Oh little one, how soon you'll be
In turbulence of puberty.
I will hold tight your days of youth
And share with you my honest truth
That innocence ingrained at birth,
Precious childhood days filled with mirth,
Will be so fleeting... you will see
The need for God's tranquility.
How grandma's age is redefined
When your teen years become aligned
With thoughts of struggles I go through,
The many shades in every hue,
That colors life for me today.
In these sweet days I watch you play
As I instill the grains of hope,
An inner strength to help you cope
With all the changes life will bring.
The ups and downs from early spring
Throughout your life in winter years
When you, like me, through joys and tears
Have lived a life you feel has worth;
Have given back to better earth.
When you have children of your own
And you too, see how they have grown,
My hope is that you let them know
That through their life where e'er they go
They carry with them bits of me,
Please share with them, tranquility.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Poem of the Day May 11, 2017
The teenage years and the golden years are
the most difficult to endure. Both are fraught
with emotions...of facing life...of facing death.
Enter your own competition - Poetry Contest-Tranquility N/A
Form I have chosen is Couplet
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
One criterion I am striving to achieve: Spirituality
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017
It’s almost time and I must run
to watch/read Poetry Soap for fun.
It comes on every day at this time
and I don’t want to miss a single rhyme.
Some are about a long-lost lover
written by a secret poet undercover.
Some are about jealousy and some about trust
with rhyming lines filled with lust.
Competition is part of their game
with bards and musicians hiding their name.
They covet a prize and praise galore
laid at their feet and virtual door.
But when Poet A falls in love with Poet B
you can bet there’ll be flaming words from Poet C.
Or when Poet D gets Poem of the Day
Poet E will have something to say.
Sometimes it’s fun to read the rhymes of hate
whenever I can’t sleep and stay up late.
Battles of wits,
Poets who have fits,
Some who sing,
Some who sting.
Magical flights to lands of old
written with passion and pens of gold.
But it’s the humble ones I adore
whose words are pure, their egos left at the door.
Each episode an unending story
with poets and their pets seeking glory.
It’s addicting like dope.
I don’t want to miss today’s episode of Poetry Soap.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
“All Rights Reserved”
Copyright © Carole Duet | Year Posted 2017
just within reach?
lots of things!
stuff one could collect,
especially graphic novels
with a writer that made you wish
you had a photographic memory
so you would never forget even one
consonant or one vowel he wrote.
with an artist who used a pencil
like Van Gogh used a paint brush
except better - or - only better
...you choose...edit this yourself
using that memory I referred to earlier on.
every girl that walked by me
when I was a teen - whose
fragrance lingered inside quotation
marks that sang the words
"without you I'll be alone".
every woman that walked by me
when I was a teen - whose strut pulled
at my heart to follow and accept their logic
"yes I'm your teacher but why let a little
technicality like that get in the way of true lust"
jobs loads of them that had ladders
with only one rung at the top that got
me thinking "what are you waiting for?
this was made for you. three months
and you'll own the joint."
careers that giggled like choir boys
stuffing their faces at the local pizzeria
thinking 'life never gets better than this'.
careers wishing I would hop on for the ride whispering
in my ear "shut up and do me " and then screaming "YES...
YES..." followed up by even more screaming "YES...YES and ending
in a soprano round of "Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't care..."
sports that skated by me like home runs
that scored two points going through the
field goal posts of the end of the spikes of
a soccer player taking the three point shot
with only five seconds left on the clocked
filly getting her first hole in one hell of a boxing
match point to win Wimbledon for the fourth
stroke in a rowing competition.
disciplines that courted me with their indignant
stern voices yelling "can you handle me child?"
disciplines that came with costs...heavy costs.
disciplines that paraded themselves like supermodels
dressed in high couture walking the runways in paris france
where bilingual tourists outside sat in fancy
outdoor cafés smoking Gauloises unfiltered cigarettes.
all of this and more,
everything just within reach...
I took and
...I never took for granted
and in time I moved closer and closer
to that which was outside my reach...
soon enough it was ALL...just within my reach.
I claimed everything I wanted.
I called it my art...gave it everything I had and more
and I thank God he gave me the strength
to digest everything just within my reach
then to succeed beyond my reach!
