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Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Hear Oh L-rd

The Festival of Lights, Chanukah has arrived
a hopeful time of praise each year revived. 
The Menorah lit, each home becomes a church.
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.

Our sister Miriam lights the shamash taper first 
a maiden fair and scholarly her prayers rehearsed
to bring together all that's beautiful, diverse.
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.

Eight nights we praise the L-rd for gifting us with Light
and pass around small things which bring delight. 
We rejoice. In brotherhood we are immersed.
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.

May G-d in his greatness light all your days
May family, friends, and foes mend their ways 
for all have needs, let kindness tame their thirsts
Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe.


*Bo-ruch A-toh Ado-noi E-lo-hei-nu Me-lech Ho-olom A-sher Ki-de-sho-nu Be-mitz-vo-sov Ve-tzi-vo-nu Le-had-lik Ner Shel Cha-nu-kah. 
* Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us by His commandments, and has commanded us to kindle the lights of Chanukah. 

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Angel in Your Eyes

To you who knew me in my youth, Who spread sweet joy and spoke with truth; Before you passed to heaven’s skies, I saw an angel in your eyes. To you, the stranger that I met, Who spoke no word of English, yet Gave aid to me, you are God’s prize. There was an angel in your eyes. To those of you within this place Whose gifts of words show love and grace, Though I’ve not faced you, I surmise. . . There is an angel in your eyes! Written by Andrea Dietrich, 10/15/13 for the contest of Gail Angel Doyle

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Because He Gave A Single Rose

Her tired old eyes lit up bright.
A thankful tear, she could not hide.
A sweet aroma fills her nose;
because he gave a single rose.

Confined to this dreary nursing home;
having outlived family, she's alone.
Today, with a smile, her face glows;
because he gave a single rose.

He brings them often to his mother.
Today, one extra for another.
Talking, on and on she goes;
because he gave a single rose.

She asked an aid to bring a vase.
By her bed the gift was placed.
Happy and peaceful then she dozed;
because he gave a single rose.

Her final breath tonight was sweet.
Family missed, again to meet.
Her last day joyful, all heaven now knows;
because he gave a single rose.



July 17, 2014
Contest: Random acts is kindness
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi





Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Breathe in the silence-w

I hear sounds of the wind hissing and rustling.
I listen on the beach to the waves cascading,
Slapping, tossing swashing the sand pebbles,
Something close to eternity within me touches. 

I see some gliding fishing boats over there, 
The seagulls soaring, gliding in the air here,
And Surfers trying to get rides on the waves 
Something close to eternity within me touches. 

I watch people running, strolling and sunning,
Setting sun promise to rise tomorrow morning
Like the human ambitions and unknown desires
Something close to eternity within me touches.

I notice the crabs scurry, somewhere hiding,
Leaving smooth bed of sand, water receding,
All sounds now receding to its minimum hiss.
Something close to eternity within me touches.

This silence rubs, softens me, gives a purpose
I find even my pains are held in this silence
Surrender my self-importance, my smallness
Something close to eternity within me touches.

===============================
Sixth Place Win in:
Contest: Breathe in the silence sponsored by Paula Swanson

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

At Summer's End

When Autumn veils my season's smile and lingers in the air a while . . . though Indian days be gold spun, my summering will come undone. Night's shadows fall more quickly now; birds sooner too forsake their bough. No tarrying for old friend Sun when summering becomes undone. Oh, warmth of Summer, leave me not. Through Winter's frost I grow distraught. The melancholy has begun; my summering will come undone. As Autumn veils my season's smile, my summering will come undone.

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Sweet Deathly Rose

Oh, mild flower I chanced to meet,
A ruby red, yet so discreet.
She'd never seen a hue my blue.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Her fragrance wafted on the breeze,
And all were drawn to her with ease.
I put down roots near her and grew.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Though in her garden all seems well,
there still are things she hates to tell.
Her thorns, a shield, conceal what's true.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

Beneath her thorns, resentment grows.
Disturb her and her petals close!
I learned too well what could ensue. . . 
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

A casual remark was said.
Her ruby rose turned scarlet red. . .
I guiltless pled. Did I misdo?
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

A fury she had kept so deep
had been unleashed; it made me weep.
Retaliation cut me through.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.

A leaf of peace she offered me:
Be friends, but only partially.
But I refused and shall eschew
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.




Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

MY AFRICA, UNITE TO REWRITE HER STORY

Africa; the land of great ancient myths
With culture diversified, but united mythos.
Traced to bear the ancestry of man
With the found evidence of modern humans.

Africa; like a rule of dynasty bestrides the equator
And encircles diverse unending climate sector
Stretching in awe-inspiring from the North Temperate Zone
Exuding the composite satellite imagery to the Southern pole.

