Best 11Th Poems
Some of us are secretive at first. We hide our poetry’s soul self,
gently letting her peep out; sometimes regretting it immediately.
Fearful of critiques from people who do not understand that poetry
is something we are compelled and born to do with our feelings.
Your diary entries may form themselves into goodness or badness
before you realize your calling as a poet.
Truths shockingly ooze out, surprising you.
Feelings creep out onto a page, in loud angry letters,
or romantic feelings daintily brush onto a crisp lined page
in the form of sweetness and light.
You are a word player, because you cannot
stop this obsession, but it does not define you.
This poetry gig is but a glimmer of a glimpse of yourself.
You might be a caregiver, or a wonderful friend.
People who count on your smile every day may not realize
you have a love affair with words, and an obsession to write them.
We are each a unique jewel, mined from God’s mind.
Poetry may initiate a whisper of a tiny facet of ourselves,
but our secrets are safe. We not merely poets. We are lovers
of life, and words. Most importantly, we remain gloriously hidden
and unknown to most.
Written 12-20-18 Contest: You Are Not Defined by Poetry
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Oceana
Oceana flings her sequined petticoats
Upon the sands as if to toss the seaweed
From the swirling edges
While she dances with the wind
With each turn she swings her skirts
In thunder
As she passes – faster, faster -
Until her laughter foams upon the waves
And in the early midnight dawns
She turns to cover up
Her turquoise evening gown
With capes of fog so thick
The soaring gulls seem to carry
This her summer train
To quickly change into a dress of silver satin,
Bound with trims of frothy sprays,
Rising and swelling,
When morning reaches for windy afternoons,
She teases sudden lightning outbursts
Leaving behind upon the outstretched strands
A foaming lace of pearls
That decorate her new rippling dress
Of brilliant sapphire blue
Drawing it around the world in flowing currents
To follow, ever follow, the lilting music
Of her lover moon,
Softly singing enchanted melodies,
Ever beckoning his earthbound bride unto himself
To watch her gaily waltz upon the rolling seas
Circling to his rune.
8-22-25
3rd - Rob Carmack Premiere VIII
6-29-22 - N/A
Contest: Marathon Mile Five
Sponsor: Mark Toney
8-13-22 -
5th - Poetry Marathon Mile 12
Sponsor: Mark Toney
6/20/19
On Top 100 All Time Poems list
1st - Trophy Win - Juliet Lingon
1st - Julia Ward 11/29/20
1st - Brian Strand 1/14/20
Featured Poem 5/2/21
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology #2 - It's Still Poetry
Included in CWC Anthology - First Prize Winner Independent Publishers Award
Indie Press Awards
What is holding you back?
What is stopping you?
What is making you uncomfortable
about asking?
about wanting?
about dreaming?
about wishing?
about expecting?
about planning?
about setting new goals?
about learning new things?
about figuring out other ways?
about being your most excited self?
about opening yourself up to new opportunities?
New possibilities? New people? New places? A new job?
Or is it a who?
"what is this strange place, we find ourselves in
trapped in the open, we are free within"
in the darkest realm of desperation,
we find love and some hope for elation,
in swirling crowds, solace of solitude,
amongst stony hearts, pearl of gratitude,
in eddy currents of tears, hint of smile,
in scorching heat, shade to rest for a while,
a crack of lightning in gloom of clouds,
in violence of storms, beacons on grounds,
in chaos, anarchy, voice of reason,
a rose in full bloom, outside its season,
so ride on, ride on, ride on till sunset,
captain your life, ride on with no regrets,
sail with your dreams, with strong courage to win,
trapped in the open, we are free within!
Rise Up
Rise up to the blessing of another day.
To all that awaits you this moment.
To all that will challenge you and enlighten you.
Rise up to the opportunity to live in your truth and appreciate the truth of others.
To make a difference and matter to those in your path and to those you never noticed.
Be awakened by the joys of opportunities both sought after and placed before you.
