Best Distributed Poems
Can You Imagine
In Our Planet
If one fine day..
All trees are given a chance to speak-
What will they speak to us?:
'What have you EGOISTIC humans
Caused to our ENVIRONMENT?'
If one fine day..
Mother Earth is given a voice
What will She say?
Her thunderous voice will echo
From her outer atmosphere:
'Stop polluting me NOW or
Bear the CONSEQUENCES'.
If one fine day..
All the money in the world is
Equally distributed
Amongst everyone
Then there will be:
'No POOR, No RICH'
If one fine day..
Our planet follows this rule:
Total darkness henceforth.
But only those that show humanity
Be blessed to see radiance of light:
'There will be NO INHUMANITY'
If one fine day..
All employers take this decision-
The only qualification needed
To acquire a job is-
'Good Character':
'Then parents will NEVER FAIL
To instill MORAL VALUES
Into their children'
If one fine day..
The infinite universe stoops down
To say something to us from above
What would that be?:
'To every human being out there
Prancing with pride:
You are NOTHING but
A GRAIN of SAND
In an ENDLESS desert.
So, stop being ARROGANT!'
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
heaved, convulsed
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
transformed
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
and automobiles
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
lifeless form
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
awaiting still
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
~~~~~~~~~
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
by ~Soulfire~
Thick white clouds
Retracing posture
Atop the layers of earth;
Foggy shrouds of white
Overclouded landscape
Clogging the sunlight
In blurry unclearness.
In brown faded bushes
Lies inhalations of dryness,
Catchy like the gasoline
In simple lit strikes
On matchboxes;
Spreading fierce fires
To four cornered angles
On grassy fields.
From silty bits of soil
Hovers clouds of dust,
Distributed casually
By several printed steps
Of slippers and rotating air.
The echoes of the wind
Screams with concurrent whirl,
Stirring up particles
In fiery harsh voices.
Innermost in the terrain
Glares cracking every way,
As the dryness sucks away
Final surviving drops of moist,
From pores of skin surfaces
And wooden doors.
Thence, in customary shrinking
Of shriveling leaves and bushes
Prowls the reptiles, fleeing away
In untiring searches
For cooler comforting abodes,
Resting forevermore
To the swift slashing cutlass
Of the cautious hunter.
I remember many years ago
when the distant siren told us all
the shift had ended.
Yet! Six pints to be drunk before
stumbling through the back door,
his sweat still clinging to his face
sealed there with in the grime of despair
swearing every night, never to go back
to that bloody pithead!
But our need was he and his was the beer
until that fateful day, when out of his misery
he was taken, leaving us all for another world,
his need of pain forgotten when distributed
to those of us left behind.
Yet every day I still see him
in your smile in your ways,
and when you are sad Dear Daughter
in those beautiful ‘Ice Blue Eyes’.
© Harry J Horsman 2008
Mr. Franklin "coined" that old saw, "A penny saved is a penny earned!"
I mused upon that fabled adage and for the olden days I yearned.
Then, a penny was worth a cent, but, alas, it ain't no more.
Ah! The myriad of things a penny could buy at the local store!
For a penny you could send a postal card through the mail.
And for a mere copper you'd get your weight read on a scale!
A penny would give you a handful of nuts from peanut machines,
And for the same, get a fistful of scrumptious and colorful jellybeans!
I recollect the cutesy cards we shared for the school Valentine party.
They cost a cent apiece and were so witty and so very arty!
As the cards were distributed, secret admirers gave a sly grin.
Blushin' lads received saccharine cards much to their chagrin!
A copper penny would purchase a huge all-day sucker to lick,
Or a twisted string of chewy red or black licorice on a stick!
You could buy a kite with your penny or some candy cigarettes,
Or some wax-bottled sugar water or silly false teeth sets!
Ain't it ironic that the profile of Honest Abe whom we so revere,
Appears on the coin that we toss about and treat so cavalier!
Even in my second childhood, I'll still pick a penny off the ground!
Shucks! "Someone's disdain for that lowly coin is my treasure found!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
First Place Win in Joe Flach's "In Other Words" Contest - September 2010
He grabs her wrists to keep her fists
From beating his still chest.
But she withstands and pulls his hands
To rest on her shrill breast.
