Best Crossing Poems
It took the Israelites forty years
to finally reach the promised land.
I could well take double that time
till my long journey comes to an end.
Having trekked for endless nights and days,
faced many storms and hurdles on the way,
I would at last come to my destination.
Stopping at the bank of the river of fire,
an angel guides me, ferrying me across
to the other side, where resolutely
I walk through a shroud of thick mist.
Then, to the sound of heavenly song,
I step into the realm of Elysian Fields.
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A ‘Cross’ themed contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
Placed 2nd
Awarded POTD ~ 1st March 2019
© 27th February 2019
I trudged to levy height, stood upon the soggy ground
with serious intentions that an answer would be found
To the river's rapidly flowing current, I confided my woes
of troubling things that had me in the doldrums of lows
Haunting problems, compelling me to leave and move on
Leading me to this river as if I were crossing the Rubicon
It's not my nature to feel caught between stay or take flight
but in desperation I stood, entreating the river of my plight
Willows on the bank, limbs swaying in the wind, listening—
weeping for my addled mind? In moonlight, tears glistening?
Do they whisper to the river what they'd suggest to me?
If I cross the bridge, then burned behind me it shall always be
My fate lies not on the telling of tree leaves or a river's flow
Two options I discern— should I cross the Rubicon and go?
Should I submit my heart and soul to the dreams of another
and live with wondering, "What if..." Only to die smothered?
It's the moment of truth — a decision too long have I delayed
Perhaps into the roiling river current, my steps should wade
By doing so, I'd avoid making the wrong choice of tribulations
having no need for explanations for my grievous lamentations
My white-washed bars surrounded me -
they held me as I slept;
they soothed me when the days were long,
and mother’s blue-eyes wept.
A baby girl, six months or less,
awakened from my sleep -
stood up legs as sure as hope;
as strong as flat is steep.
My hands, my saviors, gripped the rail
so I could peek outside –
the bluest sky I’d ever seen,
As tall as it was wide;
came into view - between the blue,
an airplane gliding by,
its smoky streamer like a flag,
across my memory’s sky...
The memory is a simple one -
a window, sky, and plane -
but in my heart, it's heaven's door
and there it shall remain.
I’ve hung it on my memory’s wall
Between that life and this –
It covers every hole I’ve dug
In sorrow’s vast abyss.
This picture brings the special peace
I knew when I was small –
Where mother’s just beyond the door,
and waiting for my call…
*Inspired by Danielle's Earliest Memory contest. I have blocked out almost every memory
from my childhood, and only a very few gems remain - this is the first. and I will treasure it
always...
Theme for collaboration suggested by Tim Smith
Two enormous old toads crossed the road
On Tom’s back lounged Thomasina toad
Both are ugly and warty
Thomasina’s so naughty
As her bowels on his back she’d download
06-16-17
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
When Thomasina toad dumped on old Tom
He thought her poop explosion was a bomb
He hopped in the air
gave her a mean stare
shouting, "I'm not taking you home to Mom!"
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Ribbit rubbit robbit 'n ro
this crazy toad has got to go
She's turning quite mean -
Fifty shades of green
No time to chat but still does crow
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
"Why don't we do it in the road?"
Said Thomas, the old horny toad
Thomasina hissed,
"Get a load of this!"
and a "blessing" on him bestowed
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
Thomasina was on a road trip
Her taxi was Tom's back she'd grip
But she strained as she held
And her bottom expelled
So she said "I've just left you a tip"
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
Tom and Thomasina were the perfect pair
They were ancient toads without a care
He had a huge wart
She gives a mean fart
Anyone in her vicinity better beware!
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
Now Tom was an over achiever
He wanted the lady, not leave her
He sprayed his back with Scotch-Guard
and rubbed down with lots of lard
the dumper was now the receiver
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Tom gave Thomasina the boot
Got sick from the smell of her poot
told her to get lost
right after he tossed
She gave him the one finger salute
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Thomas and Thomasina loved to hear
the waterboatmen rubbing their gear
Thomas tried and started to croak
causing Thomasina to choke
you two will never get it right I fear
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
When T'sina hopped on for a ride
Old Thomas reminded his bride,
"Though you're my sweet dish,
on the road we'll get squished",
"Just do it!" was her terse reply.