April 23 2015
Just within your reach
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
She doesn't believe in quiet love
wasn't born to bleed shyly,
couldn't care about the cost of conquest,
Too beautiful to be bitter, and too young to be cynical,
a cerebral seducer, a critical killer of caution,
too clever to be a casualty of competition,
the antithesis of a quiter
a warrior woman first,
the woman for whom I thirst,
When the battles are long
with the night swallowing safety
and your armor heavy
come to me with body ready,
be naked in my handsome hands
which grip your fatigued feet as if they are my clay of choosing,
sit into me in a bath of luxurious warmth, chamomile lavender calm,
Rebel Girl, happy and hugged with your back against my caring chest,
trusting my rubbing, loving my touching,
your lips moving in silent approval,
The war will return for us
testing our bruised wings of heart,
but tonight we defend this castle of loyal love
sheltered from storm and suffering -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014
The burial ground, groomed to greet
the gatherers of their love apocalypse
with garlands grown and sown
from the rose fire of Athena's throne,
on this day they come to mourn
the Poet who perished for the passion of his Beloved Poetess,
the battlefields knew well the iron of their blood,
the salt of their sweat, and the pounce of their love,
raised in the tradition of trauma
trained by the tempest of temptation
disciplined in the competition of desires
refined in the violent rituals of victory
they rose in love
with everything their hearts could sing, with all that war would bring,
and in the epicenter of erotic chaos
he slashed himself with the alter sword
so that she may be free to rule this realm,
Valkyries stand vigil with primroses on speartips
gaurding him, a purple glow in their vigilant eyes,
softly humming for the lightning of his soul
as those in attendance find their solemn places,
many are present,
Death is in the northeast corner cloaked in smooth black patience
knowing in sad satisfaction that every heart, beats to bleed no more,
Devotion, dressed in a mood of disbelief
with elbows out and fists on his hips
just stares sternly at everyone, one, by one,
Poetry and Love are wearing the reds of romance and sacrifice
while whispering living tears to eachother,
Humble remains seated, meek and agape
clasping Humility's dull hand
commiserating about too much and not enough as Pride stands near,
leaning coolly against a battered pillar of Roman endurance
looking at them as if to say, hey dumb dumbs,
don't disgrace their glory with your glum and glib sully,
Envy, in burnoose sackcloth wasted not the somber moment
to decry the Poet's purpose with claptrap commotion and no compassion,
in unison, all hush his pusillanimous pout with a scalding Ssshhhhhh!!!!!!!!!
Poetry, asking the Beloved Widow if she may speak
is granted permission after a breathless pause of heart heated exhaustion,
producing a daggar made from the breastbone of Eve
unflinchingly Poetry cuts both cheeks below her eyes
and the blood promenades to her ancient lips
where the warm pages of a white rose receive the ruby smear of this tragedy,
bringing the pleading flower to her own mouth
she releases a verse upon the universe...
When the nights knew no love
and her heart had only the shadow of warmth
he became the hero's breath upon her breast
the weapon she could trust
and the victor of her kiss,
when his strength served only survival
and desolation weighed the wings of his heart low
she gave his soul the sweet heat of a woman's touch,
teaching him that justice is alive in their love...
In the unbearable anguish of existing without him
she stomps to the blue marble casket,
tearing it open with love rage,
to slap and kiss her Beloved Poet once more,
suddenly, heart imploding panic bristles silently,
the air thins dangerously,
Pride plows through the throng to the side of she,
astonished, shock joy shaping his face,
the Poet's body be not there,
only the symbol of their love resides therein,
a golden pair of quills connecting in the center of a heart
their sign, their promise to eachother,
she turns to Love imploringly, for the truth,
and he removes the jewel from the coffin
returning it to it's rightful place
the safety of her bossom, telling her tenderly,
he yet lives for you, his love for you dies not -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015
The house was full
Of Gods and deities
The curtain call was soon
The water vasos were poured
And became the finest of wines
The bread multiplied
The baker you see
Was a part time magician
The fishermen all relaxed
As I saw fish fall from the skies
Ra was there
Oh my the tan on him, poor harif
Huitzilopochtli glared at his competition
Toth and Horus with godly grins
God himself was there
The door man didn’t check id's though
A few came with the same name
If they paid their gold coins at the doors
Of Godly entertainment
In they came
Thor arrived like a bolt of lightening
The Greek gods exposed as fakes
Trumpets of false prophecies
Sessions and courts left to fate
For dereference we let them in for a beer, ok two!
The other Gods chuckled as they sneered
Even Batman showed up!!!
