Best Convinces Poems
In a world bejeweled
with tainted trinkets,
and feigned flowers,
we follow the
wailing waves below
whirling wind,
like secluded silhouettes,
stranded on the
cusp of chaos,
unable to find the sparkling
streak of hyacinth hope-
between dusk and dawn.
Perhaps there is a
reason why I stopped
rewriting runes with
cashmere conclusions,
as I’ve long been
dreaming of dahlias,
on weathered willows,
oblivious to the
dancing rays
of rising sun swiftly
cascading like
caramel confetti.
I am like the
sleepless ocean,
letting the
fleeting phases
of bewitching moon
lure floating sapphires;
pushing and pulling
my insomniac tides
with turquoise triggers,
as the inner-child
continues to sail
through tumultuous seas,
healing from
the trauma I’ve been fed,
concocted with
raspberry ruins,
from silver spoons,
on dulcet trays.
I’ve tasted poison
in the fruitiest of cocktails,
although the flavors
of life remain
a mystery within a fickle
game of chess,
incomplete
and unattainable.
I search for a sanctuary
where peace lilies sprout,
beneath the eclipsed horizon,
blindfolding my third eye,
as I waltz through astral
spheres to reach
an elysian dimension.
Amidst unanswered questions
hanging like
unsolvable equations,
for all that I’ve believed
was but a myth concealed
in illusory amulets,
bruising my inner psyche,
preventing me
from seeing beyond.
Yet the morning sky
convinces me to
reconsider and realign,
as the whimsical breeze
whispers in a soft cadence:
the Universe is infinite,
so am I.
This pink granite
heart is as vast as
the spring-hills with
deepest of falls,
prevailing traces of
my silenced voice.
And when mauve clouds
kissed my frail fingers,
I remembered how stars
do not need our touch,
to unravel fate laced in
citrine dust,
Like how I breathe-
lavender love,
within me,
leaving no blood
in my veins but poetry-
flowing as the poem
of pearlescent tomorrows,
through thin
sangria streams,
in daisy dialects.
So who am I~
but a mere dot on a
faceless canvas,
an echo of your rosy rhymes,
an incomplete verse with
complex metaphors,
weaving woes in
sunflower silence..
Up high on our soul’s trapeze
we tire of the bar we hold
but we find it hard to release our known.
Eyeing the free bar of full potential,
we wish to air dive, then faith-catch that swing
so we may fly to where our allure roves.
All crave heights something in us sights.
Here comes, now nears, the free bar
we thoroughly want to grab,
but fear paralyzes all dreams we have.
We tell ourselves what convinces ourselves
to stay put, we count the reasons we should:
"there’s no way it could work out;
not with the balance in my bank account;
I'm too body sorry and old for dating;
I’m so tiny they won’t want me playing;
If I joined, problems would just stack;
Not without good health that I lack;
Trying would just lead to more crying.
Many angels tend God’s blessing warehouse,
some dusting boxes of blessings bearing names
of those who felt they deserved no claim.
When faith lacked so did dust thick stack.
Father stressed pressed,
promised abundance,
yet many clutch less
and name it their best.
Such believing may weave soul regret debt
for our depth knows we were made to love, not fret.
I drank myself numb
to hide the pain—
the things I saw,
the voices I heard
when the world went quiet.
The bottle never judged me.
It just blurred the edges.
Made the flashes softer,
the guilt quieter,
the ghosts… not gone,
but easier to sit with.
But your past always catches up.
You can’t outdrink memory forever.
Steel on my wrists.
Bars I fell behind.
Not a hero.
Just a man
running from himself
with nowhere left to go.
Addiction turned to darkness—
the kind that sits in your chest
and convinces you
you’re too broken to come back.
Broken without all the pieces.
Some are buried.
Some I gave away.
Some I watched die with men braver than me.
The weight of guilt
crushing down like armor I can’t take off.
I carry their names like shrapnel.
I wear their memory like scars.
An empty life
without my brothers.
Most days I fake the smile.
Some days I can’t.
And if you ever see me cry
when I look at the flag—
don’t ask why.
Just know
I remember what it cost.
I live in hell most nights,
so others can have dreams.
