Best August 15 Poems
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Bliss- Composed by Daveed
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~ because i love the sweet touch of words ~
image- pinterest.com/evstratov/miri/
Thursday August 15, 2019- Poem of the Day
Truly humbled that these words of mine were chosen as Poem of the Day.
Many thanks to all those that read my poetry and comment.
Even if you read and don't comment.
My heart smiles knowing you have read thoughts from my heart.
A spectacular show enlightens heavens above
In ephemeral musings of burning meteoroids
Mimicking likeness of falling ornamental stars--
Beaming streaks of rainbow-colors earthbound,
When earth crosses trajectory of comet's path
Encountering in its way pebbles of cosmic rock
Colliding, illuminating in orbital trespass,
Elements of iron, copper, magnesium, silicone
Glittering within spectra of kaleidoscopic astral art;
Streaming down rockets of blazing stars--
Tinted meteor-showers flaunting nature's panorama
Fixating sights upward where constellations are,
In idyllic August venue gazing ashen sky
Exhilarated witnessing magical phenomenon;
Mesmerizing predawn with seductive stagecraft
Premiering its play slyly when moon's hiding out
And sun's yet to commence ascending golden arc.
August 15, 2019
Placed 2nd: Shooting stars poetry contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Placed 3rd: Strand select N contest by Brian Strand
Tiny boardwalk along the Halifax River
Waiting to see what “catch” nature will deliver
Royal Palms’ fronds rustle in fall’s gentle breeze
No noisy distractions from teens on their jet skis
Cute baby seagull swims above my fishing line
Unlike a pet, this bird doesn’t bark, bite or whine
He knows me well and I can tell he wants to eat
So I toss bait and he bobs his head for the treat
Yet he lingers, craving a flounder or redfish
You see, my companion and I have the same wish
Quick tug at my line; what prize might lie below?
A hefty blue crab emerges as my cargo
With claws and feathers interacting, I’m amused
But break up the fight so no animal’s abused
Such friends make life better for one who lives alone
In a pandemic when isolation’s seeds are thrown
Fishermen appreciate little rays of hope
That grant a smile and make it easier to cope
August 15, 2020
For Silent One’s “Sanctuary” poetry contest
Write to me about your greatest pain
Let me hold it within my hands
I have lived here within my perfect world
I have not felt anything
Let me s e e through your eyes
I badly want to FEEL alive
Prick my soul with delicious pain
I'm tired of only SUNshine
I wish to e x p e r i e n c e rain
Tears flow into me
I feel like I am DROWNING
What have I asked for?
I beg you PLEASE take it back!
I can't h o l d onto your pain!
August 15, 2016
For Broken Wing's It takes Four Contest
I find beauty in the unkempt places ~~
Sticky beehives with perfectly formed combs,
A child's playground sea of dirty faces,
An overgrown garden with ugly gnomes,
Sagging gables of long-deserted homes.
I look for more than people likely see ~~
Wondrous events occurring in past tense,
Places long untouched, lovely by degree,
Feelings of beauty lit from innocence,
Well-crafted stories hinging on suspense.
I long for beauty in the dour mundane ~~
Making the minus a clear positive,
Finding some loveliness in the profane,
To be learned in the raw provocative,
Turning low grades into superlative.
[LIFE]
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written July 1, 2022
For "It's All About Three Q's" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
[15-10 syllable lines in 3 Stanzas checked by HMS
The ababb of the English Quintain with rhymes
checked with Rhyme Zone]
#16 on Poetry Soup's 100 Best New Poems List
August 24, 2022
#20 on Poetry Soup's 100 Best New Poems List
August 15, 2022
Oh, praying mantis, there with majesty,
you hold your slender arms so still and sweet,
in prayer like form that somehow makes us see
a kind and gentle species when we greet.
Your odd, triangle face responds your way
by nodding side to side, as if you hear
and grasp the words we speak and so convey-
to be beside you does not carry fear.
But, in the world, you live- yet to survive
another side of you is seen, exists.
A murderer you are- eat your mate live;
your coupling ritual exhibits twists.
Your mate is lucky to have found a chance
to spread his genes, his only goal in life;
to offer up his body in this dance-
a trade-off for his offspring to be rife.
