Best Due East Poems
"Happiness and sorrow ebb and flow like waves upon a beach,
and I am but a grain of sand."
by poet
I think of myself as nothing more than a sunflower
who, at the hint of first light, turns to face due East
Respectful of dawn, through God's glorious power,
morning stirs my spiritual need, and upon it I feast.
It's not a shortcoming to be generous and humble,
nor a weakness in my character, a burden to bear.
I'm never too proud to ask for help when I stumble
for if I humbly ask for His hand, it will be there.
Defiantly, pride seems to take control before a fall
Arrogance is a foolish trait that becomes a liability
ending in dishonor when the foolhardy hit a wall.
Humility can be a saving grace; but not a disability.
I am just a tiny grain of sand, washed upon a beach,
a speck of dust on Earth, the size of a mustard seed.
I believe by being modest, happiness is in my reach
Content with what little I have, not tempted by greed.
Integrity is an admirable quality in an altruistic mind
Benevolence and compassion are gifts to be lauded
By living an unassuming life, my worth will be defined
without need to be rewarded, praised, or applauded.
November 3, 2021
Your Own Philosophy Statement Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Like clover petals
We bind together for all
Good Ol' Irish Luck
For the love of green
From Ireland so it seems
Originally
A tough bunch we are
Catholic Mobsters due east
Fight Protestant Priests
Drink till half past three
Story telling Histories
Of our Ancestry
Revised 05/05/16
Swallowed up somewhere in the South Pacific
Amelia and her Lockheed Electra vanish one day
On July 2, 1937 her last radio contact received
In that time, poor navigation tools at play
In an attempt to circumnavigate the globe
With Navigator Noonan she bravely set out
From South America they headed due east
Following a planned but difficult route
Africa, India, S.E. Asia and on to New Guinea
But she never arrived at the next scheduled stop
Howland Island, a ship standing by to refuel
In the vast ocean, this land only a tiny drop
Many scenarios imagined over the years
Ditched in the water and lost to the sea
Crashed on an island and finally succumbed
Knowing that lost to the world she must be.
At home in the vast reaches of the sky
Breaking ground for the women of her time
Scholar, author and fashion trend setter
A unanswered tragedy, she still in her prime
* In December of 2010, 3 small bones, a shoe, and some makeup found on
Nakumaroro Island in the vicinity of Howland Island. DNA studies underway to
determine whether they might be Amelias.
-
James Dean an MGM dream
Sprawls unseen towards the door
Tipping his hat Hello Mama and that
He shuffles his shoes to the floor
Shakespeare a play McBeth he should say
a dagger towards his hand
His glasses allow great gaze over brow
a method actor's clap on demand
Due East of Eden a mother was bleeding
Stole comfort from drink and the bottle
James and his Porsche a destinal course
His life measured speed through the throttle
The black suited man from oil in the sand
A cattleman's stock to re-brand
Rivals those two rebellious crew
A Giant a legend of land
A swerve and a shout a policeman drives out
There James who is slumped near at hand
Ascensional dream rise up from this scene
A teenager and rebel most grand
~
I’m going to sea in a blueberry boat,
macaroon waves I will sail
Far past the girls and the buoys I’ll float,
maybe spout off to a whale
My crew at the ready but still half a sleep,
I’ll have to turn on the charm
Wake up, look alive, for this water is deep,
might have to set an alarm
I stand at the helm with both hands on the wheel,
the compass is pointing due east
Embracing the salt water breezes I feel,
we haven’t moved in the least
All hands on deck, yes, you can use your feet,
who left the anchor in place
No wonder we’re stuck here, dead last in the fleet,
we’ve got to pick up the pace
Finally we’re moving, the sails filled with air
and I with my spyglass in hand
Searching for islands and mermaids to share,
all just a part of my plan
This ocean of peppermint twists as it turns,
currents of grape lead the way
Lemon drop sunshine as bright as it burns,
nausea sets in from the sway
When there off the starboard, I think that’s the bow,
a very strange shape does appear
It’s Davy Jones locker but I don’t see how,
what is it doing up here
It’s then I look down, water up to the hilt
over the sides of my boat
I now see the problem in how it was built
who knew blueberries can’t float
I entered a contest, thought it would be fun,
wrote out my poem in ink
A day out at sea on a boat in the sun,
never once thought it would sink
Hey Nina, you did this, I hope you are near,
it seems that my courage might slip
So toss me a rope for it’s perfectly clear
I ain’t going down with this ship
9/13/19
Written for the: Welcome To My Random World Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Nothin like a road trip
In the middle of the night
Josh was hitch hiking
Him and his dad got into a fight
How did I find out...
