Best Cautioned Poems
POTD 23 Mar 2024
THE PATH WELL TRAVELLED.
Two paths diverged, and I was thrown by doubts I had never known
To my left, thickly overgrown, was a path to dismal dimness prone.
To my right, a lovely sight-fragrant flora flamed in light
Forms so graceful, beauty rare, a wonderous vision beyond compare.
Both seduced with equal right, torn was I between dark and light.
Resisting limits of time and sight, a liminal border of cosmic might.
Hesitancy rapt with fear and doubt, the pondering heart beat aloud.
Tempting was the path so grand, but instinct cautioned of a treacherous hand.
A feathery touch, a breeze stirred, and in its sigh, a voice I heard.
Was it Hecate who whispered?
"Take heed. Beware, for each path leads to a different lair."
Crystal clarity knew what I must do, and with a heart filled with valour true,
Joyously, I strode wild and free down the well-trodden path ahead of me.
The leaves, like frisking lovers, played as I embarked my chosen way.
Future paths ~ So many dreams ~ Each a thread in life's grand scheme.
Though true discovery lay in paths, I'd roam ~
The one well travelled always led back Home.
By Maria Williams ©
Greeks worshipped Hecate as a guardian and gatekeeper who could ward off evil forces. She is often represented carrying a torch and a key and standing on the liminal border between one place and another. She bears three heads and always has a dog by her side.
Inspired by Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken', I chose to write an alternative version.
'The Road Not Taken' is one of Robert Frost's most famous poems. It's natural and understandable that many readers take the poem to be Frost's statement of individualism as a poet: he will take 'the road less travelled'.
The metaphor of the road is one that immediately evokes a journey, not just of the local or day-to-day kind, but of the life-defining sort: life as a journey, with many roads which we must travel along, and with many alternative paths which we must choose between.
POTD 23 March 2024
An empty throne – Part 1 of 9
For this of castled velvet throne
A queen does weep a single tear
Bleak shadows of this night have grown
To cast upon her heart this fear
Reflection polished marble floor
Her silhouette of humbled reach
Now shutters via nightmare’s pour
Alone of bridges fought to breach
Beyond the window valleys sleep
Soft candle flame in slumbered night
Flickering her pain felt deep
Burning through in cautioned light
An empty throne aside her heart
Its warmth now chilled of worried feel
That day her love he did depart
Read messages to long conceal
Her single kiss of cherished due
A farewell bid, pled safe return
Lost amidst this sorrowed view
And loneliness again did burn
As if the dawn had been his shield
In misty haze on moor’s harsh breath
Of forest frame it had concealed
A moment quick of arrow’s death
She takes this single tear she’s cried
Into a glass of poison clear
This droplet or her love applied
Her broken heart to wish him near
And brings this potion to her lips
Such bitter taste slow going down
A whispered thought in swallowed sips
To then remove her saddened crown
Upon his throne of gold now rests
She breathes one final moment pure
Her eyes now close of wishful quest
To be with her sweet king once more
I am going to post this 9 part poetic series one at a time, 3 parts per day. (That way we can get it over with in 3 days) : ) I hope you enjoy this.
I didn't want to break your heart,
I had no thought of that at all,
When I told you I'd be leaving
Right after roundup time this fall.
A cowboy's life is lonely,
With saddle, bridle and his horse,
A bedroll just to keep from freezing
When he's wandering off his course.
Your own daddy is a rancher.
He should have warned you from the start,
Should have cautioned you to never
Let a cowboy win your heart.
I'll be heading to the south lands
Until some wrangling work I find,
Didn't mean to fool you, Honey.
I didn't mean to be unkind.
If I had a stack of money,
I'd settle down, make you my wife.
Until I'm through meandering
I can't ask you to share my life.
Dry your eyes my little lady
And let me see that pretty smile.
There will be another cowboy
Who will outshine me by a mile.
If you find one with a bankroll
Who can afford a little spread,
Get your lariat and rope him,
Forget about these tears you've shed.
I'll be thinking of you, Honey
As I travel across the range,
But this cowboy is a rambler
And I expect I'll never change.
Placed 2nd in Ballad contest
"Dream Weaver Damsel"
in a tiny corner beyond mysterious hills
a quaint curio shoppe promised exotic thrills
amid cryptic designs whispered brisk Autumn chills
as the marmalade sunset cautioned while pursuing frills ...
misty clouds had invited
as curiosity excited
I entered dusty door of my own free will.
melodies chanted a pleasant, yet haunting refrain
as a slight pungent odor infused by wolf bane
the proprietess welcomed with a silver head cane
at her side was a midnight blue giant great dane ...
a charming confection
a cozy connection
i wandered in amazement to purchase sculptured frame.
she offered a sweet tea from a boiling cauldron tin
suddenly the silence invaded quiet as a pin
this euphoria feeling tasted tempting as sin
while spraying wild essence which appeared from a bin ...
a mystical trance
fashioned vivid romance
I envisioned a breath of intoxicant gin.
floating through space on invisible wings
seeking to escape from perilous things
trying to seize the illusive brass rings
as I started to weep I heard two lovebirds sing ...
dream sequence is over
awake! smell fresh clover
was my dream a prediction? premonition? or warning?
