A pretty girl in pleated dress of red,
with collar laced in white beneath her throat
and matching bow upon her small blonde head,
is glancing round the chapel. I take note.
Though nails on little hands show grown-up paint,
she emanates no guile. She’s unaware
That in this world are some who wish to taint
all innocence; for no one do they care!
She nuzzles her dad’s face as on his knee
she’s sitting now - his sweet beloved daughter.
What menace lurks, from which she could not flee?
What evil lessons might one day be taught her?
She hugs her daddy’s chest; I watch and pray
she’ll live to hold a child her own one day.
In Memory of the 20 + 7 new angles of heaven~ "our own little poetry soup VIGIL"
A lonely bard can paint and write more songs,
Which birds loftily warble all day long,
Every note taps the heart of each flower,
Sprinkles dew drops while silent wind meanders.
Her ballad - a gem of all creations,
A home, hollowed not with admiration,
Chasm within draws perfect harmony
For stars to play a perfect symphony.
With knowledge and love, ink surges so deep,
The feather outshines the wind on its tip,
Lifting up dry leaves lying underneath
Every tale is treasured by golden sheath.
Lonely bard pens the lyrics of our hearts,
Where weary souls can find their road to start.
Aug 9, 2013 11.50am
By: Leonora Galinta
“I am a lonely bard
I have no song to sing.
This empty ballad is my home.
A feather against the dying wind-
-my only expression.”
-by my dearest sis, Poet Destroyer from her poem, “Umbrella”
This poem is a loving dedication/ homage to my all time greatest & most favourite poet, my loving sis & friend of mine & my number 1 inspiration.
Contest: Pick a line, any line from a poem of fav. poet
Sponsor: Richard Lamourex
A child's beauty contest I watched in such awe;
young girl in a wheelchair to her father, his all.
Escorting her on stage with such grace and pride;
each so blessed to be at the others' side.
A fragile princess in a purple pageant dress;
twirling her first in her chair then lifting her to his chest.
Their dance so inspiring; such an enchanting sight;
so gently he lifted her high up to the sky.
Sparkling, bright eyes and the most beautiful smile;
none deserving of a crown more than this precious child.
An imperfect body, viewed as a gift from above;
her beauty matched only by a father's boundless love.
Beauty in my eyes is not found in perfection;
but in acceptance, uniqueness, love and dedication.
June 29, 2014
Contest: Encore-anonymous positive new sonnet
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
There are many heads full of old age as beautiful
As the young age of years, past thus they are fully quiet
They're all full of wisdom, integrity and knowledge full,
In years old they've dealt with life and have conquered it.
Alas, many young men do not sleep, he may be at battle
Political or alien but they may be earlier worse
So the old can breathe safely and know longer tattle
Dismiss what youth meant but be converse.
Jogging into a gauntlet, then they being cut
Then they will utilize their five senses, so let it be
In dire consequences, they wish to live but;
If they could only live in tranquility.
I'm thinking of those who died and lived less grave
This dedicated to the many dead and not saved.
Written: Oct. 19, 20144
Those Glory Days, Long Gone
Those glory days resting so far bygone
I trek ahead, sad and so all alone
Treasures left upon lofty mountain tops
Rushing ever foward, no time for stops
Days, we resting under a shading oak
loving in vows that we forever spoke
Coolest mornings, breezing days easing minds
days of joy in all the many new finds
Those views of life sing forever above
crystal dreams set in our undying love
Nights of magic in epic love unbound
blisses in every kiss our wet lips found
Memories of days and nights now alone
holding memories of life so long gone!
Robert J. Lindley, 09-07-2014
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Total # Words: 100
Did it , hit exactly one hundred words + ten syllables
per line and great rhyme.. A solid sonnet according to
my own personal standards. Wrote it and had to minor
correct only three lines..
How grand it is when sky blue meets the sea
may sky and sand and water ever be...
reflecting in a topsy-turvy lea.
Oh, let the stars fall down and over me.
Yes, meet me where the foam does froth and roil,
where the waves do pound ‘pon glistening soil
And seagulls squawk in mismatched harmony
oh, let the stars fall down and over me.
Sea tossed, the dross shines ‘pon the glistening strand,
Gemstones born, where the sky does meet the land.
Meet me, down by the rush and roar sea
Oh, let the stars fall down and over me.
Here I shall blend for all eternity,
with life and death and love of thee for me.
The Shaman sits upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.
The sky above, the earth between;
took in her sincere pleas
tinksha’s toned, soft flutes droned,
her mantra’s dire decree.
To be the light on darkened paths,
within the night belayed;
and be the brave dark in the glow,
of God’s pristine light portrayed.
Her life long work no sacrifice
a love of mankind to display.
*One may be of any race or of almost any religion
and walk the Red Road. The Good Red Road is a path,
a way of living. It's full meaning is the way one acts,
the methods one uses, and what directs one's doing.
There is more to the Red Road than spoken word
or written words on paper. It is behavior, attitude,
a way of living, a way of "doing" with reverence -
of walking strong yet softly, so as not to harm
or disturb other life. The Red Road is a pathway to truth,
peace and harmony.
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art much more shrivelled and much more cold
Rough winds shake the withered leaves of today.
And your stomach hath too many a fold.
Sometimes too hot your sister shines,
And often is your grey complexion dimmed;
And you always smell like my uncle’s swine
Except your upper lip is less well trimmed.
Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st;
And Satan brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives death to eyes.
Having had mere minutes to skim your sighs,
anesthetize the tip of teeming thought ...
with platitudes for quandaries which fly bye,
we care for you, our frail flowers wrought.
The breeze, the muse, the bringer, the envoy
lends at days end, the tender bits of heart
as on the keys or sewing seams of joy
our fingers never rest from the day's start.
Hands in the garden smudged with chlorophyll
or wrapped about a naughty childlike pet
oft rest behind a trusty Parker’s quill
all healing touches given without regret.
Small and strong and full of life, they pour.
A woman’s hands give much to be adored.
*Women inspire me especially my mother.
Three dozen Roses, Red ,Yellow and White
To show my affection for POETIC insight
Her Quilled POETRY : Inspirations; ignite
The Pen in my hand as I write through the night
When words from her Heart, in a new POEM appear
I read it twice over 'til message is clear
The image so vivid as Roses "Pure" White
My mind carries her words in Dreams through the night
I wake up refreshed, with a pen in my hand
Thank-YOU Andrea Dietrich; I now understand
I will shout to the World; throughout the whole land
With a feeble Tribute to make YOU feel Grand
As my pen tries to emulate YOUR Talented Quill
Roses for Andrea and Her POETRY skill
Inspired by the Contest "A Soup member worthy of a Tribute"
Sponsored by " Richard Lamoureux "
Dedicated to the LOVELY POETESS
" ANDREA DIETRICH "