Best Blog Poems
Entering contests isn’t a race
First past the post may not get a place
Don’t make it a mission
To get first position …
Attacking sponsors is a disgrace
Written after reading F J Thomas's blog AFTERAFFECTS OF HOSTING A CONTEST
30th May 2015
I slept with my guitar,
I guess was inept.
I was not in accord,
my guitar slowly wept
I slept with my piano
—such a torrid tease,
it tinkled with my tuner
and slew me with its keys
I slept with my bassoon,
it ruffled up my hair.
Un fétiche pour bouffant?
I didn’t really care
I slept with my recorder,
in between the sheets.
The score became discordant
but the music sure was sweet
I slept with tenor sax
kinky though it seems
Did I get the ax?
Or was it in my dreams?
The bulldog strolls again, looking for bully butts to bite.
Will all remain quiet or will they scream into the night?
To blog or not to blog, is that now the question?
When does an intelligent comment become a loser’s obsession?
The freedom of speech is a fleeting human right.
We are still entitled to our opinion there is no need to fight.
There are many bullies around that should have never experienced birth.
That is just my opinion, for whatever it may be worth.
Some feel joy and importance by bringing others down.
Never let a polished turd turn your smile into a frown.
You can usually smell them coming, quite pungent and not so sweet.
I trust they’ll remove this one, when others start to tweet.
More intelligent words of wisdom are brought back to our door.
It’s too bad they aren’t any better than the ones we heard before.
It would be a more noble mind to just ignore and move along?
Your negative comments aren’t welcome, and they really don’t belong.
(1.)
Alas! So Shoot Me, I Grieve What Was Lost
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
One may ask, how dare I so complain?
Does Nature cry about hard falling rain?
Yet does not this world its ills promote well?
Oft with sorrows borne from depths of Hell?
Dare I choose to such dark verses to write?
Have I not truly joined in the fight?
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet, repeat stanza ( with triple couplets )
******
(2.)
Those Lush And Tender, Soft Welcoming Lips
Those flowing curls, glowing luscious mane
Sexy smile, flowering as desert rain
Bountiful beauty, sent to ease heart's pain
Lovely blessing sent for this soul to gain.
Ravishing essence with sweet touch to match
My hesitation, thinking what is the catch
That such a beauty would now my way pass
A goddess, sweet speaking to this poor lass.
Those lush and tender, soft welcoming lips
With true beauty, grace, and curvaceous hips
Yes beauty, as could launch a thousand ships
And greatest king's treasure surely eclipse.
Those tender kisses that were sent both ways.
May we forever - remember that day!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And Life, Its Journey Ever Sped Onward )
******
(3.)
Does Basking Moon Ask Strolling Stars For More
Of beauty, earth, wind and soft glowing sky
Dares this artist to weep tears asking why
Heart and soul must pay such a heavy price
And shed blood for it to ever suffice?
Does basking moon ask strolling stars for more
Space and time to heavenly night explore
And cast upon earth a much deeper hue
To inspire such in poets such as you?
Does dawn its resplendent new rays withhold
That gift, that gleaming beauty to be sold
Or Mother Nature fail to gift new birth
Or poets fail to cast beauty's true worth?
Do such quizzing queries set well in verse
Or fail as being dated and quite terse?
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And what of life, love and this thing we call earth ? )
When Yesterday's Ghost Rises From Its Grave,
4th poem, From my blog, A Quartet Of Poems
(4.)
When Yesterday's Ghost Rises From Its Grave,
(4th poem, From my blog, A Quartet Of Poems)
When yesterday's ghost rises from its grave
telling your dastardly sins to behave
can that midnight hour your spirit then feel
poison arrows in your Achilles heel
slow melting marrows in your weeping bones
transcendence in your heartbreaking tones?
O'tell me that torture, how does it pain
Will your rebellion ever let you be sane?
In cold dark that your lost soul too oft plays
sorrows born 'neath Heaven's pleading stairways
can new Life and Love your agony heal
or with devil's oath you dare make a deal,
fast drying tears spat upon cracked sidewalks
crimes with Mother Nature you dare not talk!
O'tell me that torture, how does it pain
Will your rebellion ever let you be sane?
When yesterday's ghost rises from its grave
telling your dastardly sins to behave
can that midnight hour your spirit then feel
poison arrows in your Achilles heel
those melting marrows in your weeping bones
transcendence in your heartbreaking tones?
O'tell me that torture, how does it pain
Will your rebellion ever let you be sane?
Robert J. Lindley, 5-13-2020
Rhyme, Stepping From That Mountain,
Fleeing From That Cold, Dark Abyss.....
Dear POETESS' and POETS, This really is not a POEM. I have replyed to all comments on my last Blog and wonder why no one ever reads a blog or a POEM a 2nd time unless its Featured or a Winner in a contest. I comment on POEMS more than once especially those in my Favorites. Is there something wrong with me; POETICALLY, I know there something wrong with me mentally and physically Just Asking. To all my LOVE ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Eternal Liege...Harry
The Secret of Christmas
Who could not wish for Christmas?