WRITTEN BY CRAIG CORNISH
Thomasina and Tom a heavy load
Lingered a little too long on the road
He could have kissed her all night
shocked at the oncoming lights
Croak and ribbit was heard; two flattened toads
WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME ANY SUBMISSIONS FOR THE COLLABORATION
06-16-17
I saw you were seating in the car park
In the wooden chair, no one I saw there
And you expected no one there by heart
But I crossed your path by a similar idea
We met unexpectedly in a place called "park"
Since all rooms were taken by busy hearts
And all the streets were filled with running cars
We are forced to park here, the place we share
Could this meeting up last for thousands of years?
One by one
We follow each other
Come humps and bumps in life
We jump them all
Sometimes with slips and falls
Sometimes we are stranded
Sometimes we are waiting
But most times we are crossing
Who’s that Standing
On the Corner of my mind
Shouting out Insanities
Throwing up a hate Blind
Saying I’ve been Abused
Violence will justify the Crime
Pretending, he Cares about me
Secretly Planing my demise
What's that Thing Poisoning my heart in pain
Coloring my eyes Red wishing you would suffer
Pointing at YOU to blame
Surely, he walked in Uninvited while on my Knees I cried
When Desperation turned to Darkness
Good God I never felt YOU by my side
What's that voice Slyly questioning
Sowing Doubts in fields of hope
Get behind me Wicked one
Tempt Someone else
Mixing your Truth with lies
I don't Care for it
I was Born to Live and YOU were made to Die
("" In order for the light to shine so brightly,
the darkness must be present"" -Francis Bacon)
Crossing That Siberian Desert Of Lost Souls
No joy, no peace, on that darken horrendous stroll
crossing that Siberian desert of lost souls
blazing sun hit by invisible arrows shot
wherein the weak die, left as carrion to rot
so many blinded by illusions that world sends
eyes shut, never seeing what world's ill wind portends!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
Once as a youth such an innocent soul was I
racing forward deluded thinking I could fly
until in too deep, heart cried out from burning heat
and the ill wind's angry flames licking my bare feet
Please a refuge, I pray Lord a refuge please send
Oasis, that this wilting body I may mend!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
As sky then chased away that fiery red-hot sun
ahead an oasis, quickly onward I run
away from lost and blinded journey through this hell
away from lingering doubts I could never quell
away from this world and its insidious pains
away from deep darkness and its decaying stains!
This soul left that black-world wherein hope slowly burns.
No dice, Fate and Death taking no more wicked turns.
Robert J. Lindley, 12 -21- 21
Rhyme, ( Truth That Darkness May Not Prevail )
Notes:
(1.) Inspiration and thanks given, for this poem was received from a comment made to my poem , titled, "I Looked To Heaven That Christmas Night"
Commented on 12/20/2021 5:43:00 PM by Jeannie Amos
("Not everyone makes it out of the Siberian desert of lost souls. Make the best of your blessing."
Thusly - I got this to stir my composing. - ** "" Siberian desert of lost souls. ""**
*******
(2.) Inspiring quotes from famous,
artists/thinkers/ philosophers/poets
(A.)
“Hope is being able to see there is light despite all of the darkness.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(B.)
“Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(C.)
"Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
-- Carl Jung.
Born cold with a dark emptiness within
Seeking to understand the reasons why
Another life? A payment for its sin
Leaves a quiet quiver when the soul cries
Wanting eyes flow with a warm stream of tears
Struggling through distant worlds out of time
Lost among the confusion from the years
The lonely chime of my eternal rhyme
Perception fills the universe with lies
Tugging the long thread woven in its cloth
To mend life's fragile coat with blinded eyes
Feel it burn in death's flame another moth
I've tasted the waters of life's fountain
And have quenched my soul's old thirst once again
The time has come for me to go,
I see the chariot near.
The Angels are now coming for me,
What wonderful music I hear!
