Poem | |
A few poems written by Chan Hurst, (Just That Archaic Poet)
I hope that we can find some comfort in them at this sad time.
"A Rational Explanation"
What must I do to see this through-
Unlock the world I never knew?
For all I've seen hath been untrue,
As all I've felt hath plagued me, too!
I am no more, past Deaths before
I've reached the end of Living War-
(to see through eyes both blind and closed)
A life to touch, but never know...
"Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"
Every day, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen stars in singing streams
"A Happy Ending"
Remorse and regret, I mustn't forget
Remind me that Life is a process of Learning
Indeed for I sorrow'd; 'twas always upset
As the Truth was met with painful discerning
But now my eyes are open-wide,
Grew to love what I once despised
I am no longer sick inside-
I just feel happy to be alive
"A Master's Approval"
No happier could I ever be,
(Or feel a joy's enormity!)
Than to know a Soul as Poe-
Would say he likes my poetry!
"The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven"
I pray that in my Eternity,
I'll meet Shelley, Poe and Emily
That we'll all sit down at a table round,
And at length discuss our Poetry!
And Longfellow, lest we forget
Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and beloved Keats!
If I prove their favorite Poet,
I could accomplish no greater feat!
For all my many silly musings,
This one I covet above the rest
For my Soul's toil- finally proving
That the Masters love me best!
"Heaven For A Poet" by Kelly Deschler
My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to bed nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.
My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.
This poem was one of mine that Chan had faved, so I thought it would be appropriate to share this now and dedicate it to him.
I will always miss you, BP, my brother in poetry, but I sense that you are smiling down on us now.
I know that Chan idolized Edgar Allan Poe. I remember him telling me that someday,
he wanted to share a table in heaven with that "good ol' E.A. Poe".
So, Chan, if that is what you're doing now, I envy you, my friend!
And, you said that you would personally invite me to that little gathering, remember? :)
Poem | |
Gary, you are my little soldier boy,
who died on Veteran's Day. ('83)
My sunny, golden-haired soldier boy,
that I still miss in every way.
You had just turned 13,
getting interested in girls.
When CF took you from me,
my heart, like a flag, unfurled.
You fought CF with every breath.
For 13 years you tried.
And four lung collapses later,
after each one, I said,
"Son, you will survive."
Oh, how I lied!
Now, no more hugs and kisses,
No more birthday wishes,
I watched you go
and please God know,
Heaven, receive my treasure.
Author Note: This poem was written in memory of my son, Gary,
who died of Cystic Fibrosis at 13, in 1983. I honor my soldier who so valiantly
fought his fight on the battlefield of a life threatening lung disease, which fills the lungs with sticky mucus and makes it difficult to breathe. With all CF children,
they struggle with every breath they take just to breathe! My son eventually
started to have lung collapses. He had four before the last one took his young life on Veteran's Day weekend in 1983..(Read my poem "A rainbow Glitters")
I wouldn't be a poet today, if not for my son. He was diagnoses at age three.
As I sat by his hospital bed crying, I reached into my purse for a tissue, but
instead, I pulled out a pen. I thought to myself, "Ok, God, I get the message.
You want me to write and not cry." So I wrote my first poem that night, "Not
MY Son!" Which eventually got published in Elizabeth Kubler Ross' Book "On Children and Death." Later, I wrote humorous poems to entertain my son, who
was often to sick to go to school. And I'm still writing my poems today.
