Best Cribs Poems
Our oldest light goes by the name cosmic
microwave background radiation—
CMB for short. She's everywhere:
fluorescent birdsong of modern offices,
hum of corner store ice cream cases.
Have you heard of her? This gal was born
screaming into freedom from the expansion
of a bang so big we're still talking about it.
Expelled from the recombination's gender-
less cervix, before there were names for things
like body, or heat, or quiet. She slid through
the pitch of first dark, not yet sure what
edges were, dragging the weight of a beginning
behind, shelter for and shedding of photons
loosened from a fire she didn't start.
Somewhere in this thirteen-billion-year drift
her lips kissed the eyelids of stars that hadn’t
learned to die yet, passed the chubby fists
of planets still cooling in their cribs. Fell into gravity
wells, bent her spine around a gape of black holes,
and climbed back up again, tired but full.
We call her background now, like she's an afterthought,
the hum of hums beneath the humming—we call her 'it'.
Add a T to her beginning and we might as well
call her mother. And when she reaches us, frail
and stretched thin, we catch her in our instruments
(where we found her), our desperate, outstretched hands.
For our effort, like a good genie enduring a bad rub,
she tells the story of our origin from a certain point—
then distracts us with tricks when we ask her about
the end of it.
Where will you be when the trumpet sounds
When the call comes with an
amazing surprise
A shout is heard by all who leave
these grounds
And all the dead and alive in Christ
shall arise
How will you explain; none of the missing is found
While Satan bombards the media with
his lies
Millions disappear as an army calls up
the hounds
Gone with no trace of any, as hearts in agony cries
Graves are open, cribs are empty, the trumpet sounds
Delusions, signs, and wonders as the evil one abides
Deception is real in all as this
darkness abounds
While behind the scenes, This world in
sin resides
What will you be doing when the
trumpet sounds
One of two in the fields is taken up beyond the skies
The other is left behind, in fear an empty heart pounds
To meet the Lord in the air as the Bible
so describes
All believers united with praise as
heaven resounds
The judgment of God on this earth will truly abide
In tribulation to all clothed with the unbeliever's gown
Their destination set: in their sins they
chose to hide
To this end, eternal fire in hell to be
cast down
When the trumpet sounds, all in Christ
will arise
To meet the Lord in the air, Wearing redemptions gown
For faith in Christ is gifted with the everlasting prize
Eternal life: in heaven we shall forever
be found
When the trumpet sounds?
Woman
legs ~ breasts ~ thighs
hips ~ lips ~ eyes
Man
strength ~ muscled ~ arm
masculine ~ grit ~ charm
Children
fun ~ run ~ toys
playful ~ girls ~ boys
Baby
cradles ~ diapers ~ cribs
sleepers ~ cryers ~ bibs
Grandparents
canes ~ glasses ~ walkers
old ~ wise ~ talkers
Family
fathers ~ sons ~ brothers
daughters ~ sisters ~ mothers
Six Word Couplet Series Encore Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
10/10/2018
(Thank God, when I posted my poem a second time , I could enter it in the contest. But I am retaining my old post as I have many comments on it . I thank all my poet friends who helped me with suggestions, especially Mystic Rose Rose. My soupmail is non functional most of the time)
The naked hills are clad in snow
Blurring the houses that line up in a row
The wind that blows is icy chill
Freezing cold is the water of the rill
Trees, stand stripped and bare
But so much gaiety is in the air
Lightings from all houses shine
Sending out a radiance divine
Christmas trees stand finely decorated
Cribs are colourfully illuminated
The day has come when Christ was born
In our midst as the greatest boon
He came not in glory arrayed
But in a poor man’s rags clad
Took birth not in a palace of gold
But in a deserted manger of old
Poor shepherds were the sole witness
They beheld his radiant face in stillness
The whole world is under his magic sway
As love for all is his wondrous way
Jesus came down from Heaven on Earth
To offer the world its true mirth
To dole out the priceless treasure of peace
To see all bitterness and enmity cease
Merry ditties shall echo from every street
And children will sing Christmas carols sweet
From the angelic band will rise the refrain
“Peace on Earth and goodwill to all men”
Nov.20. 2022
~ Placed Eighth~
Most Beautiful Christmas Poem Contest
Sponsor – Mystic Rose Rose
If I were to stray from the straight road,
meander along twisted olden paths
let me not see an ordered place
like some new grown garden
designed by some modern nursery
to whom you must pay a hefty price.
Give me the lonely winding trails
lined with hard square granite
which farmers use for rubble walls,
that in turn give some shelter
to the prolific cape sorrel
swaying their yellowish flowers
with light sea gentle breezes
that fill the air with misty sea breeze
and manure maturing in the sunny rays.
A sudden bend might reveal
the reddish volcanic scoria
so oft used in Christmas cribs.
Afar dogs bark and jump with glee
at birds that occasionally fly low,
while the stately old palms
stand like a rock at some juncture
in this heavenly bliss.
At last a wooden bench I'll find
not far from carob trees.
There I will rest alone at peace
as far away as possible from it all.
