Inside a temple Jean sits quietly,
clothed in radiant white from head to feet,
soft pale hands and a Bible on one knee;
a smile she beams on each who take a seat.
Within the room is finest polished wood;
all is clean, and the walls reflect the light
of purity, which sought, is understood,
for here abide the honest and contrite,
and peace resides to blot the worldly strife
they’ve left outside; sweet solace eases pain.
Each soul here can reflect upon his life,
for godliness and solemness do reign.
It’s in the temple I envision her
once the Spirit does her heart bestir.
Note: Jean is my mother's name.She is a very
spiritual person who enjoys the peace of the temples.
March 4, 2015
For the Pick a Subject Contest of Shadow Hamilton
The wind is an easel of darkened hue
Under hanging clouds, my breath meets the sea
Where tears on night’s air linger to review
This pain once needled by love’s trickery.
Like a wing that rises on one blessed flight
Across the shores of hope trilling a dream,
Its fragrant mist hums gently to rewrite
The end of sorrow eased by a new beam.
And zephyr flings its stars , its promised grace
In hymnal joy for my essence, now whole;
Like a child of strength this gift I embrace
As tears become holy drops that console.
When life is pierced by rainstorms that invade
I think of wind chimes as my serenade.
Shadow Hamilton's Pick A Subject
My vision this is Freya in her house;
a pastoral tranquility the sound
surrounding pretty Freya and her spouse.
A gentle cloud, she floats around and round,
moves room to room, and drifts upstairs to down.
She has no need to fret or rush about.
A countess she can be and don a gown;
inside her ballroom dance and not go out.
And in a garden spot, when troubles mount,
perhaps she sits; for solace, writes, head bowed
or dips a brush in paint, and by her count
is showered with the all that love’s allowed.
For in the lovely manor, on its grounds,
imaginings and dreams can know no bounds.
Written 7/7/14; Freya is a real person I know; but her manor is my imagining.
For Elly's Encore - anonymous positive new sonnet contest
If love does not live so that love may live,
Wrecked on rugged rock like a pirate ship;
Tiresias speaks to hearts—no love to give,
Darkness and void with no inspired lips;
If love is quashed short of its golden prime,
Like dinosaurs smashed by a meteorite;
Crushed from its age of blossoming on time,
Like breath strangled from life not to unite!
Then O’ love, send me Pegasus to ride,
Spread your wings—lift us to Zeus in the sky;
Touching constellations with them abide,
Creating cherished crescendos for weepy eye:
Lightning life beaming love from golden clouds
Descending passion upon earth erasing shrouds!
Perhaps when the last bough has sailed away
And I stand here alone on twilight's plea,
I will remember each and every day
When gentle eyes kissed fears so tenderly.
I cherished our seasons through pain or shine
You opened love’s vessel to catch dawn’s tide ,
More than a father, a gift of lifetime
Until night cuddled wisps of your last glide.
A thankful song brings memories’ relief
Defining not what life is all about,
So sing with angels and take flight so brief
And will my wings to climb without a doubt.
This breath now calm on our hometown's lagoon
A journey far where your face lights the moon.
Regina Riddle's Contest:
Sonnet On An Intimate Relationship
The sky prepares the sun for night
where drifting clouds are slowly steeping
in tepid pools of waning light
where soon the moon will find her sleeping
above a field of wild blooms
where evening shade is gently seeping
into the brush where sunset looms
beyond the reach of shadows creeping
along the ground where light rescinds
past silver groves of willows weeping
teardrop-leaves that ride the wind
to dusty skies where stars need sweeping.
Through the trees, the breeze is roaming
like a breath into the gloaming.
For Andrea's "One in Three" contest
At night I lay my soul to sleep,
Closing my eyes there is no peep,
This soft bed is just so mellow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.
Forgetting the stress of the day
I am in bed without delay.
Soul at ease— the mind must follow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.
Satin sheets over my shoulder,
Keep me warm—not getting colder.
Fantasy dreams I now billow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.
At night I lay my soul to sleep,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.
The afternoon outlined. The sunny strokes
of a samurai blade on her body
revealing things the eyes feign see.
Tempted, wounded, the virgin parchment floats
between her skin and satin cloak.
Artist; afternoon, craving company
draws her inside-out so innocently,
on purpose leaves the yolk indwelling.
The painter in the corner moans,
he jealous of the afternoons artly
Improving skin, bare olive tones
of subtle pastel, the moment partly lost
to the constellations.