Poem | |
This year we will remember
Happier times in past months of December
This year we will certainly see
A massive void where you used to be
This year we will sit and stare
At that forlorn and empty chair
This year we will sit and reminisce
You are not here for us to hug and kiss
This year we will definitely see
No gift for you under the Christmas tree
This year we will shed a tear
For dad as you are no longer here
This year we will raise a toast
To our dad who we loved the most
This year will be so difficult for us all
It was the year the Lord did my father call
Contest: Past, Present and Future
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Poem | |
clad in rags, he wanders on Wall Street
he is invisible to hustling stock brokers
he is a man with no money, no property
a hapless struggler of excessive loan burdens
bitter winter winds blow across Broadway
he is invisible to affluent theatre-goers wearing warm winter coats
he is a man who watches them scurry past the cardboard box that is his bed
like a rain-dog, huddling in the shadows of alleys and doorways
he hears deafening explosions of New Year fireworks
he is invisible to the revellers
he is a man who cowers, recalling gunfire of a war he fought
echoing through his mind in restless nights
the incessant thumping of traumatic stress
he is invisible...a victim of post-Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq
who once bore a uniform and served his country with pride
he is invisible suffering alone, paying the price
through severe disabilities and permanent scars
with sadness, he watches voters going to the polls
he is invisible, a veteran with no voice in elections
he is a man who cannot vote without an “address”
a placard on a pavement might catch the eye
unemployed, homeless, unseen
but most of all forgotten
he is a man who seems invisible
but he is still a man
This is co-written by Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
in remembrance of our war veterans.
Poem | |
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Poem | |
November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada
When I was in grade 7 or 8 (I don't exactly remember) we had
to write poetry for a Remembrance Day contest. I won and had to read this in front of our whole grammar school. I must of been 12 or 13. This was my first real poem!
I dedicate this here today to all the soldiers who fight or have fought for our rights and freedom.
In Flanders Field with poppies red,
there lies the secret of the dead.
Those blood coloured poppies
so red and so gay,
bring the whispering sound
of Remembrance Day.
Those true earnest men
who fought for their land,
now lay beneath the musky cool sand.
Alert and ready at dangers call,
prepared to fight they would not stall,
but march right on,
now some there lay,
In Flanders Field,
with poppies gay.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Poem | |
Does the past really matter?
Does it set you free?
I’m absorbed in the sin,
That is surrounding him and me.
Lost in the curiosity,
Cold to the touch.
Drenched in the poison,
With my dignity in his clutch.
Feeling like I was cheated;
I chose the evil instead of light.
I traded in the sunshine,
For what lurks in the night.
I disobeyed his orders,
I gave up security to be unsure.
I went against the warnings,
Gave into darkness instead of remaining pure.
Once my bed was made of soft grass,
But now it is made of stone.
Was plump from all of the luscious fruit,
Now I’m starving to the bone.
My curse is one of circumstance.
The punishment a crime,
I’m stuck inside this dampened cave,
For the rest of time.
My world came crashing down,
The grief has not subsided.
My heart broke completely,
When my sons collided.
My misery a token,
From the abandonment I earned.
Upon the time spent in sorrow,
There was a lesson to be learned.
Have I found the moral?
Only in time we shall see,
For all I did was eat an apple-
From the Knowledge tree.
Poem | |
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Poem | |
While on our stroll, beneath the limbs
a filtered light, sun's fading flare
has sparked a light within your eyes
and stirs the dust, to alter time
Youth suddenly becomes alive,
with stories I had never heard
And even birds high on the branch,
will stretch to hear what you might share
With quavered voice, and strangely queer,
a remnant of one midnight clock,
you talk of things, I thought were locked,
in metal cages, under rocks
We walk the grove and as you spoke
a thousand words, once thought as lost
are ghosts, like shadows, under oaks,
which lift the leaves, once turned to ash
I take your hand, to gently hold
into my own, as I am told
about a child you once had born
but lost before one autumn's dawn
I cry for you, ...your tears are dry
The comfort of the warmth of hands
unite us now beneath a sky
of crimson red, across the land
I watch this girl now disappear
back into fog, she was before
The memory will drift away
Perhaps it's best to let it stay
We pass again, back through the gate
one moment left to hesitate
A change of view, each step we take
Tonight is fraught of sadness, great
By Carrie Richards 10/15/14
For Giorgio's Contest: Top Gun/Structured Form
Poem | |
Everyone has gone home
Where ever home is
The city is bare
And the call girl left
We share our secrets
Comrades in despair
The cold winter chills us all
So we two find comfort
In a passing moment
She kisses her past
I kiss my desires
Our tongues kiss our dreams
A Christmas carol plays in the background
Snow begins to fall
Madeline must now go
On another call
Poem | |
On day full of doom and gloom
With no strength to leave my room
With no hope to look towards light
With darkness closing in at night
When my heart floods with despair
Burdened by my load of care
When the rose has but a thorn
Wishing I were never born
When no effort is worthwhile
On my face no trace of smile
When my heart does naught but weep
For a love I cannot keep
A kingdom in which I reign
Where I banish grief and pain
A kingdom where all is light
With rolling hills, verdant, bright
I smile, for I am a Queen
Only beauty can be seen
Fairies flutter to and fro
Peace and joy is all I know
I tremble with sheer delight
My crown glows with heaven’s light
I am loved, and I am free
For a QUEEN resides in me
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A poem dedicated to my friend, FLO Thomas, for her poem, The Kingdom of Ghali. I’m hiding away in my room, but the visit to this poem again, to this magical kingdom, brought a ray of light shining in. Love you, Flo! OXOXOXOXO I tease my family and friends that...I'm really a princess. I tell them, "Haven't you gotten that memo?" They all just laugh at me. Now...I have a wonderful comeback. "You won't even see the PRINCESS in me...on Poetry SOUP...I'm a QUEEN!!!!" Oh...the joy of virtual dreams!