15/04/2018. Slam Time Man
Im only a novice at this Slam style man,
So I’m gonna go hard on your so called Jam
Your slow n sloppy style make dissin you easy,
I’ll do it all day man, just cause it please me.
I’m quick n I’m quirky, always slick n not dirty,
Unlike the tripe from the gutter you snipe.
Ill go with my flow like I’m running the show,
While your heads hanging down ima takin your crown.
See this new kid in the cribs a crazy wordsmith,
My rhythm n rhyme makes you sound like a blacksmith.
My soft, sweet sound is more than you can handle,
Your rough, raspy rubbish is like rapping an anvil.
I’m too cool for school, but I’m nobody’s fool,
Your raps rudimentary, your speech so sedentary.
So I’ve pounded your game for my own personal gain,
And I winning this Slam just like that, Wham Bam.
The Dolphins in the sea dear Lord, they dance for You
They dance for You, I know they do....
Trees which sway in the breeze their rejoicing, as they bow
Calling Your name as they bow, to You dear Lord, I know they do ~
Birds that sing, Mountains and Oceans that gaze, Angels who bring
These Gifts of Your Light and Love, to this world, I know they do?!
Everywhere I turn I find You there, Your Beauty, filling the air....
In the night sky Your Stars that shine; Your Holy Spirit *
Within all of Humankind; their Hearts, their Eyes; Your Creations
The valleys, the fields, the depths, the heights; Your Glory ~
Your Majesty; the darkness can no longer hide!?
Your Kingdom, dear Lord, soon like a rushing tide; washing away
Forever the sorrow amid it all; this day, this poisoned dust....
O' death where is your sting? O' grave where is your victory?
Swallowed! As a shooting comet piercing this passing plight!
“Free at last, thank God Almighty, we're free at last.” ~
The Lions in their dens, the Babies in their cribs....
Every living thing and every Spirit reaching out; Shout
For the Lord His coming; His hands, His Love, His plans
Eternity, with the Majestic and Only, Glorious Great I Am *
The Prince of Peace, the King of Kings, the Beginning, and the End....
Standing at heavens threshold; everywhere I turn, everyday, every
Breath I take, I find You there, dear Lord?!
In the flowers, in the forest, in the sky, in, their Beautiful Lives ~
Deep inside; Humankind, this rushing tide; “All of Creation”
They dance for You, dear Lord, they dance for You, I know they do....
*****************************************************************
....“Selah” * ~ {Written 10/29/05} ~ * “Selah.”
You told me I was not just average!
But when told that all one's life we
are...
We define ourself as such.
Till some metaphysical angel blows
the cobwebs off your mind.
Then, like a baby,we learn to think
and talk in ways of our own..
We grow beyond definition.
We rise to new heights with grace
and precision.
No boundaries, nor inhibitions!
The nay Sayers are still clinging to
their cribs and cities,
We live in states and in countries new!
Make new friends and we don't look back.
We lay track. We are not sheeples.
Lessons learned, openness to life
Not stuck to cliches from long ago..
Have made my life a meteoric ride,
An original life of which some may
disapprove.
The joy is one not need the stamp
Of approval from anyone in the present.
You, yourself, must give yourself the
coveted prize.
The past is but a wonderful to visit,
a soul vacation.
But the transformation into a butterfly
of a being...
Freedom and not seeking adulation!
Living in this day, in the now,
fully,
Has by far more a deeper meaning
And vast spiritual implications.
Pangiota Romios
3/6/2019
July is the month of monsoon rains in our part of the land when there will be incessant downpour and flooding in coastal areas and low lying lands
In the vast expanse up so high,
In the caliginous July night sky,
A lone star trailed along from Heaven’s arch,
And through hindering clouds it did march.
Its lambent rays dancing in gleeful light,
Making everything luminously bright.
All starlets cowered in shame,
Hiding in corners, fearing blame.
It got stationed above a thatched manger,
Where baby Jesus lay swaddled in rags in rainy weather
Promising the gift of love and joy to mankind
Assuring everyone salvation and peace of mind.
The wind that blows is icy chill
Freezing cold is the water of the rill
Trees stand washed in rain
The sky, in greying clouds remain
Lights from nearby houses shine
Sending out a radiance divine
Christmas trees stand finely decorated
Cribs are colourfully illuminated
Stars and festoons can’t be hung in the open,
As in pouring rain, they may be broken.
July is not a month fit for the king to take birth,
Who has come to bless the world with cheery mirth
Yet, the whole land is vibrant with festivity.
The pouring rain hasn’t doused the gaiety.
Sunshine or rain, no matter the weather,
Friends and family are happy together.
Christmas wraps every heart in cheer,
Though it falls in July, the rainy month of the year!
July.11.2022
Christmas in July or July celebration Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Tania Kitchin
Look at the
younger.
Look
at how they
operate,
how they
Interact.
Half by
technology
half
by human.
They are
different.
They are
smarter,
with instant
knowledge
at their
finger tips.
They are
different
with how
they see
the world.
The divide
between
them and
the older is
ever widening.
They are like
never before.
It is
different!
Look at
the youngest,
still in their
cribs.
Innocent.
What world
will they
know?
It will
be different.