Rise up to the choices that you have the freedom to make and take delight in being the vessel to enforce them.
Embrace your beauty, your strength, and most importantly, your flaws.
Be courageous when faced with adversity and smile when you’ve conquered the impossible.
Rise up to your fears and shortcomings and face them with the belief that you are not the only one; you are never alone.
There is so much turmoil in the world today. Be that small ripple in the water that becomes the huge wave of hope and positive change.
Be that spark that ignites into a blaze of restoration.
Rise up to the responsibility of reminding our youth that they are royalty and should conduct themselves as such.
With the dignity and respect which is needed to be a part of resolutions and not part of our demise.
Although life has a way to often break us down, we must rise up to the realities of our destiny.
We cannot be broken. Our spirit cannot waiver. Our souls have been fortified with ancestry that embodied perseverance, power, and the will to praise God.
RISE UP KINGS
RISE UP QUEENS
We are backed by our foundation of greatness and all that we are facing in the world today is our foundation of inspiration and purpose.
We must be inspired every day to simply and deliberately RISE UP!
Thank you, Mr. Rogers (yes, his real name!)
for rescuing me from teenage purgatory.
Perplexed teenager, lacking social lumen
pulled C's in English, D's in History -
my dreadful retrograde trajectory
projected no collegiate acumen,
in prom discussions, practically subhuman!
Then, your poetical geometry
and sleek Cartesian choreography
became my sailing ship, and I, its crewman.
Derivatives soon danced in arcs non-static.
Pythagorean proofs helped me progress,
vectors resolved problems that once would vex.
Your agile algebra of joy quadratic:
my new hypotenuse of happiness
helped me to find myself... I solved for x.
Written 13 March 2020
Time is not
a ticking clock,
it has
no past, present,
or distinct future;
each moment
woven
forever
in the
fabric of
creation
is eternal and
as infinite as space
yet,
recognizable.
(Yalto)
07/02/2020
Time- 8 Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: A Dear Heart
Silent as smoke, darkness descends;
while shadows merge and daylight ends.
For, summoned by a bullfrog's croak;
darkness descends, silent as smoke.
The Moon pools in ebony skies;
and gilded gold; She starts to rise.
One of the night's brightest jewels;
in ebony skies: the Moon pools.
Blue bleeds red from a dying sun,
a telltale sign that Day is done.
Inking crimson clouds overhead;
from a dying sun, blue bleeds red.
Signaling for love, fireflies flash,
as dusk settles like sooty ash.
Under the stars, twinkling above;
fireflies flash, signaling for love.
howling black wolves complain to new moon,
of devastation wrought by creatures!
different from rest in size and shape,
walk on two legs, strange hairless features!
in packs behind rigid barriers,
cunning to modulate world to needs,
the rivers run dark under their feet,
trees have perished to nourish their seeds!
clouds now migrate away to the south,
it thunders and rains where once desert,
vast oceans expand as glaciers melt,
cold death now haunts where once birds would nest.
hunt us down, say are born of devil,
spare not a thought for nature’s reasons,
we hunt when hungry, the weak and lame,
but they kill for game in all seasons!
fire horrors ravage homely woods,
cuckoo laments morning with its lore,
big herds that walked now dress their rooms,
world is wounded, earth is bleeding sore!
Horror! Horror! we cry to the moon,
our laments tear down the dark silence,
ruled by these creatures with hearts of stone,
they are destructive sans repentance!
we fear not ghosts that lurk in the dark,
nor dripping blood from a sharpened steel,
greater horror lurks where these things haunt,
a pestilence that rocks nature’s keel!
Written 3/May/2021
Funom Makama sponsored
Horror poetry contest
9 syllables each line-
lines2 and 4 rhyme in all quatrains!
POTD 05/05/2021
My art delights me, covers my walls.
Smiling, dancing, laughing magical beings.
Reminding me how much I love to choose colors.