*For SandyIvy Davis's Good Enough Contest.
*Written by: Linda-Marie The "Sweetheart" of P.S..
I avoid florists, not the people,
who generally speaking,
are polite and quite unremarkable.
I write of those floral gangsters;
the vainglorious gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse geraniums
with their large shar-pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic hosts
pressing in.
My center inwardly trembles
when confronted with Pelargonium posses
all the heavy menacing smells
of the over-cultivated.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as, “an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen
out of human brains.
Dogs and cows
are immune to their deleterious charms,
but we who are drawn to color and form,
sniff them out, as if they are the hard drugs
we were once cautioned
never to reach for.
O you Peony, you Day Lily, you seemingly
innocuous bunches of Mums,
I see you, you smug mobs,
and I cringe away
rather than buy my sweetheart
yet another monstrous spray.
Someone inquired of me about poetry contests,
And I shared some thoughts and considerations,
The contests, I wrote, are an incentive to write
Learning about poetry’s forms and foundations.
Don’t enter a contest for an opinion of your work
For your very best will sometimes go unnoticed
Some sponsors recognize only what they like
Their credentials for judging are clearly modest.
I have learned which sponsors to take seriously
The ones I want to give my very finest efforts,
Knowing they recognize merit even if I don’t place
I’ve learned few sponsors* are actually experts.
Then, I cautioned, a few sponsors you must court
For they only give placement to their best friend
You’ll identify them right away, the **** for tats,
I don’t take them seriously for any poems I send.
The best poems I write are rarely contest entered
And I enjoy most the poems I write for me alone
So, remember you are writing what pleases you
And if you win a trophy for it, that’s a milestone!
If you enter my contests, I can assure you of this:
I carefully consider the merit of every poem I get
I don’t care who wrote it, whether friend or foe,
When I post my placements, then I have no regret.
[*including me!]
Written July 10, 2022
Slushbo was called Pinkie back in the “day”
Boys who dated her said “hip, hip hooray!”
She was daring and dashing, and did many great things.
But never was offered a pretty diamond ring.
That’s okay, she said, when I am old I shall live with cats.
She had the best sense of humor in town of Monkey Flats.
Her family and friends laughed until they cried tears.
She jested and joked, amid all kinds of cheers.
You don’t even like cats, her bestie Matilda said.
I shall live with them all over my house ‘til I’m dead!
The friends both thought it was a clever joke and hilarious.
Fifty years later, Shushbo is a cat-lover-nefarious.
She is a real odd one the neighbors whisper to their kin.
Don’t go to her door, they cautioned, she will not let you in.
She’s a witch, a warlock, a crazy old cat-lady for sure.
They have no idea her heart is golden, incredibly pure.
Every fear
Here beyond the sandstone crease
Long beneath this fractured fault
I take my bow as tears do cease
Collected in a cardboard vault
Dreamt of moments spent like this
Where the sky does touch the ground
Lost in the horizon’s mist
Following a whispered sound
Walking long of nights and days
Breathing in the feathered air
Changing course in mad display
Seeking but a simple care
When your hand appears the light
Shining down of softened beam
Cast aside and to the right
Read my thoughts of which I dream
Take me from this cautioned place
Show me bright un-faded land
Lead me for I long to trace
Every line upon your hand
As I feel my heart does beat
Now that you have led me strong
With a love I must repeat
Hold me close and hold me long
This may be my dying part
But my life is now fulfilled
You have breathed into my heart
And my every fear is stilled
From my window, darkness was quickly descending.
Costumed creatures were walking about, pretending
to be goblins and ghosts, expecting me to be scared
and totally freaked out, for which I was not prepared.
I'd been warned about evil spirts on Halloween night,
and vampires rising from coffins to give my neck a bite,
but no one had cautioned me, "Beware the living dead!"
I laughed it off and scoffed at a zombie's decayed head.
Around me creepy crawlers slithered. I felt an eerie chill.
but I was trick-or-treating for candy; my bag I'd yet to fill.
Across the blood red moon, flew witches in pointed hats.
Their dark silhouettes joined by a flock of shrieking bats!
I saw a man dressed as a baby, but he looked like a brute.
He growled at me, so I ran as he chased me in hot pursuit.
I thought I'd be attacked when suddenly there appeared
skeletons whose clicking bones pointed at me and jeered.
With worry I started thinking, Could these things be real?
Something nibbled on my hair. How horrid it made me feel!
I went to a house with a porch light, hoping for Tootsie Rolls,
but screamed when in the open door stood sneering Trolls.
