Best 8Th Poems
Grim fog, I praise the shelter of your drear,
the sundown ghost morose not grandiose,
I walk alone - but, no -- with my despair;
a bittern bids a bitter adiós.
The breakers so in agony they gnash
and gnaw the strand with thrash of foamy green,
the tempest witch brings ironfisted lash
alas, the eye-of-storm epiphany unseen.
Free, free! The tern who flies in Gemini
above beloved peak and shore and wave,
sun-painted wings, away you went -- so spry,
so fierce! Bluebird pierced and buried in your grave,
..and the stars understand; a fateful fall into the sea --
Damn the deep! It’s jostle docile.. my scream to meet the scree!
Susan Ashley
June 29, 2021
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mille 11
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Contemporary Sonnet
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
*bittern: any of several tawny brown herons
*scree: an accumulation of weathered rock fragments at the foot of a cliff
*a Modern / Contemporary Sonnet is a poem of 14 lines addressing any theme of the poet's choosing. It does not need to adhere to any set rhyme scheme, syllable count or meter, nor does it need to include a volta. The only true requirement of a modern sonnet is that it consists of 14 lines*
I leave the daily hustle and bustle
and the cacophony of city sound.
And head to where the leaves softly rustle
in the breeze, and no one else is around.
When I'm alone, I experience peace
that raises my soul to a higher plane.
And anxiety's attacks slowly cease,
free from critical critiques and disdain.
Seclusion fuels imagination;
shaping reality within my mind.
And it's a feeling of liberation;
unrestricted by rules of any kind.
Whenever I seek solitude by choice,
I heed the whispers of my inner voice.
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?
You've no doubt heard of fire-breathing dragons,
and their obsession with hoarding treasure.
But you have never heard of Huffle-Winks,
magical creatures that promote pleasure.
Invisible, atop their dragonflies,
they ride the winds of fate mile after mile.
And wherever they encounter a frown,
they attempt to flip it into a smile.
They summon dragonflies to get around,
for, unlike dragons, they haven't learned to fly.
But, if you suddenly feel like laughing,
it's a safe bet; a Huffle-Wink's nearby.
In winter, when dragonflies disappear,
they hitch a ride upon tumbling snowflakes.
And if you're lucky enough to catch one,
it's like winning the lottery sweepstakes.
I've never seen one, except in my dreams,
but I feel, in my heart, they are real.
And what makes me so sure that they exist
is the joyful way that they make me feel.
When you're feeling particularly blue,
remember, Huffle-Winks are all around.
And as spirits of jocularity,
they ensure that smiles and laughter abound.
Laughing, dancing, having the time of her life,
Faerie Fun went from mushroom house to toadstool cottage,
Spreading joy,
Playing with everyone
In a kind and pleasant way.
There was going to be no sadness
In Faerie Forest today if she could help it.
It is up to me, she said.
I am the catalyst for happiness today.
She ate breakfast with the Nymph family,
And they laughed about silly stuff,
But no people.
She watched Lila Leprechaun’s Lilliput dance,
And she clapped and clapped while
Mama Leprechaun took care of the
Unhappy baby. Baby calm. All is well.
Faerie Fun was soon skipping
Up the walk to the most challenging
House of all.
Change your attitude! She warned herself.
Change your attitude!
Her jaw was clamped tightly shut now, and she
Was already filled with dread.
Pixie Dust! Her internal voice yelled. NOW!
The sparkly particles surrounded her, and settled down all over her, calming her instantly, and
Changing her attitude from not-so-great to wonderful.
Before she left Grump-Eater’s house, he gave her a long, lingering hug. No one gets me like you, he said.
Progress at last.
Sometimes it is simply a matter of us changing our attitude.
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.
In the quiet glow of dawn,
Where shadows play and merge,
There she stands -
A vision, a muse, a silent whisper of desire.
Her beauty, an unspoken verse,
Crafting chaos within the tranquil heart.
Love, an unbridled wave,
Crashes against the shores of reason,
Where attraction, a relentless tide,
Pulls with the gravity of a thousand moons.
She moves, and the world seems to sway,
A delicate dance of light and grace.
Eyes, deep pools of mystique,
Drawing souls into depths unknown.
Her smile, a curve that sets the world aflame,
Lighting the dark alleys of longing.
In her presence, time fades,
A fleeting wisp in the wind,
Leaving behind the scent of blooming jasmine,
A memory etched in the essence of desire.
Attraction, a force beyond the grasp of minds,
Speaks in silent gestures and unspoken words.
In her, the epitome of beauty and grace,
A thousand sonnets find their muse.
Love, in its purest form,
Transcends the physical,
Finding solace in the beauty of her soul.
For in her laughter, in her gentle touch,
Lies the promise of dawn after the darkest night.
Yet, amidst this tempest of feeling,
A question lingers,
A whisper among the roaring winds of passion -
Does she perceive the depth of this attraction,
The magnitude of this love?
Or does she walk, unaware,
A beautiful dream,
Adored from afar,
A beacon of what could be?
In the silence that follows,
Only the heart knows true,
For in the realm of love and attraction,
Beauty is not merely seen,
But deeply felt,
A connection beyond the confines of the visible,
A dance of souls in the eternal waltz of existence.
