Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.
So was a metaphor created from the rose,
Then plagiarized and used for all of time,
Simply here to represent the beauty of love,
A perfection to which we cannot aspire to in life,
Or even death, in the darkest of all those woes,
Great though they may seem by the passing day.
It's a fragile, soulful kind of love,
In the pressing presence of the breaking day,
Where your back breaks beneath ample woes,
And there just simply isn’t ever enough time,
To do what you plan to do with your life.
Then you start to resemble that rose.
Soft and delicate, with easy loss of life,
Mournful of the passage of time,
Counting down, day by dreary day,
Ever seeking out to find dear love,
The theoretical banishment of woes.
Such is the way of the deep red rose.
Has it ever occurred to us not to mark time?
Just to ignore it, along with any such woes,
Just to leap forth and enjoy life,
To live to the absolute fullest everyday,
And just as chosen by the poet's rose,
To find and hold on to, that one true love.
For I find, that it's mostly true these days,
That people don't make enough time,
For laughter and fullness in life,
So preoccupied with petty woes,
That they forget about the beauty of love,
And in doing that, they forget about the rose,
I know what the rose represents in my life,
And I work hard to expel my woes every day,
So that soon I will have time for true love.
*****Written in Sestina for Constance's Poetry 101 contest.*****
******* 5th Place winner*******
******Sarah Blake August 2010******
A sestina is a highly structured form of poetry consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-
line envoy (thirty-nine lines). The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order
as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.
Copyright © Lorrie Scheider | Year Posted 2010
If there be some one thing more breautiful
Than to lie with you in warmth and dark,
I would fear that it might burn my soul away
Before the purging purity of light
Its perfection must diffuse.
Your love is all the beauty I may stand.
I carry what we make within this dark,
Our human near-perfection, out into the light
Each day; each moment as I stand
Against the ravages of life I take away
Those stains that fall diffuse
Upon my careless soul, and mar the beautiful.
It is the love of you that brings the light
Into the confusion of my doubtings' dark
Securing what fitful fate may bear away,
That grants the strength to stand
Opposed to all things foul, in alliance with the beautiful,
Committed to a hope as noble as it is diffuse.
There is a light that will not pierce the dark
As we lie conjoined, our love diffuse
About us as the night in little measures leaks away;
It would but blind the eye, if seen, this sacred light
Before which no ill thought may stand,
This light that paints the unseen beautiful.
All worthy things are also most diffuse
As are the light, the dark, the beautiful.
Their meanings advance, recede, then turn away
From our poor apprehension's gropings dark,
Even as our hope moves us to apply what light
We may, to illumine that before which we stand.
So in the end, my mind, struck dumb, turns away
From the mystery, in consult to stand
With the heart within the lovethick dark
Where you lie near and shining without light
Within that sphere of all good things diffuse
About us, incomprehensible and beautiful.
No; there can be to me no thing so beautiful
As the light of you shining in unbroken dark:
Your love is all the beauty I may stand.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2007
True love never dies it’s black and white in books
Love is not love that alters when finds alteration
Love stories are fantasies giving joy to the world
Ideal love is an object set for lovers, for example
Lust may be without love, but love will have both
Lust short love eternal, love inner lust outer beauty.
Farhad, fell in love with Shirin, the Persian beauty
tragic love story looks like a black and white in book
Love was sweet but to rid pain was sacrifice for both,
Love was true and both never tried to find alteration,
Love was only an ideal object to attain, for example
The love story of Shirin-Farhad is famous in the world.
Story of Orpheus-Eurydice not famous to the world
Orpheus fell in love with and married, a nymph beauty
But it is ideal love, for the lovers to attain for example
Love story is, like Shirin-Farhad, a black & white in book
Pure love with one mistake of Orpheus with an alteration
Walk ahead, not to look back, followed not advices both.
Pocahontas-John Smith of Virginia is a modern example
Of Jamestown, Tidewater, story of love and sacrifice both
Account of Indian princess and Englishman, in Smith’s book
A great story of unfulfilled love, little known to the world
Later baptized as Rebecca, married Rolfe, not a real beauty
Met Smith in London once, though with a little alteration.
