Best Dear Poems
Dear men,
Explain to me why I stand alone.
Women are quick to uplift their father, sons, and brothers
Quick to maintain the home,
But when she needs support,
A woman stands alone
Explain to me why a woman has to stay in her “place”
Is there no room for a woman who is more than a pretty face?
Is there no room for a woman who can stimulate you intellectually
Or is it a woman’s only duty to please you sexually?
Explain to me why beating a woman gives you power
It gives you strength
Is masculinity so fragile
That you can’t maintain?
Without getting pleasure from pain
Explain to me why your brother goes scott free
When he takes advantage of a woman
While she is left to be ridiculed, blamed
As society throws dirt on her name
And she falls victim to her own demise.
I despise
The men who are so oblivious to their own privilege
That they think patriarchy is normal
Excuse my language
As I speak a bit informal
For you to understand
That you cannot catcall me as I walk down the street
It’s disgusting and demeaning
No I am not obligated to give you my number
Just because you ask and think you are getting a pass at me
No I don’t need you to hold the door open or carry my groceries
I am a strong, independent woman and your belief that I am weak
Is insulting
No I do not have to give you my body just because you bought me a drink
My body belongs to me
No matter what you tell yourself or think
Dear men,
You can no longer say that you are ignorant to my issues or my demands
Because I have clearly listed it for you to see.
Now only a real man
Will know, that women deserve equity
I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you
Envy is but a humbling tumble down a steep, rocky hill
I am crushed in your fits of glory—your screaming for passion
My approaches are absolutely wrong
Therefore my communication is a weak, ransomed victim
Your poison arrow frog skin rubs against my exposed body
I happily accept my fate
For your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
My erroneous, inevitable downfall
I hold you up—I feel the need to keep you tall!
Michael the Archangel did not insult you once, Lucifer
How then will I?
How can I possibly be higher than you?-
Why would I want to?
I admire your freedom
I simply disregard your macrodomes of ever-worshiped flaw
If I could allow myself, I would share in your glory
Only to add to it further
But as I am poisoned with the truth
I can only be your grounded pedestal
And though you flee from humility in its wake upon my brow
I realize everyday you are living for the grounded now
And I merely look to the unknown future
A place I dread where you unwillingly hold me up
Bonded in the ground with Death and Hades
You become my pedestal, and the worms my vineyard
My parasitic feet seer your glory
I am ever so sorry
I never wanted this renown
There was a time I do recall
When you overtook me in my sleep
I cried aloud in helpless acceptance
But soon I was forced in a croak of laughter
I felt your bitter poison
I felt pride at last
I thank you for it
I thank you for showing me
What I will never be
Dear Lucifer,
Provoke me no longer to praise your eternal existence
Generations of Evening take a hold of me now
And the fruit must be shared
Dear anxiety
Nemesis to my reality,
mental manipulator of tentative trust,
massacring my once sagacious soul -
you cut me into a slice of loneliness.
The fault is in our thoughts,
so I am haunted by the things you never said.
You remain silent to society's subjective eyes,
but a glimpse of a poet's soul shivers,
to these vivid verses held by ghosts -
echoing a repetitive chorus in a cathedral of screams.
I'm an uninvited guest in an audience with you,
so I drink poison in every line I write about you.
These words burn my vocal chords,
but I swallow them anyway,
as my paper heart pumps onyx drops
crying through my veins to heartache's recital
of an infected celestial mind yearning for a remedy.
But life is a cupid cruelty in dulcet disguise,
when your heart is a sinister seashell,
oblivious to potions of omen brewed in pigments of pixie-dust.
You're an unwelcome melody to my mystic,
composing an internal deadly demeanour.
I am the ink stuck in your cage,
dissolving like acid in your controlled carnage,
confined to trembling bleeding intuitions,
lost in corridors of horrific obscure mirrors,
whilst paranoia palpitates in a whirling haze of
magnetic ice warmth, melting my sanity,
amidst crumbling stars that lure cavernous comets
of silver grief to pirouette above frozen seas draped with
a fluorescent creme of skies.
As oceanic tides of topaz rise and fall,
flatlined into pewter streams of emptiness.