He's my son's best friend
Another adopted son of mine
My love has no end
11pm
In my sleeping attire
I head north for two hours
Blood pressure getting higher
He waited in a parking lot
I told him this to shall pass
Turned him around then
Kicked him in the a--!
I do not allow hitch hiking
No matter where you are
Now get in the truck
Vegas and my son isn't too far
His dad is an alcoholic
Means words are all he can say
Josh told him he needs help
He's hurting the kids each and every day
A bruise on his cheek
From a punch from his dad
He didn't what to hear what was said
For alcohol sees no bad
Driving two hours south now
Just a couple of his bags in tow
Bought him a ticket at the airport
At 6:20am, off to Vegas he goes
5am, Headin due east
Coffee in hand
Sammi and Vicky calls
They're buried in the sand
Out four wheelin'
With no spot light to see
Now I'm gathering up 2x4, chains, shovels
Trying to find them in ebony
Two trucks isn't enough
We went to get more
Finally got it out
Im' going to bed...can't take anymore
Good night!
My Dad, a little honest like a Priest
Taught me how to live and feast
With bangles of gold and diamond to your wrist
After a bloated tummy chant petitions due east
Son, nothing your path spare like a beast
'Cos amongst earth you're spared not to be the least
Told me life's but an illusion of morns mist
Gentle and rough 'pends on the angle you twist
I hail this sage who but on papers make no list.
I've dragged this here bag of gold
it seems a thousand miles,
no rain, no water, no food to eat,
just stagnant pools that look like bile
and a few odd berries . . .
Saw a sign a few miles back--
"Rotgut - town five miles due east."
I'm hopin' it's better 'n it sounds
cause it don't sound good fer man nor beast.
prob'ly just a cemetery . . .
Well, I'm here and I was right
a one horse town with one saloon;
don't look like much but has to do--
inside thar's just a crowd of goons.
No gals to make merry . . .
Hope no one notices my load,
I daren't leave it on my horse;
sure looks like thar a thievin' bunch,
killers who don't know remorse.
Prob'ly don't even bury . . .
I'll get some hot food, supplies,
I'm fearful tired, parched and dry --
I'll just drink what I can handle;
kiss this God forsaken place good-bye.
Sleep out on the pra'rie . . .
Too late! They spied my bag of gold,
my prospectin' tools I carried.
Thar onto me, I'll have to fight
or I'm the one that won't be buried--
just hung out - bird dietary . . .
Well, it's done . . . I finished it,
the town of Rotgut--all are dead.
I fought like a demon for an hour
and bashed in all thar grimy heads.
Will build a cemetery . . .
Now I'm mayor, priest, and sheriff
town's tee total male pop'lation;
Oh, fair metropolis of Rotgut
the best destination in the nation.
Think I'll tarry . . .
Copyright, July 8, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
for Tabitha
The sun wanders westward
towards the old frontier,
dragging its heft across plateaus
of New Mexico. Along Route
66, a quick toe-dip in Tahoe sets
Reno aglow. Quicker than that,
Nevada bucks, bankrupt and
rusted. The Hindenburg above
Wyoming, the sun gasps helium
and flame, desists in the ether
and disappears, leaving the
world, simultaneously teeming
with visionaries and traffickers,
to moonlit Pacific quandaries.
And so, it makes sense, Tabitha,
your winter scarf worn in
summer, frayed by the dull
gleam of lost pioneers latched to
your lips at their corner, wearing
you down with heavy freight.
But even then, I smile to see
your sadness, the way
you stack dark onto darkness.
