Best Eastman Poems
My love, the world is ours,
its reflective sapphire oceans,
its turquoise pine tree forests,
its topaz colored days,
its moonstone lit evenings.
My love, I'm certain it's us.
The amethyst citrine painted sunset
called our names right from its onset.
You are my never ending wide open sky
with a red orange coral moon up high.
So radiant is your glow, a sparkle in flight
how you shine - a spectrum of colors like light
through a crystal clear white garnet.
Your hair like flowing strands of pearls, crests
lightly to sit brightly on your opal shaded breasts
with their dark red inviting rubies set.
Your emerald green stare gentle with its powers
like diamond brilliant rays during sun showers.
Your divine allure
so true and pure
oft blinds me
and when I see
I see only you
like the jade dew
covers the morning lawn
on a sardonyx dawn.
You are the gem drives my joyous life,
the precious stone keeps my dreams alive.
You are indeed a jewel rare,
"who" I ask "could compare?"
11~15~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Contest Name: Your Favorite Poem Contest
strophe
I stand on the snow covered mountain
Colorful vase of flowers
Slopes with flower beds laden
I saw the snow lotus flowers
I asked, “Why are you all alone here?
Beauty is meant to be adored.
Should give yourself to somebody
Before your petals fall to dust soon, dear.
What if I crushed your petals, I asked
As at these heights, you are quite lonely”..
antistrophe
One of the flowers quickly responded
“I enjoy the shelter of blue skies.
I would be too glad
If you choose to crush my petals
My fragrance will spread everywhere.
Fulfilling the purpose and duty
If destroyed, not admired.
By plucking my petals, remember
You won’t gather my beauty,
Beauty is to see, not to be plucked'.
epode
“O’ lotus, you teach wisdom to man
Praise her beauty, don’t destroy her.
It is the gladdest thing under the sun
Touch a hundred flowers not pick ever”
O’ man, pluck not wayside flower even
It is the traveler’s dowers.
Silently a flower blooms alone
And in silence it falls down
If I am worth many pleasures,
I think I am too few then”.
===================================
June 15, 2014
Form : Ode
First Place win in
Contest: My favorite poem by Carol Eastman
===================================
Form: Ode (the Homostrophic or Horatian Ode)
Rhyme scheme: ABABCDECDE (Ten lines)
Second place winner in
Contest: Ode sponsored by Jared Pickett
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This is the English Ode, also called the Homostrophic or Horatian Ode.
The Romantic Ode often followed the Irregular Ode's structure
and the Homostrophic Ode's meditative quality.
====================================
The poem also won the second place in the International Poetry
Contest of 2011 by Poetry Soup.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A woman gave birth to a son
named Justice; he had little fun.
If he wanted to play,
his mama would say,
“But only when Justice is done!”
Poor Justice, from morning till night,
tried hard to do everything right.
By the end of the day,
he still could not play,
for his time to do chores was so tight!
His life was a crime with no play!
We all know that crime doesn’t pay.
But were I in his shoes,
having paid all my dues,
I think I might just run away.
Well, sure enough, Justice did flee
and ended up in Tennessee.
With no place to belong,
he felt sad till along
came a girl who smiled tenderly.
Looking ragged, he asked (with some shame)
if the young girl would tell him her name.
“Can you guess?” said the Miss.
“Here’s a clue. It is this. . .
Those who have me don’t take all the blame.”
The young man did not have a clue
what her name was; it was all new.
He’d never hear of
- yet soon grew to love -
this girl and her charming name too.
Today Justice likes more his life
because this girl lessens his strife.
He learned her name well
when in love he fell
and Mercy he took for a wife!
For the Story Poem Contest Poetry Contest of Carol Eastman
One day there was an accident, and to heavens gate I was called.
As an angel sat down beside me, upon the bed I had been put upon.
Such a shining warmth ensued as it held me in its thrall.
A thought from God proclaimed, “What with your life have you done?”
Then all of life fled past me, but not as I did expect to see it done.
For all I saw and felt were things I hadn’t known I had done, and yet…
So much pain inflicted to each, with such little words and thoughts.
I never would have known such power, by one person, could be wrought.
I bowed my head in shame at the pain I knew I could not undo, yet…
Suddenly, I found myself forgiven. Yes, TRULY it was true!
Hallelujah became my amazed and impassioned cry before him, that night!
His warmth had never wavered, nor even his illustrious, wonderful light.
How could he forgive me, someone as wretched and lowly as I?
And yet, he did… and so he changed my life from then on out.
But low and behold he wasn’t yet done with me, or so my story goes…
He sent me back to my home again… it in comparison brought me low.
But he said my work lay uncompleted, so now I must go back…
He said to stay clean and I would blossom… What do you think of that?
A veil he placed upon my eyes to remove me from the knowledge of all I’d known.
Then he sent me from his side, where I could not see him but knew he was.
Now, here I stand before you, a totally changed and humbled one.
Still, I have found I have sinned again… I know he must have known.
Perhaps some day, as I patiently wait… I’ll be allowed once more within his gate.
Only time will tell, as again I’ll feel every ones pain…
All I can say is: God Forgive Me… as I continue to wait…
(This Near Death experience really happened and changed my life.)
Written 5-25-12 By Carol Eastman
My finger hovers
Shall I turn you on today
You lie there tempting me
I need to know what buttons to press
But when I press those buttons
You respond immediately and burst into life
Every Wednesday you leave me little messages
I try to ignore them but you are so persistent
You want to update
I want to write
I press any key to continue
And you ignore me and update anyway
My husband is fed up with the distress you cause me
He has a cunning plan to fix you forever ...
No more automatic updates
From now on you and I can live together in perfect harmony
I can press the right keys to update you when it suits ME
Now I am in complete control!
Computer Poem Contest – Carol Eastman
29th March 2015
Unsung Hero – My Mom
My Mom has always been unassuming, never flashy,
But her name deserves to be up in bright neon lights.
My magnificent Mom, Olegaria, is my hero!
In her eyes, no one is a zero,
And she is a blessing to all who crosses her path.
Successfully raising her own five children,
She also helped to raise all the stray children in her neighborhood.
Her guiding motto is “You can’t believe in God and
Not care about others - whether it is people, plants, or animals.”
An extraordinary human being, generous to a fault,
She would give her last slice of bread
To anyone who needed to be fed.
Nothing, including her time, is too good or too precious
To share with family, friends, and even strangers.
Often she’d sacrifice her own happiness,
If it meant that others would be happy.
While Mamacita is very humble, forgiving, and non-judgmental,
She is nobody’s fool and can be a fierce lioness,
Quick to defend her values and those she loves.
Caring mothers like her are especially rare today,
And should be declared national treasures.
Because of her powerful influence and the solid values she instilled,
I am a stronger, kinder, more conscientious, and better person.
My Mom helped me to see life in a more positive
And compassionate way – to treat people
How I would like to be treated.
Even though she is not a regular church-goer,
She prays several times daily and her home is her altar.
I thank God every day for blessing me with this wonderful mother,
And for her continued presence in my life.
Mom, you will always be my hero!
07-30-2014
Contest: Tell Us About Your Mom (12-28-2015)
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Placement: 1st
Contest: Unsung Hero (07-31-2014)
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Placement: 1st
I feel privileged.
I have been chosen by the Government
as part of a group testing something called
Edible Clinical Marijuana.
Honestly I half expected it to look like a Burrito
because the name sounds sort of Mexican.
It actually looks more like a brownie.
I’m am about to take a bite so hold on.
Yum,
tasty!
So here is the point
I am suppose to consume
one half of a brownie
then fill out this sheet
giving them my feedback.
Hold on
I am going to have a few more bites.
Okay,
no wait,
milk would go great
with these babies.
I’ll be back.
(after a long while)
OK, sew sorry I was gonna while
I was staring inside my fridge\
for a while'
tying to remember
I think I wanted a glass of ink%
aktiually I’m dinking from the bodle@
I am eating my forth brownie
as I was instructured to do;
Did they say four or? ate
cause these. are tasty
And/
aaaahhhhhhh,,
tasty^
tayysstee^
hahahahahahahahaha""
a program on my compuwhatyoucallit
keeps underlyning my words
with read squiggles=
hahahahahahahahaha
but it diidn’t underline squiggle#
hahahahahahahahaha
wel dats stoopid
squiggle isa perfect lee
good underlying word*
stoopid Bill Gated^
hahahahahahaha?haha
sorry I ment Will Gated~
so watt was I saying ]
oh yeah+
fill the sheet)
hahahahahahahahaha
I don wanna sheet,
tha is gaross[
heeres a pen
quesshun= Sex
easy!
ansir; yes- please)
hahahahahahahahaha
?why m i bein so polite
hahahahahahahahaha
queshun!
oh wow Blues Brothers on my TV
what was I spose? to do
oh yeah watch tv
why am i so angry hahahahahah++
hahahahahahahahaha
i mean hungary
haahahahahah
h u n g r y
dere hungry>
hey look
brownies?
those look good
hahahahahahahahaha
i con't tipe with mai mouth
full dats rood/rood
i'll get bak too dis later..
sew as they say
hahahahahahahahaha
two bee contitnude
A smell permeates through the house
I’m convinced it must be house mouse
I hunt high and then I hunt low
But the source of the smell it won’t show
I get down on my hands and my knees
The dirt and the dust make me sneeze
The pungent smell makes me feel sick
Burn scented candles right down to the wick
Now I have a sad look on my face
The origin of the smell I can’t trace
Get some cheese and lay it on a trap
Wait for the jaws of the trap to go snap
But the cheese remains where its put
The jaws of the trap don’t snap shut
Found hidden in the huge laundry box
An old pair of my Pa's cheesy socks!
Smelly socks are confined to the bin
Now I can say to my guests 'do come in'!
13th January 2015
Fictional write for Humor Contest!!!
Sponsor Carol Eastman
~awarded 1st place~
Santa hasn’t drunk cocoa tonight,
and he’s not dressed in red trimmed with white.
In blue denim so cool,
he is toasting the Yule
with a drink surely not mixed with Sprite!
Santa’s drink was a little too red,
and I think we have something to dread,
for he’s now in the sky
and he’s flying “too high”
as his sleigh widely veers overhead.
Had been use for the Humor Contest of Carol Eastman
* Slab City is a snowbird campsite in the Colorado Desert in southeastern California, used by recreational vehicle owners and squatters from across North America. East Jesus is part of its artistic community.
Excitement filled the bushland as December was near
Every creature had been waiting for Christmas time - all year.
Wallabies hung their stockings on a gumtree branch with care
Just as all nice children do – everywhere.
Meanwhile those more up to date logged on the internet
sending E mails to Santa to see what they could get
Koalas draped high treetops with shiny garlands green
And furry possums lined their dens in golden glitter sheen
Wallabies joined in with bright balloons hung on their tails
All the crows tied streamers, cascading from the rails.
Kookaburras’ laughter changed to Christmas songs
While magpies and peewees piped along in throngs.
A wombat and a bandicoot made honeysuckle punch
The parrots came too early and drank’ til they got drunk
And when the’ Magic Pudding’ came to help with Christmas Dinner
His taste was so delicious he left a trifle thinner.
With a Kangaroo as Santa, his pouch stuffed full of cheer
hopping ‘round the outback in the hottest time of year
Just guess what all the drovers got- lots of ice-cold beer.
Suzanne Delaney
For Children's Christmas Poem Contest for Carol Eastman
The Duck That Lost His Quack
A Duck woke up late one day last week,
And all he could do was to squeak.
He looked everywhere and listened to different things,
Even heard sounds all around, from pings to zings.
For example, he tried many gates, stairs, and barn doors,
Then went and stepped on cracks in nearby creaky floors.
He visited several witches, doctors and some were both,
They prescribed everything from lemons to ginger troth.
In his travels, he came across a quaint woodshop,
Being so tired, he sat down with a solid plop.
A carpenter saw that the Duck was so very sad,
From behind the counter, he came to help the lad.
After hearing of the tale of a missing sound,
The carpenter leapt up with a double bound.
He said, “From within is where it comes,
Not outside, as most would sum.”
“I have made many instruments for music,
And what you need is something acoustic.”
He brought out a short board with a nail,
Then attached several metal strings to a pail.
The carpenter said, “Play away and listen to the sounds in your head.”
The Duck strummed everything from Enya to the Grateful Dead.
After a fashion, the Duck was soon lost in the tunes,
And started to dance and sing like a midnight Lune.