For I have been witness with my own eyes
I have felt the humanity and joy raining from the skies
I have traveled back in time, long ago
Into a Maronite church
Listening to the language of Jesus
As the choir sings
Children romp and play
I see man with arms outstretched in humble prayer
Time travel is possible, back to the future of peace
I hear many voices proclaim all that Christmas is NOT
They are all wrong
When you focus on the nots
You see not what is
What is, is love
However expressed
However given
Heavenly peace is felt in the soul
Every single human should feel this joy
Even with a humble messenger of love
Listen first the message
The message you say?
The savior is in us all
Listen to the beating of your own heart
Follow any path you choose
As long as you see the light
The universe will shine bright
The beauty inside of you
Should you open it to the world
Is gods gift
To one and all
Merry Christmas
Hallelujah- Lindsey Stirling
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VzprYCxPBQ
Katherine Jenkins - Hallelujah
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PwIMQ4sb3A
Katherine Jenkins - Angel
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xdv-VOMcyE
George and his stupid acorns.
He has no sense of boundaries--
danged things falling on my head.
And Celia. She thinks she's all that
with her new clothes: red, yellow,
green, orange. How passe!
And then Baldy, the coward,
so afraid of winter he went stark
naked even before fall started.
And here come those helicopters again,
courtesy of Myrtle the maple.
They get into absolutely everything.
Sometimes I think I'm the only one with
any sense around here. You won't
see MY leaves going all psychedelic
or turning brown or flying helicopters.
Me? I stay green all year round, and
I don't go dropping leaves and nuts
all over the place. Sure, I have cones,
but they're actually more like accessories.
You can use them in arts and crafts
and as Christmas ornaments,
Speaking of Christmas, what month is it?
November you say? Late November?
Wait! What are you going to do with that ax?
Hey, let's talk about this...
8/24/15
I'll have to put off writing my bio because there's something I'd like to ask of you soupers...:)
You might have already seen the notice beneath a few of my recent poems, but I'll post the
same content here:
I'd really appreciate it if you could give me some really hard-core critical feedback on my
writing. The people on this site are so nice and their comments always give me such
encouragement, but I would love some critical comments as well.
Hope this isn't me being too greedy ;)
Will count on you all!
-G
Gaaah! Have I mentioned how much I want to blog these days? :(
I think I've been on the soup for quite awhile, and I would love to get to know everyone
more. But it seems like the best way to do that is to have a blog, and I'm not a premium
member, so sometimes it feels like a bit of a restriction. Of course, it's a great privilege and
I look forward to the day when I might become a PM, since right now I can't (for personal
reasons).
So this is like my kinda-sorta blog. I don't know how many people will see it and comment
on it, though I wish do you would! Any questions you have about me? Most of you might not
know me, I unfortunately couldn't make many rounds commenting on your poems since I
can only grab a few minutes of PoetrySoup in my busy schedule...
So...would it be okay if I posted a bio on this and stuff? Would you be willing to read it?
Everyone seems to friendly here, it really makes me want to chatter! Haha.
-G
(Reviewed by a snooty correspondent)
November dons her coats of warm terries,
tans, a few ochres, but surely not bright.
(Except for sneaky, red-coated berries,
peeking from bushes, agrin with delight.)
November's dress: pretty dull, never shines.
We prefer October's boisterous charm.
Branches bare, it's said limbs often recline;
sunbathe to keep their tans, and also warm.
Fashion designers often grow somber
and turn November into works of art.
Choosing russet offset by burnt umber
we find those dull colors lacking in heart.
Whispers of Summer heard in fashion parks.
Soon we'll write of a new bridal-white show.
Days ending sooner, dusk now wearing darks;
Winter waits coyly; looks lovely in Snow.
November 10, 2021
November or December Quatrain Contest
sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Honored
Blessed
Reader’s comments
Reveal inspirational
Relevant
Applicable…
…I feel flattered,
My minimalist lexis
Breathes.
Brutal barren breach,
Blasphemous beastly backbites,
Bruising blog babble.
~~
it is haiku but did it in alliteration..
Emotion & feelings,active, no
longer passing fads of intervening years.
A latter day passion,now fading from
view along a different path I now stride.
Hastened by love,poignant,as a moth
to a flame to paraphrase a truth.Willing
to take a risk,each aspect leaves its mark
as sunlight upon the mundane.
phrasis from my 2007-9 PS blogs
Hear me recite this phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
I Don't Want To Read Your Blog Brian Strand.
I just want to write a poem.
I'm done with instructions.
I'm done with obedience.
I'm done with the topsy.
Just give me the turvy.
Turvy, turvy, turvy all the time.
I'm done with repetition.
I'm done with repeating myself.
Give me two minutes and I'll make you a paper airplane.
Give me four minutes and I'll make your 2 paper airplane.
Our mouth is the hangar for all ideation sounds.
Then you have these vagabond words,
Escaping without an open hole,
Utilizing these stringy little fingers,
Doing some sort of Fred Astaire number.
Someone call the word plumber.
This be clogged.