Kindness goes a LONG LONG WAY!!!
Poem | |
I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,
A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.
The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.
The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.
Poem | |
In flanders fields the poppies do grow
For those brave soldiers that did die
The ones to whom I speak of
Are the ones that fought with pride
The ones who fought a war that was really worth fighting for
The ones who stood up for our rights a freedoms
It's those soldiers whom I adore
They fought with a reason, they fought with a purpose
The days, The night it didn't matter but still they did not hurt us
What I mean is that everything that they fought for truly had a meaning
They were fighting a war for life, not for wealth or stealing
Please remember what these soldiers fought so hard for,
Please remember why.
Don't commit anymore of these acts of hate
No more people need to die
Everyone has there time to go in life let them choose there way
The wars need to end here, the peace is what needs to stay
At least one day out of the year please let's just remember
The Brave, The Strong, The Few
If it wasn't for them fighting for where you are now
There might not be a Me a You.
So with pride I say thank you from the bottom of my heart
To all the soldiers that fought for the right reasons
To give us all a fresh new start.
Poem | |
My ashes will be scattered in the garden of remembrance
A place that to me will have no relevance
For I will be gone, my spirit departed this life
So it won’t matter, it won’t cause me strife
I could ask to be scattered in Scarborough in the North Sea
Where my ashes could float on endlessly
Or they could be scattered in my Wrockwardine home
Where the wind would be free to make them roam
For those who I leave behind, memories they’ll have of me
Smiling and joking that’s how it will be
They can remember me as a Scarborough or Wrockwardine lad
As long as there thoughts are happy not sad
When my life is over and you all gather round
I hope you will wear colourful clothes and make lots of sound
I beg you not to be miserable or downhearted that day
Celebrate my life have a drink and just say
All the things that you think of me it can do me no harm
Have a hell raising party forget being calm
Sing karaoke and dance till you drop
Let the party go on let it never stop
Let the memories I leave you sustain you through the years
Whenever you think of me try a smile hold the tears
For maybe one day our souls will meet again
I’ll be there to greet you and drive you insane
For as in life so I will be in death to
Someone who will make you smile that’s what I’ll do
I will still be the Scarborough or Wrockwardine lad
For those who don’t like it well that’s just too bad
Poem | |
Your wishes can't regain,
A thrill so long ago.
To once again reclaim
A past you wouldn't know.
You view a different dance,
With unfamiliar tune
You pine for lost romance,
Yet treasure not the Moon.
Meter - Iambic Trimeter (Cataletic).
A-B, A-B Rhyme.
Poem | |
REMEMBRANCE IN POETRY
There’s a deathly silence
in the aging night of the living,
a rasp of breath sneaks
out across the candid moor,
like the wail that fails
the carousel of life!
The vigorous wind
slaps the face
makes the world go away,
life is a continuous storm
clear skies always on the horizon
only when she smiles
does the sunshine.
The poison within
the mind in constant need,
if only to forget the good times
when strolling in summer madness,
simplicity down school lane
nature’s betrayal ever so subtle
after all, one just wanted
to touch the moment!
