Best Applauded Poems
POTW 1 Oct 2018
Gossip about her
swept the school yard through
“Hey if you’ve got what it takes
There’s this girl named Sue
For a pack of smokes
or a drink or two
She’ll kiss you ~ she’ll please you
like no other girl can do”
Her fuchsia glossed lips
Matched the colour of her hair
Her legs went on forever
She had a self-assured flair
He yearned for those baby blues
to stray his way
How did the cool guys snare girls
come what may?
Dreams on his pillow
a teenage fantasy
Were seconds away from becoming
a manly reality
She promised to meet him
in the park one night
Two packs of Marlboro’s
Under the pale moonlight
A brief kiss on the lips
then as she swiftly turned to go
He yanked her back hard
and as she fell to the floor
A fantasy was shattered
Hopes tossed away ~ abused
Feelings of rejection
Cast aside and confused
He lived in an era
Where double standards
were applauded
Girls were shamed
For going all the way
Boys rewarded
However integrity
doesn’t stoop to lows
no need to impress
Head high as he walked
it was not worth the stress
The journey was his ~ along this untrodden road
Tomorrow ~ todays rejection would be yesterday’s episode
Every step away from her was a gentle elixir
Then came her words on the wind ~ barely a whisper
‘Hey ~ I’m a virgin too ~ and a skank I’m not
They sully my name and my character they blot
The smokes are for my mum it eases her pain
And for my sick Ma I’ll do this again and again’
Continued in 'Tears on her pillow'...
"Happiness and sorrow ebb and flow like waves upon a beach,
and I am but a grain of sand."
by poet
I think of myself as nothing more than a sunflower
who, at the hint of first light, turns to face due East
Respectful of dawn, through God's glorious power,
morning stirs my spiritual need, and upon it I feast.
It's not a shortcoming to be generous and humble,
nor a weakness in my character, a burden to bear.
I'm never too proud to ask for help when I stumble
for if I humbly ask for His hand, it will be there.
Defiantly, pride seems to take control before a fall
Arrogance is a foolish trait that becomes a liability
ending in dishonor when the foolhardy hit a wall.
Humility can be a saving grace; but not a disability.
I am just a tiny grain of sand, washed upon a beach,
a speck of dust on Earth, the size of a mustard seed.
I believe by being modest, happiness is in my reach
Content with what little I have, not tempted by greed.
Integrity is an admirable quality in an altruistic mind
Benevolence and compassion are gifts to be lauded
By living an unassuming life, my worth will be defined
without need to be rewarded, praised, or applauded.
November 3, 2021
Your Own Philosophy Statement Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Can you hear me, can you hear me Mama
I’d say when I was four
I “played” my toy piano
And she’d say, play some more!
Can you hear me, can you hear me Mama
At sixteen, I did say
She smiled as she applauded
My song for high school play
Can you hear, can you hear me Mama
I called from overseas
It’s not the best connection
She cried, just come home please
Can you hear, can you hear me Mama
Although she can’t, I sigh
I’ll always need for her to know
Her baby boy’s close by
As Mother's Day approaches, my heart is filled of love!
A poet dips and plants
till a green appears from
the tip of his pen
no wonder
the old masters used a deep
well of ink to troll
pierced their boils of necessity
for a word-ooze,
painful pricks causing flows
of relief the poet's booze
intoxication appears
a magician's cape and wand
not so unlike writer-diviner's
hidden streams
our bent twigs, real and deceptive
poet, physician and fond thief
gifted with a scalpel
of confounding mystery and applauded belief --
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
When I was growing up,
Daily they packed my outgrown:
Shoes, shirts,suits and trousers;
And paid me commendation
As they milled around me
Like night ants around light!
When I was geisha-guy
And my frame was fame
And my gaiety was deity
Oh they milled around me
Like day ants around rose
When worker I was
And my table was the host
To all that delighted belly
Oh they rounded me about
Applauded me with their belch
After my grain and grape.
