Best Cover Poems
Through shoveled loam I glimpse pale light
Hands dare intrude into my burial crypt
Exposing the devastation of my decay
Dignity of this chamber has been stripped
Human eyes stare into my skeletal sockets
I feel the sun's warmth, but cannot spill tears
Lips, long ago stitched from laces of my soul
Loosed were the bindings of stygian spheres
Wormwood case and satin pillow, rotted
Lily's scent lingers, squandered their seed
Awakened without sight or sandals afoot
Penance in supplication for every misdeed
My rueful spirit, once clothed in silk shroud
has dwindled to dust and time brittled bone
I remember pleading in voice of reason
Cover my nakedness and inter me, face prone
*These verses do not reflect my religious
beliefs of life after death.
Nested in the cat’s cradle
Paraded in a child’s fable
I have no voice, don’t let me die
No longer shall I live a lie
I have no soul nor thoughts to save
Unbeknownst to me is
this life beyond the grave?
A designer dainty as she
silky essence she creeps upon so free
and with sheer elegance
unveils a painted lady in a trance
Wake me before the dream ends
In this a lie I can’t depend
Ochre paint splat on walls
Tinted forewings so not to fall
Hindwings I hold up in pain
Fragile chitin, scales, and veins
Bleeding strokes of mango chutney
Opera gloves cobalt blue, cloak impunity
Wake me up! Before I drop
Still asleep, a standing prop
And when I open my eyes
I’ll have wings like butterflies
The bitter truth sounds insane
Blends of electronic elements
Mesh makes perfect sense distasteful
Nestled neatly prim and graceful
Kept in the dark where it’s unfair
Wake me lest I vanish in thin air
In my dream a translucent permanence
I stand alone and have woken an evanescence
You have no idea
How you opened my cover
You read me, understand me
You completely feel me
No one can have enough love
In all it's layers and forms
You inspire me everyday
Knowing how you know me
That all of me is yours to keep
I can be everything I want to be
Connected with you in my life
It's the deepness of your mind
How passionate you are inside
The generosity towards others
Your voice - a deep friend
Just one touch - my soul sings
My heart is a place to live
I love that you have the key
Lock your heart to mine within
It's yours - you have moved in
Eternally is just the beginning
Trust, Faith, Tears and Love
It's with great sadness and a lot of discomfort that I write
about an issue that needs addressing and brought to light
Several poets have long known
about a poet whose cover is blown
and cheats by entering their own contests. That's not right.
What would you think of a poet entering contests of their making
and then winning high placements with names they are faking
That's stooping pretty low
I really wish it wasn't so
So I hope it comes to an end after this exposure and muckraking
*******************
It's not my intent to stir up trouble with this post, but in all good conscience I feel the need to inform all of you who write for contests that this has been happening for some time. This is not an act of bitterness or ill will, but if this poet reads this, know that if it doesn't stop I'll report you to TPS. I don't understand why a decent poet would do something like this.
To the people looking at this book
I say go ahead, Open it, Take a look
It may be the very thing you sought
I believe you'll be captivated, Yea you'll be caught
The characters, The story, The plot
My style is one of a kind
For it comes from deep in my mind
Another like it you will not find
Winds you up, Sometimes unwind
A story of a boy to a man
Fighting a crazy life as best he can
Survival, Revenge that is the plan
A tail of fictitious facts of nonfiction
Can't put it down it's like an addiction
That would be the best depiction
To leave it behind, Your affliction
When your done, And the book is through
And your mind screams where is number two
I say thank you to the readers, Especially you
It's coming
Down the stairs turned chiseled rocky steps
the bare beauty cascades like an ebullient rapid
raw grace of Eve glistens on the satin skin
tinged with the hues of primeval nature exposed
sculpted in curvy contours of Michelangelo finesse
and charisma.
Amorous luster flowing in the cleaved vale
carved between the ambrosial mounds
opens up on the vista of the ivory meadow
supple rhythm of scented jasmine allure
wafts on the canopy of the yonder thicket
and waits.
The porcelain ballerina feet as insipid as
the stark sorrow of the defoliated winter tree
half-way on the staircase stuck motionless
a statue draped in symphony of au naturel shape
moonbeam lattice covers her with silver screen
and enigma.
October 11, 2019
A Brian Strand 1097 Contest
I salute Mr. Timothy Smith if that's his real name
Methinks it's a cover for his worldwide fame
He's actually known
Not just for limericks alone
He's world renowned for setting girl's hearts aflame
© Jack Ellison 2015
Under The Cover.
.
You can never ever
Tell a book by it’s cover
As I was later to discover
The Lady in the Nursing home
The old man across the way
All have a story to tell
Hidden away
.
Some people I’ve known for years
Have suddenly touched my heart
And left me in tears
When they reviled their past
And nightmares and fears
.
Like my own dear Father
Shot and wounded
A prisoner of war
With only a tiny piece of bread to eat
And nothing more
.
The sweet old Lady I talked to
In Worksop in a store
Who told me she was the last surviving victim
Of Dachau in the war
.
