Best Conveys Poems
Cars are the wind on the streets
semi-truck wheels shriek thunder,
rain shatters against stone and brick walls
on dusty roads, oak trees fence with twigs—
wushu wooden clatters.
Dreadful arrays of dryads
azure and amethyst gossamer haze,
sleek, silken strikes gist an opera of wisteria,
as they sway to silver breeze's sibilant rustles.
They chant lullabies in lyrical lilts of hued iridescence,
of hearth and opals back to my scarlet nest.
Angelus silver trills, the sylphic sways of pure rays,
Coral rosary—incense strands of aurulent rimes
hum, endless hymns echo as choral evensong
alleluias softly peal out—doves with wet eyes
that drift upward on whispery—ethereal wings.
Ocean's plea emerges from apothic abyss,
a voice conveys the core of faxed shores and stars,
with earth and wind in a solemn tone.
A cosmic biography—in loud squeals and sighs
sea vernacular hinges on nature's lasting awe.
Breath goes to fog—snow melts into puddles—rain returns,
a china-white grave—encases the deceased deer,
before thawing in the morning—icy skin lies frozen.
An eerie distance holds my hand in a purifying blizzard.
What is it that our
vaunted intellect supposedly conveys?
That benefits the air and sea,
summits, life and
broad expanse of land?
Now
Suppose that we
at some stark moment
vanished one and all—
adjoined by all
matter and assemblage from
our forced and plundered reign?
In absence then of everything
we pillaged and proclaimed
would air be rent
by thunderous noise
of mighty rivers
returning to their courses.
Resumed the growth of forests,
near vanished and forlorn,
and healed all the
wounds and scars
that marred
Earth's sacred skin.
Then floating in the
cold and barren void,
this supernal sapphire jewel:
eternal haven of
innocence and peace.
We would not be missed.
.
I
And the violins
And the woodwinds
Weep
Softly into the night
So moved by the sounds
Welling up
From the depths
Of the soul
That conveys
The over-whelming
Emotional pain
Contained
In every word
Of the song he sings
‘Home to Stay’ .
~~~~~
Life
Spins
Shuffling
A playlist
Sequencing events
Encapsulating fierce lessons
Exuding a gentle breeze that conveys fear triumph
Savoring nectar sweetness brought with living each moment as first day of existence
For Life Contest
Sponsored by Janis Thompson
Third Place
5-15-2016
An endearing dialogue silence imparts
Gushing to confer but reluctant to talk,
Much is said by the unspoken glance~
A loud message of quiescent hearts;
Awareness resounds from unaware,
Void blares~ something lives there,
Feelings inhabit space of emptiness
As spirits shape form of nothingness
And passion conveys sans language.
Love is a prompt, love is a response,
Tender and bashful, daring and bold,
Hazy fog of dawn, exuberance of lark,
Blind to a fault, yet it sees romance.
Love is delicate and love is almighty,
Love breaks-up and love so unites,
Goodbye of sunset, hello of sunrise,
Dusk of eventide and a moonlit night,
It’s a rainy day, it’s a ray of sunshine,
Love strums joy, yet, love sadly cries.
It’s waning autumn, it’s waxing spring,
It’s frost of snow, it’s summer’s breeze,
It’s rose blooming, parched falling leaf,
Love is blissfulness in anguish of grief,
A spent nightmare, a cherished dream;
Hugs when arrives, hugs when departs,
And even when it parts, it still holds on,
It’s the sound of now, echo of the past,
And it’s always close-by, even when afar.
February 24, 2022
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Irreconcilable Paradox
YOU ...
are a mystery, a spellbinding novel
each new chapter more enigmatic than the last
I read you with my fingertips
pausing to regard the inches, to savor each
like a meaty word that I turn over in my thoughts
in careful consideration ... of its flavor
with the gentle brush of my palm
one precious span of your opaline flesh is added unto the next
inch linked to dynamic inch ...
like the flowing, voltaic sentences of a master wordsmith
the journey of each phrase of your contours
bespeaks to my core a torrid tale of longing, pure ...
a hunger to delve ever further into the sultry, shapely, sinewy saga
that your alluring body whispers to me -
whispers and sighs, with its subtle, spicy shivers
to realize the destination of this epic journey
to unravel the mysterious and beguiling narrative
that your anatomy conveys to my core
the sublime, licentious and seductive story that is ...
