Best Adapted Poems
It was magic beans you placed in my hand as we held
Ones you nurtured, embedded deep within your love
I know because it tormented me with euphoria planted
Stalked me earnestly with your charming advances
You know I climbed walls 'til next you stood at my side
When you occupied me and I began to grow, the eclipse
Was gigantic, extraordinary, a wanting wildness sublime
You were my mystical hen, the one who laid Golden Eggs
You made our home a majestic castle suited for royalty
It was magic beans you infused in my hand as we held
Made me spin searching for a long pole to slide down
Escape with you my loving wife from the Giant Ogre
Inside me, I who feared commitment, a long time alone
But now you are the only enchantress I need or crave
And when it is my turn to die, take with me to the grave
The feel of you deeply rooted beyond my meager frame
From the soil above my coffin will grow beyond the sky
The largest plant with leaves shaped in awe of our lives
Steps beyond the clouds you'll find me playing my harp
An angelic music and song that will herald our union
Speak of our story in fable for children's open ears
Adapted to capture their imaginations, inspire them
Lift a glass in cheer to magic beans entrenched in you
01~12~2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Magic Beans
A DAMSEL ENCHANTS FELICITY
Aurora breaks,
Cinderella damsel enchants felicity,
gliding halcyon--
implanting jazzy kisses,
languorous murmurs. . .
Nectared opulent press
quakes reactions.
Succulent tissues urge
virginal wanting: xerothermic,
yearning zenith!
_____________________________________________________________________
*** xerothermic -- adapted to or flourishing to environment that is hot and dry
halcyon -- care -free
CONTEST NAME: 10 OR LESS LINES
Contest Sponsor: Rob
~~2nd place~~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
2:28 pm, September 23, 2015
he was like autumn
all around him
slowly died
i guess i was like autumn too
but adapted to blossom
embracing the moods
now
it's raining again
i foresee thunder
rocking sunless skies
with lightening
dazzling duller days
heaven's tear drops plummet
like a perpetual symphony of
spears and daggers
hidden wounds bleed once more
i bury my pomegranate heart
to hibernate underneath a
veil of evergreen leaves
your shadow appears
in obscurity of dreams
a reminder of regretful
stubborn bitterness or
maybe forgiveness
a time to move on
the dead do not speak
yet we search for answers
to questions that should
have been known in life
we aim to make peace
with the silence
Romantics weave a web of hope
spun from the frayed threads of a dream.
Yet, it's as strong as any rope;
and as bracing as a cool stream.
Life offers more
than debt and war.
Humans have adapted to cope
with both reality and Dream.
Sliding down a slippery slope,
no one can hear a silent scream.
To touch the sky,
first learn to fly.
The storms were strong with the wind fierce and the waves high
Always trying to stay afloat, to not drown and try to learn to fly
Survival became a way of life, to make it through opposing current
While I spoke the truth, they lashed at me, twisting what I meant
It was cold, so cold, many times in the middle of the dark night
When everything good, seemed to be completely out of sight
Then one day when the sun did rise, he suddenly came along
I could hear the rhythm of a soothing, comforting, distant song
The waters calmed like a mirror of glass, I could see reflections
It had been so long and I didn’t have the usual objections
It was different as the scenery slowly evolved and changed
As I adapted to new things and my thoughts were rearranged
Although without wings, I was flying, but no longer alone
Across the sphere of clear skies, where the wind had blown
Heidi Sands
9/28/17
Classic Poetry forms should not be transformed
by those who think themselves poetically charmed
Limericks are not trampolines to bounce around
Anyone who changes the form is not honor bound
If you want to allow syllables of another count
Give it some other name and use any old amount
But keep the form pure as did poet, Edward Lear
as it was sung in bars while drinking ale and beer
Variations in forms have been liberally adapted
the original remains from which they were extracted
It's been successfully done with Japanese Haiku
Now, branched into many... there are quite a few
No contest judge, whether an amateur or a pro
should alter Limerick line syllable count. That's a no
And then when questioned by not one but three,
The offender deleted all the comments... cowardly
There's no cloudburst of tears over a contest loss
when a know-it-all sponsor assumes he's the boss
Imagine Shakespeare writing one of his Sonnets
without rhymes as if he had a bee in his bonnet!