Africa; a resource-rich and second-largest continent
With abundant natural resources that makes it pertinent
To the international community, especially the West
Such that they always want her to be their conquest.

Africa; they much talk about her in the global arena
But always present a mirror image of her aura.
They envy her diamonds, gold, coal, cocoa, and crude oil
That they glow while she mangles herself in turmoil.

Africa; whose stories are always told in a horrible manner
And images portrayed like all she holds is poverty and hunger.
But we know Africa is fascinating, invigorating, and amazing
With her azure clouds and vivid green lands that are unending.

Africa; embossed in awe moist grayness and magnificent mountains
With swirling long-lasting waterfalls stimulating her fountains
And inter alia scenic view of hills and crystal beaches
That marvels the tourists, and geologists see her as a peach.

Africa; muddled in kleptomania that has left her in wanton hardship
And her people glued to delusions that wash up their craftsmanship
Such that they often let her down by being unable to see
The aura of mystery in her versatile resources given by nature for free.

Africa; still muddling through despite the variegated challenges she faces
Needs her people to be well articulated and embrace with a game face
The clarion call that the time is long overdue to unite to rewrite her stories
For only Africans can tell better the untold stories about Africa’s histories.

Africa; I look at the east, west, north, central and south
I hear; and I see the youths strutting; and yelling for change in loud shouts
For they’re tired of bad governments, rebels, militants, genocide and warring
For their future is not of hatred, food crisis, diseases, but devoid of suffering.

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

The Ghost of My Lonely

Abandoned in the fifties after the war
A frieght elevator stuck between floors
Obsolete machinery, splintered old chairs
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

Dead air presses down, stifling and thick
Something still dwells behind one of those bricks
Curled up in a ball, it waits for me there
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

A musty gray vapor that whispers my name
It seeps through the wall and creeps to my brain
It sighs and it groans as my soul is laid bare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

It mumbles and moans and drones of ancient tombs
Of claustrophopic closets and dim, hollow rooms
I cry out for help, echoes answer my prayer
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere

The ghost of my lonely, my lost and alone
My hopeless and helpless, my can't go back home
It's looking at me now with a dull, vacant stare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere







Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

The Winter of My Tears

"Alas! The lessening light, the worsening my plight- My face- a somber expression..." excerpt from *a poem by Just That Archaic Poet The summer of my laughter’s passed; my happy skies grow overcast. No meadowlark is singing here. The winter of my tears is near. In vale of shadows, sun hangs low. I sojourn now where chill winds blow. Into November’s gloom I peer. The winter of my tears is near. Before I meet eternity, a snow shall come and bury me, Its brilliance - anguish soon will mirror. The winter of my tears is near. The summer of my laughter’s passed. The winter of my tears is near. *Poem interpreted: "Equinox" This is technically a kyrielle sonnet for the Reinvent, Reimagine, Revamp! Poetry Contest

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

The Long Sleep

Bent forward on his wooden chair,
inside his shack, with not a care,
he sits where fast to sleep he fell.
The old man’s sleeping long and well.

Companions waiting to be fed
or have their master pat their head,
wait at  his feet, but they can tell
the old man’s sleeping long and well.

One spotted mutt with doggie grace
extends a tongue to lick the face
of him whose form is but a shell. . .
The old man’s sleeping long and well.

Bent forward on his wooden chair,
the old man’s sleeping long and well. 


A Kyrielle Sonnet for the Briton Riviere Poery Contest
Link for the painting: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Riviere_Briton_The_Long_Sleep.jpg

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Blossoms on the Snow

(A Kyrielle Sonnet)

The tree stood trembling; red drops spilled
one Christmas day where one was killed.
Sweet daughter they would not see grow
left crimson blossoms on the snow.

What horror that their girl could be
slain senselessly beneath that tree
where every spring she loved to go
and blossoms fell, but not on snow.

The tree of which she’d grown so fond
dropped pearl white petals on a pond.
Oh, that it still were long ago
before were blossoms on the snow!

The tree stood trembling; red drops spilled
like cherry blossoms on the snow.

Andrea Dietrich
For Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever 
Contest sponsored by Constance La France 
~a Rambling Poet~

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

This Special Time of Year

We may not have a "White Christmas", yet joy remains the same I find delight in viewing candles reflected on frosted panes They remind me to be grateful for warmth and light so near Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year A scenic view of white smoke rising from the chimney tall Dainty snow flakes falling as kids roll them into balls They sail against blustery winds and I wonder how they dare! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year Sweet music heralding peace, urges hearts to spread some joy! Displayed is a wooden Nativity Scene to greet you at the door A glittering tree with twinkling stars stands proudly at the rear! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year Fresh pine garlands dress stair rails with large red velvet bows The aroma of cinnamon and pine saturates, delighting one’s nose While a cozy wood fireplace glows, inviting, daydream stares Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year The baking’s almost done; and tons of sweets are ensured Though, there will not be any Christmas pudding this year, for sure Mama’s been gone home a while, yet the many memories linger here Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year Whatever may happen in life, Christmas joy lives in the heart A warm home and loving hearts have sufficed from the start Much food, drinks and good conversation; lots of fun to share! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year “Less formal” is my style preferred, so do relax if you please Sit on the floor, take off those shoes; dance or just be a tease When you feel stuffed and need a nap, if you snore, have no fear! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year ~*~

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Where Once We Played

Across our childhood’s street we trod
on carpet lawn and holy sod.
We walked along where some had prayed.
Where once we played, he now is laid.