They will
leave their
older
far
behind!
1. Always aspiring to authentic answers
2. Belief begins, only to end
3. Calls the crow, 'never, to'
4. Drifting like October leaves
5. Falling upwards, death is alive
6. Gargling, bleating, cawing birth
7. Haul the young into the hall
8. Jaded cribs reluctantly nurse
9. Lemon-sour hope gently sweetened
10. May's pastel caress heals yesterday's recall
11. Once, seasons ... now regrown faith
12. Promises to breach, ideas to rebuild
13. Returning the world not unreal, the
14. White Witch of Amherst guiding through
15. Young hearts revive again.
for A Litany of Poetry Devices contest
1. alliteration 2. internal rhyme 3. allusion 4. simile 5. oxymoron 6. onomatopoeia 7. homphone 8. personification 9. metaphor 10. assonance 11. ellipsis 12. antithesis 13. litote 14. metonymy 15. synecdoche
also written in ABC form.
Outside the sterile nursery I stood,
looking in.
So many snuggly swaddled newborns asleep in little plastic cribs;
my eyes hungered for only one . . .
A nurse was bathing you,
removing the remnants of your forming nest.
Her face filled with wonder and adoration.
"Is this one yours?"
Soundless question behind glass . . .
"So beautiful!"
I had watched your head crown between your mother's legs;
rapt . . . awaiting the first glimpse of your face.
A mass of wet black curls and then your eyes;
you were born and I was smitten!
Unexpected, the rush of brand new love I did not know existed.
First grandchild!
You opened the door to a different world,
love wild and fierce,
protective and totally absorbed.
Four more times that door has opened,
love's arrow piercing my heart . . .
when you hurt, the pain twists within me.
You are the soul sunshine I crave,
my grandchildren.
Copyright, September 18, 2014
Of all the minin' camps in old Colorady, the town of Tin Cup was truly,
With all its gamblin' halls, brothels and sleazy saloons the most unruly!
'Tis said that Jim Taylor dipped his tin cup in the 'crick' to take a sip,
And found gold in the bottom of his cup even before liftin' it to his lip!
The rush was on and in 1880 the rowdy town of Virginia City sprung up!
In 1882, assorted drunks and ne'er-do-wells insisted on namin' it Tin Cup!
Stakes were claimed, shovels flew and ore was packed out to railheads.
Men who worked in 'ore houses' were the butt of jokes by facetious heads!
By 1881 there were 6000 denizens and over twenty saloons in the town.
Gamblers met at Frenchy's Place and they controlled ever'thing aroun'!
Marshals were told, "see, hear and do nothin' or yer first arrest will be yer last!"
One quit, two were fired, three were shot, one went insane leavin' the town aghast!
For those who died gloriously or otherwise from flamin' guns and billowin' smoke,
Boot Hill Cemetery was established south of town to plant many a hapless bloke!
Raucous prospectors spent their 'dust' on booze and 'soiled doves' in their cribs.
Others got uproariously drunk and awoke with busted heads and shattered ribs!
In its heyday, Tin Cup produced millions of dollars in choice Rocky Mountain gold.
The last mine, the Gold Cup, closed in 1917 spellin' disaster and the town did fold.
Alas, today 'tis a ghost town with curious tourists and sagebrush driftin' about.
The ripplin' streams teem, not with gold nuggets, but with fightin' rainbow trout!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
MY DOLL - A POEM
Waiting behind the closed doors
My dearest smiles at me
My tired soul lights up again
I hold my doll with glee
‘Dolls’ for kids’, teases this world
My Doll cries or laughs with me
With it, can I ever get old
Mind filled with guilt as
I keep My Doll homebound
My Doll never complains or cribs
For me, my Doll is always around
Friends or kin come and go
Down in the dumps, I find solace
in my Doll, makes me forget my woes
It is the PROMISE OF NEW KINGSHIP. THE END OF FIGHT 'Til an unending bloody finish.
The BEGINNING OF THE MIGHTY QUEST TO END THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. UNLIKE ANY OTHER QUEST. I HAVE VISIONS OF HAPPENSTANCE IN MY HEAD OF MY OWN DEMISE. THIS OMEN TUGS AT MY CLOAK TELLING ME I AM NOT YET DEAD.
I HAVE OVER HEARD TWO WOMEN DISCUSS DEATH as a little more than an irritation. Maybe their age influenced their views on death. They were young and spry. It is IMPERATIVE THAT WE PENETRATE THE WORLD OF SUCH PEOPLE TO INFORM THEM THAT DEATH WILL COME AND DEATH IS REAL
NOW we have MORTICIANS THAT CAN TELL TALES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO CAME BACK FROM BEING DEAD OR PEOPLE WHO CAUGHT THEIR MORTALITY IN THEIR SLEEP. EVEN SMALL BABIES FOUND DEAD IN THEIR CRIBS, THEN BURIED DEEP. DEATH IS NOT AT ALL WHAT WE PERCEIVE. DEATH IS THE BIGGEST SECRET BURIED IN LIFE.
THIS WE MUST NOT CONCEAL. WE SHOULD REVEAL, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN DEATH IS REAL.