What playground does not hold the magic lure
Of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
In ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
And surging thrill of bouncing up again—
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
It's followed by a swing to new heights when
He'll know once more the joy of that plateau?
In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
For truly, were it stable, it would bore
The simplest mind; for only from the ground
Does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
And only in imbalances we feel
The balance that keeps life on even keel.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Teeter-Totter: Balance the Load
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper - Judged 10/7/2014
I hear lonely words call, I'm a poet.
I've kept them hidden as a souvenir.
Color painted pictures without regret,
And write with meanings not always clear.
Deep within harmonic strings play a tune,
And vibrate cluttered walls to passion's heart.
Shaking shadowed spirits to last commune,
And clutching imagined words that now impart.
Oh, That this beautiful connection stay,
And fill the world with my purest thought.
To allow words of wonder to convey,
Truth from a poet's spirit always sought.
Dare a poet share his sanctuary.
If his purest words are imaginary.
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!
The earth is heaving its last sigh.
Birds twitter in the growing chill.
I wait for wind to sweep the sky.
Like Icarus, though I may fail,
from this green summit, I now spill
myself onto blue heaven’s trail. . .
I am flying higher than high!
Wings carry me to that gold sphere
I wish to touch before I die.
Beneath - beasts cower in the grass.
Soon everything will disappear
and earth become like smooth cold glass.
The earth is heaving its last sigh;
I am flying higher than high.
A Cornish Sonnet
A bird in hand is worth two in the woods
Teaches us to take care not to be greedy
In the air, quite very easy to build castles
The water and the image are not a reality.
The image of sky and pool, even the wood
This material world is, philosophically, illusion.
We know the way to create imaginary world
We humans can not dispense with illusion.
Now slowly taking the hands apart or aside
The water, the image will disappear soon
It was just an illusion in one’s mind created
We live immersed in dreams and illusion.
“We are stuff as dreams are made on and
Our little life is, with a sleep, surrounded”*
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest : Pick a line any line
6th place win
This sonnet was written earlier by me (The Universe is Maya "Illusion") but
I revised and changed the title of the poem)
*A quote from William Shakespeare
* Maya means illusion in Indian languages.
Here we bow down to the Lord of the flies,
making way for elegant hissing gowns,
bejeweled in glittering serpentine eyes,
balancing the luster of crooked crowns.
Alas! We have lost our morality,
so blindly do we serve this filthy swine;
this vile beast bathes in our depravity,
turning our wretched sins back into wine.
At this drunk-fest, the swine ruefully grins,
watching us bow down to our own demise.
Why sit back and watch as the evil wins,
darkness can be vanquished, please realize!
United, we can make our final stand,
and banish this beast from our rightful land.
I did not wish to leave your warm embrace --
I did not wish for our sweet love to end --
And though your chauvinism's a disgrace,
I cannot help but see you as a friend.
Perhaps someday a sweeter girl you'll find,
Who'll do just as you wish for her to do --
A girl who doesn't have a thoughtful mind,
So she can focus all she is on you.
She'll nod her head, and brainlessly agree
With anything you say, to make you smile --
She'll cook your meals and serve you honeyed tea,
And never stop her chatter all the while;
So when your brain cells rot from lack of use,
You've only you to blame, and no excuse.
Beauty always lies,
where fixed are our eyes.
It is with the world outside.
It is with our thoughts inside.
For the hungry, it's in bread.
Great thinkers see it in head.
For the lonely, it's in someone's company.
All the wealthy feel it in money.
Blooming lovers weigh their beauties in lovely cards and flowers.
And every Child all the day,
sees beauty only in his play.
How wonderfully GOD has created beauty!
Some treasure it as possession,
Others take it as obsession.
All of us are born ignorant and some
Of us remain that way I'm sad to say.
The knowledgeable flourish and become
The shepherds, the dumb just piddle away
Their lives like sheep in a grassy pasture.
The ignorance in our society
Exists through our own design I am sure
To guarantee an apt propriety.
Without the sheep there can be no shepherds.
Therefore a symbiotic relation
Plays in the theater of the absurd.
There is no suitable explanation
Don't even attempt to state a notion.
Our roles are predetermined one by one.
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
wandering in thoughts.
promises and hopes.
Hand in hand,
tumbling on slopes.
This is love
Running away from this world.
Warm bodies sliding in sheets,
to find another world.
Burning in cold flames.
No fear ... no shame ... no games
This is love
I met a pessimist walker in Optimist Park,
She walked with a walker and a co-walker
Swaying on either side, not in her mark.
Crippled, stressed, depressed, a fatuous talker.
Troubled by blood sucking winged insects.
‘mosi-ki-toss’ many, many, ‘mosi-ki-toss’
Shouted she in her Serbian accents,
Waving her palm to drive away foes & woes.
Immigrants of different nations & cultures,
Come in search of shades of optimism,
Culminating in the Old Testament adage,
‘HE hath made all things good in their times’
Indulging in the mirage of meliorism,
Things are bad but can be of better advantage.
