Best Beacon Light Poems
A stoic sentinal midst waves,
you staunchly stand erect and tall.
Emerged in frothy, churning white,
you hold your own in nature’s squall.
Atop, your beacon light shines bright
to let the mariners know well,
there is a guardian at sea
that can be seen above the swell.
How stoic now you bravely stand,
against the terror of this storm.
Your eyes look out with searching beams
for those caught in the sea, forlorn.
What glory when your light is seen
above the mountains of white waves.
Salvation in your light of red
denies the sea more mortal graves.
My head hit the pillow and I was asleep,
I fell into a dream that was so deep,
standing on the deck of a fighting ship,
the vessel did rise, then into gulley did tip.
The waves so cruel did rise and fall,
and all did work for the good of all,
the Dramallach Raven was sailing through,
a storm of darkness, the ship held true.
Deep in the darkness, the waters did crash,
against the ships fore they did mighty smash,
yet this mighty vessel was sailing true,
it would reach its destination, all the crew knew.
Where was this ship bound on this stormy night?
The moon shining down, its beacon light,
the Dramallach Raven on its way to Hell,
I knew this ship and my legs fell.
I knelt and I looked to the wheel,
my horror I could not conceal,
the skeletal captain did doff his hat,
let me wake and that be that.
A hero is a person who 'encourages',
That 'hero' is my beacon light;
Everyone has a her, say it fictional or a non-fictional one,
I've one who's non-fictional one, and I call him 'Daddy'!
He cares for me,
Not as a normal child, But as a Precious 'Piece of Diamond' he preserves me as.
He doesn't make me wait, for anything;
He gets me 'World in a Silver Plate'!
Makes me Laugh, When Life is Tough,
Sits with me, as a 'Gossip Buff'.
Takes me to a tour, my handsome 'doer',
He's my legendry peer.
Words, of Kindness are here,
He's my always 'Near and Dear'.
beacon light reflects
stones polished smooth by time-
mysterious mist
For the "What My Eyes See" contest...
Open My Eyes
Lord, give me vision, let me see.
Open my eyes help me to achieve.
Like an Eagle that’s in flight.
Give me true vision and sight.
Help me not to doubt but believe.
Whenever the safe nest, I do leave.
While I soar over the lowly clouds
In reverence to you not proud.
Your caring heart to be in mine
Letting others know what is thine.
You are the one I wish to please,
Time for prayer if I want to seize.
Grant me wisdom for the task.
Enable me to touch a heart, I ask.
People that are in the valley below.
Where the steps are hard, spirit low.
If you give me the words to say.
I want to show them a brighter day.
Shining forth like a beacon-light.
A brand new day for those in the night.
Cleanse the inner parts of my heart.
Let your Spirit come in and impart.
Simply I yearn for your fire
To ignite a spark or to inspire.
Who am I but a vessel to fill?
Guide me according to your will.
Pour love into my heart from you.
For they long to hear what is true.
By tiptoe
Sentinel Quatrain Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Crashing quivers of ripples beyond the beacon light,
a watchtower flooding with a million waves,
water blown about like shadows in the night,
clouds cause combustion as the oxygen it saves.
Sign post hidden behind the main surges,
streams of unguarded safety like a typhoon,
the cyclone warps and bends as it merges,
with the tempest curving into a monsoon.
The watchmen scatter with apprehension,
the sentinel remains an unsafe compartment,
the seamark propels and turns causing trepidation,
a billow of nature smashing the marine department.
~Date Written: April 6, 2016~
A young Shepardflees fascist Italy,
in a boat crossing a tereachorous sea.
His rudimentary education,
ending sheep in Abruzzi, Italy.
His venture, to seek a life of freedom,
on the cold gold ground of La'mere-rr-ika.
He walked out of the pasture near Penna,
into the black pit coal holes of Scranton.
Pick and shovel in hand, clothed in black pitch,
a beacon light upon his tired head.
A young no-good lazy bastard "guinea"
working for a fast talking lying, "mickl".
Day and nighrt, night and day, anday annight.
pick, shovel, load, push, pick, shovel, load, push,
four weeks of darkness, thirty days of night.
Working double shift days in the coal pit,
sucking dust, ingesting coal from the hole,
a nickel a load for pasture clear lungs.
Greenback money in his empty pockets,
mark an "X", on the clear white payroll sheet,
then settle up with the company clerk,
paying his month long debt of servitude.
