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
In the anters and shadows of this baleful life
perhaps the little brown mouse searching in silence
bewray a lonesome story behold
For eyes to wander a brief candle behold
in hushed light, enwheeled...this pitiful life
if only, my friend, to peer in silence
where love had flown in years of silence
to gape for dawn, a friendship behold
in ghostly thought of scurried life
From the cold reality of life where painful silence smothers, Behold!! compassion is born..
Anters - Caves
Brief Candle- Life is compared to a candle flame
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2013
Keeping your mind,
healthy and open
and taking that big step
through the opportunity door;
you’ll find going up,
the career ladder, easy.
It’s not always easy,
to keep and open mind.
Going straight up
the ladder, opens
many possibilities; open doors
lay at the top, of the steps.
You may not be taking steps;
the climb up so many floors, is not easy.
The illusive door
of the human mind,
is hard to keep open.
Mind locks itself up.
Go ahead, limb on up,
take those steps;
many opportunities will open
and it will be easy,
for your mind,
to open its own door.
When elevators close their doors
and they glide slowly up;
as you get off, mind
your first foot step.
You’ll find it very easy,
any door to open.
The world is full of, open
You’ll find an easy
path, as you gradually rise up.
No one wants to go, back a step;
that thought alone, can open any clam shelled mind.
Secure files open, with a code, quite easily.
Through many a doorway; you’ll advance your steps.
Climbing success’s ladder upwards; is simply an act, of the mind.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014
Atop a jagged pinnacle,
he sits, just waiting;
ragged wings stretch into flight.
Dragon eyes his prey;
downward sweep and clasp
brings supper for a dragon.
We all must face our dragons;
climb looming pinnacles.
ourselves; we watch and wait;
we are our own prey
and can’t escape our truths, in flight.
Poetry in flight,
is the night dragon.
He easily finds prey,
from his pinnacle;
a patient specter…waiting,
with cold talons ready to clasp.
Downward swoop and clasp;
spreading wings in flight.
Tired of perpetually waiting,
with wings obscuring pinnacle;
takes unsuspecting prey.
There is no hope, for dying prey;
wiggling in talon-clasp.
Dragon’s spy pinnacle,
welcomes him from hunt-flight.
Famished dining dragon,
welcomes no more waiting.
Much too long, in waiting,
with no dinner-prey,
can leave a thinning dragon
in deaths abominable clasp.
Angels in celestial flight,
will carry him, to Heaven’s pinnacle.
When for death, you wait; face your dragon.
He’ll give up his prey, for miraculous, spiritual flight.
In a death clasp; souls reach the eternal pinnacle.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014
Everywhere, in dark and light,
are always watching eyes.
Way out in space,
some of gold;
watch through celestial layers.
Sift through the layers,
to allow the light.
Expose the golden,
Those burning orbs,
that hide in space.
We all need our private space.
Desperate, we dress in layers,
to escape the prying orbs.
But, when a light
reveals prying eyes,
our privacy’s no longer golden.
In dreams of gold,
we fly in space.
No nosey eyes
will peel our mortal layers.
Our hearts so light,
escape those nosey orbs.
upon a stage of pinwheel lights.
How they play in space,
among dark layers,
away from prying eyes.
those peering orbs,
that hide in layers;
infringe upon our golden,
smother our inner light.
Prying eyes, hiding in etheric layers to spy.
My soul-orbs, watch them spying in space.
Their privacy’s just as golden; though they wear a disguise of star light.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015