YOU.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Mid November 2018 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Mid December Premiere" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Fire and ice fill these veins, dreams
are no longer sufficient to quell the
turbulent tides that quarrel within.
Deep within butterflies dance out
of sync, and the heartstrings await
the magical fingers of the harpist.
Solitudes aura is cold and clammy,
there is a dark side to this loneliness
that I cannot comprehend, it leaves
me wanting. This lonely castle wall
where so many poets have cast their
words, thrown their hearts to a new
horizon or a setting sun, is where I
await the tide that brings you forth.
For I know you are real, we have
touched in another time, drank the
wine, made love, danced the dark
hours in passion. Dim my vision
since you waltzed these eyes, my
Queen come to me, come with
haste, fill these arms, fill this
heart, kindle the fires and melt
the ice. Bring me stars , bring me
paradise, give me lips as soft as
snow, give to me your love and
these castle walls would crumble
before your smile. Patiently I
stand these walls, scanning the
seas for that sail that conveys our
union, lonely but so in love.
What timid lamb discerns I am trustworthy, drawing near?
What deer could hear my message clear, "There's no need for alarm"?
What rabbit out of habit doesn't dash in mortal fear?
What sigh could signify to butterfly, "My heart is warm"?
What squirrel won't twirl and run when my one goal is to endear?
What word, if heard by hummingbird conveys, "I mean no harm?"
How do you spell the word to tell the woman you've dreamed of;
that word of balm to soothe and calm the fears she dares not show?
How would you try to say you'd die for her, whom you most love?
How to persuade your doubt-filled maid, when still these ill winds blow
into her mind? Grieving, you find your unrequited dove
still sees in you an archer, who could wield a deadly bow.
Shall we guilty claim
a rose, as her beauties rain?
when suppressing her prickles
floods of her blood
bedew her roots
absorbed in grace.
Shall we banish beaming scents
of a rose rising in light?
when flourishing wonders
and streams of delight
flowing into human veins
avidly captured beyond words.
Shall we a beholder blame
for admiring in shining light a rose?
when many a reason
grant noble human hands
to hold an evergreen rose
rejoicing at divine creation.
Shall we a rose deny
a deep inner desire
to serve and give?
Bearer of Aphrodite and Venus Love
showy but unrevealing
transcends words what she conveys.
Shall I Euterpe invoke
my rose to inspire?
with sacred music
words above the clouds
penetrating fervent hearts
that never leave the heavens of poetry.
August 11th, 2018
She has eyes that have seen all the sky
a smile that is both knowing and shy
Her brow is humble and also proud
Expressions as soft as a shifting cloud.
She is tall and frail like a river reed
Up until now the forest has been her creed
And words that once flowed like a river stream
Now she must search for what they mean
Where once the forest taught her each simple rule
Now she is thrust to study in a Western school
So her body conveys her intentions devout
She stays rooted despite her desire for flight
She absorbs new knowledge like sunlight itself
Her tears are like rain on this hard gained wealth
This shy forest spirit all blossomed and grown
We know, in quiet moments, where her thoughts flown.
MID SUMMER 2018 PREMIERE,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 LINES
Contest Judged: 7/2/2018 8:30:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Placed 9th.out of 10
"Black Tulips for the Dear Departed"
Stumbling between the Immensities
Cobwebs like lace capture her
keep her fixed at the door waiting,
should she cross over now, or remain?
Time is evaporating, time is dissipating,
the past is holding on tight with it’s claws.
Black Tulips for the Dear Departed,
like a White Lily she opens -
she walks through the door.
The light is astounding,
a legion of angels rejoicing
He is there waiting
with pearls at His feet for her,
she must kneel to uncover
rust blood wet on
so many book covers,
she washes His feet with her tears
Sapphires His eyes jubilation.