Appreciated by no one as much as myself.
Proud neon colors saturate my house,
My artwork is in nearly every room,
Each room a challenge. Which one is the best?
Which one would I choose for painting of the week?
I am obsessed with the pure joy and excitement
I receive as I choose my colors, plowing through my paints.
I know exactly what color each bottle and squeeze tube makes.
Happily painting my whimsical creatures, I am choosy about it.
Almost every painting includes a woman, and I start with her eyes.
Every single time, drawing the two orbs first, or one if I want her
To appear to be looking sideways. Every single time. No exceptions.
I have never begun a painting that did not start with the eyes.
Pirates, dragons, unicorns, faeires, elves, and mushroom houses
Laugh at me from my covered walls. Seventy’s peace sign and hippies.
In hip-hugging bell bottoms, are burning their bras in my living room.
They make me happy, and they make me laugh. They are whimsical.
Ladybugs, peacocks, tulips, flower gardens, lily of the valley, horses too.
My art delights me, brings my mood from minus twelve to one hundred and sixty.
In a few minutes, I can take an empty canvas and turn it into an original piece
Distinctly mine, I doubt I have to sign them. They all call my name, and loudly.
An outpouring of happiness,
love surges up from the heart
and splashes against the soul:
an emotion, exclusive to humans.
More than a ubiquitous word:
love is an overwhelming feeling of elation
that burns in your heart,
and merges with your soul;
defying logic and reason.
The human heart entertains a multitude
of inexplicable innate feelings,
that fuel hopes and expectations.
Love is such a feeling:
both ethereal and physical,
it defines humanity.
A heart imbued with love will forgive:
what a prideful heart will not.
For love's a knee-jerk reaction
that requires no thought.
Love can bring excruciating pain,
or a euphoric adrenaline rush:
either way, it will not be ignored
nor ever fade away.
ebony edges
twilight blackens sketched shadows~
scarlet-stained sunset
dusk dribbles dewdrops
flower petals atrophied~
evening primrose, bloom
pinwheel galaxies
swirling stars orbit black holes~
bats shadow the night
dawn pierces night's heart
scarlet wounds bleed crimson light~
a hummingbird's hum
day resurrected
scurrying shadows scatter~
colors coalesce
In the know
With Van Gogh
You all think you know him
But who channels him?
Who swims in color?
Who has paint on their hands in a perpetual way?
You all think you know him
I live him.
They are walking! Walking, walking, walking!
Long stretches of walk - hundreds of miles of impossible uncertainty,
in blazing sun, in sweltering, muggy, heat - running away from an Inferno.
Home, sweet home! Villages with shady trees!
Destination!
Thirst, hunger, bleeding.
They trudge, fatigued babies hanging on their shoulders like sandbags,
starving infants clutching hands, tears dry on their cheeks.
Men and women - walk, walk, walk!
Leave cities where cruelty is the only language,
Villages with shady trees -
Home, sweet home, far away.
Burning sun, sweating bodies, dry throat, growling tummies.
Slog beside railroads - follow tracks,
no trains, no buses, no trucks, no vehicles,
only two weary feet to carry them to their destination,
plodding with all their might until the body can not move a step further.
Lie on the tracks - it’s hard, it’s cold, it’s comforting!
Come rest, come sleep, come death -
Blood-stained tracks-
Destination never came.
Come Dusk, Sol sinks into the pitch of Night,
till crickets drown out bellowing bullfrogs.
The sun bleeds, inking Night with blood-red light;
while woodpeckers drum on hollowed-out logs.
Splintered silhouettes silently conjoin;
flowing into ebon pools of twilight.
The sun gilds the moon, one side of the coin;
golden spheres, fueling life with their light.
Ebony cushions the whole universe,
encrusted with billions of twinkling gems.
Splendiferous pink-colored clouds disperse;
while flowers nod off, snoozing on their stems.
Tethered to time's imperceptible string,
we're somehow connected to everything.