Copyright Harry J Horsman
Poem | |
Where do they go
when they leave?
Well I do believe
she is rolling down a grassy hillside
giggling all the way to the bottom
He is walking barefoot
down a dusty country lane
A fishing pole over one shoulder
His dog by his side
She picks herself up
brushes off the grass
and runs to play with her dolls
Mama cut from a flour sack
He forgot about fishing he is
catching crawdads in the water hole
until Mama calls for him to come on home
She is learning to play the piano
with a persistence to be admired
attacks the scales an earnest look on her face
framed by banana curls perfectly patted into place
It is harvest time and a farmer’s work is never done
there are plenty of lessons in plowing planting
and reaping for one man so young
They are the swing kids jitterbugging to the stars
dancing all night to Glenn and Duke’s
boogie-woogie big band sound
She is kissing him goodbye
as he boards the bus carrying soldiers to war
wondering if his final resting place will be
on that far-off European shore
They are remembering why
they are the greatest generation
to ever grace this earth
Their innocence never since revisited
Their enthusiasm for life
for love for change
The sacrifices they made
When she looks at her daughter
It’s not a woman with grandchildren she sees
but her little girl in curls
all dressed up for Sunday school
His son is not a man balding with a paunch
but his tow-headed boy in overalls
when Papa took him fishing
in his favorite water hole
Where do they go
when they leave?
They are playing in the backyard
the only toy they could afford
They are strolling twilight streets
in the time before darkness
They are sitting on the front porch
with their neighbors
watching their children grow
They are not forgetting a world
which has passed them by
They are remembering a time
when they held the world in their hands
(See About Poem)
Poem | |
It was the summer - August 4
When England joined the First World War
1914 the very year
Before wives and children shed their bitter tears
‘The war to end wars’ was the battle cry
Before there had been one widow’s sigh
The men lined up by the score
To enlist, sacrifice themselves to this bitter war
Friends and families made their mark
Pals regiments were formed in town and park
From factories, clubs, offices and farms
They became privates, sergeants, men at arms
And off they went through the streets
Not knowing that they were cannon meat
Cheered and applauded as they marched
Toward war’s verdant fields not yet parched
“It’ll be over by Christmas” came the call
“Get over there one and all”
No one of them, home or abroad
Had ever heard of “Total War”
Posters beckoned from every wall
Poets wrote of war’s enthrall
Songs and stories came thick and fast
Glorifying war and our heroic past
But very soon came the acrid truth
Millions dead - “Anthem of Doomed Youth”
Trial by ordeal and fire and zeal
A generation gone through war’s sharp steel
The sombre, bitter, vile death-calls
Quickly killed the tunes of the music halls
Wounded, dead, disfigured men
Many mutilated beyond any ken
At the end it was all for naught
That carnage in each battle fought
Kings deposed and Empires lost
But the worst thing was the human cost
One hundred years to this very day
Like then we shake our heads and say
Still in wars our sons and daughters die
To all that is holy, why? oh why?
Poem | |
All over the land, people scurrying,
spending like crazy, all in a flurry,
debts mounting up, future burdens,
chains that tie, all for Christmas.
Yet! Stop, pause, wait and think.
Remember what this time is about.
It has nothing to do with presents
nor with tables that groan with food.
It is about a very special gift freely given.
It is the birthday of our savior Jesus.
Who was born to save us all.
So rejoyce, let the true spirit in.
Poem | |
The silhouette of night comes,
like a soft dark rendering
Drawn on the wall of my mind
To visit, to remember
There I've rendered your likeness,
with the charcoal from our love
Left in the silent ashes
contest Silhouette of a Heptagonet
Poem | |
I remember your eyes...
Emerald seas casting flecks of golden sun.
A lamb gently swaddled in strength of the lion's shadow.
I remember your smile...
Snow caps surrendered; the warm pulse of spring.
Night's ebony dome, shattered by light of day.
I remember your kiss...
Honey drizzles of sweet liquid amber.
Lingering soft clouds in sky's quiet still.
I remember your touch...
Feathers adrift lending whispered caress.