The old man down our street
A nicer man you could ever meet
A rear Lancaster tail gunner
Or the hardship of a devoted Mother
Her husband left her for another
Someone who lost their family
And had no other
.
Those who suffered in the blitz
Those who lost a loved one
Aboard a ship
Never found always missed
The nurse who gave her all and put others
Before herself
To help the sick
.
The Pals sent to die in another far off land
The luckier who returned
Minus a leg or no hand
The coal miner unground
Who kept the home fires burning
The Steelworkers who gave their all
To keep England’s wheel turning
.
The bomb disposal and mine clearer's
The lifeguard on the bay
The emergency services and law enforcers
Who put their life in danger for us every day
.
The one who gives
But doesn’t seek recognition or reward
The one who fights for justice and war to cease
And silently prays for peace
.
A million stories left untold
Of unsung heroes young and old
No one should judge anyone
Like a book by their cover
For we all have a story
And who knows what we might discover.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
That was the last call.
Aunt Rosie and the kids have left.
They’re safe
The rest have been accounted for.
It’s just us now.
Is everybody ready?
I never really thought this day could come.
Preparations aside, it was just a compulsive
precaution. Our family, friends, will we
ever see them, talk to them again?
How could we have done this to ourselves?
Funny, the things I think of at a time like this.
I got tickets to a Springsteen concert next month.
Who cares now?
Six months ago, when I bought them, I still had some trust.
Trust in the world, in our leaders. None
of this makes sense.
Do the egos of two men matter?
I remember as a child the grade school,
duck and cover drill.
I remember the black and yellow shelter signs.
That was over fifty years ago.
Have we learned nothing?
Come on, let’s go. It’s a bit of a drive.
Ashes Now Cover, Pantheon Of Ancient Greek Gods
Deep within halls of ancient, and dead Greek gods
resides heroes forgotten, waiting their just dues
As poets of old, in golden verse gave their nods
pleas for recognition now so sadly accrues.
Does this world wrongly deny heroes of the past
In rush to glorify vanity it now casts?
Have we cause in forgetting heroes that once trod
across time and those famous battlefields of old
Anointed with courage, muscles hard as iron rod
warriors lost in greater tales no longer told.
Does this world wrongly deny heroes of the past
In rush to glorify vanity it now casts?
Of Achilles, that Homer so famously wrote
how many students now even know of his name
As we parade about singers of little note
with falsely set illusion, their voice deserves fame.
Does this world wrongly deny heroes of the past
In rush to glorify vanity it now casts?
Robert J. Lindley,
August 17th, 1999
Rhyme, ( When Much Needed Heroes Are Cast Away )
Note: Assessment on the state of Literature classes
as they are now taught in our modern high schools.
western winds blowing
gray storm clouds are arriving
taking cover now
the white feather-puffs
scattered upon the jade-moss —
nude fowl’s pluckiness
11/4/2018
In your photograph, I see your face,
As does the entire world.
Do they see what lies beyond,
Inside, that little girl?
As I look into your eyes
I sense you dream, you hope.
I pray each time I gaze at them
For days that you can cope.
In your smile, I see reality
Has contributed to your view.
Two dimensional image we see,
But never, the real you.
There’s more to you than meets the eye,
the readers should all know.
But, they will only ever see
That which you will only show.
I looked upon your photo today
And saw the beauty in you.
If others ever dare to see,
Then they will love you, too.
Under Your Cover
In a cot
Sitting, waiting
Tears shed
Heart fainting
I watched as she drifted
Drifted away
It came so early
That daggering day
Shes gone
'they' placed the lid on
Under the cover
Dark, black cover
She lies there
Her body dead
It's my heart left
Baring the bloodshed
The beat is gone
My breath slow
Everything inside out
I once lived for
So erase the day
I'll fade away
Hiden in my covers
My dark, silent cover
Morning sun streams in
A ray through the glass
Settles on my night stand
Where my Bible was last
God, a little hope
Another chance in sight
As a new chapter
In my life you write
Your word explains
Comforts the pains
Voiced from you cover
Thick soft cover
Oh I remember when I thought
I was in control and could see
Then the Lord showed me
How blind I was not being free
Now that He has opened my eyes
I want to cover my eyes
And just listen to His voice
For mostly everything else
Is a bunch of clanging noise
This is for fun I could not resist this picture
But indeed this is how I feel in the deception
Of all that is going on around us that many can't see
To much division and religions to adapt to mankind
The gospel was not intended to pick and choose
To accommodate the corrupt ways of man
But to separate one from their old self and evil desires
Their lustful hearts and minds,
To be changed with the spirit from Christ
Into a new creation with new mind and hearts
Purified of all impurities so He might reign within
The gospel of Paul living in the spirit
Should be what one shall aim for
To have instilled those thoughts and spirit
But I understand we must all try our way first
Hopefully it does not go so good you become
Your own shrine to give praise
I thought my life was going good
Until I began to read the words of Jesus for myself
Then I was in awe of what's going on