Ohh the days have been many here
but that day her name was seen
struck a fear deep inside.
Could she really be that mean?
Time passed as her name
echoed in my head aloud.
I looked at her work in amaze
at how beautiful she can inspire
the words in poems she wrote.
Soon we were souper friends
continue to inspire others work
so they would become the best.
Contest she made work
so all could see the finest.
She will be missed here
but a destryoer she was not here.
Dedicated to my best friend the poet destroyer
I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you
Envy is but a humbling tumble down a steep, rocky hill
I am crushed in your fits of glory—your screaming for passion
My approaches are absolutely wrong
Therefore my communication is a weak, ransomed victim
Your poison arrow frog skin rubs against my exposed body
I happily accept my fate
For your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
My erroneous, inevitable downfall
I hold you up—I feel the need to keep you tall!
Michael the Archangel did not insult you once, Lucifer
How then will I?
How can I possibly be higher than you?-
Why would I want to?
I admire your freedom
I simply disregard your macrodomes of ever-worshiped flaw
If I could allow myself, I would share in your glory
Only to add to it further
But as I am poisoned with the truth
I can only be your grounded pedestal
And though you flee from humility in its wake upon my brow
I realize everyday you are living for the grounded now
And I merely look to the unknown future
A place I dread where you unwillingly hold me up
Bonded in the ground with Death and Hades
You become my pedestal, and the worms my vineyard
My parasitic feet seer your glory
I am ever so sorry
I never wanted this renown
There was a time I do recall
When you overtook me in my sleep
I cried aloud in helpless acceptance
But soon I was forced in a croak of laughter
I felt your bitter poison
I felt pride at last
I thank you for it
I thank you for showing me
What I will never be
Provoke me no longer to praise your eternal existence
Generations of Evening take a hold of me now
And the fruit must be shared
I stand on the snow covered mountain
Colorful vase of flowers
Slopes with flower beds laden
I saw the snow lotus flowers
I asked, “Why are you all alone here?
Beauty is meant to be adored.
Should give yourself to somebody
Before your petals fall to dust soon, dear.
What if I crushed your petals, I asked
As at these heights, you are quite lonely”..
One of the flowers quickly responded
“I enjoy the shelter of blue skies.
I would be too glad
If you choose to crush my petals
My fragrance will spread everywhere.
Fulfilling the purpose and duty
If destroyed, not admired.
By plucking my petals, remember
You won’t gather my beauty,
Beauty is to see, not to be plucked'.
“O’ lotus, you teach wisdom to man
Praise her beauty, don’t destroy her.
It is the gladdest thing under the sun
Touch a hundred flowers not pick ever”
O’ man, pluck not wayside flower even
It is the traveler’s dowers.
Silently a flower blooms alone
And in silence it falls down
If I am worth many pleasures,
I think I am too few then”.
June 15, 2014
Form : Ode
First Place win in
Contest: My favorite poem by Carol Eastman
Form: Ode (the Homostrophic or Horatian Ode)
Rhyme scheme: ABABCDECDE (Ten lines)
Dr, Ram Mehta
Second place winner in
Contest: Ode sponsored by Jared Pickett
This is the English Ode, also called the Homostrophic or Horatian Ode.
The Romantic Ode often followed the Irregular Ode's structure
and the Homostrophic Ode's meditative quality.
The poem also won the second place in the International Poetry
Contest of 2011 by Poetry Soup.
The body is blunt
Thinking of you
before I awake
Stretching my body
Eyes are closed
Can feel your scent
Gently open my eyes
Feel your aroma
The taste on my lips
As a soft kiss
Your scent fills the room
Thought of you,
makes me awake
You are perfect
Heats my body
Tasting you ... gently
A moment of pleasure
Black morning coffee
A-L Andresen :)
Oh how I love thee with your white and dark meat
Thou art the very best
But because of you, I can’t see my feet
My navel is two feet from my chest
To diet and lose so I don’t wobble no more
I would be very willing
It would be impossible now, because somehow
I finished four bowls of filling
My wife pointed at me and said look at him
He sits at the table, like a dog he begs
I stare at you and your magnificent breast
Can hardly wait to get my hands on your legs
Enough already, I’m on my knees
Give me some stuffing and some black eyed peas
Sweet potatoes, corn and a salad I’ll toss
And bury your butt with cranberry sauce
Oh turkey, my turkey, you’re the one who rocks
Now I’ve gotten so fat, I can’t put on my socks
My love for you was fleeting
And we are finished I fear
But I’ll fall in love with another turkey
Same time next year.