With head gone first, he still completes his act
depositing his precious sperm; when done
you throw him to the ground and after that
soon feed on him to nourish life begun.
Oh, praying mantis, there with majesty
you hold your slender arms as if in prayer.
But looks so often can deceive, you see;
a murderer you are- his fate, unfair.
August 15, 2016
Contest: Insects
Sponsor: Angela Tune
I watch a coral glow of sky
and see it mirrored by the sea;
I wish for eagle wings to fly -
away from you, away from me,
away from what has come to be.
The sun ship rode pale aqua waves
the first day that I saw your face;
today take back the love you gave,
free me from your black embrace,
these bitter memories efface.
You bade me sail your golden sea
by rays of morning sun inflamed,
your burning passion scorching me;
your stellar love boldly proclaimed
has left me broken and ashamed.
Your sea turned dark and stormy,
I tossed upon a violent gray;
with sea urchin spines thorny,
you goaded me to sail your way
and left my heart in disarray.
I long to skim the sky,
leave behind your misery;
I long for eagle wings to fly -
away from you, away from me,
away from what has come to be.
Copyright, August 15, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
-- January 30, Martyr's Day --
noble and martyred
wrapped in the colours they served
nation in their legacy
***
August 14, 1947
Jawaharlal Nehru stood before The Parliament - Words were spoken, recounted this century as clear as then.
“Long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny; and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially.
At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom.
A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new -- when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India, her people, and to the still larger cause of humanity.
The turning-point is past, and history begins anew for us, the history which we shall live and act and others will write about.”
August 15, 2017
Policemen are positioned at the borders of states.
Stars are thanked at the break of dawn - the night passed without their lives.
Embassies light up with stories of the past - They play out on facades for the holidayer in traffic.
Tiny hands wave paper flags at the rural side of the city. In the August heat, parades are viewed from terraces barefoot.
Students wear pins in a march. The sole aim ~ Giving back more than we get.
A day cannot sleep without celebration of culture:
saffron, white and green
twenty nine states on stage -
nation in their eyes
.. continuation posted
The Darkness of Cold Oceans Dwelling Deepest
Into the utter darkness of cold oceans dwelling deepest,
there is far beyond any glimmer of hope an outer limit
that defines a dark realm of the true supernatural reality
existing beyond any iota of human understanding on Earth.
In this dark realm lies a catacombic-womb of dead souls
bled white from the inside-out-turning of sand-blasted
nightmares of pure evil that envelope into a desert storm,
whereby living-dead apparitions appear in the shadows.
In this Procrustean bed there lies these horribly-tortured souls
who are like fossils of a past strife-torn life—a past without
any mercy since the unloved ghosts who exist there sense a
palpable pain erupting deep within every second of eternity!
This achingly slow-death falls into a sentence as forgiveness
now is impossible and a weathered-weakness of bowels spiced
from this seabed's loving memory appear as a bright-white pearl,
and the golden sun rises and sets as rats spread the Black Death!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – August 15, 2018
(Quatrain)
Romantic dreams flowing from her pen.
From her imagination to the page.
Choose your lover, re-live the dream again.
Perhaps she is a warrior or a sage.
Her creativity has no end.
From her imagination to the page.
Be prepared to have your mind bend.
You'll experience both pleasure and pain.
Her creativity has no end.
She'll show you sunshine soak you in rain.
Let you drink from a lovers fountain.
You'll experience both pleasure and pain.
She will lead you to the highest mountain.
Causing your heart to ache with wanting
You'll experience both pleasure and pain
Her images are real and haunting
Romantic dreams flowing from her pen.
Causing your heart to ache with wanting
Choose your lover, re-live the dream again.
Dedicated to Eileen Manassian, the true Queen of the Romantic Pen.
Written August 15th 2013, modified today as I noticed I broke from form.
Entered into Silent One's "Tibute" Contest.
In a corner of my room I seek sublime awareness,
I attempt to transcend my past, present and future;
Such a little place of tranquility where I find higher purpose,
Letting go of the now and finding myself in nature.
My meditation takes me deep into my inner power,
Transcendence and serene knowledge and abandon;
The vastness of self, interpretation of life, the creative writer,
I float in delight through landscapes before hidden.
I have found the infinite part of my unlimited being,
My third eye is activated and I am in a realm higher;
Letting go, discarding things of no purpose including feelings,
And in my meditation I am awake and not just a dreamer.