There’s a path of flowers I glide across
Such a beautiful color made of gloss
Orange pieces of delight made to pass
Within this meadow that is long to last
The blades of grass are surely tall with pride
Turning colors from green to brown inside
There’s a lone tree in the sight of the field
Where orange and red leaves become its build
Flowers impact this field in retrospect
Looking at it from my past with respect
Power of the flower is prominent
Secure in my heart which is dominant
Orange is the color of the plant’s choice
Field is glad of their presence, they rejoice
Let me tell you what I’ve found, my brother.
The nice guy is the one that’s the struggler,
because the ones who are not, take it for weakness,
and slyly, cowardly, go in for the jugular.
Please spare yourself and don’t try to explain it,
Those cowards court evil like a diabolical cupid.
They haven’t a clue, nor do they want to.
As the ole farmer says “ ya jest can’t fix stupid.”
Shake that well trodden dust off your feet,
Christ’s Gospel is preached by the way we act,
Let’s not get caught up in the worldly ploys.
Come back to Christ’s Kingdom. Let’s stay on track.
Better to be ill thought of with your Christian flag unfurled,
Than to lose His precious Peace, a priceless God given pearl.
written for the real contest of Life and Love
The choice is mine, to spend my time where seagulls sing for me
A day to play beneath the sun, have fun and feel no shame
My chores undone, but my heart is won by everything I see
Not often have I felt so sure, or found a cure to claim
I'll leave behind the pace the grind that keeps me on the run
Without a doubt, I want to shout, and thank the sun above
I'll hide away, and have a day, perhaps if only one
We are meant to have a miracle, a moment's breath to love
To pull down shades, on a sunny day, and grieve of life's demands
are not for me, I'll smile instead, assured of something more
Beneath the sky, I'll watch the waves roll in to wash the sand
and put on hold the old routine, that bores me to the core
To find myself, a sense of peace, a second step begins
All by myself, I will release, the breath I've held within
It`s peace in the forest, this night…
All stars gathered in the same breath;
The frost`s wolf chatters his white teeth;
Mourning old trees are all covered by light;
The wind increased his obsessive white;
Neighbors: the snowmen and a glass stag
When night is finally waving its white flag,
Dreams are hanged by luminous white of the height.
Winter buried its face in frozen white lands,
Long Snow drifts grew like glass clouds above
And covered the village and half of the church;
Sun seems a squeezed lemon by white hands.
Milk dawns, glass blower speaks slowly of love;
White field sounds with crows near one silver birch.
The Sacrament of Confirmation
Confirmation perfects baptismal grace
The Sacrament gives the Holy Spirit to root us more deeply in divine filiation
Incorporate us more firmly to Fr. Christ
Strengthen our bond with the Church
Associate us more closely with her mission
Help us bear witness to Christian faith in words accompanied by deeds
Like Baptism imprints a spiritual mark or indeliable character of the Christian soul
For this reason one can receive this sacrament only once in one’s life
A candidate for Confirmation has attained the age of reason must profess faith
Be in the state of grace
Have the intention of receiving the Sacrament
Be prepared to assume the role of disciple
Witness to Fr. Christ, both within the Ecclesial bond
Annointing of the forehead of the baptized with sacred chrism
Let the evils of the day suffice to themselves,
And the dark not descend to deeper depths.
Let our better angels draw their subtle breaths,
To softly sing of virtue 'round our souls' deep wells
As the nightfrost bears the spectral knells
From distant, dreaming, timeworn towers
Slowly marking magical hours,
Casting secret shadowspells.
Let slip our barqes upon the sea of dreams,
Above those deeps where memory sleeps.
Unloose the furrowed, careworn brow
As our ship above soft wavelets streams,
Unheedful of the kelpy deeps
Beneath the brightness we call Now.
The moon doth appear in that dark horizon
And glistens with a beam of drifting light.
Let thy passions stroll with the companion
Of forlorn hovering clouds in moonlit night.
O Nature, sing not thy lonesome songs again
For I doth find a friend in each of thy cells.
I rejoice in thy touch even in wrecked pain
And my life hath mend its stuttering wheels.
Dazed weariness once mocked my forlorn being
Ere it came unto thy shelter, Mother Nature!
Whilst my morale dips in bosom, come and sing
A song of Love that warmeth every creature.
Nature hath a bliss that drenches our dry mind,
Pouring tender showers amidst the roughest wind.
(This is the first time I have tried to write a Sonnet, so, please pardon my shortcomings)
Here and now, I sweep away stress of day
and breathe in contentment for only myself.
Finally alone, as thoughts come alive, I stay
awake, smiling back at framed faces on my bookshelf.
