Best Contentions Poems
Skies star-crossed over treacherous weather
Divided voices splintered in turmoil
Hope dissolved along with burning heather
across four score and twenty summers’ soil
Yet, I have seen redemption in the street
Those in hunger offer their meager bread
Greenery brought to deserts of concrete
Contentions cooled by kinder words, instead
Hearts pump in every color, joining tasks
Over graffiti, painted flowers grow
Arthritic fingers, unasked, sewing masks
As waters to better tomorrows flow
Lifted by hands of greater grace recall
When fences fall, humanity stands tall
9/05/20
Categories:
contentions, appreciation, community, hope,
Form:
Sonnet
Tell us of folks with conscience clear on terror; of trusted neo
terrorists that oust teams, terrorizing thousands... near, far, and wide
May it marinate in their minds; peace and equality are as grated rind
with scent of pure zing... unlike vexed souls, bent on terrorism
Just last night, amid day light, before photographer's sky, right in
spring's warmth... such unforgiving moment of sudden fright
Thunderous wondrous sounds of bombs whirred, then cease, and
just like that came sight of flight 8430, blown to fallen pieces of debris
I saw red, white, and blue of American airlines's plane, meshed with chaos
just as those blown to smithereens during 9ll... Still I'll fly. Why shouldn't I?
In this land of plenty, we won't share cowardice with tyrants of immorality;
not on their watch! freedom bell has rung for everyone free of contentions
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (... they knew not...)
Flight 8430 felt Coup DE main... not of You, Great God of earth, sky, and dew
I shan't forget humongous, booming sounds of invisible bombs that flew and
flung sudden terror so near, i hastened with thoughts of Islam and coercion
Of intimidation, degradation, castration; of trepidation, and mutilation
that moved me to see martyrdom in terrorism as ignoble affiliations
I'm due like you to sit snug and breathe with ease here and now, without
quest; will I survive or will I have time to utter one final goodbye
Night's stream of consciousness was dream, dear God, but Your world need You...
only You; by power of Your might, turn terror to unadulterated thanksgiving; so
As we ponder canvas of sky with eyes beyond clouds; we'll grace life with
courage; for we shall over come with hope, with aims, and with our dreams.
*
Categories:
contentions, abuse, america, change, courage,
Form:
Couplet
A tiny mottled maple leaf
appeared outside my window pane.
Its superficial veiny face
Clung wet glass precariously.
Its nemesis, the wind, blew strong
But yet the tiny thing held on.
Its struggle onset reverie
I saw self-similarities:
bygone years of bold contentions
underdog I need to mention;
but like this leaf I gave my all
I cared not where the chips might fall.
As this enlightenment gave way
The wind had whisked the leaf away.
Categories:
contentions, nature,
Form:
Verse
For hills and ideals we died,
How many dreams went buried with us
No one shall ever know.
For mounds of ideals
Created by men who sit behind polished wood desks
We strangers met in unnamed places
Where we slew one another in red waves of senseless fury
To satisfy their contentions; to pledge new allegiance to Death's infinite Kingdom.
Death is a mighty, though gentle king, reigning as he does in silence and Distance
This ruler of the numberless multitude
Ever swelling beneath the Earth's soft skin.
The great and the small, the strong and the weak,
Now sleep together, brothers in the land of long shadows.
At rest beneath a mantle of cool starless black
We await the coming of the others.
We know they will come, dying for hills and ideals
Because strong faceless men say they must.
Here they will find us secure in our true equality,
Our king allowing for no division, dreams or loyalties -
No contention, only peace, perfect peace
The peace of the brotherhood that drifts in the blankness,
The faultless peace of the quiet subjects of death.
Categories:
contentions, emotions, grief, memorial, war,
Form:
Free verse
My thoughts, not like what can be written on paper -
A paper so thin that you can see through,
onion paper, yes,
are not worth citing still,
they are just empty words, like yours
or others that resemble someone like you.
No need to feel "oh, so insulting"
just think on matters more convincing -
like the matters of retirement,
or ending some beloved engagement,
where of course, you and I mattered not
enough to be heard by someone just like us,
where tears are waters enough to fill
all the wells in Yorkshire, or the seven seas.
So what exactly are my thoughts, as if they spoke of
volumes or of super heroes
that would revive the emptiness that is living.
Refuse me, please, you have your own
decisions and contentions to displace,
but all the words we speak are
windows to the human race.
Even yours.
So though you fret in lonely silence now
alone with laptop gleaming,
or sitting in a library while
someone more important breathes behind you
for her turn -
Remember, we are all sitting in front of some
media-bleeding device, be it our mouths, our radios
laptops, or campfires.
Think on what I've said here in deep reflection,
if you think your own thoughts are important enough
to prove that mine are as well.
What do you think, when alone with your thoughts ~
Are they real?
