Best Creative Poems
Inspiration where do you go when
you leave and your dry, barren
riverbed causes blinding dust storms in
my mind? Do you evaporate into
mist, become a gray dense fog
lying heavily in the air, intangible…
floating like a cloud, ever
changing shapes? Are you carried
by the wind, held hostage
to feed another storm when
lightening strikes and your deluge
once again swells the
river to overflowing, racing
free and wild, reaching
out beyond all boundaries?
If so, storm
of inspiration, please
deliver unto me
your monster
category five
hurricane!
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Strand Select 12
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 01/16/2020
~1st Place~
Contest: Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please - 2
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 10/14/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: “I Do Not Know”
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Judged: 10/25/2014
(this is not a comment on gun rights in U.S.A. I am from Canada where we do not face the same challenges. rather i seek to speak to the creative mind. the search for the peace in our hearts. the gun is not literal but represents the violent soul. i hope i have not offended anyone.)
almost everything that wraps
the bone structure of the hands
is responsible for its sense of touch
touch,
the neck of a guitar
a lover’s hair
via a pen
through and to the end
of a paint brush
our sensitive
our creative
side
flows through our hands
the first time i held a gun
my skin melted off
than the
tendons
muscles
veins
arteries
followed
fell off the bone
stripped to its empty frame
i held the gun
with a raw naked bone
pulled the trigger
with a cold dead hand
i never held a gun again
the flesh grew back
in peace and love
my creative voice
is alive again
travels easily
through my brand new hands
"You are ... different, aren't you?" she said, crinkling her nose.
That sentiment, spoken by my fourth grade home-room teacher
Had been paraphrased many times before
(And would be countless times again)
Different, unusual, odd, weird, curious, complex, or just plain strange
Those were the kind ones - the ones I can repeat
My favorite, however, was "unique"
The day my mother put it into that sensible little frame, I knew ...
I ... was HOME.
You see, we creative folk
Are not put on this good earth to "fit" into it
We are not molded to be a status quo part of society
But rather, set apart FROM society
Our gifts are granted us in order to change the world
Not continue the order of its mundane spin
We are interpreters of the language of beauty and ingenuity
We weave expression and imagination into what's tangible and visible
Turning ideas and emotions to the substance of words and color and sound
Bringing light and clarity to variation and choice
We are the very children of NON-conformity
Living proof that acquiescence and conventionality stifle the human spirit
We are soldiers of vision, innovation, cleverness, and inspiration
Fighting the war on commonplace, submission and docility
Battling daily in the name of ALL who are unlike the Average Joe
And bringing inspiration to the world.
So, do I think I'm "special"?
Yes, for we are ALL special ... every single human is born with unique gifts
Ours - the artistic talents - just happen to be of a creative fashion.
Yes, I am odd, strange, weird, different, unusual, and unique ...
And I am BLESSED ... to be so.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "CReAtiVe CoNForMiTy" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
I am but a slave among lives hidden features
Who cares what I crave midst these two-legged creatures
I crave superb polish and fine furniture wax
Extremely strong wood glue and upholstery tacks
To be moved more toward the shade and less in the sun
To have a tung oil bath, ah, now that would be fun
I crave to be gently rocked and read to again
Like when grandpa was alive and Jimmy was ten
But most of all to stay in my room at the keep
And be warmed by the fire until I fall asleep
A friend reveals their true heart when you are feeling blue.
Their compassion cheers your spirit as they know the 'real' you.
They listen to you vent your anger when it consumes your day
To commiserate and reach out in a non-judgmental way.
A friend also is a treasure because your joy they love to share.
They help you keep your sanity when chaos you must bear.
Never forgetting your birthday or when holidays roll 'round.
You trust them to keep your secrets for they are honor bound.
A special poet friend helped teach me how to write in form
Her talent shines unwavering in words high above the norm.
Indeed she is a teacher, and English grammar her expertise.
She knows the earth, the seas, and skies beyond the Pleiades.
1-9-18
There's no set list of motivational things I can name
because my inspirational impetus is never the same.
Often, I'm encouraged to pick up my pen and write
by celestial bodies glimmering upon me in the night.
What moves me to choose canvas and brush to paint
can be induced by flower, a child, there's no restraint
when it comes to what triggers my mind as inspirations.
It can be reading works of a Master Poet's compilations.
There are no bounds that hold back my impulses to act.
I'm easily prone to create from song lyrics. That's a fact.
I'm prodded to cook after coming across a good recipe,
maybe tweaking it with a bit of this or that to satisfy me.
I'm an artist at heart, finding inspiration in everything...
sunrise, butterflies, my senses honed by birds that sing.
I'm stirred by many touchstones that spur my imagination.
Remaining open-minded is a great source of stimulation.
I've been inspired by compliments and even disrespect.
They serve as catalysts, like an inspirational architect
that lead me to find new provocation; a spark to ignite
the fire of creativity within me to rise up and take flight.
oh, yes ...
yes, I have ...
I've had them ... those moments
the deep, desperate, rare moments ...