Because, in all the years I’ve
known this street on which you
and I are talking, no one has left
me quite as you: facing due east,
chasing a vision towards where
tomorrows emerge from
obsidian snare…and you sleep.
It was early,
The solemn, silent sunrise wrought its
Rays across the untamed land like a
Shorn-clad Delilah.
Dew glistened the foliage
Like undefiled razer blades nestled
Within a mortar's payload.
Morning haze,
Suggestively seductive in its
Sureness of the divine destiny
Lingered, a dwelling
Companion of aimless hope,
Brightly darkening the path
Juxtaposed by the future.
Treachery,
And the spoiled, sour smell of her exploits
Permeated the dawn hour like
A whore's flatulence
Leaving me sick with fear.
What deeply dark insidious ideas
Gnawed at the surfaces of truth?
Terrified,
I observed the sallow, sickly sky
Defy the natural laws of a
Thousand, million æons.
The once proud, brilliant sun
Had ceased its solemn western path
And had set its course due east.
I heard screams.
Shrill, spearing sounds drilling to my core.
Primal agony no beast of the earth
Should be forced to bear.
As I looked to console
This poor miserable creature I found
The sounds were coming from me.
I looked east
And was sickened by the sight I saw.
It was the succubus, Treachery
Shadowing the light
And destroying the path
That the sun used to blaze through every day
As the star let it happen.
Now I mourn
The loss of the slowly sinking sun,
The brilliant warmth it brought to my life
And the growth we shared.
Sitting in the dark,
Perched atop my mountain, I still hope
He remembers how he shined.
Somewhere partially due east
Of Hunching Cliff
On the Jurassic coast
Where the Old Lighthouse
Used to stand it's ground
Battered intermittently minutely
Against the wave's and constant tide
With only the steeple rock formations
As any form of barrier or protection
Without it's blinking search light
Now sleep's ever more come
The darkness under cover of solent night
It no longer greets any ships or shoals
All it does and is left to do now is
Rot and crumble away and be covered in
Crustacean shell's and a wreaking scent
Of salty thick white sea mist
That serves simply as to keep the
occasionally passing odd
1 or 2 trophy hunter or ghoulish
collector
From further quickening it's imminent
demise
"*Oui, the winner, American Beauty,"
yet hail these 'Windflowers' Anemones,
flourished yon 'Down Under', 'Aussiszlanders,
indeed a showstopper for bystanders
of all but Europe, Turks, then South due East.
Breed buttercup, yet, some toxic; no feast,
bold capped to stop at bowls use; bowels feared,
not ground hugger, but mid-road, four feet cleared.
Eye catchers, nose losers; scent attracts foes,
begs Ruth from deer, rabbits ... cuts Atropos,
relevant, floral events, vast numbers,
eyes lacking, vainglory lapping ... wonders.
Attract bees, butterflies, and egotism,
flowers have that novel effect on schism.
Upon the waves where the wild winds sing,
A tale unfolds of a vessel and its wing;
Through the tide, it dances, graceful and free,
Harnessing the ocean's heart, a sight to see.
With cargo holds filled, treasures abound,
From the Pacfic to the Atlantic, dreams resound.
A bill of laden whispers of journeys bold,
As nautical charts tell stories untold.
From portside harbors where the seagulls cry,
To the quay where the ships and the hopes of men lie,
Each traverse a promise, each voyage a chance,
In the vast ocean's grip, we find our dance.
With a compass to guide us, due north we steer,
Facing due east where horizons are clear.
On Poseidon's surfboard, we glide with delight,
Through favourable turns, embracing the light.
Global commerce pulses in the salty air,
As we balance the weights with meticulous care.
From food for the many to luxury rare,
The liability of loss, we willingly bear.
With ballasts of knowledge and courage combined,
We sail through the storms, leaving doubts behind.
The Panama Canal opens pathways anew,
Linking the oceans, a journey for you.
Ode to the ocean, your glory we seek,
In the maritime spirit, our hearts are not weak.
So let us embark on this voyage so grand,
With Poseidon's surfboard, we conquer the sand.