Best Afield Poems
(A Blank Verse Sonnet)
In June, we traveled south to Memphis town,
a public poets' fete with Southern flair.
The mid-south heart unfolded nationwide,
an open cloak of warmth spread far afield
in concert with the sound and sense of rhyme.
A graciousness so coupled with its pride
to sharpen all who came in studied hope
and reasoned well effect, to prove result.
Yet seasoned poets put their pens aside;
the books they found, devoured with eyes and minds
already voiced the thoughts mankind repeats,
our ageless chants for hearts in love or pain.
The weather's pull to southern ports advanced
the lure of southern charm from heart to heart.
Categories:
afield, community, friendship, people, writing,
Form:
Sonnet
2017 a New Memorial Day
My dear country is in disarray,
But its protectors protect it anyway,
Memorial Day finds them far afield,
Unable to laugh, unable to yield.
Lonely, disillusioned over news at home,
Cowardly violence, loud mouthing, moans,
Still they are stronger than these short term vents,
They sleep in sand, in rain, in tents,
Optimistic in their hearts what they are trying to heal,
God bless them today, past and future – that’s how I feel.
Categories:
afield, america, courage, , memorial,
Form:
Rhyme
A storm afield monsters roam in the woods
Home sweet home we run for home
A gale of fear follows
IN PRAISE OF A KIMO - Poetry Contest
Sponsor nette onclaud
visual #3
Poet: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
Composed on 17th February, 2015
Categories:
afield, fear,
Form:
Kimo
Kavanaugh grew up in a cave
Never learned how a judge should behave
This caveman likes beer
And ladies must fear
Becoming this drunkard’s sex slave
Despite his bad manners revealed
Kavanaugh might not be repealed
He’s t-rump’s first choice
To kill Roe v Wade’s voice
And take women’s rights far afield
Author’s Note: This Supreme Court nominee pleases the fundamentalist Christians. If he is confirmed, the very wealthy will also be cheering since he is a supporter of the super-rich, who have no problem taking their private jets to Canada if someone in their family or mistress needs an abortion. The concentration of wealth and the elimination of social programs is what this is really about.
Categories:
afield, abortion, anger, christian,
Form:
Limerick
A flight of fancy,
though real as the night,
flight into midnight,
perhaps somewhere beyond.
Unseen but clearly heard
imposingly far above, sound,
jet scream and beyond ,
perhaps beyond the night.
Briefly suspended
in unfamiliar home,
unsure in a foreign home,
the dream is of comfort
more foreign.
Flight beyond fancy
of strangers
who boarded after dark,
flying into midnight
somewhere beyond
and still further afield,
surely for some good reason,
it must be well worth it.
There must be a reason,
surely it's a good one,
heard long after dark,
maybe at the wrong terminal,
departure, not arrival,
back home, or away from it,
a flight of fancy or beyond.
6th November 2018.
Categories:
afield, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Our better angels, where have they flown?
Far afield, in a storm, windblown?
And where, the light, where wisdom shone?
If only we could see.
The answer, it seems to me, is unknown,
as the land is in a tempest, thrown.
Without their grace, I feel alone,
Give them back to me.
Categories:
afield, angel, conflict, lost, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
Monkeys were never us;
our entrance is more than theory.
I came standing erect and complete.
The dust was to indulge (except of the tree)
in the place provided, where the voice walked
in the cool of the day.
Leopards and lambs,
like Puppy Yellow
and the calico moving balls of yarn;
the fallen, like a snake,
wooed the woman that queried
and she went away towing her husband.
I am out of character, image,
likeness of the Divine
whose flood sculpted mountains and isles,
there, dividing men
and painted them
in new colors with freezing fingers.
Sasquatch, your blurred trace,
speaks loud of the instrument now used.
Of me Ibrahim was assured.
The pyramids are mathematics the God teaches;
their wisdom raised the boulders
(the two Gods that share the Spirit).
I mosey through a sea to be here;
this point where they are history?
Monkeys were never us. If so,
who limits the fruition? I still see them
tree-hopping.
I am Enoch walking with him,
lodging far afield the daughters of men.
I occur with an enormous bang
far superior to a hypothesis.
Categories:
afield, religion
Form:
Free verse
Ben raised up a dern disappointment, Daddy, well, he wanted a boy.
Wasn’t nothing under the bleeding red sun Ma could do but keep on a tryin’
Ya’siree, she was one branded filly and dern iffin that filly didn’t birth a maverick.
Daddy, well he had him some hard times a com’n
and he didn’t ev’n try to hide his fallen face when Sis was born.
that un, well, she was maverick number two!