No counting sheep in the still of late night peace,
for a quiet house sleeps and children, tired
from busy day of play, are wrapped in fleece
dreaming of yesterday's Christmas. Inspired
by the warmth of memories and family, I write
this poem in the moment with my little pup
resting at my feet, husband snoring deep. Only light
coming from my small lamp and the stars. A cup
of hot tea on the nightstand is my only friend
when I write in the hush of the day's dreamy end.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 12/26/14
I wonder what your thinking, in your country far away
And what on earth possesses you to threaten mine today
You allow your people to starve, munitions they are first
While daily people starve to death and many die of thirst
Your father and grandfather should have taught you how to care
Instead they shared their legacy of treating people unfair
Many live in work camps with three generations or more
Simply because they disagreed, so now all must chore
You live in style above the rest, have people who adore
But deep down, I believe that each person longs for more
You teach hatred and despise my country each and every day
For freedom and free choice would take yours away
Your people follow in fear, like robots in a line
I wonder how long they will conform or will it be your time
More and more try to escape, or die instead of live
In a country such as yours that takes much more than it gives
Each building,statue, memorial you have to tell a tale
Of twisted truths and travesties instead they often fail
For freedom is what's needed in the country you call home
Grow food instead of opium,and leave the people alone
You have the power in your hands to change what was past
Hurry please before it's too late you must do it fast
Do not start a war in which more people will die
Because your father and grandfather started it with a lie.
The trees expand right over the water
Bringing awe, perfect brightness to the sound
The free-flowing brook moves swiftly over
Eyes can capture the young feelings abound
I enjoy the emotion that’s around
Loving of nature is proudly encased
Moisture by the emanating fog's sound
Towards a peaceful life that’s interlaced
I will always go cherish this day here
No other time nor place can sure compare
And my heart will always exist right here
Forever I will swim these fields and lairs
Tenderly open your eyes towards me
So when I come near, you can surely see
Little doll with curly hair, how did God
Make you so fair? With big eyes color sky
And with skin as rose as a healthy child...
Fall asleep as you hear my sweetest lullaby!
The radiant moon has come into your dreams,
What can she offer you: if not moonbeams?
And as you breathe, you resemble a cherub
That Rafael imagined to be you in that crib
When happy angels gathered and whispered,
" Little doll, gently lay on your golden head."
This nursery rhyme you will learn in time,
And sing it to yourself when church bells chime.
You'll long for a hand to caress your cheeks...
feeling its warmth while you will float on dreams.
We should communicate in poetry
eliminating all anger from us
anger kills just like guns in this country
we must bring peace here without any fuss
doing away with anger is the way
many will say anger is a good thing
because Jesus showed anger in his day
but the world has change the angels won’t sing
hine the light on all our dark thoughts right now
I do believe worldwide peace is able
since Satan is waiting with his big plow
I was taught all sins were forgivable
sorry is so much than a simple word
it’s a way of life your soul’s only sword
Thought of the once busy café gone dull
Brings me ideas that at once I’ll mull
Not knowing the reason for the escape
I strongly desire to join the landscape
The lonely feeling is what I soon want
Semblance of a café is what does taunt
I enjoy empty seats, I love the peace
Do they make enough cash to pay the lease
How long can this sentimental time last
Will it take me beyond and to the past
Not a soul is coming, I’ll enjoy this
The enlightenment brings me total bliss
I don’t know why this café is empty
I enjoy the calm and real harmony
Contest: CAFE MUSINGS
Sponsor: nette onclaud
South Africa xenophobic insanity
I have a shame to say I am South African now,
Look how barbaric is our fellow citizen are,
What a damage they have caused to our country’s image,
Image that one man spent 24 years in prison to create it,
They call it democracy, how it came they forget,
Dozens of our freedom fighters spent their life in exile,
What is exile we don’t even asked ourselves,
They spent their lives in outside countries illegally,
Fighting for this freedom,
They were treated with respect,
Treated with dignity,
And received any assistance in their endeavor ,
Endeavor to fight for this called SA,
Assisted by them we now call foreigners,
It takes foreign country for us to deliver the export,
It takes the foreign country for us to receive the import,
It takes the foreign country to boost our economy,
Whoever is a refuge must be treated with respect and dignity,
If you know how it feels like to starve, sleeping in cold, killed, suffrage and etc
For once put yourself in their stand,
They are people regardless of their status, legal or illegal,
Help them and love them the way you can,
If you are a human being in right mind,
Listen to their story how they landed in South Africa, their trip,
We are not sure if this democracy will last forever,
What if we starve in future and forced to become foreigners in their countries,
Or we need their assistance, financially or materially,
What about our businesses in their countries?
I believe anyone who is xenophobic is insane and need urgent mental evaluation.
Love your country and other countries as well,
Love foreigners, help foreigners like you will like to help your neighbor or relative,
I repeat the above lines a million times. Human must feel for human.
As if the words beg to float from my throat,
But only spill with the ink of my pen;
Only with nature's embrace and sweet coat
Do I feel truth form in words and begin.