Let ‘em sleep, let ‘em laugh—
I’ll carry the screams.
The memories turned to nightmares
that now invade the day.
I close my eyes
and still see it all.
I have no peace…
Just the peace I protected.
And that’s what I gave—
Even if it cost me everything.
On my face, you’d never know…
but the devil invites me home at every turn.
The quiet never comes…
but neither does surrender.
Riding a scotch high
down
a twisting
river road past
midnight,
his grip tightens
on the steering wheel
in sync
with the pressure of his foot
on the accelerator.
He convinces himself
he is chasing
meaning
in a meaningless time,
waiting perhaps
around the next curve
or the next
in the tree with his name on it.
Silence shatters
in the mirror
above the dashboard:
the familiar face glares at him,
screams
the ugly sound of rage.
He trembles,
sees himself in the agony
of his limits.
He listens to what he sees;
he hears madness.
He breaks the glass,
disappears in the cry.
In the headlights,
purple eyes
devour the mist.
Gods of another age,
another plane,
guide him,
automatic cruise,
into the empty night
beyond
the threat of the winding river.
© Gene Williamson, 2009
There is an enemy, who keeps herself hidden to some.
There is an enemy, who with his mighty lies torments others.
But it is only one enemy.
And this enemy destroys the blood of brotherhood by convincing all that God is
one.
By convincing all that God is one and that she is many, this enemy convinces all
that we are outnumbered.
But God was many from the very beginning.
And so we are many, the forces of light.
It is the enemy who is outnumbered.
For we are a kingdom which cannot be divided for we are of the same substance.
For in the beginning was the Word, and the word was the light of humanity.
The Word is the light of humanity.
And the Word is many.
Amen.
100 miles
It's pretty far
Feels like a loss
Not far by car
But Too far for a rock to toss
The deadening silence of your voice
Slices to my core, it's a salty wound
Made worse by your choice
I see your smile everywhere I roam
Its sincerity demolishes my pain
It convinces me that I'm home
Every minute I wish to see it again
when it's gone the hurt returns
And this feeling grows stronger
Feeling my heart, I feel it, it burns
Can't take this pain, how much longer?
Wish I could present you with a gift
Not something to make your heart rift
Something like a basket of oranges
My love language speaks gifts and time
Much different than yours is
Like an impossible rhyme
Too difficult to have faith for long
Everything our so-called god lets go wrong
Like a cut rope, tying it back, not as strong
That same fear of a loss will continue
Throughout the ages
How many times do i place my faith in you?
I fear ending up just one of your pages
How could he allow it to happen?
I swear he's terrible
Faithfully followed and obeyed
To me, he’s horrible
Too hard to have faith in my class
People say he works in a mysterious way
He’s more like a kid with a magnifying glass
On an ant that can't run away
I may be just sad
I may be just mad
I may just go back
To the day I had
You all to myself
God gave me that day
And you know what they say...
It's better to have loved and lost
-F*ck that!
He's the one that took you away
Too hard to find trust in god
Even Joseph Smith couldn't erase this heart
Like a stranger, you just give a nod
I don't know him since he tore us apart
I'll probably see you again someday
Only when it's my moment to shine
Faith is too hard to have today
Till then ill sit here and whine
Summer turned away, escaping my praise
Risking dreams from yesterday, shadows grew
Dating hope and faith, the love story knew
This is beautiful whose more than a phase
Stars glistened in the night, erasing tears
Summer turned away, escaping my praise
Winds of elation smiled through autumn’s gaze
Drifting on seas of gentle, ending fears
Seasons filled with wonders hushed suspicion
Worries brought to life by the darkest days
Summer turned away, escaping my praise
Deep peace convinces of love’s transition
Prayers remind of grace that will amaze
As Summer departs, Autumn whispers peace
Graceful glory, a season’s masterpiece
Summer turned away, escaping my praise
(The audience for this is small children who have seen the movie.)
Mary Poppins Makes a Visit
By Elton Camp
When Mary decides she wants a job
Other applicants of a chance will rob
She causes a strong wind to blow
Riding umbrellas, off they do go
When competitors are no longer around
From the sky she comes floating down
In order to make sure that she gets hired
Convinces Banks she is what’s desired
Upstairs to the nursery she does go
Gives the children a magic show
Then of her own self, she does say,
“Practically perfect in every way.”