Greek legend of Helen and Menelaus is fact and fiction both
Helen’s love for Menelaus-Theseus well-known to the world
Two versions of this love story point to her love’s alteration
“The face that launched a thousand ships” for Helen’s beauty
Loved Theseus and tricked him to kidnap her as per a book.
Other says,loved Menelaus,loathed Theseus so not exemplary.
We find in all love stories of world literature, the alterations
Shakespeare never steady, but changing with many examples
Sonnet 128, proclaims love as promiscuous, and pure love both
Pure stories of Marie-Pierre Curie, Queen Victoria-Albert of world
Neither a folklore nor a legend but realistic love in world book.
We do enjoy the beauty for example in altered love stories
though bookish but of both worlds of legend or make believe
The beauty in both the records concerned we feel catharsis.
**Words chosen are: book, alterations, world, example, both, beauty**
Fourth place winner in:
Contest: Joy to the world sponsored by Deborah Guzzi
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010
TALL TOWERS AND DEEP WELLS
My love, come and feast on my two round mountains
whose perky tops are as dark as red roses,
and that are as soft and round as marshmellows.
They stand tall and erect as a giant tower.
Thy pleasurable tongue may be plunged into this deep well
where sweet nector is a neverending supply.
Luscious and delicious there is always a supply.
So when you need satisfying, come to these mountains.
On top of these mountains you will have great access to this well
and when you slide in, it's as velvety and as soft as roses.
You spread these rose pedals with your giant tower.
I melt under your touch as toasted marshmellows.
When you eat these delicious marshmellows,
you'll surely know that I have more than a vast supply.
Your length makes me think of a tall tower
and underneath your tall tower hangs two round mountains.
They bump against my well as gently as roses
and bring rivers gushing into my sweet well.
Your tower and mountains satisfy my deep well.
It's as though I'm filled with sweet marshmellows.
As you taste and feast you will realize I smell like sweet roses.
You must give and must supply and I must give and must supply.
Just remember to always come to these high mountains
Where my well is filled with marshmellows from your tall tower
Nothing is as firm or as tall as your tower
and when you're near me you seem to gravitate to my mountains and well.
With your tower in my well you gently kiss my mountains.
My dark red rose petals swell as you explode sweet marshmellows.
There is no shortage here but a great supply.
All of this love takes place in our bed of sweet roses.
What is more fragrant than a bed of roses
or more delightful than to be gently entered by a giant tower?
Knowing your length I'm sure you would be able to supply.
There's such an awesome craving in my deep well.
And only you can supply me with sweet marshmellows.
Please fill that longing and pleasure these mountains.
Come smell these sweet roses and drink from my well.
I'll play with and taste your tower and you can feed me your marshmellows.
For you have an unending supply which you can release on my mountains.
Copyright © Noelle Devereau | Year Posted 2014
The bitter lips of wind kiss veiny petals
between the moon licked eyes so close
it forms a bond of sinew riddles
that only seem to be broken in mornings burst.
Hungry is the man that immerses himself in earth
only to rip from her the fruits of her labor.
Though through his tireless labor
Gaia’s beauty rings true through sun stained petals.
Peace is reached in the embrace of flesh to earth
when worm hugs cling to filthy thumbs, close
at hand. Backyard jungle comes forth bursting,
screaming in the wind her untold riddles.
With seeds the soul is riddled,
left to blossom in spring time bee labor.
Pollinate ideas in soil and watch them burst
forth in an epilogue of firey petals.
Take it in and drink the soul of the earth.
For only in the kiss of earth
may we find an answer to life’s riddles.
When the sun is setting and the moon is close
be proud of your days of labor
and relish in the ginger petals
that gleam for you in star bursts.
The sun will always rise again, bursting
in the robins sky. As yawning earth
stretches sleepy petals
skyward in search of cotton riddles.
Let not the throat run dry for hearted labor
when Eden is so very close.
