Poem | |
In solitude I dream tonight
And watch a moth in fevered flight.
It’s drawn toward my quaint porch light
And flies consumed with all its might.
Through open window I can see
Its desperation shared with me;
How freedom in this world is light—
And we as souls are drawn to fight.
Though freedom’s light may cause our death,
It’s worth the risk with every breath.
I understand the moth’s sad plight
When drawn to the glorious light.
Though it knows not of human trust,
It buzzes on because it must!
For Chopped II Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Poem | |
Shifting haze, so slowly trailing
Through wood and field, now veiling
Melancholy skies, holding back the tears
With wild geese flying to meet other years.
Flames of crimson torches come flinging
Leaves on knarled branch swinging;
Desolate winds rush leaping
Taking flowers to their final sleeping.
In the groaning of the atmosphere
Unfolding sorrows weep with the fading year;
Fields of cluttered stubble are tangled
With rampant weeds, dew drop spangled.
Flocks of birds leave like flying missiles
Over fields of corn and drying thistles;
Then my dream of autumn fades, paling
Through a grandeur all prevailing
When sunset fires light sky and sea
And sink in the breath of serenity.
Poem | |
Out on the faraway of Spring,
the wraiths tap-dance atop the fields,
their laughter rises when they wield,
and beam to innocent their swing.
Our donkey left the barn last night,
pursuing thus, a gracious mare;
a whir became on stardom glare,
enchanting all jennets in sight!
The chickens started to escape,
because of a bewitching coq,
(with sauce of Worcester, cooked in wok),
- his spook got drunk on Concord grape.
Our precious cow (miss World was called) ,
wore ten inch spikes with a short dress,
and jumping up the barn egress'd,
absorbed by night for e'er un-stalled.
Two versing hogs, were cuckoo-spelled,
and oinking Shakespeare's sixth sonnet,
spiraled afar; a gifted duet
on website poetry excelled.
This Pandemonium's trick song,
our grandma sang while her broom climbed,
with a 'ye haw' she left and rhymed,
new magic flying to Hong Kong.
Nigh this Catastrophe's attacks,
the neighbor's daughter dressed like ghost,
to whistling granted her riposte,
- and much was kissed, on dry hay stacks.
© G. V., 11-19-2013, All Rights Reserved
Worcester: is pronounced "Woo'ster"
Poem | |
The warm temperature drops outdoors,
And first drops of fresh rain sprinkle.
The thunder claps right above me,
As lightening is striking afar.
Dust is blowing in the wind,
Trees are bending fiercely,
A train horn blares,
As the core nears me.
Then sudden silence,
A calm reappears.
Electrical fires start,
For a moment one
Thinks it’s over,
Then it starts
Passing by my
Tin flying by,
At all the
My poem is about Tornadic weather and evokes
Water in, 'first drops of fresh rain sprinkle'
Wind in, 'Trees are bending fiercely'
Earth in 'Dust is blowing in the wind'
Metal in 'Tin flying by'
Fire in, 'Electrical fires start'
Feeling in 'The warm temperature drops outdoors'
Smell in 'First drops of fresh rain sprinkle'
Taste in 'Dust is blowing in the wind'
Sight in, Lightening is striking afar'
Hearing in 'A train horn blares'
Inspired by Deborah Guzzi's
Five Senses / Five Elements contest.
Poem | |
Life spins out of control…
today I slip into oblivion, floating without roots
over the sun, slowly turning from all I can see,
spinning against the wind, against the earth.
When do I fall?
I should be enjoying the ride.
I’ve always been afraid to fly…
afraid of what’s below and all the spaces between –
maybe afraid of me.
How old will I be when the spinning stops?
I’m getting dizzy, feeling faint…
Minute by minute, I count down – 10, 9, 8…
I’m surely not alone!
Words ground me…yes, I’ll write a poem.
Every letter’s like a hum in my head –
notes in a never ending song.
I’ll write a poem for you and only you.
A poem you’ll never read
because you think you know me.
You think you know my song.
Perhaps, if you took the time to really read,
you’d find a little piece of me…carry it in your pocket
like a treasure to behold.
I’m spinning out of control…you don’t know, you don’t see.
Only God knows why…help me God enjoy the ride.
Poem | |
Wash my heart and make it clean
Remove the grime from where it's been
Take my idle hands make them yours
Use them to open holy doors
My cracked lips long to sing your praise
Be my Misto the rest of my days
Guide my calloused feet along your path
I wish to know Love and not your wrath
Take my arms place them around the poor
Help me realize I need less not more
Plant your precious thoughts in my mind
Change me from selfish make me kind
let me see your face with my eyes
Remove my ignorance make me wise
Apart from you I cannot be whole
Thank you for this reconditioned soul
One day my life will end I know that's true
Please give me wings so I can fly to you
Poem | |
Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings
'cause he knew he must try
There were two other birds
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb
It must be so hard
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me
I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?
Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever
He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings
Bebo worked hard all week
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair
With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?
The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high
Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight
just get up there, you'll see
Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see
The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly
From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight
Poem | |
The moonbeams bore you in a cradle of light smiling
warmly a cold blue winter moon rocking over and back thoughts
Midnight mystery howling to a silver reflection deeply echoes whispering winds
over Snow Mountain faraway dreaming stars twinkle in your treasure jewels
Lost trying to catch your trail freedom inside love the spark igniting
magic believing in a fairy tale ending dust in a thousand dreams enchanting
Poem | |
An angel gave wings to you so you can fly
Never will life pass you by
Toward the sky you will guide
Hovering above the world so high
On a cloud you sit as other's sigh
Never will you fall from the sky
Your angels taught you how to fly
Poem | |
HORSE FROM MARS
It came from the sky, a gray silver stallion.
I looked up high, and I have also seen a dragon.
With so many things in this universe.
I'm on stand-by with a camera in my purse.
Who would have known I'd be the first to spot a PEGASUS.
The town folks wave hi every time I walk my hippopotamus.
I enjoy showing everyone, my pictures of a flying horse.
I don't see why they call a DOCTOR every time I call the TASK FORCE
I think they are jealous over all the things I've seen.
They act all crazy since I sighted a LEPRECHAUN when I was fourteen.
No one ever believed me when I saw an army of dragonflies.
They have a name for me "the boy who See's too much in the skies!"
I don't know why they can't see what I see.
For all I know they are all experiments under Alien Technology.
They don't believe me how I got this magic MEDALLION.
It was a friendly gift from the silver stallion.
I also have many pictures of a UNICORN.
We became best-friends when he gave me a piece of its magic horn.
We sat together while he drank from the lake.
We enjoyed talking, --talking about how U.F.O.'s are fake.
Why can't they see? The day I fell off a boat, I got rescued by a MERMAID!
Who would have known a mermaid swim around with first-aid.
I also remember the day I followed a LEPRECHAUNS.
We were playing under the rainbow having so much fun.
When I told my doctor about all the things I've seen.
He locked me in a DUNGEON, thinking I was the ALIEN QUEEN.
I begged and I told him I don't believe in any type of alien.
Too bad the master of this dungeon came from another region.
In a way he looks like that one SILVER STALLION from Mars.
The first creature I'd seen the day I fell off the monkey bars.
I have this picture of this horse of course.
JUST help me out of this white-jacket!!! ;-)
If you want to see the coolest picture of a flying horse.
(A small collaboration with: B-Boy)
re-post for ~FUNNY CONTEST
Poem | |
Sequined fireflies winging lightly by
into grassland ablaze, they swirl
on moon's romance of a dream
buoyant as crepe lanterns
throwing gold stardust
on my damp cheeks;
Freddie V's Contest
Never published NONET
Poem | |
With closed eyes,
it seems so natural
to fly in a kingdom of the winds
Far from here,
I will circle the moon,
and wash myself in radiant light
And then soar,
in the clarion dawn,
to free-fall over the edge of earth
While cool mist,
washed in splintered sunlight,
lets me be a shadow of myself
10/30/14 For Nette's Contest: Crystalline
By Carrie Richards
Poem | |
Peter Pan where are you going
I guess it's Wendy you're looking for
And to Neverland now you are flying
As Tinkerbell spreads magic at my door
I always watched you in completely awe
All these years since I was really small
O Peter you were always my hero then
You were my favorite out of them all
In the eyes of every child you're so tall
O Peter you're so brave and so strong
With Wendy and the kids you're so sweet
Forever you've planted in my heart a song!
In the end you beat Old Hook as you'd plan
Oh Peter Pan I am still your number #1 fan!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Poem | |
Three Sonnets tell a story, in sequence.
[From the narrative poem, "Don't Go to Wyoming Alone"]
I. Natural Instinct (Chivalric Sonnet)
He saves a wad of cash and designates
the stash to finance trek in far-off land
in hunting boots and custom gun he built
for me with love and hope for trophy grand.
"Is this a trip I've dreamed about?" I ask.
"Can I enjoy the hunt, savor the kill?"
I contemplate the danger in that land -
will heat, dry thirst and bugs defeat my will?
Might this be atmosphere I cannot stand?
Excitement builds as I heft gun with ease
and find the answer soon on target range
as my bull's eye displays my expertise.
Though I have no inborn instinct to kill,
my reason tells me not to waste this skill.