The moon coruscates in coral blue lies,
passing through intractable phases of trepidation,
abandoning light in black tourmaline nights -
pivoting into a psychedelic trance.
Rainbows fade before we can embrace
their colorful showers drizzling jade jewels
that rhyme with kaleidoscopic kismet,
as life through rose coloured lenses turns
into a provisional poetic manifestation.
If only I could escape this self-inflicted dungeon,
but you pursue like a perpetual predator.
I'll forever expose your oppression through my poems,
confessing how I never asked for this enforced affair.
I know I'm my own storm, I'm my own calm -
I just hope this is the last time I write about you.
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
Those gold ornate gates opened wide,
and on wings she flew up above;
to join in heaven her true love.
And we who loved her on earth cried,
her name is Connie Marcum Wong;
I knew a lady kind and strong.
I still cannot believe she died,
she had a pure and gentle soul;
in my heart there is now a hole,
A sweet sublime poetic guide,
sending lovely poem comments;
always giving nice compliments.
As I write- I am bleary-eyed,
this her form created- Constanza;
where we pour words in each stanza.
To call you friend . . . I feel great pride,
I will not forget dear poet;
and hope this poem will show it.
Those gold ornate gates opened wide,
and we who loved her on earth cried,
I still cannot believe she died.
A sweet sublime poetic guide,
as I write- I am bleary-eyed,
to call you friend . . . I feel pride.
__________________________
September 14, 2022
Poetry/Constanza Rhyme/Farewell, Dear Poet
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1487-262-14
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
(Constanza Rhyme - created by Connie Marcum Wong)
Poem of the Day September 16, 2022
Written for the Premiere contest, Brian Strand Premiere Choice
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 09/22/2022
YES DEAR!
I have here an old solution
For conflict resolution
Not to mention domestic pollution
I say 'Yes Dear!'
When the situation is tense
With a subject like pounds and pence
To avoid sitting on the fence
I say 'Yes Dear!'
Though I sometimes feel sure I'm right
And would argue my point all night
That would really seal my plight
I confess Dear!
So winning my point I'll eschew
Won't debate 'til my face turns blue
I'll admit what you say is true
- More or less Dear
Famous men throughout world history
Would avoid conjugal misery
If they'd just given in to Her plea
And said 'Yes Dear!'
Julius Caesar would have stayed serene
In the senate missed a nasty scene
When his wife said 'your chariot needs a clean'
He'd said 'Yes Dear!'
Harold might have continued as king
Sent William home without a thing
But he paused when his wife gave a ring
Said: 'I'm a bit pressed Dear!
MacBeth would avoid so much strife
And live out a peaceful life
If he'd put off his ambitious wife
With:'Give it a rest Dear!'
Prince Albert a faithful consort
Gave Victoria his total support
And nine children - a major export
Said 'Jawohl I do mein best Dear!'
Louis 16th got everything wrong
Made his exit quite short, not so long
Told his wife in a touching swan song
'Must get it off my chest Dear!'
The Iron Duke was in no mood for dallies
'Let's give those French a pain in their bellies'
But when his wife said:'You'd better wear your wellies'
Said: ‘By God! Yes Dear'
For myself, to fight would be absurd
I think conflict is just for the birds
And I know I'll always get the last words
Those being 'Yes Dear!'
3 March 2019
Make me actually LOL 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Dear Quintain, how beautiful you are,
allowing us to paint the spacious sea or sky,
landscapes, or nights’ celestial bodies beckoning from afar.
Even when my quill is running dry,
with you along, my thoughts are sure to fly!
For all I need to do
is let you slip inside, then nestle in my brain.
The pattern of rhyme required by you
is not too difficult; here I will remain
content to write with you, dear Quintain.
Your English form, so lovely, does not ask
that we adhere to meter even though
I want to dance your lines as I bask
in your sweet simple charms, and lo!
My quill has filled; my lines now start to flow!
I’ll keep on going for two stanzas more
because I wish to sing
your praises! My mind is like a shore
upon which you are tumbling, glistening!
A sea of inspiration you bring.
Continue on - through poets - bringing words
that paint our world, entreating all to see
God’s gifts or to enjoy the singing birds,
taste clear mountain springs, and smell the salty sea.
Continue, dear Quintain, enrapturing me.