The dead’s abodes we visited.
But times we ran and sometimes hid.
Such escapades by fancy made!
Where once we played, he now is laid.

Our bikes we’d ride on many a track
that wound around and further back.
A decade near this place I stayed.
Where once we played, he now is laid.

He left. We followed, each our way.
until the fateful sorry day
we all returned and farewells bade.
Where once we played, he now is laid.

Another decade passed, then two.
Cruel time -its passing how I rue.
My place for his I would not trade.
Where once we played, he now is laid.


*Dedicated to my brother Dale, who died much too young
and was buried across the street from our old family house
in a place called the Greenwood Cemetery, a very large one
where kids rode bikes and played. Well, at least WE did!

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Trucker Joe's Lament

He lost his job, now drives a rig. The pros are small; the cons are big. A sleeper cab is his abode on tedious and lonesome road. In Old West days, a steed he’d mount; now yellow lines he cannot count. A steady stream, long have they flowed on tedious and lonesome road. A ribbon flat, it sometimes winds, descends or climbs until he finds it’s all one constant episode on tedious and lonesome road. By some he’s loathed along the path. For taking space, he’s shown their wrath. Sparse traffic lessens not his load on tedious and lonesome road. He drives and while he drives, he yearns for life’s return; his stomach churns. He knows his hope but can erode on tedious and lonesome road. For the Solitude Contest of scott thirtyseven (Some truck drivers have a very hard and lonely life and it's even worse when they work for companies that couldn't care less about their welfare)

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

A MINER'S PRAYER

Down in the bowels of Cape Breton Isle
generations of men silently file,
Far from the sun and deep under the sea,
Lord, keep this darkness from shadowing me.

Father mined coal like his did before,
His ghost holds vigils on the tattered shore,
I was but a lad when death set him free,
Lord, keep this darkness from shadowing me.

Black dust stings the eyes then fills my chest,
And this heavy pick won’t let the mind rest,
My helmet lamp barely gives light to see,
Lord, keep this darkness from shadowing me.

These tunnels blind us from all save regret,
What hides in catacombs none can forget,
Dreams unfilled, gas that feet can not flee,
Lord, keep this darkness from shadowing me.
  
Last month an explosion claimed forty lives,
Disciples were made of their grieving wives,
Leave no man behind, a miner’s decree, 
Lord, keep this darkness from shadowing me.

The air is so thick that I can taste night,
It takes just one spark for walls to ignite,
This morning my son joined the company...
Lord, keep this darkness from shadowing me.

He’s a good boy, but I don’t want him here,
He follows my fate, a parent’s worse fear,
Lord, please watch over my large family
and keep this darkness from shadowing me.





to take a tour of a Cape Breton coal mine, to see how dark and dismal the life of a miner is please visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bU15pxNdYw&feature=related
Dedicated to my father-in-law, a miner who was electrocuted and survived.

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

GOD

 
I come to you on bended knees
Knowing you will hear my pleas
By your side is where I long to be
Oh, God,be mercilful to me

Your love I know will forever last
As you free me from my past
In your debt I'll always be
Oh, God, be merciful to me

Lord, I look up with pleading eyes
Toward Heaven, beyond the skies
Your face soon I hope to see
Oh, God, be merciful to me

Now my death, I know is nigh
Take me Lord, with you on high
There, with loved ones I will be
God has been merciful to me

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

O Lord, let me not seek in vain

A new wind blows I can but see
A hidden depth to agony
A coming drought of faith again
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

To know beyond the veil of life
My purpose here, for what my strife
In your sunshine and in your rain
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

Your love to know and ever share
To cast off fickle bands of care
And trust you through the fires of pain
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

To right life's wrong on human kind
And lead with patience too the blind
To the fountain cleansing our stain
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

Nor with the flatterers here join
For paltry praise and rusting coin
Against thy grace and truth's domain
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

Kingdom's crumble, silent the word
Love shot down, a featherless bird
I hear anew sins rattling chain
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

But let me hold your cross still pure
And stand with you forevermore
Where thunders roll and floods are fain 
O Lord, let me not seek in vain