Being true to poetry forms is doing what's expected
Those who mess with tradition should be rejected
It's the contest that fails when the judge has no clue
and accepts anything entered, right out of the blue
No outrage or tantrums take place in that situation
The ones who bastardize should face condemnation
Original Poetic forms were never meant to be changed
Anyone who does, should be ignored and estranged
The sun is really high and hot;
his three-day shirt is all wet.
He carry academic papers in his file;
every day he walks for more than a mile,
looking for a way to get a decent job,
and save him from political mob.
Sometimes he wonders why he was born;
looking down at his shoes so torn.
Pain and misery is visible on his face,
as he toils hard on the rat race.
His hands are so strong and rough,
adapted to the world so tough.
He lived alone – he’s an orphan;
sometimes he tries out heroin,
to forget his childhood trauma,
and focus on life’s daily drama.
In his heart he carries a song,
which he sings when days are long…..
I was born in a time
When the thrills of a thriller
Did move the bricks
Of the thickest of walls.
I grew in an era
When the dynasty of an empire
Did expand to farthest of lands.
I adapted to a phenomenon
When the existence of a legend
Did drown the fame of mortals.
A fame in immortality
Bearing the impenetrability
Of Achilles himself,
Destined to march
Through the walls of Troy.
I twisted to the strings
Of a guitar, twanging
Spontaneously in my head,
In moves of invisibility.
I was opportune to appear
In a time, when the conquest
Of one king, did crest
Long lasting tattoos
In the hearts of many.
I was fascinated in a time
When the life within a man
Did blossom young,
As he lived unaffected
By the fading of time.
I lingered in an era
When the voice of one man
Could unify the sections
In a complex world.
I flowed in his guidance,
Dined in his glory
As though I existed
In his peak of enthronement,
His conferment of Grammies.
Bedazzled by his flexibility,
I was blessed by his power
To rein in anointed glory,
Unending immortality.
I was born in an empire
Governed by a king;
The king of pop,
A king in the world,
Father of offspring
As multiple as stars.
Electrified by a star,
There shall never be another;
Another motion slider,
Another shining star.
And though he passes on,
I shall live to declare
That I was born in a time
Ruled by a legend,
Guided by an immortal,
A world of Michael Jackson.
A fleeting moment in time,
Is all I need for this rhyme,
Perhaps 10 minutes, no more
Sit in your armchair, close your eyes,
And to your utmost surprise,
Your life flashes past like an express train,
Happy moments with unimaginable joy,
Horribly sad ones, like the day
I lost my baby boy.
Where does each year go, life is greedy,
And definitely always needy,
Progress demands youth takes over the reins,
What will become of us,
Next week you or I are forty,
And in a decade we will be fifty,
Birthday cards sent to us,
Inappropriately witty,
You’re on the downhill now sis or bro,
You have to settle for second best,
Along with all of the rest.
You work you slog, but at sixty five
You are retired, what to do with each day,
Such a drag, but we all love poetry,
So we will never be solitary.
Soon we will be 3 score year and ten,
Our lifetime over, says The Book of Psalms
Psalm 90 verse 10, this is an older translation.
Today’s verse 10, has been adapted
Into many a version.
We wonder, how did we become so vulnerable,
We reach eighty,
And then ninety,
We could have dementia, our minds quite muddled
The way forward, every day a sad venture,
Or we could be arthritic or have Parkinson’s,
Chronic pneumonia, had an accident and
Broke our back,
At this age the cards stack,
Against us.
One day we can’t breath, rushed to hospital,
The family, children and grandchildren abound
No regrets, life has been profound,
We heave an accepting sigh,
As a tear rolls down from our eye,
Have we any regrets, is this that
Moment in time, you, means all of us,
And we and us, means as it does,
So you, us and we,
Means also my and me.
My husband, also sick, whispers, let go
My love, I’ll see you soon.
He lies next to me,
I feel cold, the clock strikes three,
It is mid afternoon,
Finally, my spirit leaves my spent body,
Hovering above my bed,
I wish I could tell them hey, stop crying,
Life is a journey,
And so is dying.