He wasn’t a god, but he had good connections
Allah was there, 4 cows, Shiva and Ganesha
Rama and Agni were even holding hands
The house was full of Gods
Jesus Christ showed up late
Hippies do that you know
Funniest of all was the Holy Ghost
He tried to sneak in with Casper
Hashem and Galmi came, they got discounts on the tickets
You all get the point
Bacchus charming the ladies with his wine
As Thalia ecaaped the wrath of Pan
She smiled for she new Galileo a charming man
The house was full of Gods!
The Norse gods resilient in beauty
Freya as captivating as ever
She had an eye on me
As I, on her
In charge of the curtains indeed a blessing
When a Goddess requests a stage hand like moi
Drapes of passion conceal the lust of biblical ways
The curtains rose as the headliner appeared
The Gods all rose and clapped
As Galileo the Great comedian walked in
He shouts out! "Did you hear the sun that travels around the earth?"
Well the sun got tired, so last week the earth decided to spin around the sun!
The crowd roared, I mean that was so ridiculous as to be funny.
The he goes, 2 dummies and the pope walk in to a bar......
Well the gods may have loved him........
The Pope did not take kindly to be called a dummy
He was Urban and mundane but held to his heart his earthly disdain
For the comedian called Galileo
Banishment, the paradise of many a great
Arrested for using their intellectual credentials
The masses of the unread
Followers of the ones shouting hate at the mountain head
Rush , rush rush we must condemn
This comedian from earth’s very very dark end
The Comedy do you all see?
I am God
You are all the holy sea
From Galileo all the way to Galilee
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
A Debutante’s Ball to Remember
In the autumn of my life, oft have I recalled that superb summer night,
when I finally experienced my long-awaited heart’s delight.
Family and close friends were all ready for my entry into society,
to celebrate it with a grand debutante’s ball filled with gaiety.
In a dreamlike state, I felt like a princess with a golden crown,
making my grand entrance wearing a champagne chiffon gown.
With matching gloves, and a pair of satin shoes on my tiny feet,
my auburn hair was adorned with butterflies and posies sweet.
The ballroom was magically transformed with gas lights all aglow,
and a glittering chandelier reflected on a highly polished mahogany floor.
As the orchestra played, my body and soul were enraptured and consumed
by its rendition of Ravel’s enthralling “La Valse” which pervaded the room.
Elegant ladies were all dressed to the nines in exquisite pastel gowns
of winter white, baby blue, powder pink, pale peach and beautiful browns.
In tacit competition to out-best each other, social charms were well-honed,
as they daintily fanned themselves and gossiped animatedly in hushed tones.
Refined gentlemen in their finely-tailored tails navigated the room to mingle,
keeping an eye out for eligible heiresses beautiful, graceful, and single.
Wafts of mild masculine colognes came from discretely dabbed faces and hair;
while the fresh feminine floral scent of French perfumes permeated the air.
Armed with a full dance card, I waltzed the night away with ardent admirers,
curtsying and coquettishly smiling, moving on to more exciting suitors.
My enchanting evening climaxed with Strauss’s “Vienna Waltz” filling the hall.
Oh, what a tale I will have to tell as my granddaughter prepares for her first ball!
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014
No flame within!
do I hold for you
no delightful delicacy
shall I put to rhyme.
No picturesque words
in italics of your
woeful wildlife, no
the ancient mariner, he
that crossed the margin
of our “Atlas of the world.”
(Still in use, [I believe] in the
old stone museum.)
One can easily live in fear
of your many mordant moods,
to see you capture the
embracing horizon, where warring
clouds fondle the sunlight,
and the departing QE 2 is
reduced to microcosm.
How can one live in awe of
you, when at the end of each
day you snatch at the light of
giving license to the veil
of damnation, soon to be cast
out of the east, driving impending
fears to languish upon the
unholy waters of the Styx?
(An extraction of the mind,
an evaporation of the memory
the spray dried brain
tossed into oblivion.)
Yet each morning an
interval to one’s ongoing
nightmare, when with renewed
levitation, the new light reprieved!
Begins avidly it’s universal
journey across Manukau’s
“Pack ‘n’ Save” Car park.
Oh yes! It is so easy to hate you;
you that brought the rest of
the world here, you that constitutes
a world within a world, that,
where the cycle of life creates it’s
own constitution, each player
judged on cue, to become an act of
fodder, mobile supermarkets
in ferocious competition with
nothing at all to give.
“Unless death itself is a gift!”
Upon the surface your
treachery still lingers, there,
tenacious tentacles lurk
within the sedulous surf,
groping blindly at sedated
rocks, those pinnacles of sanctuary
that harbour the weary,
support the rod.