____________________
August 15, 2015
Rhyme
Submitted to the contest, Least Views, Casarah Nance
Third Place
Calm appears following a ferocious storm
As clouds turn marshmallow white again,
In the stillness, nature returns to a norm.
Drifting across patches of deep blue sky
The clouds resume their cottony shapes
As we observe them lazily passing by.
Our souls are soothed by the silence,
Following the loud thunder and lightning,
As clouds take up a slow, steady cadence.
POEM OF THE DAY
Poetry Soup, August 15, 2021
written August 14, 2021
#60 on Best 100 Poems for August, 2021
Poetry Soup
#57 on Best 100 Poems for September, 2021
Dancing vibrant hues
Blink in shades of blue
Peafowl, A majestic bird
Our nation's pride
Peacock - Pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
Yellow sturdy physique
On glimpsing him, the forest shrieks
Bright black stripes on body regal
Stands the royal bengal tiger
Tiger - Pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
Smirking amidst the fecund pond
Pink beauty lotus lightens the land
To glance her in the morning,
Arises the sun gleaming
Lotus - Pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
A lofty banyan tree
deepens its roots free
Broadens its spiritual hereditary
Coerces to confront the world contemporary
Banyan - Pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
Camaflouged with dry leaves
A dry leaf butterfly make us perceive
Don't judge by the veneer
Orange butterfly our seer
Oak leaf - Pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
Our mother earth, the queen
Dons the elegant dress in green
And the blue crown forever
And so our place is prosperous ever
Ever friendly weather - Pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
Ancient books and poems
classical songs and rhythms
Valluvar, Vyasan, Kamban, Bharathi
Tamil, Sanskrit, Hindi, Marathi
Poets, cultural treasures & languages - The prides of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
Like different euphoric rivers
Accumulating minerals and deliver
We travel in a path discrete
But at the same sea we meet
With diverse faith and believes
With the varied swaying leaves
We still shine with glee
As we affixed to a single big tree
Named India
Diversities - The pride of India
Come, visit and enjoy
All are welcome, yeah!!!
August- 15 -2021
Wish you all a very HaPpY InDePeNdEnCe DaY
Well over a hundred years ago
The illustrious Vincent Willem Van Gogh
A genius somewhat like Michelangelo
With thousands of artworks in his cluttered studio
From the sublime to the grotesque for show
Might have been better off working as a gigolo
Because he died a pauper on skid row
In those days artists had no impresario
To make sure they lived high in a chateau
Dining on champagne and escargot
So it was quite a different scenario
That brilliant artists lived totally incognito
Often exchanging a painting for a meal on a patio
Or selling their wares door to door on tiptoe
Carrying under their arm their impressive portfolio
So it was for Vincent Willem Van Gogh
Misunderstood and suffering from vertigo
Mentally unstable and drinking heavily in Bordeaux
Depressed, impulsive and insane – a tragic combo
Cut off a piece of his ear, his sanity was touch and go
A troubled soul, life for him was a wild rodeo
Obsessive passion, far from living the status quo
His life and work intertwined shimmying like a yo-yo
Feeling the stranger, he shot himself overcome with sorrow
Post mortem everyone wanted to hear the myth of Van Gogh
With his vivid colors of burgundy, ochre and indigo
In his honor every year the orchestra features the oboe
And while the Italians chant magnifico
Everyone else cheers Bravo! Bravo!
How times have changed for poor Van Gogh
From a mere hundred years ago ~
Read on air by invitation ~ March 21, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 1st place 2026, 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2025, 3rd place 2022, 3rd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 15, 2021 for YOUR BEST MONORHYME contest sponsored by WILLIAM KEKAULA - RANKED 1ST
At 22, her life still gave mine meaning
This feral kitten born inside a barn
In dark times, she was ever intervening
To bring smiles, she wrestled balls of yarn
When arthritis kept Katy from leaping
I picked her up and knew she’d soon meet fate
But still, she purred as I just sat by weeping
Till one morning, I opened the floodgate
I buried her beneath her favorite oak
A place where she’d spent many hours preening
And sure am I she never misses a stroke
From Angel Gabe whose arm she must be cleaning
*August 15, 2020
For Constance’s “All Pets Go to Heaven” contest