Best Arrive At Poems
We all arrive alone naked and vulnerable,
crying our eyes out, not knowing -
this is the first day of the rest of our life.
I guess the saddest thing in life is we have to grow up.
As children we live in a bubble,
gazing at lost stars - wondering which one is ours.
Not realising the impact of our childhood,
until we are adults and it is too late.
We jump in puddles, laughing at splashing sounds,
some even learn to place their coats over them.
Some swim within shark infested waters,
but only a few learn how to build bridges over them.
I have embraced the power of silence,
but some have succumb to it.
I guess it is all about the quality of it,
especially for those who struggle to listen.
There has been many a rose that has bloomed,
but every single one crumbled into dust.
Even the one whose thorns pierced lacerations
through hearts of stone - yet the heart healed.
Many birds arrived echoing sweet symphonies,
yet there have been those that flew away in silence.
Especially the silent nightingale who sat in solitude,
whose lyrics my heart still yearns to feel.
I've seen many a ship arrive at my shore,
but each one unloaded and sailed away.
It was me who removed their anchor
and smiled as they sailed into the distance.
As tumours poison our existence - I ponder;
will the human race survive earth's demise?
When death arrives we all leave alone empty handed,
not knowing that was the last day of our life.
I recall Freddie Mercury's famous lyrics...
Who wants to live forever.... Anyway.
Silent One
Simple Musings
19 June 2018
walking gracefully
with a pendulum movement ~
a herd of giraffes
the mass migration
crocodiles at the river~
food for the taking
gazelles are running
a hungry cheetah gives chase~
speed is the winner
a lone male lion
approaches a sleeping pride~
the battle begins
an elephant herd
arrive at the water hole~
use trunks to cool down
a swarm of locusts
devouring vegetation~
skeletal branches
army on the move
soldier ant battalion~
have left a scorched earth
vultures in the trees
animals weakened by thirst~
death is imminent
a downed buffalo
lions watch as herd returns~
bulls scatter the pride
basking in cool mud
the african river horse~
hippopotamus
laughing hyenas
find an unguarded carcass~
scavengers feasting
at the water hole
animals quenching their thirst~
alert for danger
a crash of rhino
hunted for their ivory~
extinction looming
a small antelope
found on the African plains~
cute looking dik dik
the baobab tree
silhouetted at sunset~
african icon
Written 13th May 2018
For best haiku poetry contest
Sponsored By Chantelle Ann Cooke.
The center of energy resides in my heart
Wherein the seed of divinity shant ever depart
There joy's root anchors firmly, yet lightly
In my I AM presence it shines ever brightly
The Trinity is embodied in three glorious plumes
Blue, yellow, and pink; It's grand sacred rooms
Of Power and Wisdom and Eternal Love
Father, Son, Holy Spirit; on earth and above
The Threefold Flame I humbly seek
To arrive at last to the spiritual peak
With elation I fulfill my reason to be
The Liberty Flame! My soul's eyes can now see
At long last I've completed my life's fated course
As my soul splendidly weds the One Supreme Source
There’s a party tonight so I bouffe up my hair
Pamper and powder my sweet derrière,
Arrive at the door, all done up to impress.....
Oh man, I forgot! Invite said “fancy dress”!
Pete and Sue are here, seems their theme’s ‘Tarts and Vicars’,
Sue’s skirt’s microscopic! Look at her tiny knickers!
Pete’s in a nun’s habit; the image is scary,
I’ve not seen a nun with a chin that’s THAT hairy!
And there’s Spider-Man! (although I’m perfectly certain,
His cape is made out of his living room curtain),
His curve-hugging costume’s quite “cosy” in size,
I think our friend Spidey gobbled too many flies!
In the corner, a lady has come as Snow White,
Gee, her bosoms are out there, her corset’s so tight,
They look like two bald heads squeezed into a sack,
Glad my hubby’s not here - he’d have a heart attack!
In the hallway, a robot is looking well-oiled -
Her costume’s made out of three rolls of tin foil,
She looks more like a turkey at Christmas, so later,
I really hope no one is tempted to baste her!