II. Lost Vacation
Our trip is planned, we'll soon be on our way,
he's called and found the perfect spot to stay.
The husband leads you out to hunt the wild
as room is cleaned, clothes pressed, wife cooks gourmet.
Alas, things change, his current bent is new.
While Mom and I go west without a clue
he flies the skies to satisfy desire
from Air Force days where first the hunger grew.
But circumstance forced him to stay aground,
our funds were tight and kept him budget bound.
Since children now are wed and off the corn
he's free to choose to play or bum around.
When we return from trek out west by train,
he's spent vacation cash to buy a plane.
III. New Dimension (Couplet Sonnet)
What fun we've had in years of golden age
as we, in freedom's row, our thirsts assuage.
We climb above the ground in utter glee
and view the earth below from Cherokee.
We join a pilot's group and meet new friends.
We travel now as time and space portends.
Each time we fly we bring two more because
two empty seats invite our friend's' applause.
But soon we build a smaller home down south.
I close my ears as words come out his mouth,
"The plane's for sale, I need a tractor now
to plow off snow and grade the road." It's how
our trip to Africa, in quickened time,
became a tractor. Surely, that's a crime.
Poem | |
Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully
a not married one husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.
Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.
Im a southern man once means several things non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying
to myself as i watched him running naked across the dessert being chased
by the flying monkeys he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance
There goes a fine american.
I would have ran after him but but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me
I herd they had a thing for southern actscents.
And theres nothing worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me
Ive delt with this problem befor.
and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand
in all his naked glory.
Besides I left him some sneakers and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.
Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle
So as i sit behind the wheel ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person run to and feel at home.
I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.
And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.
My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels today.
And hey she had went to church more than once so who was I to argue.
With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races Untill next time kiddies.
Adios and im off to find my amigo.
Poem | |
Last night I dreamed
your eyes were lit
in a world of fire
your kisses struck
like heat lightning
many moons rose and fell
tides pulled the shoreline closer
you transparent as a ghost
and in the heat of this frozen night
we were still there...
You the porcelain doll
eyes that open and shut
words yet to crack
mute rain between us
eyelashes black and shiny
sitting on the edge of the mountain
with just a shallow stare...
My body gliding to you
I try and break through
waves that have become mountains
that cover the pale skyline...
Poem | |
I stare out through my golden cage
The bars of my beautiful gilded prison,
I suck in my breath to let out my sweet melody,
But the air in my prison is putrid, toxic.
I beat my wings at the golden bars,
Of my beautiful gilded prison,
My foolish heart promises I can break those bars,
But I fall to the floor, nursing my broken wings.
I summoned the last bit of fight within,
And flew against the cage door,
And hoorah! The latch flew open,
And I tasted the fresh air of freedom.
Poem | |
Since the elders often proclaim, my how time flies,
You then naturally look up into the skies.
To study the heavens for at least one small sign,
From the horizon up to the tallest tree line.
Then suddenly, a flock of birds flitters about,
So you believe that you might have time figured out.
But when the old people mentioned, my how time flies,
They didn’t bring up birds; so is time in disguise?
As a carnival balloon, yes that’s it, you say,
Like the vanishing kind on a bright summer day.
But losing your own, is one of life’s biggest fears,
Since you don’t want to waste any time crying tears.
It’s possible that time is commuting by plane,
Which is surely the fastest speed time could attain.
But what good can that be when the planes out of sight,
Unless it quickly returns from its roundtrip flight?
Then is waiting around to see time such a waste,
When each day there are many affairs to be faced?
Then out of the blue a helicopter is seen,
And you reflect, maybe time is on that machine.
But as soon as a copter is here it’s gone by,
After noisily chopping the beautiful sky.
Although it’s very unlikely time takes that ride,
Unless it cannot hear, or ear plugs are supplied.
Wait a minute, I got it, time surfs over clouds;
If I could do the same all my friends would be proud.
And occasionally time would appear as rain,
But then an excess amount would go down the drain.
Then could time be a portion of air all the time,
To be breathed in, or to give life to a wind chime?
Though, is that really flying like old people claim?
It seems all my guesses are exactly the same.
Well, after a long life of thinking and trying,
To figure out the ways that time could be flying,
In heaven, by feather, or motor, as vapor,
Yet, not one of those ways can be proved on paper.
Until recently, when I looked in the past,
The answers were there for those time questions asked.
That time really flies, though it takes time to see,
That a lifetime of living, is the real key.
And now I tell the young, that time truly flies,
But don’t bother looking up into the skies.
Time earns its wings every day, inside the mind,
And can only be seen, when looking behind!