When she takes them on the street
An old friend, Burt, they do meet
His drawings made of chalk
They admire on the sidewalk
By her power, they pop inside
There they find horses to ride
In the fantasy world can stay no more
Once a heavy rain does start to pour
The two wet children then are told
Take this medicine to avoid a cold
When they began to frown
Found a way to get it down
To swallow it they couldn’t well refuse
Because of the song Mary did choose
Both kids thought it very neat
When the stuff tasted sweet
Mary then had a very strong feeling
They’d like a tea party on the ceiling
When happy, they floated up in the air
Stayed there as long as they had no care.
Of Mary’s antics Mr. Banks got tired
Decided it was time she should be fired
Getting him to take them to work was a trick
With serious consequences that made him sick
Though the tuppence was only a tiny amount
Banker wanted Michael’s money in an account
Of that the boy saw no need
The birds he wanted to feed
When his money he did demand
Other customers didn’t understand
They didn’t think it was in fun
And on the bank began a run
That very night, Mr. Banks was called back
Board of Directors would give him the axe
But into his mind did spring
What was the important thing
Mary had shown him how to enjoy
Spending time with his girl and boy
Mean old banker laughed until he died
But the Directors’ Board took it in stride
“Mr. Banks, we have a fine notion
Take you back with a promotion.”
And Mary, her job all done,
From the house she did run.
She’s a daughter of those West Virginia hills.
Each morning she comes down from the holler,
And catches the bus going to another county.
She goes to a fancy, newly consolidated school
Some of the teachers think she’s a slow learner
Her shyness punctuated by a bothersome lisp,
On the playground, however, she’s in demand
For her slow pitch is even better than grand,
With each strikeout her whistle is low and crisp
She convinces her skeptics; she’s a page turner,
And she knows the meaning of The Golden Rule.
Not given to girlish ways, she’ll never be dainty
In the face of adversity, no youngster is calmer,
She’s a daughter of those West Virginia hills.
written January 26, 2022
[my unique Reverse Rhyme
abcdef gg fedcba]
Wrong!
A little boy plays football.
His parents call him a "tomboy".
He doesn't understand what it means.
Wrong!
The boy is now twelve.
His best friend gets her period.
And puberty hits him hard.
Wrong!
His friends put him in dresses and makeup.
His parents are proud of their "little girl".
He doesn't get why this is happening.
Wrong!
Freshman year he gets a laptop.
A friend convinces him to join Tumblr.
He feels acceptance.
Wrong!
He learns about gender and sexuality.
He is relieved and happy.
He is finally not alone.
Wrong!
His helpful friend,
Kills himself due to unaccepting family.
The boy feels alone again.
Wrong!
He goes shopping with his brother.
His brother calls the cute couple in the corner "fags".
The boy doesn't understand how love is wrong.
Wrong!
He starts to wear baggier clothes and bind.
People call him; "dyke", "tranny", and "lesbo".
He just wants to be called a man.
Wrong!
He has hopes and dreams for a future.
He just wants to be himself.
He just wants to be happy...
...But every single time,
he feels better about himself
He sees her in the mirror...
He last had a pal in the 7th grade,
They shared a class from the 1st grade.
And together, for Home Economics,
they were always late.
But the seventh grade showed up, in its
claws it held their un-anticipated fate.
For death's heartless might had
snatched away the pal's dear moter,
The lad watched as he packed the
boots that both their feet knew.
Off he went to unknown horizons.
"I will write", is all he said.
And so, at the post office,
the lad became a familiar face.
"He never forgot me", he convinces
his lonely self everyday.
The 12th grade is his current stop.
He recently acquired a harmless infection-hope.
So, while he dejectedly kicks innocent pebbles
in the streets he's quite hopeful that the other lad, his pal,
will write..........or maybe tweet.
Word has it, though, that the pal was
seen somewhere.
He was wearing a black suit...
Word has it also that he couldn't make a conversation.
Instead of his trademark smile,
solemnity had found a home in his face.
There he was, stone dead.