Or do they speak the level-headed cruelties of
politicians and spokespeople for some soft-drink?
Truly, I say to you all ~
Breathe in.
Categories:
contentions, introspection, life, on writing
Form:
Lyric
Punk is not dead. It was never alive.
We stitched it together from mangled parts
with contents we poured from inconstant hearts
in our basements during bleak nights.
Finding in art the best ways to survive
a world beyond our vague comprehension.
Some wounds will never taste restoration,
some demons may never be exorcised.
We crafted this monster with filthy surmise,
with minds obsessing on rebellion.
Eyes that deny beauty in convention,
and hands craving vengeance and patricide.
With all of our collective contentions,
this lifeless cadaver is galvanized.
Categories:
contentions, angst, appreciation, art, music,
Form:
Sonnet
The sport of ball games is many each summer and each fall.
Within the Major leagues, and the Minors are many whines.
The events that are pitted causes Peewees to bawl.
Excuses like pines and whines, and levying of fines.
Steroidal abuse accusations prevalent are profuse!
Is pretty lady a man, is the handsome man a woman?
Like in cases of people’s races, gander chases goose.
Is the ball player true or a steroid phenomenon.
Albeit I accept the fate entering stadium gate.
Was the coupling consensual or change conventional?
Excitement permeates ball field as contentions dissipate.
I believe in ball games, rising to fame consensual.
Mickey Mantle at bat, an all time world ‘Switch hitter!
Willie Mays ’The say kid Mays’ blessed his days by his phase.
“Mighty Casey at Bat” illustrates proper glitter,
as time switches mantle phase of Mickey and Say kid Mays!
For and in Honor of Debbie Guzzi
And Contest: Play Ball
Categories:
contentions, introspection, time,
Form:
Quatrain
A word play you said! The mimic copycat this day
For hundreds of people to sigh and feel the now
Will take ages to write one and play! Forby and see'
The butter skin the irish eyes tiptoe stepped on ice
Waves of her curles shivered in tense and gazed
Immense coolness peaceful haze and mist in air
All inside that body that stage in silence hallowed
Hello..... Is any one there.....hmm finally..... alone
Kissing glaring dawn in silence, yet polyphoned
Quivering to puff to rush to gust all the throne
And how i never want to walk on that soil again
Just phase, attach how many extensive theories
Just having space; to think without contentions
To reach beyond dreams something never seen
Never heard of, never established before or nor
This is where i stand now.
04/05/2017
Categories:
contentions, space,
Form:
Imagism
The touch of imperfectionality on some naked truth.
It burns deep into the flesh of happiness,
Yet stands smiling at the laxity of frailty.
A drop of legality would have seared the ice.
Some degree of excess consciousness couldn't avail indiscretion.
So selfish I was, struck the baton to revealing.
Tore down the garment of wonderfulness.
If only it had wrath a shield against grievous consequences.
Strayed from the bareness of my palms, my cherished secret.
Caved in the passing-by of history, are acts and actions I adore.
Regrets bid me awareness but I annex consolation in satisfaction.
Springs of flowing emotions seals my loosed heart.
I'm hung to the persistence of negativity.
Sunk into contentions so absurd to gamble worth for kinds.
Categories:
contentions, betrayal,
Form:
Sonnet
Mr. Telephone man, I got some questions to run past you
Is it the phone the line or is this cold dime just that coo.
Honey’s a spit’n image of the woman in my contentions.
I like the way she writes and recites, my heart loves to listen.
Not to mention she stay twisted and I aint talking extensions.
I need to call SBC, tell em she’s the perfect service for me.
I’ll be her servant indeed, cause she’ll do any service for C.
Mr. Telephone man, what’s the catch 22 this combo’s is too true.
She must got my phone taped cause she’s on that and shorty’s no fool.
Mr. Telephone man, I don’t mean to complain but she’s all in my brain.
Feels like she’s all over my frame, after we speak I want to star 69 this dame.
Her convo is like some bomb dro. Why she be sex’n my mind so?
All the time fa sho but I guess it aint a crime though.
Just give me a sign to find so this fine dime I have in mind’ll be mine.
A divine Gemini who’ll sweep me off my feet like I’m finna fly.
Vocals got my body move’n left cause it aint feelin right.
Mr. Telephone man, you still there right?
Okay, you been quite since jump, I guess you aint got no answers either.
And if you do you a cheater and you better not try to reach her.
Categories:
contentions, friendship, life, love, me,
Form:
That's not how the World Works
67.
I acknowledge your sacred mutterings
And the enthusiasm on which they gnaw.
But your argument seems fallacious
And for me... that be the fatal flaw.
You refuse to make allowances
For differing points of view
And before whittling other voices...
Try walking a mile in their shoes.
But also cease in your prostrations
Shouting at those you would convert.