Only when gravitation truly
intervenes, does the perpetual
invasion subside, leaving one in
no doubt about your promiscuity!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2012
The Double Rhyme Sonnet is a sonnet that rhymes not only the end of the lines but also the front part (metrically)! Of course, I would be looking for imagery, good grammar, meter, etc.; however, the most important criterion is that it be written precisely with both end rhyme AND front line rhyme using the standard English sonnet rhyme pattern of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG and of course, using Iambic Pentameter; therefore, the rhyme on the front is on the stressed syllable (the second one) and NOT on the first syllable.
(My entry: A Double Rhymed Sonnet)
The starkness of my world now that he’s gone
pervades in all I see and hear and feel,
but darkness swallows all until the dawn
invades. Then what I’ve lost is made more real!
I yearn for Moon’s return - her tender light
to keep me soothed, for sunshine is my bane.
I burn with thoughts of him. I need, each night,
to sleep away my longings and the pain.
He left, and now he’s far away from me
across the globe. Oh, how I love him so!
Bereft am I, but he perhaps feels free!
My loss means where he is tonight shall glow
sweet Moon, caressing him - as once did I,
and soon, I’ll face the glare from morning’s sky!
For the "Enter Your Own Competition" Contest of Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
There once was a man from Niagara
whose wiener's so long it would stab ya'
but when it got little
his pills became skittles
until he O.D.'d on Viagra
© ~JSLambert 2011*****A classic "stiff" competitor, standing "firm" amongst other "members" in the "thick" of the competition:) hope everyone gets "a rise" out of it!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
I always wanted two slices of ice cube pie
“You only get one”, was the standard reply.
I don’t know why I did
But since I was a kid
It was my favorite treat on the Fourth of July.
The pastry is known by all our relations
Since the recipe’s passed down for generations.
Every bite you’ll savoir
But remember, don’t settle for imitations
Long ago, my great Aunt tried experiments
By leaving out one of the ingredients.
Once Uncle took a bite
He stared out in fright
And barely survived that bad experience.
My oldest son, Johnny became quite wise
He grew up like the others, before our eyes.
His passion for confection
Was a gainful connection
When he opened the first ice cube pie franchise.
Soon after that, we made our first million
And played in the sun with friendly Brazilians.
But to our surprise
We saw ice cube pies
On bamboo platters next to our pavilion
Right away we knew this was an infraction
Without delay our family took action.
We found a private eye
Who loved our ice pie
But his research left him broken in traction.
It was apparent to us that that kind of job
Was endorsed by the brutal ice cube pie mob.
But we didn’t frown
Or give up and back down
We were going to prevail; oh, yes siree, Bob!
With a meeting of minds we gathered resources
And then undersigned the following courses.
To make sure our ices
Sold at cut-rate prices
To knock competition off its high horses.
So back at the shop we assembled platoons
To build enough pies to reach to the moons.
And made plenty dough
That allowed us to mow
Down the cube racket’s, knuckle dragging goons.
We now manage an ice cube pie monopoly
Sales started smooth, but then turned choppily.
So we eased the frustration
With another vacation
But guess what we saw in downtown Mexicali?!
Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013
Before the beginning of time when Chaos ruled Hell and Night
Into the depths of this Cosmos, a Paradise, perfectly placed.
Above this darkness, a heaven drawn forth in a burst of light
Before the beginning of time
From the Garden of Eden, henceforth, Adam and Eve were disgraced
Lo! A fallen angel changed himself to a serpent in Eve’s sight
Banished, they fled before God to a wilderness, forever displaced.
Forbidden fruit had shown them the difference of wrong from right.
In Pandemonia, Demons conspired, sin and death be interlaced.
God sacrificed his Son to save them - from Hell's eternal plight.
Before the beginning of time
For Suzette Crous
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
~JSLambert does not (currently:) use, or encourage hallucinogenic drug use.
Telepathic psilocybin prescription erasing elastic depression. Competition
wanes, just when nocturnal emission drains. Lifted poetic wing clipping. This
party only makes sense to those encrypted with unconsciousness. Scalpel in
hand, methodical break and entering, break dancing meninges remove
portions of brain doin' the bitchin'. Ah, this immaculate incision!
Lucid dreams vacating turnstile vibrations, deteriorating horrific screams
douching eardrums. Ultraviolet eyes fortified by THREES---Mind-Body-Soul,
rolled up into one huge trinity.
I'm moving asses fantastic. Call me the "Proctologist of Poetry".
