Nebraska has turned herself gray early this year
A desolate cornfield stands torn and disheveled
A cold front comes in from the north
She whips a few strands from the stalks
An anticipatory shiver goes through the field
An empty feeling of winter saturates the ground
Deer have decimated the last few corn kernels
Nebraska winters rival those in Michigan
THEY SPEAK HIM AS UNLIKELY
THEY WISH HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS
WERE SOILED, AND HIM BRUISED
SO THAT THEY COULD CLAIM
HIS WORKS AS THEIR OWN
REALMS OF FRIENDS
SPEAK THEM AS YOUR ENEMY
THAT THEY MIGHT FRIGHT
AND FEAR THE POSSIBILITIES
THEN THEY SHALL CRAWL AND BEG
THE BREADS OF THEIR LABOR
SHALL BE LOAVES
UPON MY TABLE
THAT I MIGHT OFFER THEM
WHAT THEY HAVE CHORED TO CREATE.
THE GRIM OF THE BODY'S
SHALL BE SOILS FOR SEEDS OF DOUBT
THERE LABORS SHALL BE WORKS
OF MORTALS
THAT THEY MIGHT SEE ME AS GOD
WITH WORKS
THEY SHALL WONDER HOW WERE DONE
Verily honoured am I to be invited
To this First Annual Poetry Soup Convention
Where international writers, poetry-gifted
Come together to share blessings of their passion.
With the global confab scheduled smoothly on-line
I anticipate great sessions of poem readings
Where gracious participation I can’t decline
As my heart would be nourished well with “bard-feedings.”
Grateful am I to join this poetry conference
To learn from notable word-artists I admire
My prayer is for Providence-interference
For protection against internet-glitches’ mire.
Now, I entrust to God* this event’s victory
With guidance to coordinators in the lead
Including the entire PS territory…
Yes, for momentous poetry-delight, I plead.
This April 5, 2019 is poets’ date
Have me counted as well as my excited soul
I’m set and indeed ready to reach meeting-gate
For the furtherance of noble poetry goal.
*Proverbs 21:31 The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but safety is of the LORD.
March 22, 2019
5th place, "The First Annual Poetry Soup Convention"
Sponsored by Line Gauthier; judged on 3/23/2019.
Vanished is the sun that had peeked so exuberantly
around the clouds! Our new beach chair that broke sits taunting me.
The castle that our children built (and then declared it grand)
lies unrecognizable, a washout on wet sand.
One tire of our dune buggy is deflated, and I hold
inside my hand a too-warm Coke that once was icy cold.
Feb. 20, 2019 for Nina Parmenter's Reflect That Emotion Poetry Contest
M-orn
A-fter
E-vening
A-llows
N-ature's
N-ice
E-ffulgence
T-o
R-adiate
I-ts
N-ewness
I-n
D-ay's
A-nticipated
D-awn
Topic: Birthday of Mae Anne Trinidad (August 30)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
M-orning
I-s
H-aving
A-nticipated
E-v eryday
L-ight
A-new
Topic: Poetess (Mihaela Pirjol)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
ANTICIPATED AWAKENING
Christ came calmly, casually calling me
And as I answered in adoration
He spoke of His heavenly home
Awaiting my anticipated awakening and ascension
Anticipated and Antiquated
Several times God has substantiated,
What by us always must be anticipated;
Message newfound;
Appreciate sound;
Even our arrogance ends up antiquated.
Jim Horn
Some quiet time
no talking
no hurrying
no running
no appointments made for next milions of weeks
just sitting
taking pleasure in sitting
peace and quiet
maybe with ice tea or nice cup of hot coffee
looking at the sea
and some love...
These are the deepest ones.
rising,
through velvet night,
reaching to brush
as one finger,
slides anticipation
to stop
evermore
I do not search
the stars,
in a light force
reflected
and bounced
from the guf,
the ether
illuminates
in all
as the threads of life
gather,
to drape in rings,
twining to gasp
in the Ecstasy
of we
is one
and air ripples,
a wind caressed face
smile’s to eddy,
Esperanza grows
wings,
a single feather
falls to ground ..
and the universe
watches
My hands are empty
My pockets bare
Yet my heart is overflowing
It’s filled with love
To always share
It remains forever growing
No clothes of silk
Nor gold adorned
Is needed for my purse
Follow prophesies
Just as warned
To satisfy my thirst
As word be spread
Upon the land
Of the truth, the saving light
With head held high
And outward hands
I await the true birthright
My hands are empty
My pockets bare
Yet my heart is overflowing
It’s filled with love
To always share
It remains forever growing
No clothes of silk
Nor gold adorned
Is needed for my purse
Follow prophesies
Just as warned
To satisfy my thirst
As word be spread
Upon the land
Of the truth, the saving light
With head held high
And outward hands
I await the true birthright
Once every nine weeks, I dread going there.
I know it's expected. I'm very well aware.
The children will act as nice as can be.
But all eyes will be directed and pointed at me.
The room will be small, with nowhere to hide.
The parking lot full, with no one outside.
The halls will seem longer than ever before.
As I slowly approach and knock on the door.
The chairs will be empty, except for one.
And she'll say that she's glad we could come.
Now I have to sit down, and listen intently.
In a chair that's too small for this mother o'plenty.
I will hear all the things that my sweet children do.
It's parent/teacher night at my childrens school!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.