By the buffet, Fred Flintstone is looking contrite,
I think he and Wilma are having a fight,
Behaving all “caveman” has got Fred in trouble -
He showed his big man-club to poor Betty Rubble!
There’s a massive man-baby dressed just in a nappy,
The “milk” in his bottle has made him quite happy,
He’s shaking his tooshie and sucking his dummy,
And asking a lady, “can I call you Mummy?”
On the sofa is Princess Fiona from Shrek,
Blimey, Count Dracula’s nibbling her neck,
I avert my eyes to avoid his rising passion,
In walks his wife, and his face turns quite ashen.
His irate wife’s dressed up as pop singer Cher,
In her see through outfit she looks almost bare,
Then she lays into Drac just like Rocky Balboa -
She’s drunk as I skunk, I’m relieved I don’t know her!
Suddenly, Batman bursts through the door,
In his skintight costume - my jaw hits the floor!
He’s so muscular - bulges in all the right places,
If I play my cards right, could be me he embraces!
Well sadly I haven’t a costume of course,
Til I spot a young chappie dressed up as a horse,
I leap on his back - I’m a great improviser -
Strip off and shout “Hey I’m Lady Godiva!”
Collaboration between Jan Allison and the amazing Nina Parmenter
3/17/18
Time is boundless when you're young.
You want school days to fly
so in summer you'll be sprung
loose upon the world. Touch sky,
Butterfly! Vitality is yours; songs unsung
will surely come by and by.
One day you go away,
leave home, friends; finally. . . Youth.
Some tread steadily; others stray
from convention's pathway, and truth
unfolds to you its grey.
Life quickens its pace.
You'll stumble or run
or walk with grace
beneath a waning sun.
Midway a rut
confronts you. . . Worse,
an unexpected cut.
Those surviving
keep arriving
spent.
This is one PD will never have seen for her contest. It is a form that requires six parts, and the form is not listed at Soup. Stanza one uses six lines with six words per line (not syllables, but words). STanza 2 is a five-line stanza with five words per line. You continue in this way decreasing lines and number of words in the lines until you arrive at a single one-word line in the bottom stanza! Maybe I will try this form one day in a contest!! (I rhymed this, but it does not have to be rhymed)
The Curve of Time
This curve is the truest magic of space and time,
With one finite, the other infinite but not in kind.
Einstein’s vision gave us this new fourth dimension,
Inspiring mankind’s depth of a true infinite intention.
The infinite extension of this mystical curve of time,
Gives our poets much to ponder and to set in rhyme.
Piercing the veil of time travel exceeds finite space,
Whilst allowing man his place in this noblest grace.
Man’s primitive view of our Earth as being only flat,
Gave way now to an infinite future view to arrive at.
This infinite future view bespeaks a constancy of motion,
Descriptive of time, people, events, passion, and emotion.
Let us all dream of the enchantment of this curve of time;
For this shall give our poets the chance to set all in rhyme!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 22, 2017 (Couplet)
AFFLICTION?
It is said of young physicians when they first set out to learn
All the symptoms and conditions that known illnesses convey
They perceive these indications each one causing more concern
‘Til they make the diagnosis to their shock and their dismay
They arrive at the conviction
They themselves have the affliction
Now when learned academics write a thesis that proclaims
All white people are infected with a racism endemic
Filled with symptom and with signs supporting dogma that defames
Fragile folk are then persuaded by this plausible polemic
And arrive at the conviction
We’re all guilty of affliction
What could be more direful to survival of this blessed sphere
Than wild nature, once benign, by human feckless acts betrayed!
“See the wild fires, melting icebergs and the hurricanes!”- we hear
Computer forecasts yet sole factors we can truly call ‘man made’
Should we therefore have conviction
Of a terminal affliction?