Electrify words, regurgitate, choke and vomit the crock of crap-ola. Venture
down butter slides until the sky goes red.
Still too uptight to listen? (don't pretend in comments that you read this
entire poem if ya' didn't) glisten, be kind, rewind, let liquid swords chop away
fat weighing upon your forces. Once doors of perception swing eyes wide
open. Devour the false to magnify hate. I love you the same. I love you, never
in vain. Hearing your verse lifts a heavy curse carried in shame.
As a child, I had no fear of apocalypse, or world hunger. No, phobia meant
running out of words to give, to receive, from lips. It haunts me to this day.
Tho' the bliss of poetic language's kiss, soothes the cries. Altruistic sighs! Now
we dance! Dancing Harmony times three equals harmonize! Tour your Third
Eye, yir' Karma-eyes!
To the heads that said, "NO CAN DO!"- We've weaved advice for you. File
illicit deeds away, for in dreams we are connected, Siamese twins, at the
wrist, spellbound paradise! Let go of doubt, negativity= below zero. Work it
out! Crash whiplash angles 'till friggin' rectangles dangle through
kaleidoscopes of style. Poet trees smear the cosmos. Let go! THREE will never
be alone. Bestow the glow, thorazine vapors escape secret tombs where
peroxide cleans wounds. Fusing two Toots in common with Nefertiti. THREES.
Elicit illicit lucid dreams gushing ejaculatory melodic screams. Orgasmic
spasms...vas deferens between actual sacks and Staff of Ra polluted sticky
streams. Peddle the bicycle high, annihilate attrition, like motivated Mormons,
door to door men, on a worldwide mission. I love you, I miss you...witness the
vision...alive in the schism!
*credit A.Horovitz, A.Yauch, M.Diamond, Billy Corgan
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
I once dated a pilot …
We both had our head in the clouds
Our relationship lead to a lot of turbulence -
I guess it never really got off the ground!
I once dated a glazier…
He thought I would be putty in his hands
But I could see right through him…
He was constantly smashed
I once dated an undertaker…
He knew he had stiff competition
I couldn’t cope - he was always ‘coffin’ when he picked me up in his hearse
He had no sense of humour in fact he was dead boring
I once dated an angler
The thought he was a real catch…
But the scales soon fell from my eyes
As he was obsessed with his flies
I once dated a footballer
He thought he could score with me
Told me he had great tackle…
But it was just a load of balls
I once dated a fishmonger…
He thought he was cod’s gift to women
He invited me back to his plaice…
Where I found out he was really a cold fish
Submitted to 101 poems in a row
Sponsored by PD Linda:-)
15th April 2016
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
“Why do the Rams behave violently?”
The little boy queried of his father.
“They need all their might to fight the Jaguars,
But Jags are fast, don’t know why they bother.”
“And why do Broncos try to beat up on Colts?
Wouldn’t this be much like you hitting me?”
The unhappy father just shook his head
“It’s competition, son, you just don’t see.”
“Daddy, this is not what I hoped to find
At a zoo like other children describe.”
“The football zoo is better than others
Some animals here throw games for a bribe.”
“But you told Mom we would see a real zoo,”
The youngster groaned, sadly eying the field.”
“Please just tell Mom you saw animals play
If she learns where we went, my fate is sealed.”
* For Barbara Gorelick's "Zoo" competition
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
(For Competition 'And then I opened THAT door', sponsor- John Lawless)
My relationship had broken down, when love ran out of gas
so down life's dark and lonely road I dragged my sorry ass.
Could have done with company on such a painful walk
my passenger I'd left behind, no-one to hear me talk
a light (could it be hope?) I'm sure I saw not far ahead
so I took the avenue called naive to see just where it led.
The house of Her, it's elegant facade, I really was impressed
not sure if I should ring the bell, being not ideally dressed
my cares were worn and dreams were torn, not sure if all that matters
holes right through my optimism and happiness in tatters
no harm in stopping by, I thought, so hey-ho, what the hell
just take the bullshit by the horns, go up and ring the bell.
No answer, but a sudden gust of wind opened the door
and I stepped in, whilst wondering had I been here before.
The corridor stretched out before me, doors to left and right
Not sure how many, since I was too young to see the light.
The first door was denied to me, and so were all it's kin
but since I was alone, I thought I'll just go kick it in.
The first room it enticed me with it's beauty, grace and form,
a fire of passion crackled in the grate that made me warm.