Now my hairs are white
And my frame is gone
My teeth have left
Sight is dim, hearing is poor;
How quick they dessert me
Like a cinema after the show.
It is home alone
As they call me demented
The brats that once me hailed
No one to tell goodbye
Sad today I must go
My end is now.
To that one soul reading this…
whose problems seem abyss.
There is a bridge to better days,
where sunshine still exists.
To discover the way,
and a warm place to stay,
isn’t hard to recognize.
If you’re searching for clues,
that will help you get through,
they might be in disguise…
The mountains that you climb today
as storm clouds gather ‘round,
will soon fade into yesterday,
when all that’s lost is found.
The morning sun is not defined
by last night’s sunset, so
as for the trials of days gone by
they can simply be let go…
So dream sweet dreams
from dusk to dawn,
and your deeds will
stand applauded.
You’ll be smiling twenty
years from now…
as you walk a path
well plotted…
Cole Banner
Copyright ©2019
In a moment of magic I once gave her a juicy innocent peach
Not yet knowing that she harboured a sweet nascent dream
In which as a youngster she knew that she would marry the one
Who handed such a fleshy gift to the gypsy Queen of Fairy Land
Bestowed upon her by night’s prophesy she carried the vision of
Requited love and blissful peace brought by subconscious longing
And spiritual clarity of a Higher Power submerged in compassion
A passionate fruit with soft skin and one huge seed of togetherness
We eloped together into a new dawn
The doomsayers had a field day as they harvested bitter doubts
‘It will only last a couple of months and the peach will turn rotten’
‘You cannot feed on clairvoyant oracles and meek pagan beliefs’
‘They are deluded insane and caught up in misguided romance’
They called her a witch a seductress and labelled me irresponsible
With so much at stake painted pictures of broomsticks and failure
While we had found the jewel in a haystack without even searching
And set fire to the past as we danced naked around a fire of passion
We knew the truth of intuitive feeling
One can never be sure what lies at the end of paths never taken
Whether road blocks and diversions belittle emotions and faith
But they who ignore heavenly signs forfeit adventure and truth
Stay stuck in spent time and hail its dubious comfort at their peril
We travelled and found a small hut on the beach out of sight
Collected starfish and driftwood and caressed wounded souls
Carved wedding bands out of sea shells and called upon dolphins
To witness our marriage surfing along happily ever since then
A cormorant applauded the feast
Under a star studded canopy on the miraculous shore of belonging
We never strayed from what intuition and feelings offered for free
Meandered on the shoreline and set our sails into a magical ocean
Tasted the salt of a mindful earth and soothed our recovering minds
Never questioned the wisdom of our union shared by hungry souls
Treasure pleasure and joy weathered powerful storms and all tides
The cosmos donates all we ever need once we are willing to navigate
Waves and effervescence sparkling desire and in our case a peach
Leading the universal way
13th May 2020
It was time for day to bid adieu to the setting sun,
when tangerine hues blend with those of pale pink.
Not to miss the titian glow, I was afraid to blink,
now that the ebbing of twilight had finally begun.
Slowly, it descended below the horizon's edge,
a sanguine orb drowning in a cobalt blue sea.
Sunset is such an enchanting pleasure for me,
as sunlight disappears behind the cliff's ledge.
During the begetting of night, my mind was at play
with thoughts of writing of a moment I won’t forget
and of the crowning halo of light of the sun's coronet.
The one it offers to the moon at the end of each day.
Cascades of pastel colors stretched across the skies.
My shadow grew longer as the sun bid me 'farewell.'
I watched a last flicker of light dip in an ocean swell.
A radiant canvas loomed before my awestruck eyes.
The grand finale' of this prismatic pageantry, I lauded,
as this lustrous sunset slowly slipped away from me,
waved goodbye and sank into the depths of the sea.
Another sunset made its exit. I stood and applauded.