Pacific beauty, garland of shimmering pastels
Textures and colors astound, deep in your ocean heart
Your court is larger than any kingdom on Earth
And hosts grand balls and parties,
Shimmering schools of fish dance in unison
Anemones gather by the thousands
Each more vibrant than the next
Grand plumes of algae sway like great banners
In the streets of your endless coral cities,
Lost happily in orange towers
All fathoms deep, cradled by warm currents
Erupting and tumbling and breathing,
The jealous coast watches, the winds bow down
Salt and scales glitter like stars in your sky
Oh magnificent belle of Queensland!
All Hail The Great Barrier Reef!
For PD's "7 wonders of the ancient or new world" contest
I am crying yes crying
why I hear you asking
It is because I am moved
by a poem on here
So sadden by her words
how could it come to this?
a guiding light, a friend
an inspirer of fine words
Linda you were first to greet me
it was you who smoothed my way
gave me help and advice unselfishly
introduced me to contests and more
Poets should not fight like this
WHO THE HELL GAINS?
In The End NONE!! All LOSE
no sparkle left just matt dim and dull
Linda your words touch my soul
more far more they inspire
Never hang up your pen
Return soon we need your love and input
Always your friend and fan Shadow
She showed me the clouds
and how to walk on the ninth one. A dreamer.
In the absoluteness of her mind, no barriers
exist within existence
as if her battles have
been won. I think she craves to fly,
past those clouds---another possibility
to make possible, a challenge
to challenge. Or dream about.
She probably thinks that when I complain
I cannot see the clouds,
the way she did when things got rough
in life. Of course, I beg to differ.
She dreams. I live. I don't
keep my eyes on clouds all day
as if there is nothing else to see
to make me understand the world better.
I suppose I'll rest one day, exhausted
by the what-ifs and whys, while Mama smiles
and points upward.
Nyx - Ode -
The shadows know the scent of clove *
as Nyx devolves her orphic code;
her odes address the stars above, *
inviting so, the Morpheus' bode.
Her darkness strings the scenic stillness, *
her laughter waves inside the ether,
small hours submit erotic bleakness,
advancing 'mid the sage and heather.
The creatures glance - with eyes of amber
beneath the blinking starry flare, *
while Nyx, the infinite advancer,
inflicts her thralldom and affair.
The blanching moon, in ventured glory, *
embraced by Erebus at night,
unfolds her mane of black graphite,
distributing her daunting dowry.
She meekly bids to worlds of blooms, *
the mortals on the breezes' breath,
bestowing grand the kiss of death,
with fates to weave the orchard looms.
Suggesting darkened deeds and dismal,
with sovereignty she guides - abysmal,
the chanted souls to follow thence,
her clouded callings consequence.
© 26-03-2014 - (date the poem was revised)
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Dark and Mystical
Nyx = Night
Paintings of Nyx:
The story on Wikipedia:
Nyx ("Night" in Greek) – Roman (in Latin): Nox – is the Greek goddess (or personification) of the night. A shadowy figure, Nyx stood at or near the beginning of creation, and was the mother of other personified deities such as Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death). Her appearances are sparse in surviving mythology, but reveal her as a figure of exceptional power and beauty. She is found in the shadows of the world and only ever seen in glimpses. }
My thoughts they roil like waters dark
in the abyss of blackest night,
with memories of mother’s bookmark,
of Longfellow read by lamp light.
She called, in the room around me,
the patter of other small feet.
Her gentle voice fetched angels .
Oh, the rhymes, they astounded me
like lullabies soft and so sweet.
All fearsome shadows, she’d dispel.
Maxine, my queen, read Tennyson
and the Charge of the Light Brigade.
A little girl dreamt of caissons
roll, and thunderous cannonade.
To be so brave, the small child mused,
mother her precious, heroine;
what would it take to stand so strong
without father, and not confused.
What words could be the linchpin
to right mother’s tell-tale wrong.
Such sad inspiration, mother,
oh, how I wronged you by being born,
though I loved you above all others.
Some thoughts of you make me forlorn.
Bring back the tales of mother goose,
three small kittens and their mittens.
Return the vision of your smile
the happiness your warmth induced,
let your spirit comfort, lighten
night, if only for a little while.