Clinging to the mirrors edge, don’t close
the door to your sanctum. But burst
instead through vines of gold, the labor
from your hands have beautified earth
you may never solve all the riddles
scratched in sun on soft petals.
Hold the petals close in hand
as riddles burst from sweetened bulbs
joined forever to the earth in loving labor of the soul
Copyright © Morgan Sully | Year Posted 2013
I have this story of the garden of evil I saw.
Darkness called to me, I was drawn inwardly.
Walking, a glimpse of beauty came into view.
She intrigued me as to why she was inside.
When I stepped in front of her she smiled.
Not an ordinary smile, one of pure wickedness.
She spoke to me calmly at first, as my eyes did view.
Transformation began as her beauty faded inwardly.
I swear to you that I felt like darkness had smiled.
Her shape changed and now a devil my eyes saw.
Beckoning me she said come with me inside.
My soul captured my mind knew now wickedness.
She told me that I was hers now as the demon smiled.
That I had to take my place beside her in wickedness,
Which the garden of evil was now placed inside.
That the evil call had embedded my heart inwardly.
As she took me aside to a mirror where I could view,
What happened to me, undeniable is what I saw.
I was changing outwardly, as well as inwardly.
My eyes were blood red and horns came into view.
I had become her male counterpart, we both smiled.
Within a couple of moments, I was lost in wickedness.
Then out of darkness other creatures came from inside.
More and more demonic creatures are what I saw.
She said, Meet our armies that mankind cast inside.
That she had waited for me, again her lips smiled.
Upon wave of her hand a mist came into view.
It was me in previous form, yes, you were evil inwardly.
Your whole mortal life you felt you had no wickedness.
Suddenly I knew she was right, this was a prediction I saw.
My destiny was sealed; garden of evil will keep me inside.
A consort I will be to her evil heart, fulfilling wickedness.
Thinking back in my dreams I could have changed what I saw.
Though forever and beyond, darkness grows inwardly.
As we held each other, a vision cast came into view.
We looked deep into each other’s eyes and we smiled.
What we both saw, within her womb something was inside.
We knew we shared wickedness, as the birth came into view.
Love, lust held inwardly, looking on, our baby demon just smiled.
Note. This was part of a dream I had and I feel it was a release to write this to help me fight my personal demons that have always plagued my mind and dreams, maybe I watched to many horror movies when I was younger, I have seen almost all of them more than once
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2011
She played with pride and vanity in the mirror
with crimson rouge she painted a mask.
No tear would fall, for she forsook weeping,
because in her mind her beauty was the truth,
whereas the lie remained unending
but she believed a pretty face is always beautiful.
If a pretty face is always beautiful
then surely in soft tongue speaks the mirror
Whose hollow compliments are ever unending.
Now it is never safe to take off that mask
So the mask morphs into the truth?
No wonder you can hear the quiet weeping.
She cannot bear the sight of weeping
since an ugly cry ruins the beautiful
and she can never accept the ugly truth
so quickly she must hide from her foe, the Mirror.
What if torn from her face is the mask?
She fears the insults will be unending.
If the insults are truly unending
it is the beginning of a lifetime of perpetual weeping
fate, not glue, has sealed her face to the mask.
At least her prison is beautiful,
or so says the honest mirror
since the damnable thing supposedly reflects truth.
How dare that vile thing speak the truth!
The pain caused has been unending,
if she shatters the mirror
Will it stop her weeping?
No, she was cursed to be beautiful
by her smotherer, the Mask.
Chokes her slowly does the Mask.
A noose is only equal to the truth
and a blue face is never beautiful
And now the threat of death is never unending.
How can she mourn with weeping?
Since she put her own disguise in the mirror.
She could not bear the mirror's sad truths
and her mask's deceptions were unending
so weeping became her friend and she pretends that lies are beautiful.