The next room was a cellar, Magnums full of ruby wine
full bodied and intoxicating, all this could be mine.
The third room swathed in velvet, silk and lace, so smooth and cool,
to not lie in such luxury would make a man a fool
excited and emboldened now from all I'd seen before
spoiled child rampaged from place to place
and then opened THAT door.
The blast took me right off my feet, I crashed into the ground
the house of Her shook violently upon the Banshee sound
full force, indignant anger, outright rage, fury unleashed
as only then I understood the nature of the beast.
My welcome suddenly outstayed, my fault, for had I known it
though I had been invited in, walked round as if I owned it
The room hissed in an icy tone as she laid bare my crime
that I would have been more welcome taking one room at a time
but men will open every door to fulfil all their needs
the key to each door is respect, no barrier to greed.
Tornado fire, the Vixen's ire ripped me into the yard
winded, no breath left in me, my ego landed hard.
Got up slowly, brushed myself down and rubbed my aching head
eagerness had bled right out and brashness torn to shreds.
Staggered back out through the gate and turned along the lane
raised my collar round my neck and headed home again.
You see, my relationship had broken down, when love ran out of gas
so down life's dark and lonely road I dragged my sorry ass.
18th June 2015
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015
I always hunt in dark of night
With wings so quiet in my flight
It's hard to see me up in trees
Since I am camouflaged with ease
My ears are placed in such a way
I hear most sounds from far away
Large beak is hooked and sharp to tear
But feathers cover it like hair
My eyes are large on my flat face
But do not move, stay firm in place
To see, I turn my head with ease
Two hundred seventy degrees
I hoot, hiss, scream and most times, screech
To find a mate within my reach
Or let my competition know
This is my space, and they must go
In trees, I wait for choicest prey
Small mammals, birds, that come my way
Some days, on insects, I may dine
Also, a fish from pond is fine
My talons are like raptor claws
When prey appears, without a pause
I quickly fly from tree to ground
And clench the bird or mouse I've found
My prey I often swallow whole
Complete digestion is my goal
Whatever I cannot digest
Comes up as pellets I express
And something you may think is cruel
When raising owlets, it's the rule
To feed the best and largest first
And so the weakest ones are cursed
A cannibal I can be too
Eat smaller owls that I pursue
I never feel the slightest guilt;
This is the way that I was built
Of owls, there are two hundred kinds
We've been around since ancient times
From small to large, with raptor claws
I think I came from dinosaurs.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Owls Personification Form
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
Jake took to the stage, limping with a leg brace
And more than a mere trace of fear on his face
The humorous speech competition was on
He’d made it to finals, prior contests he’d won
Jake’s lifelong bout with muscular dystrophy
Generated sadness and much empathy
He shook and stammered as he started his speech
Competitors thought his composure he’d breach
“Stage fright is shared by many,” the boy explained
And as he began, his eye contact seemed strained
We wanted to rush to his side, offer aid
Little did we know Jake’s point was being made
He’d soon have us laughing at the “crutches” WE use
To gain confidence when stage fright ensues
“I’m picturing you all naked,” he laughed, smiled
Soon his sharp wit had us rolling in the aisle
His strength and courage built fast as he spoke
Jake finished up with a memorable poke:
“You thought I would fail; I read it in your eyes
Seeing only my handicap, I realize.
Those who can’t see beyond disabilities
Are mired in self fear; YOU have MY sympathy.”
Out of four thousand entrants, Jake took first place
Impressing us all with his wisdom and grace
Oh, how we all cheered when his win was announced
Jake’s humor skills were by far the best pronounced
Today Jake coaches a college debate team
Having mastered the art of building esteem
*I was fortunate to see Jake give his amazing speech at the national collegiate speech and
debate finals in Niagara Falls. Like many others, I had feared he was truly
experiencing “stage fright.” But he used his humor to make us see that people often exceed
beyond the abilities others think they have. If he didn’t see himself as “disabled,” why
should anyone else? And what tremendous success he’s had in his career! His message had
a profound impact on a lot of other college students.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
ANOTHER AFRICAN DAWN
The silence of the dawn even before
the first bird sings its unique little composition to the world
crispness of the previous night fills the air
encouraging a deep breath of purity before daily issues pollute
how easy it is to replace this beautiful time of the day
perceived importance of one or two extra hours of slumber
only the wisdom of an Omniscient Creator could perfect this orchestration
each new day with such peace and promise-
the Eternal assurance of a new beginning
Dry, dusty, icy, bouncy, luxurious….. Land Rover
morning expectancy contrasting half awake awareness
novelty of a time spent inconsistent with the predictability of standard sunrise routine
a contemplative- life assessment at break of day
wrapped up in awareness of the cold beauty and African spaces
Red Sun Competition
Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013
A dance competition went horribly wrong.