In a gorgeous meadow chock full of butterflies and daylilies there lived a
sassy happy beautiful dragonfly. She was loved by the tulips, roses, and coneflowers. The monarchs revered her, seeing the joy she brought to the meadow. This little dragonfly did her best to fit in, nurturing each aspect of the meadow as was her right.
pretty dragonfly
spreading love to the flowers
expecting nothing
Faith is not a blind belief
But a trust in something unseen
Faith is not a wishful thinking
But a hope in something real
Faith is not a passive acceptance
But an active engagement
Faith is not a rigid dogma
But a living relationship
Faith is not a burden to bear
But a gift to receive
Faith is not a weakness to hide
But a strength to share
Faith is not a solo journey
But a communal adventure
Faith is not a destination to reach
But a path to follow
I held a grudge 'til four o'clock
And then I watched TV.
Remembered it at nine.
It very much hurt me.
Took grudge to bed and nurtured it.
Next to my favorite pajamas and pillow.
Added a bit of exasperation and sass to it.
Bigger now, it scratches me rough like brillo.
Took it out and shook it every hour.
Woke up in a terrible bad mood.
Sad I had allowed it all this power.
Glad I fed it no food.
faeries in the air
elves fixing grass quietly
soft springtime magic
You will need a terrific setting. The suck up kids are nodding.
Make sure that your character is interesting.
She says this in a monotone voice.
The only voice she has.
The one that puts me to sleep.
I languish back, whispering with my tree.
A willow with flowing hair, and a sweet nod.
Her bluebirds call my name, inviting me to dance.
A teacher’s droning is in the background, but I can ignore her.
She is easy to ignore.
Here is a template you’ll need.
Two teacher’s pets immediately say they will pass them out.
The teacher calls another one’s name.
A reluctant student who is probably in the land of giants
Slaying dragons.
I smile. It’s not me this time.
Cardinals and robins flit over, hunting for food.
There is a brush against my arm. It’s the template.
But I pretend it is the willow tree, loving me.
My eyes begin to close, a nap in the works.
I enjoy my soft day with her gentle quick ways.
I am in the zone, asleep under the willow. It is a warm day. The sun is gentle.
“Will need a partner,” teacher says, bringing me back to my 5th grade desk.
I choose Jameson, I say, noting his horrified look.
He knows I did not hear almost any of the instructions.
They all know I am usually more than half asleep in most of my classes.
Someone giggles.
The teacher must have given her a sharp look.
The giggle stops in mid giggle.
Jameson is terrified that I will not know what to do, but I do.
Taking the paper out of his hand, I offer to do the writing.
I ask for his ideas.
He has none.
So I begin with a flourish!
Our house is abuzz
With Me, Bella and Jess
And Mummy is all delight
“Dad’s coming home tonight! “
The Cake has been made
The table has been laid
Candles are alight
Dad will be home tonight!
Mum’s wearing polka dots
Dress, Dad had bought
She looks pretty, so bright!
Dad will be home tonight.
Jess was only two
When dad had to go
He still remembers him, right?
Can’t wait for Dad tonight!
Bella’s dream is a soprano
And so deft with the piano
She will make it a musical nite
When daddy’s home tonight!!
But me? I am a bit too shy
So I did this song on the sly
Plan to place it under his desk-light
Hope Dad will read it tonight!
Dad may have stories from afar
Of his travels and the war
Tales of nobility and military might
At the dinner table tonight.
Just imagine him at the door
Big smile, Open arms for us four
His loving grasp will be tight
When he comes home tonight.
There is a knock on the door!
We all cheer and roar!!
Mum is there on a flight,
Jess lisps, “is it already tonight?”
Four soldiers stand at our gates,
They must be his work mates,
Mum’s voice is soft in fright
“Is he coming home tonight?”
Voices drown as the men depart
Mum is back, her hand on heart
Slowly her legs yield to her weight
“Daddy won’t be coming home tonight!”
In midst of evading sounds and shadows
Lurks the soulless in search of reasoning
Whilst in the fullness, a youth bud still grows
Yet heard less, seen less, and not be wanting.
Death be heard, death be seen, what does it mean
The dearly departed, was it so dear
Having lived those years till age of nineteen
And suicide caused the family smear.
A precious life gone, was it worth the price
For whilst that soul lived and was being ignored
Gladly chooses a way, self-sacrifice
A soul leaves behind a life as pictured.
In midst of evading sounds and shadows
Lurks the soulless in search of reasoning.
Date: 06/24/2019
***NOTE: I extend my appreciation to all soupers for choosing 'SUICIDE RIPOSTE' as your 2nd most FAVE poem, My Heartfelt Aloha, indeed!
a whiff of the most
extraordinary
elusive fragrance,
a titillating
and yet, subtle smell
Sol’s caresses
linger longer,
His tactile touch
tender and warm
songbirds sing
snowmen slouch,
snowdrops sprout.
all signs
point to
spring
(Diminished Hexaverse)
03,30,2019
Diminished Hexaverse Contest About Spring Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger