Best East Poems
When East Met West
She found a love at
its best,
Such a love so difficult
to even express.
You had me from hello
with your tender Caress,
I knew from that moment,
I wanted the Rest.
A Forbidden Love that was new,
So Strong,
How could one say that this
love was wrong ?
The Very first kiss was so brief,
So tender
I close my eyes and try to
remember.
A skin so soft to the touch
Oh how I love you so very
much.
A smile from you , set my soul
on fire,
the touch from your hands fills
my body with a burning desire.
A moment with you, I want
Forever,
I Long for the day that we shall
always be together.
Such a sweet love so pure, so true
I love each and everything that you
do.
The look in your eyes tell me how much
you care,
In my heart I pray you'll always be there.
I thank the dear Lord for sending me you,
For bringing me love so pure, so true.
A longing feeling when we must part,
That leaves an empty feeling
deep within my heart.
A hope that one day
you might see
Just how much you truly
mean to me.
Now I have sweet dreams
of our next kiss,
That is something I surely
do not want to miss.
Your Now My love, One of my
Best Friends,
Baby I don't ever want our
love to come to an end.....
~
A blushing moonbeam whispers softly
words your heart does long to hear
Shimmering in stardust quivers
while my arms they hold you near
Midst the chill of autumn breezes
drifting slow across the hill
Evergreens in shivered branches
rest within this night so still
Shadows dance in found desires
as your eyes reflect the bliss
All alone in passion’s wonder
lost within your tender kiss
Here we lie, just east of heaven
where the leaves of pastel fall
There is nothing more we’re needing
with our love, we have it all
~
Der Wind aus Osten
Treibt schon Schnee über das Land
Am späten Herbsttag
The wind from the east
Drifts already snow across the land
At late autumn day
El viento del este
Ya flota nieve a través de la tierra
En un día de otoño
Come along with me as I journey East
where fragile cherry blossoms flutter
before raining down from cloudless skies.
Let's climb majestic mountains whose crests
are always laced with crowns of snow.
Here, the scent of jasmine is caught in a breeze.
Bonsai forests hold ancient secrets of long past civilizations.
We will see dragons who seem to soar beyond the moon,
then take the shape of koi with the rising sun.
Listen as bamboo chimes sing in windswept percussion.
Their hollow voices reach across Tokachi River.
Legend says it was etched by the flowing tears
of a young Geisha who cried all night
when she saw her red-budded lips mirrored in a lake.
It's now a sacred place where lovers often meet
when the hint of a sanguine sunset fills the sky.
Their whispered words of passion's promises
are drowned in roars of towering waterfalls.
Say you'll come and we'll fly amid flocks of crane,
across paddies and valleys of lush green,
then feast upon crispy roasted duck
before we lick our fingers clean of Hoisin.
Sleep will find us beneath a blanket of willows,
and we'll gaze in awed wonder when we wake,
at the most exotic land of splendors we've ever seen.
We'll surrender promises that one day we will return,
for this is where our hearts now wish to dwell.
Give us brushes and canvas; paints of boldest oils
to capture the Oriental beauty, naked before our eyes.
July 1st, 2017
Exotic Places
by Debbie Guzzi
(A Blank Verse Sonnet)
At fifty-two, a new career is launched
in beauty firm installed on eastern shore,
to aid all those who live with problem skin.
As sales increase, adventure swells; she wins
awards, free trips, new friends, and diamond rings.
With pride, she dons the pen for “Be a Ten,”
and coast to coast arrangements spell her norm.
But, friendships wane on jaunty trips, the trek
becomes a stress which brings her less and less
content to show the aloe glow as proof
that older skin need not begin to wear
a shriveled face, but wear a youthful tone.
And yet, the spark with eastern hype instilled
a drive to stay the course throughout her life.
Picture 1 the message is sent
loud and clear to the four winds
nobody listens
Picture 2 the whirlwind roars past
leaving in its wake havoc
and broken spirits
Picture 4 drinking to old age
drowning memories in wine
that has gone sour
Picture 5 racing against time
in youthful exuberance
life turns to ruins
Picture 7 sought eternal fame
now, imprisoned in stardom
she pleads for freedom
----------------------------------------------------------
Contest: East Jesus
Sponsor: Roy Jerden
Placed: 6th
A SONG THAT WILL ONLY MAKE SENSE
TO EAST COASTERS! (CANADA)
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
We’ve been to L’Anse Meadows, explored the Labrador.
Cruised the Ponds in Gros Morne Park, fished Caplin from the shore.
Raised a glass at Crow’s Nest, saw the sunrise Cape Spear beach.
Sang along with Great Big Sea, kissed the Cod and drank the Screech.
We’ve inner tubed the Nashwaak, fly fished the Miramichi.
Been to Historic Village in the heart of Acadie.
Climbed the Big Bald mountain, walked on Fundy’s floor.
Coasted up Magnetic Hill, scoffed at the Tidal Bore!
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
Sang “Farewell to Nova Scotia|”, drank Rita’s tea as well.
Danced all night at Ceilidhs, been to the Citadel.
Strolled the shore of Baddeck Bay, where the Silver Dart took flight.
Walked the wharf called Fisherman’s, the rocks at Peggy’s Light.
Sang “Bud the Spud!” with Stompin’ Tom, watched splinters fly away.
Ate lobster at church suppers, could hardly walk away.
Picked potatoes for the farmers, back in our childhood years.
Crossed Confederation Bridge, eight miles long me dears!
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
A heritage that we all share, our blood is maritime.
We thrill to see the Bluenose, her picture on a dime.
Emotion for an ocean, gray Atlantic ever by,
Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI.
Ellis Pringle Craig, 2024.
Tears from The East
Head chatterd with state law
No fair hearing because the law is
deaf
Executioner groaning with sword
The hot sun ready to sip
Her blood oozes in the midst of
innocency
Arrogant mob mocking her tears
Justice jugging in the jungle
She is
Killed for no just cause
Nature stood aloof
As she groan and moan
Mother weeps endless
Father failing
Desert wailing
The ugly sun in the middle east bleeds
for freedom
Freedom trapped by devils in power
Religion masking and muting our
voices
Today, we weep for Ramata
Written Awoh Kingsley
Rose fingered dawn appeared early today
at the island, East Brothers Light station.
From Benicia hills I caught the first ray.
Now, absorbing my share of sun's ration
on this islet in San Francisco bay.
I early watched the night, battle, and chased
by the minions of a bright new day.
On the East wind, a train's horn as it raced
to who knows where or what destination.
And I wondered, too, as to my endpoint.
Sitting here in mellow contemplation,
face filled with the solar afirmament
of a life not without worth and valued
at least in the number of good years totaled
In the hills of sunday sunrise
Eastern township churches stand steeple heights
Loud summer bells chime fervently
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
If one is hungry
And bored
Of watching over Mecca,
What better place
To steal an apple
Than from another country’s orchards,
With fighter jets
Twanged in the sky
Like flying bottle openers,
Diving down
And peeling back a tin can roof
Of a school bus
Loaded with 40 children,
Whose shoulders are all
Strapped
With blue and red back packs
That look like little lunch boxes,
One of them
Surely containing
The sweet temptation
Of the perfect apple.
Mistaken identity, can happen.
So, a few bombs,
True,
Have to remove
The dozens of windows
And deposit
The million shards like razors
To flay the skin of the girls and boys
And, in an attempt to remain civilized
About this,
First cook
With fire and oil
The cheekbones from the skulls
Of the five year olds
Who are still alive,
And it’s important to keep fresh
The liver, tongues and hearts
Shish-kebobbed
With splintered ribs, white as serpents,
And finally, then
There it is,
The well done slab of lamb’s meat
Still clung, red as a beet,
Limbs and noses,
To be stripped
From that one buried back pack
And within it, zipped,
The fine taste of a ripe apple
Polished by mom
As a snack that was packed,
That day,
For school.
Way down in East Jabib
where I told many a fib
I spoke so many lies
it should be no surprise
that I used to lie in my crib
It's true that I was in town
When the trumpet sound
And soldiers came down
Spilling like ants on the ground:
Heralding the royal feast!
The Gods have had their seats
To celebrate the poet from the east
Whose lyrical prowess beats
The best they've ever heard.
It is heavenly inspired:
The lines of this bard,
His hands neither slack nor feel tired.
Here, the bard comes
Clothed in divine grace!
Let the trumpet sound; beat the drums
Let the world seek his face
For he has the power to heal.
His lines drew angels down
And make kings to kneel.
Let him have his prized crown.
Such is the power of poetry,
It is universal; devoid of bigotry.
It is the king's treasure,
It is a soldier's pleasure.
In that stately estate,
In that heavenly state,
Only to the brave
Would the sky be a grave.
It's true that everyone would die
Someday, that is why
If ever the poet should die;
Let his pen ascend to the sky,
Let heaven and earth mourn,
Let their tears turn to blood;
Let the graceful muses mourn,
Let their tears cause a flood
For the loss is without measure.
But there's end to every beginning
That's why the poet we should treasure
So that if he dies, he dies smiling.
Let the fire from his pen burn
First, in the heart of men
Then to the streets let its face turn,
Let it scorch the land till when
It has reached the palace and its tower
There too let it burn and smoke;
Let it bring every knee under its power,
Let it bring every neck under its yoke.
Such is the power of poetry,
It is universal; devoid of bigotry.
It is the king's treasure,
It is a soldier's pleasure.
In that stately estate,
In that heavenly state,
Only to the brave
Would the sky be a grave.
It's true that poets can be made
As much as they can be born,
There are those who trade in charade;
Who cannot our admiration won.
Behold the ancient bard!
Behold, in the morning he rises
With his book and ink in hand;
As sparkles flash from his eyes.
When in early morning birds are yet mute,
His countenance is always plain
He does not argue nor refute
But undisturbed he always remain!
In the abode of the poet
There is grandeur and majesty
Befitting a grand laureate poet
And a monument of modesty;
He is the poet at heaven's gate
Who have ran a fine race
He will never be late
He holds the ace.
Immutable they shine
On protective wings
hovering angels
in a sparkling shower
The brightness
streams unlimited
without
a sound
Man needs strength,
hope and courage
Even with all wisdom,
power
and earthly eloquence
Our doubting world
where evil crosses
the threshold
Don't forget
the star of the east
in a barren place
The essence
of all that ever was
is and remains unchanged
Receive the ebony keys
to the door of love
He had no teeth and neither did his girlfriend.
We’d sit in his apartment in the dark drinking margaritas and watch Jeopardy.
He’d answer every question correctly and his girlfriend would cackle.
He’d shoot at the mice with a pellet gun as they scurried in the shadows.
He rarely missed.
Their heads would explode and I would feel queasy.
Then he’d turn back to the TV leaving the brains splattered on the floor and wall.
We’d stay up all night talking and drinking.
He’d stand out front of the building in the snow in slippers always laughing.
He was always laughing.
Even after I moved 3,000 miles away I’d call him up to talk over the phone he’d tell outrageous stories always laughing.
Sometimes those people that are hurting the most laugh the hardest.
He had no one in the world.
His girlfriend and myself, we were his family.
I figured when he someday died his body would simply turn into a skeleton in his apartment.
And he’d still be laughing.