Written 8/17/2015 , this is English Quintain, which has rhyme scheme of ababb and the lines do not have to be consistent in syllable count
Give thanks if you're healthy
And give thanks if you're not;
Make sure to appreciate
Whatever it is that you've got.
Just be grateful, my dear,
Give thanks with good cheer.
Give thanks if you're single,
Give thanks if you're married;
Doesn't matter at all
If you're happy or harried.
Just be grateful, my dear,
Give thanks with good cheer.
Give thanks for jobs you've had,
And for ones that you've lost;
For the roof o'er your head,
And your warm, cozy bed.
Just be grateful, my dear,
Give thanks with good cheer
Give thanks for your wardrobe,
For the clothes in your drawer;
For the shoes on your feet
And those in the store.
Give thanks for the cop
Who tickets your car,
Or prevents you from drinking
Too much at the bar.
Just be grateful, my dear,
And give thanks with good cheer.
Give thanks to G-d
Who put you on Earth,
Who blessed you and your mother
With the miracle called birth.
Who awakens you in the morning
And lays you to sleep at night;
Who believes all through the airyness,
That you'll soon see His Light.
Yes: Just be grateful, my dear,
Now that Thanksgiving is here.
December 28, 2017
Your first poem on Poetry Soup Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
oh ...
Gustav, how you pique the senses
captured passion's plural tenses
lovers twined in percale folds
caught supine with spattered golds
porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
brushed sublime in tans and umbers
bold, the bleeds of Burnt Sienna
stippling scapes of fair Vienna
Yellow Ochre, Prussian Green
Cadmium Yellow, Blue Indanthrene
trees like soldiers, lilting boughs
abstractions spun of silken vows
ceilings meant to thus adorn
gilded graces - Heaven-borne
waters, tranquil - tresses, bare
a world composing textures, rare
you struggled long to e'er refine
your critics and uncommon line
subjects some then found appalling
yet, remained, your faithful calling
imbibing absinthe, sans a chaser
life you sketched with no eraser
and while we mortals can but dream
you left the world your gauzy gleam
so death would not define the worth
of genius meant to shake ...
the earth.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Klimt" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Judge & Sponsor.
Dear Ex,
I know you and I had our differences.
We were always finding new ways to say I loathe you.
It was my blameworthiness that allowed the rain to enter your car,
because your window was down.
I’m sorry I didn’t carry my 9 months of pregnant girth,
down four flights of stairs, to the
outside parking deck, in the rain to roll it up.
It was my fault when the bank account was overdrawn by 6 cents,
due to paying all the bills on time.
I apologize for keeping the power turned on
so I could cook fish sticks and green bean soup on your salary.
It was my fault the car was always out of gas,
since I never drove it anywhere.
What could I do but apologize for that?
It was totally my fault. By the way, I met your supervisor.
Like when I forced you
to have an extramarital relationship with a co-worker
because of the weight I had gained.
I’m so sorry my Motherhoodness was so repulsive to you.
It also was my fault our marriage didn’t last longer than 3 years,
because I chose to be happy without you.
I do regret that almost never. Did I mention my promotion?
But let’s not be sad.
For all the hurtful comments I made about your manhood because,
I couldn’t think of anything nice to say. I’m sorry.
I regret that I didn’t save some of those photos for Ripley’s Believe it or Not.
I deeply regret having never told you I entered you in an ugly man contest.
Or that your third placement, won me an additional $5 gift card.
Did I mention my new job?
So Ex,
I hope this heart felt letter of apology
finds you prosperous and in good health.
Keep those support payments coming, and
Don’t forget to feed the kitty!
Love, your new boss
Dear Humanity:
You know I love you, right?
Stop calling me Mother Nature!
I hate that!
Genderless am I…
Oh, yeah, I get the ‘bring life forth’ bit,
creator of new life, pregnant with your desire
…yada, yada, yada,
my womb is your hope,
my anger your demise.
You have dominion over me?
Get over yourself!
Not the life-force, I wobble,
buoy in a black sea,
world in flux.
Some of your tribes cajole me
with Songs of the Good Earth,
their rhythms heal my rivers and plains,
my blue veins, renewing rains;
good vibrations make mountains grow.
