Don’t count every hour in the day,
make every hour in the day count.
How heavy and quick are indifferent hours,
Their tread crushes the most tender of dreams,
And though time knows not its pressing power,
It tramples the heart, yet hears not the screams.
A dancer, sculptor or siren with song
beholds the cold clock and its silent charge,
Each stage, chisel and note aches to belong
to minutes that mince, steps buoyant though large.
These tasks of days grate and night pounds abuse,
But the artist learns to dodge, buck and roll,
How clever is craft! How wily the muse,
For we, the moved, do not cower or loll.
The sun bears down and a blue moon marches,
~ Beneath their weight, my poetry arches ~
*Written Feb 12, 2012 For Paula Swanson's "Trample" Contest
A Child's Thanksgiving Prayer
Lord, I thank thee as I sit to eat,
For mashed potatoes that I helped to make.
And thanks, dear Lord, we're having something sweet.
Besides the beets and peas, there's pies and cake!
I thank thee for the sweet potatoes too
‘Cause Mom put tiny marshmallows on top.
They melted into white and taste goo;
Bless Mom, this time her cooking didn't flop!
And thanks, dear Lord, my cousins came today.
I only get to see them once a year.
It snowed, and so we're going out to play.
Only my aunt Ruthie isn't here.
I'm glad she caught a cold. Forgive me, Lord.
It's just she talks so much we kids get bored.
A Dad's Thanksgiving Prayer
Thanks, Lord, for this day of our Thanksgiving.
I've got a nice long weekend thanks to thee,
Starting with what I call really living-
Football on TV for me to see.
I'm thankful for this turkey on the table,
And for my wife, who bought it at the store
Even though she had to read the label
On how to cook the thing and even more . . .
Because this was her first time hosting dinner,
There was a lot my poor wife had to learn.
But the pumpkin pie turned out to be a winner,
And the gravy(which I love), she didn't burn!
And praise to thee, my kid is not as bad
As those that my wife's sister Annie had.
A Mom's Thanksgiving Prayer
I thank thee, Lord, for this Thanksgiving Day,
For helping hands to clear away this mess;
For snow to tempt the kids outside to play;
For all my family and the meal's success.
I haven't seen my sisters in a while.
Though Ruthie's gone, I'm glad we all can chat.
The men are in the den. Each wears a smile.
They're chugging Buds and happy getting fat.
I'm thankful too that Mom and Dad are here.
They're taking all the kids to see a show
Tomorrow while the men are drinking beer.
I hope nobody gets into a row!
Bless Mom and Dad. The kids will have them hopping
(Especially Annie's kids) while we're out shopping!
For PD's "Gobble, Gobble, Gobble.. any food, thanksgiving
or turkey poem CONTEST.. Poetry Contest"
Here in the final pages of her life
She stops to rest a spell on empty lines
Reflecting on the chapters left behind
In valleys of a mind deep in contrite
Where shadows battle with a blinding light
Conflicting egos fighting on through time
Their argument life’s reason and life’s rhyme
They battle for the end that she must write
Two equal pens held tightly in her hand
Tears mingle with the ink spots on the page
One pen telling truth one pen telling lies
Her bleeding words like footprints in the sand
On lines between a novice and a sage
One pen she puts to death before she dies
Author: Elaine George
Written: April 20th, 2014
For Miltonic Sonnet Contest sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Awarded: First Place
Into smooth bright water, a stone is tossed
by one small boy whose day is nearly gone.
The stone, beneath small ripples, now is lost
while on those ripples drifts a lovely swan.
The fisher boy can see the bird’s white wings
have caught a glint of sunlight from the sky,
and in the breeze they gleam while rippling.
Beneath the swan, a fish is passing by.
undulating silver in reflected sun.
The boy’s sweet laughter ripples, for the fish
is caught just as the afternoon is done,
fulfilling his most current fervent wish.
One stone’s throw, then the fish was on his line!
Bright rewards appear in a ripple in time.
My Captain! Oh, my Captain! Captain, mine!
The sea, that wretched tempest rolled you deep!
She kept you from me squandering the time!
How long before you're free this vixen's keep?
Each day, in vain, I walk the roof top watch,
While searching the horizon for your sail.
At night, by lantern light, I touch each notch,
Where last you carved our names within the rail.
By candle light I read your letter sent,
About the journey's quest and your return.
How travasties and sickness unrelent...
But, still, your love eternal for me burns.
Tonight, upon the widow's walk I stand...
The moon reveals your footprints, in the sand.