Solitary confinement- I'll find peace;
Only within, I can feel the soft hum . .
With each stroke, and spill, a gentle release
To nature's sweet music, pluck, and soft strum.
Nature shall comfort, wherever I go;
No matter the warm breeze, or the cold bite. .
Caressed by nature, rocking to and fro'
While I admire each beautiful sight.
So now that no one's here to inspire love,
I'll find it around, within, and above.
The volatile excerpt reads “The behead-
ings that were carried out by the Isla-
mic State of Iraq and Syria, the
rage of hate is a control factor for
the power of the leader to be sup-
reme. Is this the measure of mankind?
The rigor-mortis that lay before us
is a terrorist creed dogma time clock.
None the less than government formed through doc-
trine of Qu’ran and Sunni stated to
be the divine order of all the land.
al-Baghdadi caliphate is mercen-
ary to the faith of the Middle East.
The rage of hate must be depleted now."
R oused was the first leader and destroyed.
a l-Baghdadi came on board.
G ruesome guerilla killed woman, man, and child for his caliphate.
E quality must be palpability today.
F ear that is caste by ISIS.
O ften is not considered by the people as a terrorist.
R egards are to the governess.
P opulations are nations
E volved to roam.
A spirations are not known.
C aliphate has formed.
E quity is commercial paper not shown.
Penned February 27, 2015!
This poem is a sonnet that is emphasized via an
acrostic for the desired effect on the stated form.
The Atlantic Ocean’s tide is ever flowing
I listen to it in my cottage by the sea
And at night so peacefully I sleep just knowing
I’ll hear it in the morning; it’s a guarantee
Few things in this life can be taken for granted
Perhaps only faith and nature’s constancy
But the sound of the sea is somewhat enchanted
Always offering a sense of serenity
I’ve chosen to dwell here for the rest of my days
It allows me to cast all my worries aside
There’s a hope in my heart these tides forever raise
A joy that erases every tear I have cried
The sea speaks of a power beyond that of man
A reminder that all things are part of God's plan
into the darkness we shall find peace;
into our lands so long ago....
we are now above everything else;
as a sermon waits for our presence below
hearing echoes and humming of creatures
so soft and discreet are the animals we love
the cretaceous periods at our door;
Now we must wait for one more
and waiting for us above in the midst of fog
is everything we wanted and more...
beneath all this we shall find ancient ruins
and some basic facts yet to be proven
you and I made it here once before
as we wait at the gate so calm and patient
At once we arrive together
feeling as light as a feather;
With both feet through heavens door;
As we walk in the light together;
dedicated to my family: Steve, Matt, Patti, Lisa, and Mom
Poignant this feel,
A loving will,
Comes with calm nudge;
Expect just this.
Love in sure ease;
Indulge this bliss,
Voice in still peace;
Echoes now hint,
Sacred path shown.
Hurl joyful tint,
Rest in the flow,
Endless fond glow.
10 November 2014
It's curious, finding
the way to God's truth,
Men knotting their
faith as holding it fast,
If called wrong, they
fight with nail and
By words they first
attack, then sowrd at
Methinks it wrong to
fight with men for
Who made the earth,
stars, moon and sun
In face of religion, see
Can't God himself
keep his foe driven?
He, who makes blood
run in veins of men,
Provides lungs from
huge air stores,
And food he feasts
from oceon, air and
Do need you fulfil
that Mighty's chores?
A man's needed to
have his faith inside,
Unlike rough, smooth
air raises good
smooth tide. Hashim
Morning rises in silence, without strain
Brings hope to a heavy laden tired mind
A fresh light to spread across life's domain
To unveil treasure this new day will find
Tomorrow came naked, without disguise
Revealing beauty and a sense of awe
To linger and wonder with open eyes
Watching the gray of night slowly withdraw
In the quiet of this space peace is found
As it fills lungs with a deeper breath, still
To feel the burdens yet carried unbound
Unhinge stress as the eyes begin to fill
To search the naked dawn for reasoned peace
Surrounded by calming light worries cease
Tranquility’s quintessence here resides
amidst the wild flowers’ fragrant scent.
And watching us, a timid rabbit hides
behind those shrubs where we have pitched the tent.
The streams of light from splendid sun we see
are gilded tendrils falling, cutting through
sweet smelling needles on each verdant tree.
We breathe in pine while relishing this view.
Suddenly - the warbling of a bird
dulcetly disrupts the quietude.
The sound is not like one I’ve ever heard.
Mellifluous, it does not break the mood.
We linger in this woodland hideaway-
blissful- as dusk swallows up the day.
For Brian Strand's
ANY POEM FROM YOUR ANTHOLOGY any form/theme max of 16 lines Poetry Contest