David Fisher for Impress Me-Iambic Meter Contest
Poem | |
In this magical forest, in every enchanted tree,
There lived odd creatures that are so rare to see,
White unicorns and tiny fairies with glowing wings,
Huge, green dragons and a mermaid who sings,
So many stories this curious, little girl had heard,
Though, she did not believe in a single word.
She moved the long grass and peered through,
To find a babbling brook with waters of blue,
Her eyes grew wide and she could not speak,
When she saw what was floating along the creek,
A tiny, glowing fairy was sitting upon a daisy,
Who was gazing at the sky and feeling quite lazy.
The sprite was frightened by this sweet, little girl,
Who was curiously twisting a little, blonde curl,
The fairy jumped up from the daisy and into flight,
The innocent, little girl had meant her no fright,
She watched with wonder as she flew away,
And wanted to catch her and ask her to stay.
All of a sudden this girl began to slowly shrink,
In her little mind she had no idea what to think,
When a giant butterfly had just landed at her side,
She quickly grabbed onto it's wings to go for a ride,
She could tell this sprite stories she had never heard,
And wondered if she would believe in a single word.
Roger Horsch's contest - "The Magical Forest"
Poem | |
We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time
hearing the news before most of the World did
He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected
He had loves and passions from many places
deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
Not only did he love music and inspire all
He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul
The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened
It was John Denver's plane that went down
Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial
So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
always in loving memory
OH babe , do we hate you go ~
Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
"Leaving on a Jet Plane "
Poem | |
Fifteen tiny swallows
Fifteen tiny swallows
All perched upon a fence
Oh what handsome fellows
But here, let me commence
To speak of all their beauty
These tiny little birds
All black and cream with a reddish throat
Oh how my heart they stirred
A lady walking with her dog
Disturbed these little guys
So from the fence these birds take wing
And head towards the skies
It seems that they are dancing
In the way they fly around
They always seem to fly in circles
And nearly touch the ground.
I walk around these wetlands
And wonder at it all
Everyday it’s something else
And it’s all so beautiful
Ducks and swallows, parrots too
And the beauty of the lake
I love to walk there most of all
At the coming of the daybreak.
16 August 2013 @ 1510hrs.
Poem | |
The elements of the heavens above
Where the birds go swaying and dipping down
And the clouds mist their way along the sky
There the dark sky shrouds the moon with a gown
In awe I spread my arms just to accept
The nature of the clouds and the cool air
Beams of white light coming out from the moon
Adds to the serenity that’s out there
I hold out my hand to receive a drop
A drop of dew from the heavens above
Tenderly I kiss it and fill my soul
Makes me want to fly with the birds I love
The highest point of the sky before space
Is where I end up, looking at the stars
No other beauty compares to this trip
I slowly fall back amongst the briars
I live meagerly here on this vast Earth
Then I fly again amongst the great clouds
I often go see with the birds up high
Joyously live my days with all that’s proud
Poem | |
It's unexplainable yet undeniable
as incredible as that may seem
Society says it's debatable, unfavorable
but the impossible is inspirational to me
You can be unshakable no fear of breakable
you're completely capable of anything
It's indescribable to be anti-gravitational
not held down by fallible thoughts of man.
It's not irrational in fact it's quite practical
acceptably exceptional to be adaptable
So go be sensational a professional radical
Escape the natural and taste the magical
You call me laughable my thoughts fallible
cause this world's not bashful in its disdain
But I've grown fanatical now I'm unflappable
to touch the maximal and taste the valuable
I see the beautiful in everything!
*Based on first print in Debbie's contest rules
Contest Name: Rock My World
Poem | |
A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass,
his eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
Copyright © 2013
Poem | |
I'm an alien from Krypton and I'm able to fly.
I'm Superman and bullets don't make me die.
Bombs, tanks and nuclear weapons can't kill me either, I'm invulnerable.
I save at least fifty people every day, that's amazing and it's pretty cool.
Usually, the only thing that can kill me is Kryptonite.
But I did die when Doomsday and I had a massive fight.
We beat each other to death but I was able to return.
My death made many cry, I was touched by their concern.
I have X-ray vision and I can see through everything except lead.
Lex Luthor hates my guts and he says he won't rest until I'm dead.
Last week there was a forest fire and I put it out with my ice breath.
When I got through blowing on that fire, there was none of it left.
I can also make laser beams come out of my eyes.
When people see me, they say "There's the man who flies."
I have a girl who I love more than life itself, her name is Lois Lane.
When I'm Superman, she's nice but when I'm Clark Kent, she's a pain.
Some people call me a miracle but I don't think that's true.
If you're ever in danger, just call my name and I'll save you.
(This poem is based on the DC Comic Book that was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.)