"Maybe, just maybe, he will write",
thinks the nameless lad as he kicks a
couple of innocent pebbles while he threads
on one rugged path towards home.
And tomorrow he's going to the post office.
" I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that..." Robin Williams
She's always there to make them smile.
Her shoulders are ever ready to lean on.
And convinces them that life’s worthwhile,
for she’s the only one that they can depend on.
It’s always the saddest people, she thought,
trying their hardest to makes others happy.
As they know what’s it like to feel worthless and hurt
and will hate for anyone to feel that much crappy.
She has to be strong for them she feels,
But hides the fact that’s she’s slowly falling apart.
It’s difficult been strong sometimes it seems.
As no one notices a shattering heart.
Yet she finds the will to always make sure she somehow makes their day.
But deep inside she quietly wishes someone could hug her pain away.
Contest - " A Penny For Your Thoughts"
Sponsor - Sara Kendrick
January is here as expected
that makes me wary of the new year
but Jesus reminds me of His promises
Oh, February already!
Dad shows the burden he carries
but Jesus pats him with His word.
Here comes March
Mum becomes trouble’s new catch
but Jesus creates a way for us to overcome
April appears so fast
the moving year is becoming real
and Jesus convinces us to seek Him first.
May, may may
desertion by friends is underway
Jesus sits besides, never forsaking me.
Half a year in June
the year is now at noon
Jesus asks me never to worry about the night
Wonderful July so glorious
how time actually flies
Jesus Has carried me this far.
August, the summer’s border
a new season will soon be our guest
He’s always the same, every season, every year.
The familiar months begin with September
difficulties are almost over
You see, I told you! Says the Lord
It’s October
And I’m still under his cover
b’cos He loves me more than anyone else.
November, the 11th month
counting down to the special event
yet His goodness is countless and bountiful
The grand Finale in December
family and friends in the mood of Christmas
even though His love
Has been shielding us right from January.
There's power abounds within our worlds,
that science will deny.
Just silly folks with twisted minds
who rant and rage and lie!
If they can't see, or touch or smell,
they know it isn't there.
Until the day, to their dismay
it's forced on them to share!
Now television, planes and phones,
it's very true to say.
Would surely have been witchcraft
in a not so distant day.
But seeing TV, seeing ghosts,
convinces you they're there.
Or does it... do you choose the things
you let your senses share?
You can't see evil's presence
when it's aimed to do you harm.
You think it rather silly
to return it with a charm?
So live in total arrogance
and die because your ill.
No doctors precious potions
will cure evil with a pill!
Believe in what you care to,
and say I’m off my mind.
But there's many times I thwarted
things of supernatural kind.
I will use the things I need to,
be they physical or 'crap',
But if your directing evil
then I'm going to send it back.
Take a warning from my ramblings,
there's more than meets the eye.
It's not the ground you stand on,
or the covering of the sky.
There's things that some call heaven,
and things that some call hell.
That combine to make our lifetimes
and we all live in their spell.
So if you ever feel a prickle
from the hairs upon your neck.
You will know that evils found you,
......so you'd better run like heck!
Ivor G Davies
The old man, who slowly walks with the cane
Many years ago, he looked just as you do
He was handsome, virile and tall
Living then so easy, no matter the weather
Today, his bones curve; and once steady gait, slowed
He recalls that each season came bearing gifts
Spring, brought youth and delightful promises
Summer, glorious heat to warm and nourish his body
Autumn, a gift of reflection and he'd count blessings
While winter, pretentious, came empty handed
And youth fell for his clever guise each time
How he would dazzle with breathless beauty!
Coming at precise moments of vulnerability
With his pristine cloak of soft white to beguile
He would pose as a friend come for a visit
While he convinces that he'll never remain
All the time he possess your body stealthily
Then wait in silence, lurking in your bones
As he runs schemes to steal away your youth
That old man, now frail, spend days before a fire
And in solitude, reminisces about his past
He did not see winter as ancient or deceptive
Had no clue that winter is never to taste joy
Today, he still brings out his best brandy
And gladly shares with his permanent guest
The youthful years have all dissapeared
And like the magical portrait of Dorian Gray
Winter appears younger and prettier, still!
~*~
This was fun! : )