No one ever won an argument using
Your brand of malevolence and hurt.
Be mindful of what history has to
offer and the times in which we be.
Your contentions may find relevance
And you may yet make bold of me.
Thus my friend...
We could pander to your grievances
Embracing such foibles and quirks,
But as my Mother rightly quipped...
"Honey...
That's not how the world works."
The End
Indulge Me
68.
Cease your endless quibbling
On when life is such to be.
You treat each abrogated fetation
As a death to set you free.
But indulge me for a moment
As I cast a shadow on your life...
You've only earned the golden ticket
By eluding some Doctor's knife.
Now it seems to me good manners
And from this I gently savor... that
Your lives be prized and cherished...
Just please return the favor.
The End
Categories:
contentions, courage, culture, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
Yes
It happened again
When you walked away
Leaving me in this grave
All alone
After killing me softly
Silently blowing me away
From my elementary capacity
Just like that
You walked away
Taking with you my contentions
And leaving a weeping corpse
Dead twice
And buried thrice
In this unfair darkness
Waiting for what you do best
Bringing your soft wet breath
To a peripatetic soul
That lost control when you parted
From a heart that was craving for you
And took away the life that was
With your fragile lips that touched mine
Taking away my heart
Stealing my soul
Leaving me drowning
In the embrace
As you squeezed my life away
What can a dead man do
But wait for resurrection?
For you
To bring the most scintillating touch
With tenderness
That grieves the spirit to return to its course
As you warm my life again
With
A kiss of Life
Categories:
contentions, deep, longing, love, romance,
Form:
Blank verse
Flowing from sad eyes, weeping while mourning
Rivers of tears caused by words of lewd scorning
Angry insults inflict wounds too painful to abide
Garnering grief that no gentle person could hide
Imagine the suffering vile contentions can start
Lamentable lacerations that pierce a fragile heart
Emotional bruises often tear relationships apart
How can sensitive people protect themselves?
Encourage them to look within, where valor delves
Allow no bitter words to be the cause of misgiving
Restraint of an evil tongue would need no forgiving
Take these admonishing phrases into consideration
Safeguard fragile hearts with benevolent veneration
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October 15, 2016 * Acrostic Contest * Sponsored by John Hamilton
Categories:
contentions, encouraging, heart,
Form:
Acrostic
The light is low but the music loud,
blaring from fiddles and steel guitars.
The bar is filled with a moderate crowd,
could be anywhere, but here they are,
drinking and two-stepping in this bar.
But the sight of them must inspire fear,
for the media says,’Only racists drink here.’
Stanley in boots is twirling his wife.
Conner, in trucker hat, does some shots.
A country band covers Make It Through the Night,
While Big Billy won’t move from his spot,
Sharing wings those who sadly have got,
A taste for plain and everyday beer,
a sure sign the only racists drink here.
Now Stanley you see is dark as coal,
and not from working in the mines,
His wife is pale, and lives not on the dole.
For thirty years by each other’s side,
taking the challenges of life in stride.
But the sight of this makes it ever clear,
they must be racists if they’re drinking here.
Conner’s a man who has never hurt
a single person in all of his days,
He runs the gas station down on of McGirk,
and keeps people going their way,
He puts in long hours for his pay.
But selling gas draws apocalypse near,
and only a racist would be drinking here.
Big Billy may not always eat healthy,
but his smile sure lights up the town,
The nicest of fellows, plays Santa for free,
in December when Christmas comes round,
for all the little kids in the town.
But to city folk, that’s plainly weird,
and he must be a racist for drinking here.
The band up front survives on covers
ff musicians who’ve been to the Opry,
They’re known across West Virginia,
for tunes both swinging and twangy,
they never leave the folks hanging.
But there is no turn-table in their gear,
so they must be racists for playing here.
The owner has heard this all before,
the endless and smug contentions,
from those who country-folk plainly abhor,
those who say he’s beyond redemption,
With not a whit of evidence to mention.
He lets them have their imagined fears,
he’d never want those scum drinking here.
Categories:
contentions, america, culture, discrimination, how
Form:
Rhyme Royal
I would not have stifled my own style,
For child of the wild attention,
With the contentions so much,
With pose church inventions...
Attention’s pose.
Roses fading,
Swaying love,
Precept’s,
Mold.
I would have studied more my precept,
How to know my love twice as much,
Not mind illusion’s concepts!
I would now be using,
From heaven's treasures,
Naught of the mind!
Of love would...
Be my,
Cup.
My earthly time would not have been spent,
On repent for the foolishness,
For I would have talked the talk,
The walk I would have done,
Pathway to success,
Blessed precept,
Kept in love,
Sacred,
Glove.
For Contest: Journey back in Time
In Honor of: Linda-Marie
Categories:
contentions, faithlove,
Form:
Nonet