Daddy was the devil may care sort and him and his seed strayed far afield,
sowing his wild oats, praying for an heir, he himself was one
‘slick hairy dick’ so to speak [that’s cowboy lingo for a maverick himself]
and you know what they say, “The cow plop don’t fall far from its ****”
He kept on pokin’ Ma ‘till he got that boy, all nine caterwauling pounds!
Dynasty founded, one hell of a shindig was thrown, as luck would have it,
Dad strayed, but not before he taught his gal’s not to take guff from any man!
Out on the range, Dad rounded up a couple more Betty’s
“Yehaw, did that brand sizzle” got his self a couple more bucko’s
for the dynasty and another sweet filly, all of them mavericks to the core.
Funny thing is old Dad’s gal’s got more balls then most men.
So, I guess in the end [wink] he taught us well!
*This is a Cowboy Poem, it is a maverick to it's form because
Cowboy poetry is rhymed, metered verse written by someone who has lived a significant portion of his or her life in Western North American cattle culture. The verse reflects an intimate knowledge of that way of life, and the community.
[Never lived in the West, don't like anything that looks at me with one eye!
"...names have been changed to protect the innocent."
P.S. I'm the maverick!
Categories:
afield, adventure, allegory, introspection, satire,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
The long awaited needed rain
finally came in gentle drops.
Thirsty daffodils greedily
quaffed the tepid precipitate
while their odoriferous scents
reluctantly merged with ozone
creating a pungent bouquet
that stimulated the nostrils.
Far afield from the daffodils
robins comb the newly wet grass
for ever emerging earthworms
that are coaxed above by the rain.
Soon the tugs of war begin
between the two adversaries.
Categories:
afield, nature, daffodils,
Form:
Verse
One-hundred percent Italian descent:
four grandparents crossed the ocean, went
through Ellis Island, from Italy sent;
my Italian roots, one-hundred percent.
But D N A samples now tested, ruled-
genetic ancestry can have you fooled!
With full Italian descent overruled-
gene structure in me- completely retooled.
Dumbstruck that percentages showed so clear
my pie chart was sliced- not a full sphere,
my mind was lost in this new-found frontier,
and wiped out ideas that I held so dear.
Through tests, my genetic past now revealed,
sixty-four percent Italian did yield!
Thirty-six percent now unconcealed
some ancestors came from lands far afield!
Mid-Eastern, Caucasus, Iberian too,
Some Jewish, Scandinavian, plus a few
chance Irish genes to mix up the brew.
My former beliefs are now so untrue.
But, soon I accepted this new-found me,
like others amazed, as shown on TV,
surprised, but excited as I can be-
with a varied, colorful, mixed ancestry!
April 19, 2017
Contest: Dumbstruck
Sponsor: Charles Messina
True facts: I received my Ancestry DNA
test results on April 1, 2017
Categories:
afield, family, history,
Form:
Rhyme
One day while wan’dring far afield
I heard a tortoise shriek
“Oh, curse this shell, infernal cell…
I haven’t got all week!”
I dropped down low, I snuck up slow
then spied him through the brush
and though he scarcely moved an inch
he wailed, “I’m in a rush!”
The world a-turning; daylight burning
the angry tortoise crept.
I asked him what the matter was
and at my voice he leapt.
He ducked his head and pulled his legs
and huddled in his shell.
I laid down in the prairie grass
and waited out the spell.
“I’ve naught but time.” Said I to he,
“There’s no need for your worry.
Besides, I know I heard you say
that you were in a hurry.”
Slowly…just as turtles do
He showed one of his eyes.
Then slower yet, his head appeared
but he refused to rise.
“What do you want?” He asked of me,
“You’ll make me later still!
I need to get across this field
and over yonder hill.”
“The hare’s asleep o’er in the sage
he thinks he’s got me beat.
So, there he naps, but joke’s on him…
I’m lightning on my feet!”
“Except my shell keeps getting caught
it’s snagged in all these flowers.
Unholy pack, upon my back
I’m wasting precious hours!”
With that he threw his tortoise fists
and did a little spin.
He almost got me on the nose
then gave a tortoise grin.
The flowers had all lost their grip,
his twirl set him free.
But the thing that happened next
was magical to see.
He gave me a slow tortoise wink
then went off like a gun.
I’ve never seen a beast of field
that he could not outrun.
I sat up in the meadow grass
and gave my head a shake.
A few feet off, I saw some ears,
the hare was now awake.
Although, that came as no surprise
I only can assume…
that he’d awoken at the launch
which made a sonic boom.
I dropped down low, I snuck up slow
then spied him through the brush.
And as he rubbed his sleepy eyes
the tears began to gush.
The world a-turning; daylight burning
the rabbit had just slept.
I asked him what the matter was
and at my voice he wept.