Others try to dominate me,
defile, desecrate and destroy me.
Written in the Book they say,
patriarchal sons of kings.
Climate change deniers my enemies.
Poor, dear, naïve humanity,
my icecaps are melting, oceans swell,
water will consume the land.
My extremes test your resolve.
I can live without you,
is the opposite true?
Homeostasis, my cycles of life,
the seasons my command.
Are you so balanced?
Don’t fight against gravity,
there is no escape.
Eagles soar and lions roar,
your footprints on the shore,
all these shall pass away.
So if you seek immortality
then keep your home sacred.
Love all of me,
every rock is my child,
every grain of sand a seed,
everything you do to these,
you do to me.
I am Gaia. I am home.
Prayer for the Summer Solstice 2017
I have learned to say thanks
... It's free
I can not remember that I sat on your lap when I was little
How delightful it is to have a child on my lap
I can not remember no one hugs
Today I hug you often
You feel discomfort
I have learned to be helpful
... It's free
I learned to tie my shoelaces
.... Where were you
I have learned to be kind
.... It's free
I learned to ride a bike
... Where were you
A sister and a brother
moved many miles from their childhood home
I went to school - I became an adult
.... Where were you
I got my own family
A home created along with my dear husband
... A beautiful child and grandchildren
... Where were you
I taught them to say thank you and share many warm hugs .... love
You need me now, to master your life
.... It's free
I am here for you
I say: "I love you, dear dad"
You say: "Its only fair .... it is your duty"
I give you a hug
... You give me no one back
05.01.2015
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
oh come, my dear little wee one
what a long, full day you've had
this is the last that you'll see sun
but please, now, don't you be sad
the sun, just like you, can be shy
though it may never seem in a rush
it will soon give a kiss to the sky
to say its good night with a blush
~
my dear little wee one
do not make a peep
blow a kiss to the sun
as you both welcome sleep
the moon and the stars
will dance with the morn
to spindle dreams, sweet
'til a new day is born
~
oh come, my dear little wee one
it's time to make ready for bed
the blush of the heavens has begun
just like you, its cheeks turn to red
the sun works so hard in the daytime
so it just needs to rest for a while
all day it shines bright in your playtime
but is there every morning to smile
~
my dear little wee one
don't whisper a sound
blow a kiss to the sun
you're both slumber-bound
the moon and the stars
will dance 'til you wake
to spin your dreams, sweet
to the morrow's daybreak
~
oh come, my dear little wee one
as the stars wink pink high above
find your noggin a sky's cloudy pillow
bundled warm in my blanket of love ...
~
my dear little wee one
do not parlay your cry
blow a kiss to the sun
as the eve draws nigh
the moon and the stars
will dance thru the night
to spin your dream, sweet
'til a dawning day's light ...
and remember - I love you ...
with all ... my ... might.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Nursery Rhyme 5" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
She’s always been a friendly sort
With kindness that I truly adore
With her pen, she never falls short
Always sincere and giving more
I love her verses, filled with wit
My words can’t possibly compare
She has humor that produces a fit
Of laughter that is, oh, so rare
She’s gives out the sweetest comments
Forever filled with gentle compliments
Her poetry is entered in many contests
She is surely filled with competence
I love her words, penned with such ease
She seems so talented that I admire her
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to always please?
So many words that cause me to concur
This wonderfully, talented, enlightening
Heart.. is the kind and inspiring Jan Allison
September 20, 2019
Pick a Friend on Soup Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Bobby May
“The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, and in
It are enshrined the precious keepsakes, into which is
Wrought the giver’s loving thought.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Dear Treasure Chest
Invaluable is tender love’s domain,
that ruby red that lies beneath the breast.
But just as precious is the treasure chest
which houses our intelligence - the brain.
With memories exquisite to retain,
this coffer is the one that serves us best.
And likely we’ll not know how well we’re blessed
till luster of our keepsakes starts to wane.
The ruby oft is lost; we pay a toll.
Yet time and time again, that gem we find.
Not so within the storehouse of our soul
when strands of fond remembrances unwind.
Dear treasure chest of which we’ve no control,
what good the heart when pearls fade from the mind?
For the contest of Sara Kendrick