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Brand New Star

I grew tired of my earthly bounds
I answered those angelic sounds
Don't grieve that I left you behind
Precious child, sweet daughter of mine

In my dreams He whispered so clear
That my work was finished down here
Ah, but my love for you was Divine
Precious child, sweet daughter of mine

I cherished you more than you know
I knew you would flourish and grow
I knew that my girls would be fine
Precious child, sweet daughter of mine

So rejoice and be glad I am where
There's no pain or tears of despair
Look up! Watch me shimmer and shine!
Precious child, sweet daughter of mine

Written for my three daughters on the passing of their mother
For F.J. Thomas's contest

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

When Carolyn Sent Me a Christmas Card

I was feelin depressed, sick with the flu 
Had all that I feared finally come true?
All my dreams up in smoke, burnt up and charred
When Carolyn sent me a Christmas card

Thought “What's the damn use? The Devil's got hold
So tired of this game; I think I'll just fold
Found the right path but the gate has been barred"
When Carolyn sent me a Christmas card

Read one line and cracked an overdue smile
(I guess I could do at least ONE more mile)
Helping me see that it's SIMPLE, not hard
When Carolyn sent me a Christmas card...

For My friend: Carolyn Devonshire

This is a re-write of a poem written on: 12/6/2009...Carolyn was among the first 
to welcome me to the Soup and yes, she even sent me a Christmas card...

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

KNOWING YOU

Are you who you are 
or just a wanna be

Are you who you are 
unable to fly free

Are you who you are 
living just in today

Are you who you are 
or merely who you say

Are you who you are 
who lets inner talents live

Are you who you are 
with so much love to give

Are you who you are 
for He is who He is
I am,who I am
With Him,you surely can

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Eternity within Me Touches

I hear sounds of the wind hissing and rustling. I listen on the beach to the waves cascading, Slapping, tossing swashing the sand pebbles, Something close to eternity within me touches. I see some gliding fishing boats over there, The seagulls soaring, gliding in the air here, And Surfers trying to get rides on the waves Something close to eternity within me touches. I watch people running, strolling and sunning, Setting sun promise to rise tomorrow morning Like the human ambitions and unknown desires Something close to eternity within me touches. I notice the crabs scurry, somewhere hiding, Leaving smooth bed of sand, water receding, All sounds now receding to its minimum hiss. Something close to eternity within me touches. This silence rubs, softens me, gives a purpose I find even my pains are held in this silence Surrender my self-importance, my smallness Something close to eternity within me touches.
+++ December 2, 2014 Form: Kyrielle Contest: One of your best by Gautami Phookan

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Solitude's Embrace

Soft, as the petals of the rose,
whisper a breath unto my soul,
of those loving days, way back when,
O God, tell me what might have been.

Gather me the scent of sweet rain
touching the earth in forest deep;
scents of life beginning again,
O God, tell me what might have been.

Tell me of dreams beyond man's grasp,
where no trace of sorrow lingers;
where even the fool enters in,
O God, tell me what might have been.

Bring me a place of solitude,
where those wayward thoughts are garnered.
Please don't break my soft heart, and then
O God, tell me what might have been.

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

A Baby

A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed
It does not worry about the colour of your skin
nor if you are good or bad as long as you show love
It does not matter if you live in a masion or hovel.

Religion too matters not a whit to a small tot
A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed.
It does not care what part of the world you live
Nor if you live in a town or out in the country.

Poor or rich, hansome or plain it does not care
You may be a manual worker, a banker or a king,
A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed.
Holding out its arms with chuckles of laughter.

All pride, prejudice and greed holds no sway
in its little infant heart that is born to love.
It gives a smile that would melt the toughest heart
A Baby only cares about being loved, warm and fed.

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Praising the Prince OF PEACE

The skies sing sweet songs
The soil spread into the seas
The seas swing slowly, swiftly
…Praising the Prince of peace

The flowers fall flat and fly
The sparrows sing solemn solos
The sea animals swim in splendor
…Praising the prince of peace

The sun and stars… speaks 
The air and atmosphere in alliance
Wheat and water worships at will
...Praising the prince of peace

Tall and tender trees tremble
Winds and wings… wonder
Woods and waves… whisper
…Praising the prince of peace

Beings with blood and breathe
Spirits with soul and sights
Learn of this little, lovely lilies 
…praising the prince of peace

Details | Kyrielle Poem | |

Doctor Ram's Words are Better Than Gold

A poet cannot always be understood,
but those that can reach us are better than good.
There’s one at the Soup for both young and old.
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.

One poet I like who writes in this way
is very unique, and that’s why I say
when God made this man, he sure broke the mold!
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.

So whether in rhyme, in free verse or haiku;
in senryu, sijo, or in dodoitsu,
the good doctor rocks it, and so you’ve been told!
Dr. Ram’s words are better  than gold.