Best Devised Poems
Somethings are best
said through blank
scriptures in sheer
silence, but pulling the
violin strings of
a poet strumming
to personify pain,
with tempests of
torment rushing
through thin veins,
would only widen
twisted tunnels for
ink to bleed in
vermilion lines of
broken thunder.
For these lungs have
long thickened
from scraps of
pretend promises,
to dress them
with mountains
of flawed flowers,
oblivious to the colors
that suffocate,
black hearted devils
hovering above
treetops of tainted roots.
And when the
angel of death
descends to steal
the steel within my
mind,
I question the vampire
grey hearts that kneel,
to raven midnights
beating tunes
of truth across
glacial valleys
of mourners.
Why is living a
gruesome terror?
Where artless spirits
sleepwalk along
olive lawns,
as grass snakes
sing deceptive
schemes-
with the reaper
that strolls through
a funeral of fairies,
collecting weathered
wings
and bleached skeletons
buried six feet under the
graphite soils of salvation,
confined within garden
graves of deception,
designed In unearthly
roses dipped in poison.
If only the sun would rise
and see,
how I am no longer
plagued by the vision
of you destroying peace
within your kingdom
of hypocrisy.
I am not your puppet
pirouetting through
hellfires ignited
by the thorny knuckle
of a megalomaniac—
chanting manipulative
mantras of a destiny,
devised from disorientation.
I will always sing my own stars
amidst suppressed scars,
until the moon trembles
and falls
into the heavy depths
of grieving seas
streaming in salty sapphires.
Once, side by side, they walked the moonlit beach
in silence- each alone and incomplete
in disjoined worlds- linked only by the reach
of tiny, lapping waves upon their feet.
As silver beams of moonlight iced the ground
and blotted out the heat of sandy gold,
their warmth of humanness was hidden- bound
beneath blind souls that shivered in the cold.
Yet, on the sand, their shadows danced along-
a silhouetted couple synchronized
in motion- forms united clear and strong
against the blankness which the moon devised.
Dark shadow puppets sparked romantic light-
gave living souls new vision in their night.
December 18, 2014
Shadow Puppets
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Silhouette
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Judged: 09/16/2017
Shadow Puppets
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Mid-June
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 06/15/2017
It amazes me how much man has evolved
Yet, How little he has learned
All around the globe
Millions die of disease and starvation
While the ever so intelligent creature known as man
Spends millions upon millions of dollars every single day
Killing each other
Instead of finding cures for the ill or feeding starving children
Oh sure, we dabble in those efforts
But we are committed to killing each other
Governments all around the globe
Spend most of their money
On their armies
Either to defend or attack
Their enemies
Supposedly, the most intelligent creature on earth
The intellectual creature known as man
If I may go so far
Mans commitment to war and killing
Goes far beyond any one mans term in office
It goes far beyond any one mans lifetime
It goes far beyond any century or any one era
From beginning to end, top to bottom
East to west, north to south
Red, yellow, brown, black or white
Our commitment to killing each other
Is undeniable
How can a species that is smart enough to split atoms
Creating weapons that will kill millions
Still be stupid enough to do it?
And now I see on the science channel
That man has now devised the Platonic beam
A beam of light that just disintegrates the target in an instant
At what price you ask?
Well I don’t know but I reckon if we diverted that money
To say solar energy projects
They could probably put a solar energy system
On every home in the world for free
Thus solving the energy crisis
Not to mention food in the icebox and medicine in the cabinet
Because of course when you create such an amazing new weapon
You need an entire new type of ship to deploy it from
Thus is born the next generation of war birds
They jettison into space
Then go into super afterburner (A jet engine minus oxygen)
Which they said would reach like 20,000 miles an hour
So you could shoot halfway around the world
Disintegrate your enemy
And be home in time for supper
I believe when speaking of politics
It’s not a National Crisis
It’s a Global Epidemic
Perfection's never something,
You can capture oh so well.
But her beauty burned like gazing,
At the fires that burn in Hell.
And people they would beg of her,
"Let me capture you in photograph."
But with beauty that was so obscure,
She'd always turn and laugh.
She woke up every morning,
But this was a different one.
Called an artist that was yearning,
"We can do this just for fun."
She stained her lips with rose.
Painted her cheeks in the fairest rouge.
Slipped ballet flats upon her toes.
And in her sundress she found refuge.
The amateur had no say,
She had planned the perfect spot.
She whispered, "I'll lead the way."
A small price to pay to get the perfect shot.
Her movements were so delicate,
It's as if they were devised.
She used a subtle hand wave to indicate,
That they had finally arrived.