05/10/15
Entry for Burning Daylight
Sponsored by John lawless
Categories:
afield, children, fun, funny, games,
Form:
Quatrain
Ood
Is this sound
From not too far afield
Like mist
Between late dusk and early moonrise
Past quarter of six.
You might not know
It is something unforeseen:
Even as I collect the bad habits
I bear not to keep
Through my sobs, it is that screams.
Strange this is,
Of what I cannot name in the things I hear:
Noise of metals against metals, oft-rhymed sighs
And battle cries, each false note of guns and gongs I overheard: these be not
It.
Is it your footsteps
Of where seek?
Or the reek of its absence
Onto this shore of a bloodbath,
That, set my pulse to skip
Abeat?
Could it be my sweatdrops
Like hoofbeats
Pattering this tin shield
Time of the same?
Or, is it just my heart
Thumps against my ribcage
Which is almost,
But not quite, sharp enough to hurt
Whose beats howl
Nothing but your name?
Author's Note:
*gong - a large bronze disk, of Asian origin, having an upturned rim, that produces a
vibrant, hollow tone when struck, usually with a stick or hammer that has a padded head.
P.S The poem is inspired by the Battle of Maktan in 1521
between the Spanish conqueror: Ferdinand Magellan and the fierce Datu of Maktan:
Lapu Lapu.
Categories:
afield, love
Form:
Free verse
With trusting innocence we've played
with nets and jars amid a field
of muted rustling blooms that yield
Their subtle breaths of perfumed air
where milkweed monarch’s foraged there.
They were the prize and preference
of youth and trusting innocence.
Inexpertness with nets gave flight
elusiveness till next alight
on efflorescence’s afield
Sedulity kept our eyes peeled
on tawny-orange and black, large wings
in hopes we would be capturing
these lovely regal butterflies
with gauzy wings and very spry.
Categories:
afield, nature,
Form:
Verse
=====================================
Can any here recall my name?
Intoned by plenty years ago,
today I'd say but for a game
they play, not many here may know!
But here I stand and there you sit
and since we're comrades, more or less,
let's have a bit of fun with it!
What hints I give may help you guess...
I, with my face of stone, a lock
and walls by iron fortified,
encase His Grace in solid rock
while altercate takes place outside
My brother's straight across from me,
identical in width and length.
Twin towers, we wait silently,
each building on the others strength
I bide my time and mind the wall
that rises from the palace banks,
though sabres chime and soldiers fall
to foe that slowly climb the ranks
Still, I must wait to join the show
'til Bishop, Knight and gallant Pawn
have made a kill or died below
and viscera spills on the lawn
As yet, these casualties of war
stay in our thoughts and they are missed
but let us not forget two more,
who to this very day exist
While we salute remembered men,
the same, in suit, is also due
to distant members of my kin,
who I'll now introduce to you...
Mine uncle and his shining spouse,
fine experts in their elements,
Sir Windmill and the Lanternhouse.
I'll next define their relevance:
When rivers flow and wind doth blow
and each do meet the mighty Mill,
men who eat grain (opposed to crow!)
bestow defeat upon the hill
And as for she who light the sea,
true monolith illuminate!
Thee shine to shore mine enemy,
to be defined before my gate
Respect much paid to lance and shield,
today we play at gentlemen
but say perchance we meet afield...
none may expect such fancy then!
Nay, back to front or port to right,
I'll stay the course until I'm took
or paid in trade to black or white...
For I'm the force they call the ROOK!
=====================================
Categories:
afield, games, war,
Form:
Sonnet
There comes a time when we all begin
to challenge the authority above.
Whilst we may know that we committed a sin
they still discipline us because of their love.
I remember just such a time
when Mom was the challengee and I was the challenger.
It was freezing and to be outside was a crime
yet, when she wasn't looking, I secreted myself out the door.
Of course the S_ _ _ hit the fan
as she saw me bundled up out there.
Window raised she called out, "DAN!"
enough to give me a scare.
In those days the timeout was nonexistent
and the corporal would be felt.
But the length and means of its extent
I would only know as she wielded that belt.
Like a windmill turning in great arcs afield
my little frame seemed to go.
Trying to get away from that swatting wield
was all I wanted to know!
"YES, MOTHER! YES, MOTHER! YES, MOTHER!"
was all that I could say.
Hoping against hope that she wouldn't tell father
when he came home at the end of his day.
This is one of the darkest memories
that I've had since I was about four.
Sometimes I think about those strokes that stung like bees
because I had sneaked out that door.
Yet, it was a mother's love for me
that prompted her disciple so severe.
As I have grown older the why I could see...
and sometimes still rub my rear!
Categories:
afield, angst, childhood, love, motherme,
Form:
Rhyme