I tried to convince myself that this was just some silly hoax,
by friends trying to make me cower with their wicked jokes.
With a bit of bravado, I rang another doorbell, undaunted,
but fled again when I saw signs that the house was haunted.
How I wished for the power to fly away on a witch's broom
and escape the macabre apparitions on this night of gloom.
Now filled with trepidation and dread, I darn near fainted
wondering if the sweet treats I'd collected were all tainted.
Somehow, I managed to make it home but could not sleep.
Snarls from under my bed gave me goosebumps, skin-deep.
October 22, 2022 ~ Halloween Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
A dull-looking scuffed up ebony toolbox full of pure happiness,
Sat in the back of Charley’s old green Chevy pick-up truck,
Waiting for him to drink his three cups of coffee.
“Another adventure!” the wrench said to the clamps.
The tools knew that Charley would be using them today for sure.
He had thrown a tarp, some paint cans, and his can of nails in last night.
They were eager to get started, happy to see what they would be building.
“Here he comes!” the hammer said. “Silence!” There was instant compliance.
The tools shook with exuberance, feeling today’s adventure.
Would they be building a window seat, porch, deck? Someone’s park bench?
“SHHHH!” the pliers cautioned them. “He is getting in!”
Charley had no idea they were aware he was lifting souls
One project at a time. A simple carpenter, with a good soul…
I sit outside wondering what those bossy raccoons are doing in the kitchen.
They threw me out assuring me that spaghetti making is their specialty.
Do not let the crows in, I cautioned them. They steal my shiny jewelry.
It is not easy being animal friendly. I sit on the porch, trying not to hear
My husband’s favorite drums being played in the living room.
Obviously those bozos have let the opossums in!
This heart
is missing. Lost long ago.
I cautioned it many times not
to fall in love again and again. but it never
listened to me.And fell in love time and again.
You know it is such a heart. It weeps an ocean in sorrow.
It loves a lot.Like the vast blue sky above.Always spreading
its wings over the earth as if giving a shade.And expecting
nothing in return.A childish heart is this.Seeing a rainbow
in a rain drenched afternoon takes it to a wonderland
beyond this blue sky.And a butterfly always attract
it like a child.And it runs after that butterfly to
catch it.Still in its dream it catches fireflies.
And remember it can mingle with any
heart.So check yours.If it is there
handle with care.For it is
very fragile.Fragile
like a glass.
=00=
By:kash poet
"Ere the full moon I must be home,"
she cautioned me in pleading tones.
"My father, he will be waiting."
My youthful desires frustrating
for an evening with her alone.
Afternoon kiss...her blue eyes shone...
Our love, her father to condone,
so back home I am her taking
ere the full moon.
Good intent, but with two tires blown...
"He'll understand." She: "You don't know!"
"Not a far walk"...her head's shaking.
Eyes like honey, deep sounds making.
Sunset...we run for life and home
ere the full moon.
Daniel Beus
October 7, 2012
for: The Ultimate Halloween Contest Free Poetry Contest
We walked together, arm in arm
On this warm autumn's night.
I hadn't known him very long,
But oh, it seemed so right.
He whispered sweet things in my ear,
While my love kept growing.
I pulled away from him and said
"This romance needs slowing."
And then we heard a whistle blow,
His ship was leaving dock.
He said ,"I leave you a kiss."
While I stood there in shock.
"A sailor's first love is the sea,
With girls in every port".
My loving parents cautioned me
And I had no retort.
So now you'll find me at the shore,
On sunny days or drear,
Just waiting for my sailor boy
And his ship to appear.
By: Joyce Johnson
9/7/14
The Poet 11 contest.
"I leave your a kiss." Theme
My owners call me horse
You'd think I was barnyard watch dog
Fancy that. My spot beneath a shaded guava tree
Face rustic oversize shack with wide veranda
Where they rock. They watch me feed
Where green grass grow, where fowls and pigs stray
Feasting on ripe guavas, some bounce off my back
I don't mind that; not even the weight of my owner
Or his wife, riding me on certain days -
Wild smell of their plantation cling to me
They'd groom me from ticks, and feed me well
But their adopted son knew unsavory tricks
He'd grin, tickling parts of me with a bamboo stick.
One morn my owners stayed so long
I felt out of place, tormented by and by
That mischievous boy reached and pulled my tail
A horse knows only one way to kick
So an awful lick made him shout. He was out
From across the road, one hurried half stunned.
Sun at its zenith sat and watched
It was I, carrying my tormentor on my back
Seemed I walked a million miles
So he could be seen by a Doc
We walked and walked, until
Rain clouds cautioned us to turn back.
Day after day, I would watch Reggie at a distance
Sitting, staring, staying his hands straight.
...
Sponsor... Matt Caliri
Contest Name...'Back To The Barnyard'
Date...3-14-16