Data now in a profusion never seen before these times
Flood our eyes and ears and minds in ‘monu-mental’ mind-bate range
Those with focussed strong agenda choose a menu that defines
And steers us, if undiscerning and from reason then estranged
To unquestioning conviction
THAT in truth would be affliction
A thousand little moments,
one connected to the next…
Exquisite, time-sequenced pearls
from then to now and beyond
Ignore the strand, where it may lead,
and focus on the bead at hand:
one breath, one step, one vista.
Take it in and savor it;
burn its imprint in your mind.
Then, taking care to thread the needle,
slide it firm and snug,
and only then consider what is next,
and in this manner,
you will arrive at your destination,
having fully experienced
every pearl along the way.
----------
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written on 12/24/2022
In a world where we are constantly told how we should do this and that,
we must learn to thank them for their opinions…but, to listen to our own
hearts and THINK for ourselves.
There is a difference between guidance & being told what to do; where
opinions are sometimes, sadly, just glorified pre-judgments in hiding. In this
world today, more than ever, we must stand our ground and water our seeds
with our own heartbeats.
Because in the time one could spend listening to loud/louder/loudest opinions
of why one should or shouldn’t do it someone else's way, one could have
already done it their own way. Always move in the direction of time:
Forward
...
Another herd of evaporated soliloquies
Flashing warning signs of good-will
Unto the lost
The deaf
The mute
The righteously blind
They simply ask for a sip of strenuous cognac
To lighten regurgitated burdens
Yet, throats become condensed with
Good intentions
Under a cratered moon, afflicted with two-faced vertigo
How can one stand in the face of adversity
When our legs are kicked from the same foundations
That opinion’s high court built
How can I be told to write with syllabic serenity
When a rambunctious rhyme
Would be the socialized death of me
“Guided” by educated parchments, recycled without signatures
…
If poetry is freedom,
Why do critics scream in beer-battered rings of opulent contradictions?
If poetry is freedom,
How is one frowned upon for speaking the word of Life, the word of God
The same God who told us to speak upon epiphanies’ climactic pain
Towards the same “heaven”,
They swear,
They’ll arrive at.
©Drake J. Eszes
I've been waiting up late for you,
watching the clock like a featured film.
Suspense waits no longer.
Here you arrive at 12 am
with a firework's bang.
At this hour,
this is your greeting?
Hello, January,
we need to talk....
I haven't seen you in months,
and you come barging in.
You come on so strong,
but sometimes you can be so cold.
You let me down last time you were here,
like torrents of hail and snowy hills.
Ah, snow can be fun, though,
and you did warm me up
with hot cocoa and a blanket.
Thanks for your reviving comforts.
What I'm trying to say is
that I've missed you,
and I forgive you.
I hope you can forgive
my past as well.
I'm sorry about my negative attitude
and my disorganization.
We should go on walks more
and eat healthy meals together.
I promise I'll be kinder,
and I'll try to appreciate
all the good you offer me.
Can we now start anew?
The Twelve Angels of Beirut
They huddle together in the heavens
Muttering amongst themselves
Confused as any human down below
We bestow upon them the ancient teachings
Not once, not twice, variations to please all walks of life
Yes thrice
They may choose the ancient books they follow
They may keep the traditions yet must adapt to modern intellect
Such literate men who seem not to read
Who can cast his eyes at his child?
Feeling nothing but love and endearment?
Who pray tell us is displeased to arrive at his home at dusk?