Love songs embraced in fireside glow.
I remember your passion...
Desire drenched in molten red; quench of explosive pleasure.
A feverishly guided brush; the masterpiece set free.
I remember your love...
Dreams manifested; unprovoked; the painted sunset.
Exposed, the rock unchanged through passing storm.
I remember you...
Poem | |
The mighty 3rd to the north did steam,
Chasing a ghost not to be seen
Guard the landing your task assigned,
Quiet the day is to be benign
At dawn the Imperial fleet does appear,
Surprise complete, ranging fire splashes near
Outnumbered and out gunned, duty is clear,
Close the range you must in spite of your fear
Laying smoke, a jagged course you take,
An account of yourselves you will make
Steel your heart and make sure your eye,
For each salvo keeps you alive
Toe-to-toe the battle, you exchange mighty blows,
Triumph impossible, yet into the fray you all go
In perfect rhythm, the mad dance goes on,
As smoke filled gunhouse loads powder and shot
Decks strewn with the dead and dying,
Teams repair to keep the ensign flying
Struck and struck again, yet to point blank you steam,
Hard to port, you cross the “T”
“All guns to fire at the turn, torpedoes away!”
The enemy scatters in disarray
Too late, mortal blows you take
To the deep, no more your enemy to rake
One final salute their captain does render,
For you fought to the death and did not surrender
On this all men do still agree,
These were the finest two hours of Taffy 3
On October 25th, 1944, 3 destroyers and 4 destroyer escorts of Task Force
Taffy 3 engaged a combined force of Imperial Japanese Navy battleships and
cruisers in a 2 hour running gun battle to protect the escort carriers and troop
transports taking part in the Leyte Gulf landings in the Philippines. Two of the
three destroyers and one of the escorts were sunk while sinking three
Japanese heavy cruisers and damaged three more. Due to the fierceness of
the attack, the Japanese fleet retired from the area thinking they had been
attacked by a much larger force. At the outset of the battle, the commanding
officers of these 7 ships, without orders, individually decided to attack and
headed at flank speed to the fight all knowing they would most likely not
survive the day. Almost 1600 did not. In a final act of respect, the commander
of one Japanese cruiser saluted the crew of an American ship that had just
sunk as his ship passed them floating in the water.
Poem | |
A time where phones and computers didn't exist,
But a time where good ol' fashioned talking was in the mist.
A time where hospitality was priority number one,
And your grandma's cooking was better then anyones.
A time where family would all sit at the table,
All they had was a little tv and didn't even have cable.
A time where family really did matter,
Words were sincere,not just said to flatter.
A time where your word meant something,
And you wouldn't give away your values for anything.
Now a days those things seen old fashioned,
Sometimes I wish I could go to that age and time,
Where a simplistic and peaceful life I would find.
Poem | |
And if ever you don’t see
dig in the soil like a fruit
and lift the stone of yourself
to find a word
harder than Maya.*
And if you ever demand for more,
dig the sky.
* Maya or Maya (Sanskrit ???? mayaa[›]), a term found in Pali and Sanskrit literature, has multiple meanings and can be translated to mean something of an "illusion"
Poem | |
I can feel the gravity calling me back,
I'm curious as to why it makes me so sad,
but in my heart i can see you hurting,
when you speak, your words are so discerning,
you hide under this blanket so very well,
trying not to reveal, but i can tell,
your smile continuously hides the pain,
and i wish there was something that i could say..
my connection to you goes beyond words,
when you speak in between the lines, my heart starts to hurt,
i sometimes have to turn away and pretend,
that i really just didn't hear what you said,
i sigh, but in my heart i know,
that you have to go through these motions in order to grow,
i want you to know that i understand,
i wish that you would let me hold your hand,
but this pride you have that pushes away,
to keep your image, you hold everyday,
you believe if you show weakness it will show your not strong,
but im here to tell you your so very wrong,
remember in our weakness God shows his strength,
showing we are broken yet beautiful, God is calling us back again,
opening doors for healing you can't even see,
using me to get to you, and you to get to me,
we are made in his image, our relations with others relate,
our hearts are connected, he made it this way.