Best Discovery Poems
My work is identity
The axe in my hand
No blisters to bother me
As for years I just stand
The weeds and the flowers
Call me back down to earth
The brown rust confuses
Destroys my self-worth
The tears and the rain
Have frozen me here
It could be forever
At least that is my fear
But then I hear singing
And love with a twirl
There's something of beauty
This dog and this girl
She stops to acknowledge
Where my work is so stale
I am rescued completely
My Dorothy Gale
We converse, no lips moving
I creak and I groan
She talks of a journey
To get herself home
I determine to help her
As she's helping me
We walk and we talk
It feels good to be free
It's strange but I know that
She strives for the best
I feel something beating
Once again in my chest
Not sure where we're going
When this journey will end
But I feel like I love her
This newly found friend
I, to the pasture's green could run,
and fly a kite beside the sun,
but choose, I do, to linger still,
among the dirt, what is my frill?
Low, be it may, to sink my feet,
into the slimy, pungent peat,
but with my grandad by my side,
would daily stroll along the tide.
To rescue guls stuck in the mud,
or gather sticks for firewood.
As luck would have it on one day,
the tides did change and under clay,
a viking boat from days gone by,
with shields of pine and rivots ply.
Unmasked itself from muddy deep,
a secret for ourselves to keep.
Each day, we returned, with a spade,
with picnic full of marmalade,
and feasted there beside the boat,
in our wool hat and winter coat.
Charmed not only by history,
but by such untold mystery.
Then on one fateful dreaded night,
the waves were high, the wind a fright,
storms blasted down upon the shore,
Until the longboat was no more.
My granddad early on that day,
forgot to mention or to say,
he felt unwell, or rather ill,
but trudgeoned on, a soldier still.
But in the haste of wind and gale,
I didn't realise he was pale.
By the morning when I awoke,
to no smell of cigarette smoke.
I went downstairs and saw the fridge,
his oatmeal there, still on the ridge.
Maybe a lie in, thought my head,
I ran upstairs to grandad's bed.
There asleep, I thought at a glance,
I nudged him, but he kept his stance.
He was gone, how? I hugged him tight,
and ran for the river at twilight.
So here I am beside the tide,
Waiting for the mud to reside.
But if it does, what shall I do?
For treasure is nought, without you.
I am the unfulfilled dream,
I am the demon not faced,
I am the speech without a theme,
I am fears you haven’t chased.
The wave lost in an ocean wide,
The seed hiding afraid to grow,
The storm brewing on every side,
The tide feels a great tow.
So see who I am
Your dream will become a reality,
Your demon disappears,
Your words an actuality,
Your strength conquers fears.
The wave will pound the sand,
The seed begins to grow,
The storm will show its hand,
The tide begins to ebb and flow.…
I am your potential—release me.
We are born ---
we live, we die;
and in between we gaze the aftermath of the gods...
and the great shining stars at night ---
with greater grip in old age than fleeting youth;
More fiercely we cling to ebbing mortality,
as if there is more in elder years,
and as a fledgling we only know a rising sun;
for it never sets in first-time life,
whilst excitement drifts like snow in later years,
its coming appreciated all the more,
like the end of a mystery movie nearing...
Was it good? ---
or was it bad?
Will we ever see the credits?
***Meditations on Mortality***
Taps to Discovery
“Here, I’ve bought you something
Push this and the bell will ring”
But I want a real toy
Thought that tender little boy
There it stood unwanted went
While time with proper toys was spent
Then one rainy afternoon
Into his mind there came a tune
The plasticy machiney thing
He found and made that small bell ring
He struggled with intensity
To wind the paper in you see
He turned around that yellow dial
Till the letter came in line
And thumped that single key with smile
As letters formed on paper fine
Also that day, he had found
Upon that toy like typewriter
That words could make a lovely sound
From his mind, great inviter
Of that work he was proud
Another one he’d type ’fore long
Ran to daddy, sang out loud
“Can I have a bigger, better one”.
I’m not the body
suffering
not even the mind
6/22/2018
MagiCicada 13 - Body and Mind Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy
i cannot count enough stars
to tell how many shine in your eyes
nor can i gather into one
the brilliance of the sun
that your warmth brings
though the sun and stars pass
beyond and beyond
all things that last
i'll meet you in that discovery
I have found it at last
Flower told in legends past
Its color vibrant as gold
My furry body it will hold
I have had no color since my birth
This is the only color left on Earth
Its yellow beauty is so bright
Brighter than the noon sun’s light
Now on my flower I must feed
The flavor-filled pollen it will bleed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is for a picture Abe Lopez asked me to write a poem on from Raul Moreno's pictures
“I'll follow you to the ends of the earth” is a very old line
But recently, they've discovered earth is round, will take a long time
Sounds good on paper
But methinks this caper
Could mean death crossing by dinghy the ocean brine
I open up my chest
You see my beating heart
I sometimes wear it on my sleeve
If ever we're apart
I know I should be guarded
Protective of this flesh
But then again your gaze upon me
Rejuvinates to fresh
I open up my tiny realm
Allow you to step in
The veil between our worlds sometimes
Evaporates to thin
You see me when I'm naked
Clothed in nothing more
Than a garb of insecurity
Without asking for more
You see me when I battle
With the enemy inside
You see me in those moments
When I'm overcome with pride..