Eighth Place win in
Contest: First poem on the soup by P.D>
I wrote this sonnet visiting Optimist Park in Windsor-Ont-Canada. It is " thoughts recollected in tranquility"
The poem was posted on 16-6-2005.
The fierce, graceful tiger
(a fearsome, wild beast)
is not meant as dinner
for someone's lavish feast.
The giant, harmless whale
(a great, ocean mammal)
won't survive or prevail
against ruthless people.
All Earth's feral creatures,
of land, the sky, and sea,
are here as our teachers
and life's diversity.
Save man's endangered worth
and restore God's good Earth.
Your Love, My Every Thought
Send me to the pastures ripe, lush and green
nestled nearby a stand of mighty Oaks
In sight of placid shimmering lake scene
never been disturbed by boat splashing strokes
There I may soon see the wonderous sky
feel the breeze settle my tormented mind
All about feathered creatures sing and fly
embrace all woodland glory I may find
Beauty brings soft memories of you
flowers rivaling your soft flowing hair
Fresh newborne leaves sprouting out so new
my mind soon rested and without a care
I wonder how the hell all came to nought!
When your love races in my every thought
Robert Lindley, 11-16-2014
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)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 103
What motivation drives her infant feet
to push back at the ground she knows so well?
What causes her to suddenly rebel
and with the savage walking world compete?
To pull herself upright on virgin legs -
were years of crawling all too much to bear?
Or was she quite abruptly made aware
that dirty floors are but for she who begs?
How quickly in adulthood we profess
our hatred of the view from there below,
but from the crawl we learn to live with grace:
In knowing well its grave submissiveness,
in wanting to allow ourselves to grow,
we teach our legs to stand firm in their place.
Does technology give society
Unlimited sources of expertise
As though possessing advanced degrees
Or does it feed irrationality
Confirming only what we wish to see
And accepting the wildest hypotheses
While ignoring the facts that will displease
Our unquestioned conceits of certainty?
Complex explanations are suspicious
To filter the truth from the baloney
Unneeded entities are best cut out
Simpler answers are more auspicious
They call it the law of parsimony
Occam's Razor is what it's all about
* "The explanation requiring the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct."
May 1, 2014
Sometimes the road gets weary
Sometimes the road seems long.
Sometimes the steps are righteous.
Sometimes, I’m sure, they’re wrong.
Sometimes my steps are hastened
By actions meant to slow.
Other times they seem to be
Aimed higher….. From below.
So, every time I take a step
Toward destiny or fate,
I try my best to guarantee
It’s love I seek, not hate.
This is not meant to be a creed
It comes from some inherent need.
A lowly blossom, striving to sustain
her beauty in the early morning mist,
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist.
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell,
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail,
antennae primed and ready for the knell,
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail.
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray,
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst,
staving off hunger, say, is there a way
to count ourselves blessed, not feeble and cursed?
Predator, prey, both the fittest, the weakest;
who will prevail? I would bet on the shrewdest!
Goodbye to goodbye
Ageing, diseases and the dreaded death
All should be happy saying goodbye to.
Focused on this goal moves research on health
Progress they make which rises our hopes too.
Certain people through religion do this search
Immortality being its stated aim
“Dissecting nature like they do in research
Will lead us nowhere”, some of them do claim.
Yoga and meditation some prescribe
Citing rare instances of its success
Practices they painstakingly describe
Which makes one doubt if it’s not in excess.
Here’s hoping for a breakthrough of merit
Who cares if it’s through science or spirit.
For Harry Horsman’s “ Goodbye” contest.
The Death Of Socrates
What reasoning has brought you to this place
where death destroys your gift of sanctity?
Before the fall of night, and in disgrace
yes, all those hating you, shall make it be;
they'll label you confused right to your end
corrupter of all teachers of the truth
convincing all the world, you have no friend,
and die for untold sins against our youth.
Your good and bad has brought you to despair;
all indecisiveness in what you think,
the crown upon your head, where once was hair
outshines the goblet from which you now drink.
How can you bear the hemlock in such style,
almost as if the world can see you smile?
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Forms: Sonnet (a,b,a,b) (c,d,c,d) (e,f,e,f) (g,g)
Three stanzas and a couplet(a summary) ..
Ten syllables per line
You may search and find a saying to inspire you please
include the quote on your work..
Please use_ A Penny For Your Thoughts as your title..
A Penny For Your Thoughts
Father said, son listen to that church bell
Life just may beat you into submission
Or drag you deep into a living hell
To avoid that seek truth as your mission
Sound of truth rings so very loud and clear
Let goodness be your greatest living guide
On that path the Light casts away all fear
Your love and deeds you will not have to hide
Son asks, dad how can I always be sure
Will there not be days of terrible doubt
My son, live your life seeking to be pure
Then his love you will never be without
Tis' the courage to continue that counts
In this race , best we use our finest mounts
Robert J. Lindley, 03-14-2015
Poem contest entry...
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)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
N/A Total # Words: 115
Born: November 30, 1874
Died: January 24, 1965
"Success is not final, failure is
not fatal: it is the courage to
continue that counts."