John Weaver 2000 (Emily has cerebral palsy)
Her room is not the sort of room you’d quite expect to find
For a little girl whose love of life is clear
No toys or games or bats or balls, or fun things of that kind
No bicycle or skateboard will appear
But the little piece of crumpled silver paper
It's very cheerful and bright with pictures everywhere
A pump to feed her through the night and a big adapted chair
Though pretty dolls sit on the shelf and teddies on her bed
She cannot play with them herself so she holds them tight instead
And the little piece of crumpled silver paper
It was Christmas day some years ago with excitement in the air
When we opened her presents and then found
That she couldn’t play with them and it didn’t seem quite fair
That she would always be so cruelly bound
To a life without the toys that all children adore
And then we heard a new sound that meant so much more
A crackle from the little piece of crumpled silver paper
The expensive gifts didn’t matter to this special little girl
Her joy came from quite another caper
As the parcels and the packaging slowly started to unfurl
All she wanted was the silver wrapping paper
You see, she could grasp it tight to make a funny noise instead
And so it fast became a dear friend
And she holds it close beside her even when she goes to bed
And the lesson to be learned is, in the end…
Happiness is not always found in gifts so big and costly
And often simple things can bring the joy you need
Contentment is a state of mind and the choice is yours mostly
To be content with what you’ve got and with every little deed
Or, to always be in want and never satisfied
And so for me the real belief will never taper
That the truth of life is clear and very closely tied
To the little piece of crumpled silver paper.
...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a sampling of people just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all their disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works' are his words for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,
the more good deeds, the bigger they grow
'til they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not prepare a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens! he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted, and lies in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
it's as clear as the nose on his face!
On the horns of a moral dilemma,
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his folk, he just loves them to death,
'til his wings are full-sprouted he'll
take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop for our Spirit, who knows?
Sue doesn’t sit so demurely in her motorised wheelchair.
She’ll tell folks to stop gawking as it's very rude to stare!
Beneath her tenuous frame is quite a formidable young girl,
born with brittle bones but in her wheelchair she can twirl.
Sue’s parents sadly told her that her condition is immutable.
She is bereft of strong limbs, but her courage is irrefutable.
Despite a recent interlude in hospital, she's always cheerful.
Don’t treat her like she’s invisible or you may get an earful!
She loves to sketch caricatures in her artist’s drawing book
and in her specially adapted kitchen Sue is learning to cook.
Her physical disability will not prevent her from achieving
and her aphorism of life's always been, ‘Never stop believing
Sue loves to spend time wheeling around the garden paths,
watching chirping sparrows joyfully splashing in bird baths.
She paints canvases filled with butterflies and lovely flowers.
Sometimes she is quite content to sit there and read for hours.
If you are feeling sorry for Sue, don't give it another thought.
In her scarlet wheelchair, she's accepted what life has wrought.
Each day she finds something to appreciate that gives her a thrill.
In truth, she sees more beauty in life than most of us ever will.
Eight word Challenge 5 Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Required words: demurely, sketch, tenuous, brittle, formidable, interlude, bereft, immutable
10-23-17
Remember when we were young, you and I
Bit of boyish mischief we used to cause
The swearing, pushing, shoving, and punches
We'd put on the charm when it came to mom
Bit of boyish mischief we used to cause
You, big brother, I followed and looked up to
We'd put on the charm when it came to mom
Inseparable, we stood by one another
You, big brother, I followed and looked up to
We went our different paths as we grew
Inseparable, we stood by one another
I miss the fun times when we were kids
We went our different paths as we grew
The swearing, pushing, shoving, and punches
I miss. The fun times when we were kids
Remember when we were young, you and I
2/8/2020
A plain Pantoum not a rhyming pantoum
Contest Name PANTOUM
Sponsored By: Line Gauthier
February 10, 2020 POTD
Typically a pantoum is made up of two rhyming couplets, however, Western writers altered and adapted the form, the importance of rhyming and brevity diminished. So, pantoums do not need to rhyme.
Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
Relic compiling spotlight show seduction
Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher
Adapted lady adorns princely throne
Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan
Imbibing cover only, for information dreads
Mould folded within her novel costume
Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu
Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
- Fifth September
Fabricating Sculptor
Breathe in deep the sheltered sea
Whose mist holds mystic memory
The stars are falling one by one
Into the rays cast by the sun
To settle now with mornings dew
A memory lost that never grew
Hold them gently within your heart
Remembering love does not depart
Breathe in deep the sunrise hue
Another fine day to start anew
Step by step in forward motion
Memories kept with deep devotion
Debra Squyres
01/08/13
Poet friend, Robert Johnson, inspired this write.
The first 4 lines were taken and adapted from
his words in a comment made on one of my poems.