You would think you'd see a castle,
Or maybe a field of green.
But this enviroment was quite the hassle,
Maybe her sense of taste wasn't keen.
She thrusted weeds away,
Steering clear of twigs and rocks.
The warm wind made her sundress sway,
And softly tousled her gold locks.
Upon a bridge she advanced,
The planks began to creak.
The water below her danced,
And sunset began to peak.
She lifted her legs with elegance,
And supported herself with a beam.
The photographer shuttered in benevolence,
But followed along with this dangerous scheme.
It's as if the camera was under a spell;
As beneath the bridge, waves violentally lashed.
She threw her arms out and willingly fell,
As the light grew bright and flashed.
The tides pulled tight around her.
They made her twirl and spin.
And the camera man swore,
she smiled as they tugged her in.
Perfection's not that fluent.
Not something you can capture oh so well.
But now we have a picture here to prove it,
As the waves dragged her to Hell.
.
In the beginning it was not so. Adam and Eve were perfect when God’s created them. Their interaction with each other reflected the perfection of the relationship between Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
They, like us were created with freedom of choice and could choose whether to follow God’s plan for their lives, or go their own way. When tempted by Satan, they chose to follow his suggestion and disobey God.
That act of disobedience fractured their relationship with God and with each other, and resulted in the brokenness that we experience today.
Adam and Eve hid from God after their disobedience. This is the first evidence of Brokenness. We hide or try to hide our wrongdoing because we are Broken.
Confronted with his disobedience, Adam and Eve resorted to blame. He blamed God, she blamed the serpent. Ever wondered why we are inclined to blame others for our mistakes. It’s because we are Broken.
Many children are abandoned by one or sometimes both parents, who themselves were abandoned by one or both of their parents. The result is brokenness.
Divorce, substance abuse, prostitution, sexual promiscuity, lesbianism, homosexuality, bisexuality, low self-esteem, pleasure-seeking, lying, cheating, stealing, killing, and a myriad other dysfunctions are symptoms of humanity’s Brokenness.
Where do we find help for our Brokenness? It begins with a choice. We know from experience that to keep our cars running well we need to follow the instructions in the Owner’s Manual.
Follow the instructions and your car runs well and you get to enjoy it for a long time. Ignore the instructions and your car will finally break down and leave you stranded. The choice is yours.
After this Brokenness invaded God’s plans for a perfect life for his creatures, he devised a plan to combat our Brokenness and finally effect humanity’s healing and restoration.
Like cars, we have a Maker and he has provided us with an Owner’s Manual, called the Bible. Read it and become familiar with God’s plan for our healing and restoration.
By following his instructions, we can mitigate the effects of our Brokenness. When we ignore his instructions, we experience break down in one or many areas of life. The choice is ours. Healing and Restoration or Brokenness.
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
A toddlers Crayola masterpiece marks the box
Where the story of our days now tarry
Passages tilting the axis of a bittersweet equinox
As photographs eclipse yesterday and today unvaried
The plans we made for a life
After years of work and worry
Useless installments when your partner dies
The crumbling of everything you once held firmly
Riveted, uprooted with every slide
Scenes of "our time" bring you back to life
I step from earth, you from the sun, for yet another goodbye
And the dam finally collapses behind brave hazel eyes
But not the brokenness your death left behind
Still, though no more than ashes it resides
Like faded photographs etched in the mind
Fanning the embers... one picture at a time
Rage rises, for you left me alone
Without refuge for all life's trials
And our sons fatherless before they were grown
Every step feeling more like a mile
I've grieved so long
And tried to move on
Like river water never looking back
But it's motion sings the the words to our song
Leaving me afraid I'll never belong
Or live out the plan we devised
For all my days my efforts give way
Blundering, burdened and blind
How does one truly recover
When the mate of their soul is no more
Or pass from one realm to yet another
When the walls of your heart no longer have a door?
Frustration builds like Lego towers
toppling to the floor under the weight of the world
Is it grief or something disguised by cowards
When a heart gets stuck from the pain that it's learned?
This ode to a man
Who in covenant took my hand
The marriage equator engraved a permanent mark...
For his death left a total eclipse of my heart
Crazy as a loon
But my God... how I loved you
My eyes fixed upon our favored moon
And I wonder... Do you miss me too?
Anniversaries used to be a joyous accomplishment
Marking years of selfless love made
Now it serves only an acknowledgement
Of a life interrupted by a cruel twist of fate
Of ill trusted hopes
And a future unmade
For us left behind to cope
With memories and photographs fading away
On this the 2nd anniversary...