~
With a moonbeam in her smile,
she illumined every flower,
while she wandered down the path,
neath an ever-changing sky
With a chuckle and a grin,
peeked behind the twisted maple,
where the dragonflies would hide,
if a stranger passes by
On this quiet summer eve,
as the crickets started chirping,
with a pinecone as a necklace,
she was dressed up for the show
As she took her favorite seat,
near a toadstool who was sleeping
and a tree frog she called Larry,
on her shoelace down below
When she heard the singer sing,
as the evergreens were swaying,
in a soft melodic fashion,
while the cello played in time
There were songbirds in the trees,
where they added happy whistles
near some squirrels who would listen,
just to see if it did rhyme
When along a spider came,
(no, it's not some different story)
with a top hat on his head,
said he'd really like to dance
They all watched as he performed,
with his eight legs quickly moving,
then applauded when he stopped,
this might be his only chance
Next, a butterfly ballet,
so demure, their wings a' flutter,
in a silken pirouette,
so enchanting was the sight
They received a roaring cheer,
loud as thunder in the heavens,
as they took a tiny bow,
then they ran off to the right
Where beyond the forest edge,
came the morning sun arising,
purple, pink and tangerine,
were the colors she did spy
So, she rubbed her weary eyes,
gave a little hug to Larry,
made her way back down the path,
as she waved to all good bye
~
It was the summer - August 4
When England joined the First World War
1914 the very year
Before wives and children shed their bitter tears
‘The war to end wars’ was the battle cry
Before there had been one widow’s sigh
The men lined up by the score
To enlist, sacrifice themselves to this bitter war
Friends and families made their mark
Pals regiments were formed in town and park
From factories, clubs, offices and farms
They became privates, sergeants, men at arms
And off they went through the streets
Not knowing that they were cannon meat
Cheered and applauded as they marched
Toward war’s verdant fields not yet parched
“It’ll be over by Christmas” came the call
“Get over there one and all”
No one of them, home or abroad
Had ever heard of “Total War”
Posters beckoned from every wall
Poets wrote of war’s enthrall
Songs and stories came thick and fast
Glorifying war and our heroic past
But very soon came the acrid truth
Millions dead - “Anthem of Doomed Youth”
Trial by ordeal and fire and zeal
A generation gone through war’s sharp steel
The sombre, bitter, vile death-calls
Quickly killed the tunes of the music halls
Wounded, dead, disfigured men
Many mutilated beyond any ken
At the end it was all for naught
That carnage in each battle fought
Kings deposed and Empires lost
But the worst thing was the human cost
One hundred years to this very day
Like then we shake our heads and say
Still in wars our sons and daughters die
To all that is holy, why? oh why?
Form:
I penned a couplet for you today.
Rather, a quill manipulated
my hand and scrawled mendacity.
The misanthrope's who read the ode
applauded with flippers on.
Such insight. Such depth.
Mussolini meets Monet and
the Mephistopheles Mambo mounts.
Call me a scribe and I murder myself.
Call me a liar and I impregnate your charm.
I purposely dislocated my arm today.
Rather, your tongue severed bone
and flesh was torn from my shoulder;
a needed braised boomerang
to stimulate my poetic prowess.
Such clarity. Such wisdom.
Lenin leads Lichtenstein and
the Lucifer Lindy is launched.
Call me a poet and I gnarl my fingers.
Call me a fabulist and I bow to a crooked smile.
A jellyfish swam through my veins today.
Rather, the tentacles of a tyrant
triggered a fabricated Tanka.
Maudlin stumbles when I laugh alone -
more comedic when we cackle together.
Such simplicity. Such compassion.
Bundy befriends Berchtold and
the Beelzebub Bossa Nova begins.
Call me a dramatist and I gag upon reflection.
Call me a simpleton and your wishes are granted.
I solemnly yearn to expire today.
Rather, a fool fires in a fury
and a mannequin lies in his casket.
The curse you've driven towards me -
a combination menu
when a lone Woolf inconspicously
devours a battered Browning.