And all the while your kindness
Rekindles all that I am not
A treasure you uncover
Where an 'X' just marks the spot
Through the sand you dig relentless
On the island of my soul
To uncover wealth within me
Lift me up and make me whole
While I sometimes give thought too, sometimes I know I ought too, find
myself and the recovery to the awakeenning of those desires to become
myself. Noone else, NO! not just a better me, but a new me, because I'm
better than that, better than the chase of life, that dwells on the abase of
life. Dwells on the failures of my past, better than that moment I cried out,
for my tears didn't last. From "Recovery to Discovery", means there's some-
thing deeply rooted within my spirit as I search for answers, only to find and
discover that hidden someone no one thought existed, I'll discover a new me
from recovery to discovery.
We found each other again
Above the sea, before golden skies
Shining upon us for miles ahead
Our conversation would never be forgotten
Re-uniting on a bridge we cross
Leaving troubles behind us
With each soft step of forgiveness taken,
We discover what brings us to the other side
4/20/19
Photo #3
Placed 2nd in free verse or Rhyme Poetry in its beauty contest. Sponsor: Eve Roper
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 7 Poetry Contest// Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 8/15/2025 5:31:00 PM
( 2nd Place )
Written: August 10 , 2025
The morning fog low over the empty streets,
soft as a whispered promise.
My shoes slapped the pavement in steady rhythm--
each step a heartbeat counting the miles.
I had yet to run—and those I’d left behind.
Streetlamps stretched shadows across brick walls.
Long, crooked shapes that seemed to shiver.
A dog barked somewhere—
sharp, sudden—
and I remembered even echoes can run far.
I passed the river, silver in the first light,
leaves drifting like tiny paper boats
carrying laughter from summers I can’t hold anymore.
Each puddle mirrored my worn determination,
the uneven steps of a life I’m still figuring out.
At Mile Seven, my legs shake like a leaf
but my brain knocked around a long way—
to faces I love, faces I’ve lost,
half-light I trailed too heavily,
mornings I never perceived.
My hair was windblown.
Mixed with the scent of rain and earth
and the faint hope that keeps moving me further.
I ran—not for medals, not for applause,
but because every stride stitched the fragments
of life into something that felt whole.
When the horizon caught the light--
it wasn’t a line at all.
It was the journey itself—
miles abaft me, ingrained memories,
and the quiet truth.
I ran just find myself
and somehow--I did!
I stand atop a mountain tall,
look down upon the land,
the forests clinging to the slopes,
green valleys long and grand.
Rivers carve torrents right through them,
can still hear them up here,
cabins scattered amongst the woods,
one such belongs to me.
Some wonder why I walk up peaks,
why I deal with that strain,
the only view that is better
would be from an airplane.
I am jammed in a window seat,
thirty thousand feet high,
the Great Lakes stretching below me,
almost as blue as sky.
There’s boats I see amongst the wave,
but they're actually ships,
trawlers and freighters loaded down,
doggedly make their trip.
The gray of cities on the shore,
suburbs encircle it,
the only view that could beat this
would be up in orbit.
I look out the capsule window,
five hundred miles high,
amazed by fringe of black and blue
where the great void meets sky.
The clouds a frosting, wispy white,
obscuring land and earth,
on the night side a web of lights,
the cities' yellow blur.
Beyond me a spangled starfield
stretches on endlessly,
to see greater you would have to
leave the dang galaxy.
I stare down on the spiral arms
of the grand Milky Way,
Bound loose around a brilliant core
where countless bright stars blaze.
Reaches of stars drifting about
in graceful, curving arcs,
billions of stars and their planets,
defy the endless dark.
The nova and the nebula,
so beautiful it hurts,
to see better you would have to
know the whole universe.
I gaze down on the great clusters,
light dots looks like a star,
but each is a whole galaxy,
Lord, how many there are!
Swinging around in massive groups,
too big to comprehend,
I can’t try to make sense of this,
it’s just too big for men.
My mind says that there’s nothing more,
I’ve reached the end, must quit;
but part of me thinks something else
must be bigger than this.
…and won’t that be cool to see.
sunray glitters
on a silken thread
toddler’s finger
reaches for the
spider web
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~DARK CLOUDS~ 2020
AP: 2nd place 2022