Of your passing away
In memory of my husband of 25 years
Charley Romani
(My Beloved)
Have you ever met those kind of blokes who get upon your nerve,
when they quote continual references that most think should deserve
a threatening confrontation that if they make that quote again,
then the punishment that’s handed out will give them heaps of pain.
A gang of us were working down along the Main Drain stream,
clearing blackberries and willows on a governmental scheme,
and as usual on a Monday morn, weekend glitches are highlighted,
that are full of doom and gloom, and mostly are ‘beer blighted.’
For Clancy, Joe and me, we sort of blessed the doom and gloom,
as it transgressed into humour, and so there wasn’t any room,
for the likes of workmate Charlie who only saw a brighter side,
when there wasn’t any bright side; just a great gloomy divide.
Charlie is the eternal optimist with no matter what is said
in the ghastliest of circumstance even if someone was dead,
and Charlie only had one quote that we’re sure he did rehearse,
and so we heard it every time ‘It could have been much worse.’
So after work one evening in the pub we had some beers,
with ‘it could have been much worse,’ still ringing loudly in our ears,
and with Charlie being absent we devised a cunning plan,
to rid him of that bloody quote and then praying that we can.
We thought that as a perfect subject we would use our good mate Ted,
in a steamy sordid untrue yarn to get inside of Charlie’s head,
and have him shaking in his bootstraps, plus gulping in his throat,
to avoid us hearing one more time, his annoying bloody quote.
And so ‘it could have been much worse’ is about to get the chop,
as we cut and piled the prickly canes, of a large blackberry crop,
so when the time was ready, with Charlie well within ear shot,
Joe babbled out the sordid tale that was really ‘Tommyrot.’
“Did you hear about our old mate Ted, and what went on last night?
He caught his wife with Jimmy Hale, and there was a shocking fight;
he shot ‘em both and then himself!” But Charlie stayed quite calm but terse,
as he rolled a smoke and muttered out, “It could have been much worse.”
“Much worse!” We squawked as one... “How can it be worse than that?”
And the answer Charlie gave us… well it really knocked us flat,
after dragging on his cigarette, he sniffed and quietly said,
“If it had have been the night before, it’s me who would be dead.”
She looks at him and whispers, "I'm afraid of falling."
He smiles at her and replies, "I'll catch you."
A poem was brewing in my head
like the tea bag in my cup
drowning in roiling water
Ribbons of steam spiraling up
Two sweet verses had been written
Two sugar cubes slowly melting
sweltering in a cup
a dash of cream to cool the tea
My mind lingering on his words
not sure of what I'd heard...ummm
What was it that he'd said ~
"Whoever forges the key to your heart
will be a lucky man."
Were those lines he'd written for a song
or had he composed a melody for me
Was I wrong to lock my heart away
and was he the one who'd forge the key
Had I been denying myself the chance
that love would nourish my craving
I was imprisoned by shattered dreams
a scheme devised to keep me safe
but long deprived of love, I was starving
My tea was cold, but I was told...ummm
What was it that he'd said ~
"Don't be afraid of love happening."
It was a fear I'd come to dread
but when this man held out his hand
I peered fathoms deep into his soul
and gave in to my heart's demand
We feasted through the night
Hunger sated for I'd been fed
the sweetest morsels after fasting
What was it that he'd said ~
"No key did I forge to unlock your heart.
It knew you belonged with me."
It is not tea that fills my cup
I drink from the look in his eyes
I opened my heart and now I thrive
Alive as a candle flame, burning bright
Shattered dreams were swept away
when in my ear I heard him say ~
What was it that he'd said ~
"I love you, darlin'. Come to bed."
Sleepwalker
And in the darkest sweeping wings is held all probable
The night of dreamings; wished embraces of gossamer senses ponder miracles
And leave their mark; ever in hope....