My quote chosen comes from the famous and brilliant
quote from the epically great Sir Winston Churchill.
I had to slightly rephrase the quote to meet the ten syllable
requirement of the sonnet form used.
Strikes me that the deepest thought we can ever have is this....
Where do we go after this life ends and how do we find that path?
My poem gives the answer that so many reject...
Imagine a world where nothing matters
Think about it for a second, really
No questions like, was it worth it anymore
Not seeing the point of a world in tatters
Consider; if no one felt any fear
And people with confidence and no doubt
If they carried their dreams above themselves
Knowing how useless, all that they hold dear
Envision this world of variety
A kaleidoscope that creates a self
Picture each individual lonely
But deep inside there is homogeny
Day after day the cosmos continues
Then a final day where nothing matters
©david byrne jan 2013
For months our sun has hovered overhead
To crack the barren earth across its land.
The streams run dry, no summer buds expand,
No desert death has ever been so dead.
No haven safe as place where souls can run
Since truth, in brutal slumber, woke and found
A final fury tightly wound around
Each ember edifice of dying sun.
Malignant flaws turn light on human fears
and consequential truth replaces lies
as man forms memories with last goodbyes
remorseful eyes pour out torrential tears.
The final surge of heat falls harsh upon
The raw reflection of an amber dawn.
A Look Into Forever
I look upon the face of one
Whose beauty defies aging
And feel the anxious moment
Like a wild beast before caging.
The things I feel about
The one who stands before me
Will last a thousand lifetimes –
As long as she adores me.
And who can count the moments
Or add one single day
To a lifetime spent in praising
The One who leads the way.
This bond we cannot sever
Unless we gaze into forever.
Written by John Posey
THE WAY OF THE WORLD
World, if ever come again the frosty night
When jewelled dawn’s head advanced too late
And summer was cut short as a blight
On love turned suddenly to hate!
Asking what goodness, you must answer
As if jealousy, the weapon of the porter
Made you fill his questionnaire for cancer
And then have you declared the morning’s daughter -
Real talent can be virtuous because
A certainty is the bottom line -
Mediocrity is his rallying cause,
As if being clever, the world could turn you into swine.
Such fools are shocking, but keep the news discreet
When the queen is made a beggar in the street.
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
his tears caused contractions for his heart to pulse
floundered, looking for loves heartache to clutch
whimsical solace of her essence startles his impulse
shouldering the bane of a kiss that foreshadowed trifles
kooky huh? how time unleashes emotions restrained behind pride
losing his beloved inamorata to an admirer she mollycoddles
his heart became friable to the echo of her suicide
It was the absence of a note that left his worries unverified
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
Now alone and without; a lovers heart is mummified
he will never love another as much
the “ghost orchid” has become her epithet
the rules of this game have changed, misère ouverte.
I chose Bonnie Raitt “I can't make you love me” because when I listened to it it brought
back memories of my childhood feeling second to my fathers work. His physical presence was
always their, but his heart belonged to his work and still is. After listening to the song 5 or 6
times I thought of the question, what makes the heart feel for something that it can't
touch----like love, and went from there.
When I was innocent I dreamt of love,
a kind of love most worthy of virgins--
for whom a simple kiss admits no sins
or shame, or betrays the appearance of
disgrace; But I, blessed not as from above
by heaven or by God, quit, as life wins;
losing all hope and faith till my head spins
with the winds of lust that blew the white dove
of my innocence away. Then a whore
and slut took away my virginity;
she then revealed that there were fifty more
besides me, I recall most bitterly.
But so long as there is breath and hope lives,
love will come; and when it comes, it forgives.
What is man, his flesh got without assent,
Or the broad brushstrokes of his star filled mind.
Neither will sit for another's judgement.
One is chance, the other of boundless kind.
Perhaps man is his actions, though so oft
They go wrong or are unintended acts.
And desires remain surfeit or un-soft
Propel rash deeds, dark thoughts and sordid pacts.
If action alone can not define man
For marred by accident; then is intent
The mark to judge. But intent is more wan
Than acts, for can only be guessed at bent.
What is man, neither flesh nor mind, if not
Whom he loves and for whom his hate is hot.
I'm not the man I thought I was
I'm but a shadow seen because
A soulless light from somewhere shines
Lit by thieves in looted shrines
And kept alive by evil deeds
Done by men with evil needs
So who am I if not this me
What other self could myself be
If lit by light shone from within
Unsullied by this world I'm in
Perhaps a man born of free will
Who did not have the need to kill
In order to maintain the lie
That a shadow does not die
To love or not to love a woman? Which
is better? To love and love well is good
so long they who love love without falsehood
as their twain hearts so compel and make rich
love's treasures. As friend, she's best: never switch
a lady-friend into a lover, should
her all precious friendship and lady-hood
be injured and make her a hateful witch.
But, alas, to love God is best! Not I,
but the aims of this life and Destiny
make it so that men like me must decry
love's ambit for a life of poverty.
But if I could choose, I'd be more content
as love's disciple and caged exponent.