He pulls her near to hide her tears
And kiss her pallid face.
But then he leaves her soul bereaved
And flees their secret place.
She runs– runs– runs
To the center of the town
And weeps into the well.
Dawn disguises
Steam that rises
From the tears that swell.
Her throat is dry, and with a sigh,
She lowers the small pail
To take a drink before she thinks
Once more of his betrayal.
The water burns, her stomach churns,
While she sinks to the ground.
As liquid spills, she lies quite still,
And makes no other sound.
No one– one– one
At the center of the town
Sees her behind the well.
They take their share
Without a care
And use it where they dwell.
The water is distributed
Throughout the humming town.
It’s used to brew rich soups and stews
And tea to wash them down.
The illness spreads as all are fed,
Obtuse in their last feast.
Decay begins from deep within
As poison is released.
The sun– sun– sun
Lights the center of the town,
Casts shadows on the well.
Their brows are moist
And not one voice
Can break the silent spell.
The sun subsides when he decides
To return to their place.
When he arrives, the moon shines high
And lights the river’s haze.
He ventures down toward the town,
To roam its quiet streets.
But as he nears, it becomes clear
Nobody truly sleeps.
He runs– runs– runs
To the center of the town
And finds her by the well.
Won’t touch her face,
But for the trace
Of tears he cannot quell.
War taught of the need for nutrition and good health,
and so Penicillin was first used on mass scale,
tin food was too, like never before,
that pill when you’re ill distributed through war.
Wellington Boots were first used with army suits,
when invaders wanted Greek ground democracy was found.
Those chemical compounds taught of nuclear doom,
while v2 rockets put man on the moon,
engines on planes were made safer,
now airplanes fly in lanes tracked on radar.
This website you’re on and the E-mails you get,
be sure you know, war made the internet,
talking of war that’s what walkie talkies were first for,
war gives us advanced things we only dreamt of before.
And I stress, without war we'd know less,
but the best lesson of them all, is, don’t go to war.
A painting..
A painting speaks volumes..
speaks many words..
People and places..
Scenic veiws..
Fascinating and beautiful..
Captivating and symbolic..
A painting paints emotions..
Paints pure glory..
Splendid nature..
Colors so vibrant..
Takes one's breath away
Driven by a creative artist..
With a stroke of a paint brush..
Stokes that speak a language of their own..
Art..
A communication distributed just for you..
Glance at a painting..
Stirs nostalgia..
Admiration of beauty..
Invigorates the senses..
Fills the heart with joy..
To feast one's eyes..
A vision of pure lovliness
Frozen in time..
By a spectacular painting
All created..
Gracefully..
By a stroke of a paint brush..
As the autumn of my life approaches, a bit of memory fades,
But I still recall very special times from my primary grades.
We did things then now considered politically incorrect,
Enjoying Valentine and Halloween parties - no one did object!
The Valentine party was the social event of the school year.
Kids secretly expressed affection for that very special dear.
They deposited their cards in a box covered with colorful crepe;
Walls were decorated with hearts of every size and shape!
Someone scrawled on the blackboard, "We Love You Miss Ruth!"
And below were scribbled the names of her adoring youth.
Valentines cost two for a penny in those uncluttered days,
A cheap way to express puppy-love in such endearing ways!
As the cards were distributed, secret admirers gave a shy grin;
Boys received saccharine cards much to their chagrin!
Miss Ruth served cookies, popcorn and chocolate milk,
And heart-shaped candies saying "Love" or something of that ilk!
Miss Ruth gave a special hug to every girl and boy.
Her love and care topped off a day of delightful joy!
I fear that the children today may never again enjoy,
The simple pleasures I knew that today, some vow to destroy.
Now I wonder if in this day and age where anything goes,
If children are even permitted their affection to disclose?
Or have the politically correct creeps decreed it ain't okay,
For kids to celebrate innocent love on Saint Valentines' day.
Let’s have a party and invite our nemesis, Robin suggested one day.
Let’s have it on Halloween and invite all of them Batman said in a nice way.
So they decided to open the Wayne Mansion to every diabolic creature and pal.
Invitations were distributed to every enemy of the city, and each enemy’s gal.
The refreshments were Alfred-designed in the shape of gargoyles and bats.