She is waiting
Pale in naked moon lit sexual stretches
Fanning shadows curve on satins anguished blue
To subtle bronzed drips rusted rivers
Lay about her in ever flowing delta’s of hair
These the coy covers of shoulders demure beneath their lifting expectation
Quintessence supplicant to floating hands; risen
Her slow beat thumps on a sudden heart
The fleur-de-lis arched beseeching the avid prayer of lips
The floorboards creek
And though through empty rooms the sighs may roam
Though forever it seems she has lain alone
There are eyes, by bat wing devised; by the caverns urgent aphrodisia
He has been gathered by the corpuscle of desire, to come to her
And by each and every silent unspent moan of longing
He inscribed this hours, fretful, reflections of her mantle parted
An eternal caress folded; ingress to her concupiscent heart
Mere Luna beams of dreams of loves physique, his love, made love to her
Dawns dissipation breaths
Remembering the warmth before forgotten days; where separated so
Bathes her awash in amber fire; and traces his finger along her spine
To leave her sleeping in those somnambulist foot prints
Looses in the languid illusive of arms, wrapped in suns breaking
Turning to the light he asks for its edifice, hold fast on waking
Struggle to define by wanting the irrevocable kiss; pressed to her
A taste recited by those gossamer senses ponder miracles
And leave their mark; forever in hope
Love so shallow
I am, what I am, just a humble man
You are a star, seen only from afar
With furtive glances, I devised a plan
Your eyes told me, your love's door was ajar
I dipped my toes into love's shallow stream
Your heart opened wide as oceans so deep
Surprised, I dove into this hallowed dream
I thought destiny planned a love to keep
Slowly, but surely, love turned nonchalant
For you, love was, just a game of flirting
You were, ev'rything, I could ever want
My pure heart was left shattered and hurting
From now on, I will be an ascetic
Will your thoughts of me be sympathetic?
Contest sample
Why not give it a try?
Required words: Ascetic, Humble, Furtive, Nonchalant, Shallow
John Derek Hamilton
January 15,2018
There once was a pigeon
Who lived in a cage
Its fluffy exterior
All tormented with rage.
The beaky beast ruled
The entire place
Scaring it's fellow creatures
Venom scribbled all over its face.
"PIGEON PIGEON!!!" all the other animals cried
Look what you've done
All the other pigeons have died.
Defiantly the pigeon stood firm
And puffed his chest out proud
"Can't you see from my actions
I stand out from the crowd!"
Later that day all the other birds devised a plan.
Ollie the owl who lived in the tree
Whispered to everyone
Had them chuckling with glee
To make a fool out of the pigeon
Was their plea.
Ollie the owl snook into his cage
Grabbed him by his talines
Plucking his feathers like a leaf of sage
Ernie the Eagle snatched him
And swiftly flew him into town
Without any care.
Mr Pigeon now shivering in disbelief
A fallen tyrant soon to be disceased
Ernie the Eagle now the thoughtful chief
Vowed not to speak of Pigeon the life thief.
Nation’s Damnable Blight
Black slender man, bent twig on the branch of a slave’s family tree,
Planted in white culture during infamous time of our history,
From seed transported in the belly of those infernal slave ships.
Bitter tears flowing from his eyes; angry words pouring from his lips.
Spent by long days in fields under hot skies of one hundred degrees,
Living in substandard shacks: wife and babes bearing winter’s freeze.
Broken panes breach for frigid wind; shabby roofs sieve for cold raindrops,
Family worked from sun up to dark to reap the precious crop.
Truth is, most were prisoners of the system evil men devised.
Many struggling to be free from what politicians camouflaged.
Wisdom overrules such folly and the proverb is most profound;
Holding one down makes holder as much a captive as one held down.
This nation, “land of the brave and free”, held out freedom’s lamp to all,
Went out one ominous night and over “liberty’s lamp” threw a pall.
Had wiser men with hearts of love been ruled by God’s Divine Light,
Black and white would have been spared this great nation’s damnable blight.
Thrown together
by circumstances
outside our realm
of control-
as in a bowl
our varied shells
create a still-life
a study in contrasts
of creative coverings
devised so well
Some like smooth pebbles
all polished and shiny
or rough and scarred
all coarse and craggy
Some barely masked like
peanuts, thin and papery
others heavily armored
walled off, impenetrable
Light and dark
bitter and sweet
mere tender morsels
in our shells
vulnerability itself
delicately raw
ever so fragile
and flimsy-frail
Need for these shells
protective coverings
begs the question-
Who hurt you?
which echoes back
over and over
to you
and you
and you
and you-
Who hurt you?
Was it your mother
father, brother?
Sister, cousin, uncle
aunt?
Can't we figure out who
hurt who?
Can't we stop this
question chant?
Who hurt you?
Who hurt you?
Who hurt who?
Some would like to
crack the shells
open every one
up wide-
But, for me
I'd have to take
quite a different side
For shells are Nature's
loving way
of protecting
what is good
so shells are not
the enemy
they're doing
what they should!
NOTE:AMERICAN CINQUAIN (an imagist stressed version)WAS DEVISED BY ADELAIDE CRAPSEY (William Soutar Epigrams are a similar wordplay form)
Tribute to William Soutar
Grew to manhood on the river Tay,
Writing poems ,most every day;
Cinquains,epigrams,whigmaleerie-
His diary of a dying man,left
Telling observations, for all to see.
A cinquain in Soutar style
Desire
welled within-
words became a promise
so sublime,to love now and for
all time.