~by deborah burch©
For "Debbie and Cyndi's Sonneteer's" contest
This past week I lost two good friends. The one friend I lost to cancer. The poor guy
suffered horribly. All through his ordeal his wife was by his bedside. I began to reflect
on this and I tried to put myself in his place. What would I say? What would I think
knowing I was about to die? Shortly after I composed this sonnet.
Weep no tears for me at this time and place.
A thousand eyes change not my destiny.
All living things must die eventually
Except my love for you, which I embrace.
Feel not sad for me looking at my face
Although it's old and wrinkled you can see
A budding rose should age so gracefully.
My time grows near my love; in any case
Your life goes on nevertheless my love.
So wipe those eyes dry of life's mournful dew
And think not this time undeserving of.
Life had been kind, more so, finding you.
A lifelong companion envied above
By angels and cherubs alike. Adieu!
Go cast your stones if you will, and tell me
Your innocence is more just than her cause
Or read me in sand, flee her victory
Where you link the chain of demonic laws
For she a slave of your intent consent none
To this, but hostage of your will and greed
Whipped by necessity to a blind sun
She paid your pound of flesh, and virtues bleed
For better judgment where I intercede
Her sovereign love my sure kingdom's seed.
She rose seven times, for just here she fell
Her hair to wipe my grief, my pain urging hell
Upon her hectic heart, her tears my balm:
Her love mauled, frames the cross fore me in calm
You are my Mary, ever so I deem
My ardent alabaster memory
The brimming balm of my bright healing stream
The paradox of love and history
Let no paltry scholar your virtue stain
Nor prelate assault your virtue's domain
For love cancels a thousand faults more
Than sins that litter mercy's teeming shore
I will cover you when raw winds blow cold
I'll be your shade from the blaze of noon
And love you best of earth's sweet jealous fold
You are my sovereign of stars or moon
O Mary, don't you weep, don't you cry, behold
My heart, I lay me down your street of gold.
No woman so deserves my heart like you
No sinner more my love makes once more new
No blemish, spot, or taint of wrong in you
No love for me more constant and more true
O Magdala, Magdala, no wise men
Gift as sweet, or to their purpose remain
As your sweet honor, vilified and rend
Did ever assuage the loom of my pain.
I love you till there shall be no more sea
I love you till mountains are fled and gone
I love you till time turns to eternity
I love you through the everlasting dawn
O Mary, let me wipe away all tears
From your eyes, give me the cross of your cares.
One day before we build another house
Or plant a vineyard new, to the garden
Come, here with me, and be my ransomed spouse
And jasmines plant in love's sweet heaven
And hibiscus for the honey I'll drink
Like a hummingbird at your sacred tongue
One day love, ere the stars forever sink
And angels ascend the breathless rung
We will smell the jasmines blooming, and kiss
Upon the scented air, we will embrace
Our drowsed dreams within the wakening mist
And laugh like children in love's fragrant place
One day love, the time of separation
Will past, then Mary, our celebration!
Remembering that night of our last touch,
when nothing was between us we should know,
in love with loving you, and just how much
I wonder where in time do such nights go?
Forbidden like a box that's sealed up tight,
or like the flame that Zeus refused to share
with mortals such as we, and on this night,
Pandora's box was opened everywhere,
you were, that night, my first and only love
and always shall remain that part of me,
created from the earth and waters of
a night that Aphrodite made to be.
And I am more than blessed for loving you
forever and all time, as I shall do.
© RON WILSON aka vee bdosa
Wide twisted grayed white cloud of thunder
O'er ground so hallowed waiting in asunder
A tale untold until the flash of crashing light
Unfolds to show the shattered scene of blight
What is this rack of torment in suspense
To cause this pounding redness of intense
Can winds of Wodyn thrust valkyrie thus
The tides are wrong this singing song
Will be the end of us
The tunnel forms to take us in it's dance
As axe and sword a swing to madness trance
Once more to see Valhalla's open door
Or wake to shaking silence on this shore
Bathed in others' blood still yet unsure
I have so many jeans that I can wear.
They lie inside a box upon my floor;
in every color there I have a pair.
With pants galore, I could not want for more!
I don't take time to sift through all those clothes
when I am in a rush and getting dressed.
Nor do I have the time to stand and pose
before my mirror to see which looks the best.
The "Zanadi," flare-legged, and faded blue
I grab with very little hesitation.
From Asia, straight to Walmart, ( and it's true)
they always fit (Oh, joy, less complication).
And when those darn things feel a bit too tight,
I diet till they hug my hips just right!
By Andrea Dietrich
For Nette onclaud's Contest:
"It's In The Jeans"