"straight-from-a-movie" moments
of romance and melancholy
where the violins and violas and
cellos pull on your heart ...
forlorn music reaching down into your viscera
to yank at your soul in tyranny ...
heart-wrenching moments of
exquisite agony -
where the core burns, the hairs all
stand, the eyes close, and you're lost
to the consequence ...
brief, beautiful, tender instances that
you hold for a lifetime -
that shine like jeweled beacons among
the mists of the mundane ...
oh, how blessed I've been ... and how cursed
for this gift of creativity that so
many envy, is but a facade for the dark, dire
truth of the sensitive spirit -
we feel deeper, look deeper, wish deeper, love
deeper, and hurt ... so much deeper ...
I am thankful for those moments, for
they are precious ...
but there is a dear and diabolical price to pay
and it comes without music
in the dead ...
of night.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 1, August 2019 - Just Write" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
I have my
S
P
U
I have my
D
O
W
N
S
But I’m determined to
H
A
N
G
a
d r
n o
u
I’ll make you laugh
I’ll make you cry
Till I hang up my pen and lay down to die
Creative Conformity Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
10/13/18
I have a lovely daughter, who is a lovely mess,
for every rule you give her, she will have to test.
She’s always just inside the lines or balanced on the top.
She loves to challenge all the rules to see how they will flop.
My favorite of her hurdles was the school uniform,
and she was delighted to best this strict form of norm.
A uniform would be an insult to her fashion sense.
As her mother, I suspected the rules would soon be mince.
She wore exactly what they said: khakis, belt, white top.
You've probably guessed, though thusly dressed she did not stop.
Smiling like an actress in a play,
she wore a striped scarf with red beret.
Her belt was wide and trendy,
her shoes, black boots to knee.
A voguish olive blazer was her “coat.”
Stylishly outfitted
and with the rules outwitted,
the books she carried seemed a lighter tote...
The "book bag," after all, was a fabulous new purse!
and...
Her creative conformity sent the principal to the nurse.
There is something to be learned here, as I reflect on this bright girl.
Without the rules before them, there’d be no rebels in the world.
11/2/2018
We started, all of us, with a dream
A need to be more than we might seem
Add to our lives a bright, new shine
To honour those of an older time
Some few had gathered, one fair day
A party planned, a game to play
A passing fancy to recreate
The lives that have been lost to fate
The players, spent at party's end
Were loathe to join the world again
They wished that they might be so bold
To live as those from times of old
A game, a dream was born that night
And through the darkness spread its light
To many dreamers this dream spoke
And new ideas in them awoke
To re-learn skills, to practice art
And in the chivalry take part
To serve a King both brave and strong
A lady Queen inspiring song
To hear the voices of the bards
To take thy turn amongst the guards
To write the song a kingdom sings
To live with honour in all things
That is what the dreamers saw
The picture that they tried to draw
Though gaming was the simple goal
The dream now had a living soul
Now hundreds strong the armies stand
And face each other on the sand
But once the battle's fought and won
Both friend and foe all stand as one
They sing together of their homes
And bow to one another's thrones
Honouring the bond they share
The common dream that brought them there
The dream that draws us ever in
Calls us to gather once again
To play, once more, our 'let's pretend'
To live the dream that will not end
a leaf fell today
twirling as if the last dance
final disconnect
Creative Child
Notebook full of dreams,
deep thoughts imprint a blank page.
Intent and consumed,
from his sweet innocent mind,
he creates his masterpiece.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Oil Paintings 1-2-3 Any Poem Form
Painting: No. 3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 11/17/205
BE CREATIVE
The world we live in
Economic crises
Seem to hold us in chains and vices
If only you knew how to set yourself free
It’s to master your thoughts
Be creative, you see
We all have it in us
You’ve just got to dig
It’s the passion inside you
Oh boy! It is big!
Creation is thought
A mind waiting to burst
How could there be anything
Without thought coming first?
Every word that you speak
Every action you take
Are your thoughts, your creations
Deciding the life that you make!!!
To all my friends on the soup, you can now see my book The Gift...if you only knew, on
Amazon, or my website www.thegiftifonlyyouknew.com
Hope to be back on the soup shortly, i miss you all,
love
SimoneX
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My Quaint Cottage
The quaintness of my cottage
Is idyllic in my sweet resting thoughts.
My miniature garden rarely noticed by one
Is garlanded with fenced shrubs and flowery visions.
My orange clustered tree
Showers } { its love
onto my } { cascade
of verses } { as I rest
against } { its sturdy
bark on } {a silent day
My green walled cottage is sewn intricately with ivy
Leaving an
Arched door
Open Fringed
With fresh roses
Attracting the
Honey suckles
Hanging in air
Fluttering
Their wings
For ## but # one ## sip
In ## my ##### garden
Of # b# l #o # o # m # s
FIRST
Balveen Cheema
October 24, 2015
Judged
Contest: Creative Layouts
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Reasons for seasons
Mother nature speaks to us
Mindset renewal