Spider web plates of Frankenstein cheese and pumpkin grog made in vats.
A cauldron in the corner had a secret camera that took photos of the guests.
Werewolf, Frankenstein and his bride, and Dracula came dressed in their best.
The hit of the night was the old happy, enthusiastic monster song Monster Mash.
Werewolves went crazy. Frenzied, and ugly, they tore up the cover door cash.
I didn’t need it anyway, Batman said to Robin, so settle down. Okay?
It was the best party Gotham City had ever had, back in the day.
Children are leaders of tomorrow
Precious gift from God
First man, Adam was created from dust
Children were made between man and woman
Children are unique in nature
And beautiful in the sigh of their father
My mother didn't know what I will become in future
My father insisted I received a good training
So that in the future I can become somebody
A substance worthy of emulation by others
I can't think about my future
But I can see them in my mother's eyes
I can't think... but I can hear from my father's voice
...these are what I learnt as I grow...
All men were created equal before God
And should be treated equal
No difference in race
We should be one by his grace
No difference in colour
As I see you and me as one by the corridor
Wealth evenly distributed
No jealousy or confectiousness exhibited
If I have a stick of sweet
You should have same too in the street
Love cannot be overlooked
Even though my brother is a crook
Be bothered about me
'Cause tomorrow it might be your turn
This is the tomorrow we should see
even without going oversea
Yes, we are tomorrow's leaders
We stand by our words.
I wrote my poems
with my heart
I strolled abroad
With my manuscripts,
drew my expectations
into my drawings
The avalanche of suffering
crushes me.
I put years
on my back,
stored secrets
in my memory
Often I could not end
trips...
I was annoyed
by the hypocritical
before my eyes
The mothers gave birth
to tears
The orphans and the forlorn
distributed grief.
I wrote my poems
with my heart
I strolled abroad
With my manuscripts,
drew my expectations
into my drawings
The avalanche of suffering
crushes me.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Rueil Malmaison – 10.12.2005
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick, 22.02.2006
I confided with The Jeweler
I want a masterpiece
A wonder to the modern world
Where joy will never cease
He said he’d start with umber
A rich, golden shade of brown
use it from the very start
create a special crown
Next, sparkle from His diamonds
He used them from within
Distributed them quite liberally on
Her eyes, her smile, her skin
Oh yes she will be special
A jewel the world will love
treasure made with so much heart
They’ll know she’s from above
She shall be known as Ceci
Because she is to be
perfection of a young lady
like your sister is to Me
He said I know just what I’ll do
To make your crown the best
I have special method
Pulled from the family crest
There’s never been anything like her
nor will there ever be;
I’ve taken the spirit of her aunt
Your dear sister as you can see
You know she was quite special
That’s why I called her home
but I wanted you to be blessed
so praise Me with a poem
a tribute to My creation
a gift to all the world
although I blessed you with 2 boys
I gave you just one girl
I did one other special thing
To set this child apart
I gave her something special
A piece of The Jeweler’s heart
I have filled her with compassion
She will be the downtrodden’s friend
She will always be a guiding light
Yes this is who I will send
Sometimes at night, you will hear her
As you lay there in the dark
this lil' Gem sing Me praises
A gentle meadowlark
A champion for all children
Inspiring, encouraging all
She embarked upon this journey
She already heard my call
So always, treat her special,
let her know I care
you see she is My masterpiece
A jewel that is quite rare.
A tribute on her 17th Birthday
The age of chivalry has passed,
but chivalry lives on in men
whose honor and instinct
survive in the face of ridicule and revolution,
in spite of political propaganda
distributed by androgynous drones
as the infallible truth of a progressive world
with no place left for gentlemen.
A world where mutilated values are
paraded before our sons
and sung as mantras of the day
by fickle knights in tin-foil armor
flaunting capricious deeds and
shedding integrity in pursuit of
fifteen minutes of infamy
and a glamorous trophy wife.
Most have little hope
as they inherit a legacy
of squandered dignity
with no clue how to reclaim it.
But hope lives on in a few
uncommon men of quiet strength
lying dormant in anonymous lives
until a new revolution calls them out
to exemplify what men should be,
bringing back the valiant love of a woman,
with decency and chivalry,
for the good and honor of all.