry Soup!
Our baby Troll Lilly started a discussion, last night, just to help… you know.
So Santa, I hope you don’t mind some advice from our dear family of Trolls.
Lilly had a question on a problem, about your ride, on your famous route.
She wanted to ask you, what happens when the reindeer get really pooped out?
Yes, she needs to know, what on earth you might do… so to her, you’d get thru?
I tried to assure her that you’d be all right, but she didn’t believe, that was true!
She began crying buckets of tears, so we told her just what we’d do to help you.
The Trolls also piped in, with great ideas to help, so she’d stop all the boo hoo’s.
They decided, their dragons would do, in case of a blizzard, and for extra warmth.
(But they’re too heavy to land on roofs; I cried for a week with mine, it’s the truth.)
Geese would be great in some areas, no doubt! But watch out where lakes are about.
Hunters may be present; Christmas goose is yummy when family gatherings sprout.
Most birds are strong and sturdy in flight, but watch out when full night comes.
They sleep in trees, so you’ll spend the rest of the night, hanging above the ground.
Bears are really sturdy, with great power in every move they ever decide to take.
But I doubt you could wake them in winter, without a truly massive earthquake.
Unicorns would be impressive, but my Trolls say that… they aren’t really real.
I say that they are, but you’d have to be on guard, people want their magic, to steal.
Planes would be impressive, but in a yard… they are really hard… to try to land.
Helicopters are so cool, but you’d be buried in the blowing snow, where you stand.
Dogs are good for mushing, but you might need a smaller sled to stand behind.
But, a few Trolls are perfect, with unswerving stamina, and strength well defined.
Another could help tote toys, sitting behind you and Lilly, who’d be great, by your side.
These ideas cheered her up a lot, she was even laughing, and no more did she cry.
But if you use the reindeer, remember we could be, if needed, quickly by your side.
Have a Merry Christmas, and Santa; please give Lilly a Christmas wish ride.
And you can’t go wrong with reindeer, Lilly, and a few extra Trolls supplied.
Yours truly, From The Eastman’s and their Trolls