A heavenly light is shining above,
My Savior’s dear face I see.
He’s bidding me come over to the other side,
Where endless joys are awaiting me.
The trials that I have suffered here,
Will be as nothing then.
I’ll thank God for each one I’ve endured
And for His help in holding out to the end.
A crown is waiting for me there,
And a robe of white I’ll wear.
No more sickness, no pain, and no sad goodbyes,
I’ll never again have a care.
My children, I long to see you again,
And I’ll meet you on that shore,
If you prepare to meet the Savior,
The one whom I adore.
I pray for each of you, my loved ones,
As I leave this earthly shore.
I ask God to save and keep you,
And to reunite us one day at Heaven’s door.
The Master is calling my name now,
He’s telling me all is well.
I have fought a good fight,
I have kept the faith,
Now they’re ringing those Golden Bells.
Swing low, Sweet chariot,
Angels, come and take me on-
A journey swifter than lightning,
Carry me to my eternal Home.
SLOW MOVEMENT
Move out from tall trees - to wider scene now
Tympanic rhythm - andante theme
As footsteps beat on - path of the Ash beam
In diverse prospect - wet levels gleam
Look to the surface - life is reflected
Now mirrors brightening - skies cerulean
See over there the - new view surveyed now
Past tawny grasses - strewn by wind laid
Birch saplings dapple - hazel and apple
Amber the dry fern - dashed now with jade
Where silver stems - surround sun-bright vale there
Small stream descends in - glistening cascade
Over above In - slow closing distance
Land rises to - overlook languid fen
Our destination - draws our steps on to
Reach barrow slopes - fields of wider ken
So measured pace continues ‘til then
While spirit moves to hilltop ascend
Inspired by the TV show, "Chicago P.D.". Being a police officer is more challenging than ever in the world. As much as there are valid concerns about issues, overall, we need our police officers.
Crossing lines
By Michelle Morris
11/01/2023
There are lines drawn
By law and order
By society's norms
And states and countries
They can sometimes
Contradict each other
They can sometimes
Be confusing
But ultimately
Each of us needs to
Be guided by a
Higher calling
There's honesty and honour
There's good and there's truth
There's peace and justice
There's hope and faith
Our integrity is crucial
Our choices become actions
We move forward on our life path
By experiences and knowledge
Crossing lines
So easily done
With good intentions
We hurt and we shun
Lines invisible
Lines so real
Society exists
Through laws and traditions
But the law isn't always
About what is purely good or bad
It is more often about
The lines drawn by Legal's hand
For a law in one place
Might be allowable in another
And those laws won't have anything
To do with ethics or good governance
Ultimately it's up to each and every one
To be the best person they can be
In the Universe that surrounds us
For all law abiding human beings
© Michelle Morris, 2023
The raven is too hyperactive at my window pane.
Hear how noisy its wings are; was napping, now knocking knees.
Was about to turn over, with restrictions of the homebound,
As the shadows fly off tight walls, this cot, my face.
I am bothered; I am covered in ebonic feathers.
My eyes tick-tock, they’re grave, and my blue hands they are warmed by ice;
And the cuckoo visits ev’ry half hour as my flesh morphs pale green.
Soul’s
heartfelt
cry echoed
in the vast void,
of prayers unheard
by the heavens above,
so to resolve the impasse,
poised in the void of cessation,
the earth entity melded with space,
sparking the power of bliss magnetism.
Thoughts rested, desires ebbed and fears faded
whence grazed by the wafting winds of grace,
in witness mode, staid soul observed,
the dance divine within form,
entwining head and heart,
whence eye then single,
all that then was,
was the Self,
shining
bright.
Half a mile from the shore
boats turn into diving fish,
the sky roars by
derailed by the horizon.
The Lake Erie ferry
skims the crashing crests
rises as a seagull,
scooping up the flying spray.
We passengers go below
abandoning the deck
to the scouring winds.
Children are gathered up
into protective huddles.
I catch my reflection,
my grin is fixed and stiff.
The skipper calls out:
this is normal for the time of year!
The tense mood of the cabin calms.
My jaw aches
for the rest of the day.