Such diversity. Such nothingness.
Stalin seduces Seurat and
the Satanic Samba softly swoons.
Call me a parodist and I choke upon perfection.
Call me a realist when I'm sleeping on nails.
Law began by living,
locomotion meeting the rails of electric rainfall,
Consequence coursing through interconnected crossbeams
making all form fruit of the first & final recipe,
one great statute spawned from the storm
billowing from Divinity's genius,
everything in the Universe existing to produce,
get busy, get bounce'n, grow wild & now,
receive with wisdom and take as thieves humbled by offering,
the original impulse from a manic God
pregnant from androgonous purpose,
a trillion movements in a single start, a fanatic for feral smarts,
stagnation anethema to the spectacular suspense of survival,
Natural Rights were for me
the moment my blood became mine, became a wet warlord
exerting presence in the wide open wrestle of Universe,
God the shadow & weight of my spark,
the window & scene of my good gumption, of my dusty dream,
self defense a mandate from the magistrate of my heritage,
freedom of expression an obligation humming from ancestors'
anniverseries applauded along the Appain Way headed
not towards Rome but forward to a higher home of honor,
a Law unto myself I am,
eating from the spines of lions,
sleeping atop pyramids built by a billion bones unbroken by battle,
afternoons auction affection for my amusement with discount
and the nights nudge nightmares asunder
with the release of red lightning
spelling the name of Creation in raw neon, breathtaking breakdown,
a script scribbled by a hand having the blueprint of dirt in it's fingernails,
I appeal to Adam, attest in favor of aggression's willpower,
to Eve I beseech, testify to the severity & sanction of self confidence,
let us smash all false law that stands as a wall to our fulfillment,
smack the eggshell of Man's authoritarian angst,
waking into a world of wakeful worries, confined by Common Law, U.C.C.,
walking through waves ment to wreck the arrogant
with a constitution inked by nerves electrified
by entertaining the urgency of a rampaging God,
thought of the great expanse thumping thoroughly through
the expeditions my expectations encounter,
black static undulating around the blue bulb of my brain,
sparks of ultimate consciousness mothering marks of miracles
in the becoming of birthright,
J.A.B.
It only hurts when you let it. I used to be the living example of the words to Shania Twain's song: "It only hurts when I breathe." I'm becoming stronger. I need to be. It's called self-preservation...and I need to survive.
It only hurts when you let it. Will I be liked by everyone? NO! That thought in itself used to KILL me. The need to please and be liked by everyone would make me unable to say no to things people would ask of me. I didn't want to lose face. I didn't want to disappoint. I didn't want to offend. I'm still like that....but I'm working on it.
It only hurt when you let it. What others think of me....doesn't define who I am. It used to. That related to my poetry as well. I'd try to write what's kosher. In particular, my sensual writes were and are a source of torment at times. Judgementalism still stings. It only hurts when you let it.
Yes, it only hurts when you let it. I will TRY not to give anyone the satisfaction of bringing me down through their criticism, prejudices, and yes, even through their neglect. If I'm not read or congratulated or applauded, I won't let it get to me because it only hurts when you let it.
This is a big step for a sensitive soul. However, I'm taking that step. I'm tired of letting it hurt me, but here's the thing: It only hurts if you let it! :)
Eileen M
Give me all of my private time
I will succumb without a fight
And later be your every whim
First those few seconds of respite
Before once more I crawl through slime
Notice how once my gown was white
But cooked with silted tears and grime
Give me one minute of your day
To bend and chew on and enjoy
Before you take it all away
To you I am no more than a toy
Commodity for you to play
Inconvenience, little joy
Your Little Lord Fauntleroy
Give me a second and I crawl -
To sleep, forget about the day -
To the stone against the wall
Close my eyes and dance away
Jump so high and never fall
The uncrowned king of ballet
Applauded in the dance hall
My mind is free, my mind is mine
My words have meaning, see them shine
***
March 13, 2017
© Darren White