Who knew that this Duck had a knack,
And in the middle of it all started to quack.
So you see, it’s not external to what you seek,
In many cases, its internal and who you meet.
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015,
This, after listening to Bubbles the Mouse speak,
And hearing a long story composed of squeaks.
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
I could not refrain from asking what it was that made her sigh
When each picture that she started she took down. I wondered why.
The young lady was forthcoming; said her thoughts were fresh and bright
Every time she started painting nothing seemed to turn out right.
Then she glanced at my own painting and declared that it was great
She remarked I found it easy to imagine and create.
Well, I smiled and softly told her that it was my special brush
That afforded all the wonders; careful handling with no rush.
So I told her she could use it, to be gentle for a start
Till they reached synchronization so that both could play their part.
What about the other brushes? Do not fret or give a hoot
Mine will be the instigator, all the rest will follow suit!
I went off to have a breather while she went to work anew
Gave her time to get on with it then returned exact on cue.
I could see her face was radiant and her work intense yet cool
She expressed appreciation at my most fantastic tool.
I will let you on a secret; I have played a hidden card
For my brush is only normal. You were trying just too hard!
You can paint, you have it in you. To your talent be not blind.
As you see there is no magic; it was only in the mind.
So good luck with your endeavours. Some advice, precise and brief
You can make the perfect painting; all you need is self belief.
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Note: This poem was written to pass on a message to all those who
suffer from low esteem. Self-belief is the way forward.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus
Contest (Favourite Poem...) sponsored by Carol Eastman
Placed: 1st
When young I heard the glass was either ½ empty or ½ full
But with time I learned… to believe either one makes you a fool
My health made me battle from the almost empty place
But I came to see that… your life is not a glass or a race
I always worked to fill my cup to the ½ full point… and beyond
To compare my life to others always made the pessimist spawn
Optimist or pessimist is more than some kind of… point of view
They are each an integral part of what makes you… you
The pessimist is a part of everyone’s make up… that can make us give up
The optimist is an acquired trait… that has to be constantly built upon
Fight the pessimist who can bring you nothing but sadness and despair
Nurture the optimist that gives you the chance… to do and go anywhere
The optimist can give you self-respect and the chance to do great things
It can make your heart and your soul soar… and to grow great wings
It’s a way of life that can add to your existence and also others
Which way of life, you cultivate, says how much, you’ll see of life’s wonders
You see: Your cup is never ½ empty or ever ½ full… Life is a work in progress
So never give up… Look for ways, in this world, to bless
And why let anything stop you? It is a hard fight, to some times win...
But will be very gratifying… if you keep trying… until the end.
Written by Carol Eastman 11-7-2015
It was a lovely summer
the garden was filled with butterflies.
Whammy the caterpillar was full of joy.
He climbed the tallest stalk in the flower bed.
Maybe he could see the beautiful butterflies.
They might even play with him.
“Hello” he said
as he greeted a very colorful flutter by.
Poor Whammy was in for a huge disappointment.
She laughed at him,
called to all her butterfly friends.
She ridiculed Whammy
she actually called him an ugly crawly thing.
If it was anyone else but Whammy
this story may have had a disastrous ending.
Whammy just slid down
found his other caterpillar friends.
They all wanted to know about the butterflies.
Whammy told his friends that the flutter bys
were even more beautiful from close.
He said he was unfortunate
he met one who was mean and shallow inside.
That night Whammy prayed.
First he prayed that the flyer he met
would find the kindness
that was surely within her.
Then he prayed for other Caterpillars
who might have the same experience.
He knew that at first he felt bad
really bad.
He felt bad for not being
as beautiful as the flyer.
Then Whammy remembered,
beauty is to be appreciated
not envied.
"Besides" Whammy thought
"I'm quite dapper myself"
as he straightened his imaginary tie
and laughed.
He wished that no creature large or small
that no life form would ever feel like less.
“If I was a butterfly I would be kind to everyone,
imagine that me a flutter by” he said out loud.
As our story ends
Whammy falls asleep.
Laughing and content
Just to be happy.
Imagine that - a scary caterpillar
becoming a beautiful butterfly?
Moral Of the story: “Attitude is Everything”.
01~11~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Contest Name: Fable to the Rescue