A slave to the industry of demand,
dictator Baron's that trade in black lung.
Days to months, months to years, a month of years,
living in clapboard company houses,
with bambino's running around his feet.
Just enough left for a couple of beers
and a gallon bottle of cheap vino,
then back to the grind with facist "mick",
Passionate moments filled
with zeal and zest as i gathered
thoughout babbling brooks tainted
an yet brillantly carved from a sudden
interruption of unguided cognitive skills
completely noted as french karma
binded with crued wrath unseen
gripping racing thoughts tinged
with a sensual sadness i'd become to know
very well while quiet times beckons
my inspirational soul casting a beacon light
of faint hues glorious to greet beyond
a calm walk way covered in a quiant emory
of a soft garden full of greenary
a shivering ivy conceal the sorted bliss
that quiets the empty mind between
universal meetings above the hidden stars
reaching the gravity under a rushing spring
sheer wetness bursting from a mist of lost clouds
My dear, my dear,
How goes it in America,
in America,
my dear?
How goes it in America?
Fine fine fine, says she.
Except
of course
of course
not so finefinefine
If
You are a woman
or an immigrant
or uneducated
or lacking skills
or poor
or black
or brown...
That's how she goes
in America,
dear Liberty Lady.
Your beacon light
shines not on all.
For days we were assaulted
By vicious sleet and snow
It brought life to a standstill
Many were in survival mode
Records show, it had been decades
Since such fury we had known
Just more reason to be complacent
And show how careless we had grown
Then one morning, an open curtain
Revealed bright sunlight and calm wind
There, a sigh of relief was instilled
The turbulent storm was near it's end
To me, it's a perfect metaphor
Of our sojourn in life
At times we glide on mountaintops
Then dark valleys bring pain and strife
Often after egressing from a storm
We appreciate the sunlight more
It can help us align priorities
And bring reality to the door
Though life is short, it can be sweet
If we keep the beacon light in view
By His guidance we can emerge
Into a day, - with a brighter hue
My mind is anchored on the fact
Ahead, - is a plateau calm and warm
In Heaven, there'll be eternal bliss
Truly that will be, the "end of the storm"
Colan L Hiatt = 01-25-16
© All Rights Reserved
ocean waves crashing
beacon light illuminates ~
blue crabs rummaging
a wrecking daring taught bestowed
my weariness a covenant catering to
the boundary of self why I'd become
more open to resolve life's issues abundantly
simply through a passing fancy cleverly
orchestrated why rehearsed over and over again
while I'd gravely except a single faint hue as a quaint
challenge flowing as a beacon light edifying a sheer
witnessing on the pondering whims that gathered
beyond st john paul's passages of meaningful messages
hidden explored graphically in stone
Ocean waves crash along the shore
Dark clouds warning, a storm in store
Gulls soar searching for washed up food
As crabs seek cover with their brood
Sandpipers nesting in the brush
As waves rise and crash with a gush
A beacon light illuminates
Warning as the storm dominates
3/30/22
Contest: Form L- Lay -New Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Nature
( checked with howmanysyllables.com)
The lighthouse stands along the shore,
sturdy and mighty upon its rock foundation,
a welcome addition with its beacon light,
guiding ships safely during the dark night.
The lighthouse stands along the shore,
a stalwart guard facing all kinds of weather,
rain or shine, thick fog and crashing waves,
protecting all who pass from watery graves.
The lighthouse stands along the shore,
a picture postcard of a nautical scene,
red and white stripes seen from a distance
for vessels to observe with clear consistence.
We need to dance on Mountain tops
Flying, soaring, way way up high into the sky
We need to grasp at every single rainbow
And laughing slide down them for the ride
Not to live in unhappiness, doubt and insecurity
We need to believe in all we see and be a shiny light
A help out of the darkness to be a beacon light
Life has such cruelties we must not add to them
Careless words, stupid thoughts, so easy to hold back
For some the road is easy, a skipping playful ride
For others torment, tragedy, a life of only strife
We need to lift the spirit to offer all we can
We need a cup overflowing, not scalding in the hand
A little thought of tenderness, a smile can make a day
A special nod, outstretched hand, a tender loving hug
Oh yes we need to dance on mountain tops
Together let us fly, let us soar way way up into the sky
To love, to give, to hope, and most certainly to dream.