During an Irish gig and a Highland fling song.
The gigger flung his foot out in front.
The flinger went flying, taking the brunt.
When the two crash landed in a heap.
The spectators gasped in their seats.
The flinger's kilt was around his head.
"I apologise for nay underwear" he said.
The gigger of course had breeches on.
His modesty preserved but his chances all gone.
For tripping the flinger he was the dismissed one.
So the Highland Fling flinger that was flung won.
Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016
when beauty met the beast
she was a cutie, he was a beast
she thought that she'd speak to him at least
and at least find out what made
a beast, a beast
as the beast looked at her
he wondered; what a feast
but the way she spoke to him
was gentle and curiosity increased
he found her some what pleasant
and laid his aggression aside
for now he'd grown accustom
and hoped she would abide
as time past he looked at her
as he never did before
brought his knees to the floor
she'd become his weakness
his task forever more
he liked to hear her voice
and see her walk through the door
on holidays there were presents
on birthdays a feast
each special day that brought her presence
was a holy day to say the least
now i am wholly human
and i can tell you well
that jealousy fits us humans
and beast very well
one look at competition
can take us all to hell
we can never avoid perdition
when one other than God
we our souls sell
and from God comes the testing
old men and prophets tell
the beast asked God for patience
and God knows how to teach it well
the next time the beast see's beauty
there is a ring on her hand
he didn't care to mention it
but that was one thing he couldn't stand
worn down he ask her
what the ring meant on her hand
slowly she confided, it meant she'd
marry another man
the beast now was furious
he did not understand
that all these years confiding
he was suppose to be the man
what then would become of her
his conscious did demand
all the years he spent with her
were coming to an end
yet love had one more service
his heart would command
tell the maid he loved her
and ask her for her hand
let all the powers of wickedness
and goodness take their stand
upon this maids answer
i'll bravely take my chance
Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2008
Mighty Ducks win the game
Pass the ball perfect the play
There's so much riding on your fame
Men clad in armor win the day
The crowds are grumbling they've all gone wild
The stripes bad call has hardened your trial
Yard by yard your penalties mass
But you'll take the lead with a touchdown pass
86 yards with a kick return
Your rival now should show concern
We love your power your drive your speed
The beer the bets the company
Football Game day
Phones be texting
Tailgate fun scores projecting
Simple fun that's life affecting
It's more than manly testosterone
That compels us to the game
It's teamwork pride the thrill of the fight
How the underdog pushed and overcame
Sports and competition have always been a way of life
Revealing the mighty but also the contrite
Teaching lessons of brotherhood
More victory together than alone we ever could
So when we gather scream and shout
Seemingly insane over a meaningless thing
Remember this on Game Day proud
When from the rest of life we simply check out
Is it really so bad to drink too much
With Oregon's O displayed
Colored faces worshiping the Duck
When they fumble we yell O F_ _ _
Be it victory or cruel defeat
There's more to this than meets the eye
It's about families, lovers and the best of friends
Gathering to play to laugh and to cry
Game Day for the Oregon Duck
Of our team we're so damn proud
As a fan have you made the cut
Or resigned to just miss out
Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2013
I come from Valdosta, Georgia, the lovely peach state,
Where everyone uses a southern drawl to communicate.
Valdosta is known as the “Azalea City” for its gorgeous flowers.
In the spring this splendid sight has a captivating power.
I’m afraid the azaleas are forgotten by the summer,
When it gets so hot we are running for cover.
When we have a storm, I pray the electricity doesn’t go out.
In Valdosta, having the ac cranked is what it’s all about!
I grew up the daughter of a Pentecostal minister.
There are four siblings, including Barbara, my twin sister.
We went to church faithfully three times a week,
Sitting on the pew trying not to make a peep.
We may have grumbled about getting so much religion,
But down the road it has helped us all make decisions.
My Dad has now gone for his reward in Heaven.
I wish I could hear one more of his sermons God-given.
In high school my twin and I were members of a championship band.
We won so many contests, the Marching Cats was the best in the land.
The famous band director in Valdosta was the amazing Frank Butenschon.
His talent and dedication made us all winners, and we shined!
My best band competition memory was as good as it gets.