By: Chelsea P. Stone
Copyright © Chelsea P. Stone | Year Posted 2017
The imagination of the Creator
Brought to life the unknown and invisible
Shot out was the atomic ball of fire
That was inflated and sustained by wind
The outcome of fire and wind was water
The whole process gave rise to our own earth
But the earth had to be a useful earth
Needed was the wisdom of the Creator
He pushed aside the hovering water
Just to make visible what was invisible
The main instrument at that time was wind
And the great help came from the light of fire
Element of heat shone the light of fire
And the source of life had begun on earth
But to breath living things needed the wind
Succeeding was the plan of of the Creator
Since the evil one was still invisible
Or she was taking form beneath water
Element of liquid gave forth water
That have power to quench the flames of fire
Thanks to the Creator, the One invincible
For implementing His good plan on earth
Where we discover not many a crater
As we cruise around where blowing is wind
Element of gas gave forth solar wind
With some elements that can form water
And that pleased the great mind of the Creator
His bright smile came forth as white light of fire
White light that shines to illuminate earth
So that nothing can remain invisible
Thanks to the Creator, the One invisible-
With visible works unlike invisible wind
The wind that remains invisible on earth
Earth, the only solid element with water-
In the solar system that blazes with fire
All of it, the creation of the Creator
Even though our Creator is invisible
He has got power over fire and wind-
And not the least over water and earth.
Copyright © Richard Gumede | Year Posted 2016
A vortex of wind dancing, with drums of thunder Waltzing, plunders the lands it turnsA partner revolves around the twisterThunderous beats escort the funnel cloudsDarkness split by flashes of lightning,The music and tone are set, for the cyclone Calm eyes in the storm amidst a lethal cycloneas in the tune of another drummer, this thunder,Thunderstorms of awe, so this dance turnsBeholding beautiful hues, of an intemperate twisterRed with dust this wonder, from the cloudsDarker still at night,from fright of lightning, Nightmares clash with the lightning,so goes a chaotic song, of the cycloneOn the hills, spinning to outbursts of thunderWinter dreams as the snow white whirl turnsIronic sisters are the natures of a twisterBefore the aftermath of the disastrous clouds, after beauty does cease, from benevolent cloudsMasters of destruction, with cracks of lightingEtching the land, as upheaval follows the cyclonelike locust and frogs, now plagues do thunder,as if, showing its true colors, when the tornado turnsOnce a beautiful sight to behold was this twister but destruction and misery follow the proud twister,Righteous job found out, from the passing clouds, Angels of light fall like the lightningNations are overturned, by the deadly cyclonebut as God’s love changes the sons of thunder, Tribulation and patience take their turns, The world continues, with all of its turns, The sun blisters, fire whirls like a twisterAwaiting true beauty, from the cloudsSuddenly, shining from east to west, like the lightningA world without death and a deceptive cycloneWe dance in the clouds, shouting victory like thunder Beauty turns as fast as lightningdancing clouds reveal the twisterA deadly cyclone roars with thunder
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2017
On this night, there was a girl.
She shuffles along a path of stone.
Along the trail where shadows dance,
moonlight is the only colour.
In the dark, the animals feast.
Poor tiny creatures, cute and warm.
Inside her coat she stays warm.
Out from the trail, there was a girl.
Through the door to an illustrious feast,
she collects a smile from a face of stone.
Happy, surprised by vivid colour,
she moves across the floor to dance.
From her hips, she begins to dance.
Brass overtones keep her warm.
Playing every note with living colour,
they paint a picture of the girl.
She glides across the stage of stone,
enchanting the lucky about to feast.
“Sit and be merry, for now we feast!”
In conversation, patrons dance.
Across the table made of stone,
she meets a boy whose heart is warm.
“May I have your hand?” He asks the girl.
She smiles with cheeks of rose red colour.
Entangling souls of vibrant colour,
eternally share preamble feast.
Mystified he leads the girl,
through satiated crowd, they dance.
Around the pit, the air is warm,
embers crack in a ring of stone.
Destiny watches the rolling stone,
New lovers glow in merigold colour.
Holding each other, staying warm,
until only ashes remain of infernal feast.
Under the moonlight they dance.
“May I see you again?” he asks the girl.
On a path of stone, she leaves the feast.
In moonlight colour, two lovers dance.
Together warm, a boy meets girl.
Copyright © Joshua Dusome | Year Posted 2017