He beckons her closer,
“Here is your Book,
Let me read it to you”
He gives her His hand
it is warm to the touch,
He conveys this,
His message to her,
“This could hurt, let’s review”.
He smiles, she is His,
melting, golden
Lux Vitae
immersed in His presence
born again, LIVING
renewed.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
1.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A02EDL-eIGk
I see beyond the crosses
In the snow covered field
Like soldiers in formation
For whom our hearts aren't healed
I see beyond the sacrifice
Of those that gave their life
And with their faith to guide them
Left a husband, child, or wife
I see beyond the caisson
That a single stallion drays
Committing one more hero
Feel the pain their loss conveys
I see beyond the sadness
Carried by the bugles trill
The sense of loss hangs heavy
As if the earth stood still
I see beyond the honor guard
And their shots fired in salute
A tribute to their brother
Who before them now lays mute
I see beyond all these things
With my heart if not my eye
But what I cannot see beyond
Is why they had to die
Written for the "I See Beyond" contest
Sacred Dwellers
I am of Native American born
To be caretaker of Mother Earth sworn
I heal with powers, a medicine man
Tribal’s wise supernatural shaman
I am a sacred carved out Totem Pole
To recount familiar legends, a toll
Insightful spirit animals pride in
Taking a part as a loved guardian
I’m the buffalo hunted to survive
Tipis, meat, fur, vital to stay alive
I’m the turtle known as the peacemaker
That’s firm, serene never a forsaker
I am lizard, killing me brings bad luck
The creation story I play, soul struck
I butterfly bringer of dreams, arrange
Transformation and life cycle of change
I the wolf early ancestor of thee
Totem animal, wise, social, and free
Icon salmon renews energy rays
The legend conveys, respect natures ways
* Shaman translation- The word originates from the language of the Tungus people of Siberia. It can directly be translated literally to “one who works with fire”.
* Tipis (teepees)
I hold myself a prisoner
A captive taciturn
Unspeakable enticement still yearning
Since coming of age to discern
Yet never knowing
Except in part
The fullness to overflowing
In the cerebral cortex of my heart
The heart knows reason
Which reason does not know
Inoculated by truth a lie will weaken
Like the dawn of a child in an embryo
For this the battle to bring heart to speech
In mind, for one to live oft' another thing dies
It's the delicate balance when determined to please
Suspended between fulfillment's death and the giving of life
The beauty of a fractured symmetry
Where thinking heart meets mind
To know this elusive camaraderie
Perhaps in a world in eternities time
So I see myself in another life
Where sorrows hold no interest
A wistful smile proves transparent
While intensity conveys my signet
Warmth and wrath bear equal zeal
But I, an antithesis in perfect balance
A lonely vagrant thronged by faces
Embraced by insipid attachments
As honey brines by way of nectar
In homes fashioned with wax
Void of every ignoble stinger
Known to propitiate the diffident task
Thus so masked I travel still
The duplicitous road yet shackled
Until my tongue finds clemency
From the demons my mind embattles
Good poetry is like an Old Master
Crafted with expert skill imbued with soul
No abstracted throwaway disaster
Or a bland undistinguished casserole
Of poor ingredients cooked up faster
And deposited in the toilet bowl
No, it should stimulate the appetite
And explode in the mind like dynamite
Good poetry should stand the test of time
Like great art it should make your spirit soar
Made memorable by structure and by rhyme
Utilizing simile, metaphor
Allegory and precise words that chime
Never should its contents the reader bore
Linking thoughts and ideas that one can quote
More than just a run-of-mill anecdote
Good poetry conveys thoughts in a way
That prose cannot - however full of wit
As a good photo brilliant in its way
Rarely reveals the person who took it
But a crafted poem - like a Monet
Should bear its creator’s mark and transmit
A recognition of the poet’s style
Whether it’s limited or versatile
Good poetry is like a single malt
Aged in a golden sherry cask of oak
With which a connoisseur can find no fault
Redolent of heather and peaty smoke
So, any poets worthy of their salt
Should let thoughts marinate, mature and soak
And distil them once, twice or even thrice
Before serving neat sans water or ice