We won, and performed a half-time show for the Miami Dolphins and Jets.
The other piccolos and I marched out for a solo in front of the crowd.
That’s when they cut to commercial at home for my parents so proud!
To move along, fresh out of college I married a man 15 years older.
I was naïve and mesmerized, he was so much bolder.
We moved to Houston, where I taught high school.
Life was exciting, and being a newlywed was so cool.
Several years later we moved to New Hampshire, his home state.
The mountains, the snow, and especially the summers were great.
We opened a business that lasted for 25 years.
I was company President while we were entrepreneurs.
In NH for 20 years I was a member of the Upper Valley Community Band,
Playing my flute and piccolo for parades and summer concerts so grand.
We also played at Faneuil Hall, Germany, Austria, and France on tour.
Carole Blake, the renowned band director, put us on the map for sure!
After thirty years being man and wife, our marriage hit the rocks.
I moved back to Valdosta, where my family is mere blocks.
In my hometown, what others think of me does not keep me up at night.
I’m enjoying my freedom, and God has me in His sights.
Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2017
The Perfect Story
Ingredients.... My Epic Melody!
I spread my wings,
To carry you into that perfect ride.
Allowing you to communicate with my mind.
I'll show you what my perfect story would have in it.
With the world's enigma not everyone can find.
Words twisted with reality and beauty divine
The majestic ways to live with fairy tales combined.
Show no weakness towards the mercy of my gift.
Unleash the lightning, leaving all competition behind.
Pierce every word with my gleaming eyes.
You'll find yourself in the ebony of the blind.
A space passing every constellation with no regrets of return.
Assault the moment of the mind with the perfect line..
Expect pain, love, death, and desires that burn.
A trap for the follower to sink in.
Losing yourself to the evil garden underneath the green fern.
Falling in love with the mental link of my imagination.
Rising from the ashes that killed every demon in my nations.
Rescued by the light of he who rode the wind of fate.
Breaking an oath to give every perfect story a-
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011
There’s a new American Holiday, guess what it is my football loving friends,
It’s a classical sport of champions, where helmet headed, game geared
Warriors challenge raw brawn against skill’s swiftness, to conquer and win,
With screaming fans, cheering on these gladiators’ in this deadly modern
Arena of clashing titans!
On Super Bowl Sunday, the pigskin faithful gather, around the big colored screen
Altar of entertainment, divided team factions residing on living room sectionals,
Ready to cheer for their favorite NFL sporting champions!
Golden Trophies of victory’s honored bound glory, to conquests shinning
Athletes whom have surpassed all rivals in competition field of battle,
On this sacred Super Bowl Sunday!
Endurance's brutal game of physical strength and agilities stamina,
Pit raw natural force against skills mental intelligence, placed upon
Each line of defensive prowess exudes bravery’s finest, producing
Distinguished, and extraordinary ability’s athletic mark of excellence!
Lit are the flames of American glory, as flash bulbs flicker from every
Fan filed level of this modern televised colosseum, above fly’s the
Goodyear blimp, flashing messages of sportsmanship to millions
Within thousands of U.S.A. homes views watch with awes quiets hush,
Awaiting for the next plays excitement to take place on this massive
Green turfed stage, locked gazes of stern concentration as hearts beat
With accelerations thrilling anticipation, the rooms explosive force erupts,
With one words announcement, field goal!
It’s the half times rock party festival, while tunes of fans recover,
For the next thrill ride, to victory’s finest moments of achievements
To occur, for legacy’s future generations state of remembrance recall,
In yesteryears to come, fathers unto sons, and mothers unto daughters,
Will say, “Yes, I saw that play, and I’ll never forget it either!”
At the final battle line drawn the rival warriors take to their marked
Positions, fierce animalistic growling is heard as these diehard gladiators,’
Prepare for the ultimate collision point of no return, again anticipations
Hush returns, the silence is deafening, as a nations heart rate is set
On maximum overloads racing pace!
What earthquake shake could rattle more severely at a continental
Seam, as the underdog team wins the final championship, the victory’s
Golden trophy is placed within the grasp of these athletic giants,
Whom have proved themselves true winners once and for all!
There’s a new American Holiday, guess what it is my football loving friends,
It’s a classical sport of champions, where helmet headed, game geared
Warriors challenge raw brawn against skill’s swiftness, to concur and win,
With screaming fans, cheering on these gladiators’ in this deadly modern
Arena of clashing titans!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO: LINDA THE POET DESTROYER
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016