Angels we twelve have nourished
We have showed you both love, morality and compassion
Yet ye who divides faith, chooses battle
You so easily prefer to drink blood
Rather than bestow a red rose upon breast
Olive trees so ripe have no meaning at all for you
Like a tree that reaches the sky
All things change, as evolution’s duty dictates
Yet you fight to keep perceptions frozen in time
You cover a woman’s face
When its you who should hide in shame
Modesty is how we bestow good deeds to strangers
It is how we look at our hearts in the mirror
A woman’s beauty should shine to the heavens
Competing only with a mans debonair style of chivalry
Honor you mother and father
Honor your tribe
Not with traditions and rented cloth
Honor with your whole heart
Feed the poor and kiss your enemy on both cheeks
The skies will become your friend
We sit here waiting in torment and anguish
Crying to the heavens that surround us
We gave you hearts and minds
You return us blood and bombs
We are ashamed of our duties
For we have obviously failed you
Forgive us, you tribes of the three branches
We are the twelve angels of Beirut
Whose tears give you your sea
I go where mountain streams converge
And stand with pitcher on the verge
Of a transparent tranquil pool
Where waters merge lucent and cool
There is the grass sparkling with dew
I dip the jar in aqua blue
It overflows its precious gift
As with both hands I gently lift
To raise the contents to my lips
So that I take the first few sips
And then I drink the rest in haste
There is ambrosia in the taste
That brings to mind my faithful muse
The sky is filled with scarlet hues
I am entranced and stay until
The sun goes up; once more I fill
The jar with water to the brim
On wings of time I fly and skim
Till I arrive at heaven’s gates
Then walk to where my master waits
The zodiac path is where he lives
He lays the rules and ever gives
To freedom lovers ample space
To go about at their own pace
And cure the fragile human race
To make the world a better place.
A water bearer I shall be
With care to serve eternally.
-------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 13th July 2014
Contest: Zodiac Sign
Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Placing: 1st
The sun emerge from its hide, smiling bright and it glide
Promising a fine stay, for those who toil by the day
Oaks surround the landscape, as ferns add in to the grandeur
A heron’s displaying majestic pose, the farmers toil with ardor
The placid stream that flow, bearing success into the future
A land that God has blessed, with serenity he suture
The grassland spreading far and wide, down the country line we trod
Wheels turning and a group so old, no place we haven’t rode
Of sunshine state I speak to thee, its heritage and splendor bold
As we turn a bend in road, of beauty that my eyes behold.
We arrive at the marketplace, with stalls lining the street
It’s the day of harvest, where a merry crowd will meet
The stalls full and brimming, with the fresh produce
Homemade things in display, of those the villagers use.
Cheese, honey and pastas, that makes our mouth water
Pickles, meats and soaps, are also things they cater.
At night the moon peeps out, of promised passion sought
And a few but lingers, to feel the cool breeze float
From the cottages flow the sound of mellow laughter
of happy wives and kids, who are well looked after.
Halloween Sonnet
It's Halloween, that spooky time of year,
when scary monsters prowl the streets at night,
those freaky ghouls make me shiver with fear,
in costumes that give me a dreadful fright!
Pumpkin lanterns cast a dire, eerie glow
as eager children arrive at my door;
Candy offerings on them, I bestow,
while their excited eyes say, 'Give me more!'
Sometimes older ones take it much too far,
playing mean tricks when they don't get a treat.
I'll find eggs splattered on my house and car,
and hear bad language I dare not repeat!
Children celebrate on this festive day
and dress as specters who've come out to play!
checked with how many syllables
Shakespearean Sonnet (with Prizes) Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
Ring size 7 I think
favorite color for gems Green or Purple
10/14/18
Like rivers of time / our lives drift by /
as seasons / providing the trees /
acquire soft, green leaves / and then in time /
turning red and golden / shed their leaves.
Travelers in time are all / like a wind
sweeping across the plains of life / visitors in a temporary land /
enjoying moments of bright sunny days / filled with fun and joy /
soon to be followed by sudden storms /
and then dark hours / followed again by
the brightness of the day / rivers of time /
carrying each traveler through his day / waiting /
waiting for the next to arrive /
Time an ever moving thing / a river /
carrying each person / in turbulent white water /
or calm flowing streams / through all events of life /
then stranding him on a rocky and barren shore / or
other times / gently laying him upon soft and lush meadows /
to rest as in a quiet and calm place /
Finally on the appointed day / a call goes forth / and
the wayfarer receives his summons / to quickly go /
moving through time / to stand in a queue / moving to an unknown space /
together with others summoned / to appear at some distant place /
The queue is formed / the line moves forward / the time has arrived
to board / those great ships of time / like the giant Leviathan / casts
off from near harbors / and then ever moving / to arrive at some distant
shore/
Like rivers of time / our lives drift by / a season at a time /
travelers all / in a moment in time.