Best Entrusted Poems
There was sweat on my brow,
beads of them as I approached her.
I was a young man, still green.
She was a mature woman
like the long blades grow free
in the lush of nature.
My hand in hers
she took me
into her warmth.
Nervous, shy
you could hear
grass grow
in the quiet
of my fear
in the silence
of my lust.
I knew nothing.
As we rolled in the dew of sex
as I fumbled and groped,
I
in some instinctive wisdom
entrusted myself fully to her.
She set our bodies in a fluid motion
my virginity now neatly cut.
We spent days
as I explored
the fresh sweet air
of 'us'.
It was then I became a man.
Learned
how you hold a flower
how you manicure the stem
how you water the soil
how you delicately hold the petals.
It was then I became a gardener.
A gardener
worthy
to tend a garden
so vital.
It was then I learned how to love a woman.
30~12~2014
Armand
My poetry garden of late has lain untended and forlorn.
I succumbed to shock and dismay upon entering recently, for I observed that
great disagreement had erupted and now vehemently
raged among adjoining unmade weed-filled beds of subjects and verbs.
Modifiers that had been dutifully arranged and carefully
kept in check upon their trellises now dangled everywhere.
Sentences had spilled out of their beds in fragments or running
on and on while cases of subjectives and objectives shamelessly
intermingled and were now easily mistaken one for another.
Grammar, whose care I had entrusted to first, second and third
persons, lay in shameless disarray, as if no one could tell the difference.
Gerunds casually consorted with infinitives, many
of which had split. I recalled with a sigh how many years it had taken
me to tightly bind them. [To bind them tightly is what I meant.]
Commas were everywhere, rendering those in appropriate
position practically unrecognizable, which I suppose was better than
what had happened to the capitals, now completely ignored.
No reason for the rhyme with forms confused or misplaced altogether.
My lines, unpruned, were of disparate length and hideously incompl
An unfortunate mis-spell had been cast and provoked an infestation,
such that many of my friends had departed without comment.
The contest entry was blocked, so I bowed my head in shame,
turned around and shuffled silently through the exit marked N/A.
Posted July 24, 2014
'Let the Pens Flow - Narrative' Contest
Jenish Somadas
The Master left to go away,
But, being wise and just,
He first called forth three servants and
Placed Talents in their trust.
According to their proven skills
He portioned out their share:
Five to the first, the second two
One to the last man there.
And once the Master went away
The man he gave the five
Invested what he had been lent
And made his Talents thrive.
The man who had been given two
Worked hard to earn yet more,
But he who had been given one
Hid his beneath the floor.
After a time the Master came
Returning from his task
And bid his servants come to Him
With but one thing to ask.
"With what I had entrusted you
Now give me your account."
The man to whom was given five
Had doubled his amount.
In turn, the man He'd given two
Had turned them into four.
The Master said, "Well done my sons,
Now I will give you more."
The last whose Talent had been hid
Rushed forth to plead his case.
"I have protected what you gave
Within a secret place."
The Master, disapproving, looked
Upon his share returned.
"What good can hidden Talents do?
They yield no profit earned."
That Talent then He gave to he
Whose faithfulness was proved,
And from the man who had but one
His little was removed.
The moral of this story then
If you have ears to hear
Is we are given portions of
Which we are overseer.
Don't let your talents waste unknown
Whether they're small or great.
Whatever talents you possess
Should even more create.
9.16.18
Contest: Parable of the Talents
The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.
The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.
A peasant girl heard voices
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.
The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.
Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.
The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.
With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.
More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.
In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.
The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.
She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.
A martyr, now respected,
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.
-------------------------------------
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
To her, strategy was more important than the sword.
My Saddest Day(A Dog Gone Tableau)
I Had to leave him
(though he yapped and whined)
at the adoption drop off,
(I still loved him so)
with folks that I'd entrusted
(he was my dear friend)
with his safe keeping.
(He'd turned old and blind)
His mournful howl followed me
(when we let him go.)
as i exited the door
(How can my heart mend?)
My two poems for the Intermingle Contest of Craig Cornish:
My Saddest Day, written a while earlier than actually posted on 9/21/2014
& A Dog Gone Tableau, posted 10/17/2014 a few days after I wrote it.
By Andrea Dietrich
(The idea for what to use was inspired by my wonderful friend, Harry Horsman)
With Youth.....
Watch this girl...
she has her eyes
on a rising dandelion
sprouted in high grass,
a pensive girl,
weaving her way through the fields,
looking past weeds to her future,
making her way through a maze
of thistle solitude, on Saturday afternoons,
down hallways and classes on Tuesday,
teacher and stranger and parent
expectation, she approaches
a destination beyond home,
clutching the flower
to her budding breasts
With Age....
Keep your eyes on her...
she is residue of the mute child,
now entrusted with a knowing mind
and well worn shoes,
still clutching the flower
to her breast...
She peers through pages of old photos,
scratching through scraps of half-heard
conversation, seeking
some color and clarity
with a dim vision of the girl
that held a prickly spine
of a spent dandelion
with compromise and resignation
With Wisdom
Unable to mouth a sound,
I wish to warn
each teacher, each mentor, each censor of the flame...
I want to shout:
"Watch this girl...
who held a weightless flame
of windswept dream in her eyes,
making her way,
mediating between her reality
and every longing she ever had...
Look back to this girl
who has always maintained
an unblinking gaze on the white star
of dandelion in her hand"
_____________________________________________
Submitted to PD's Contest : 101 In A Row #7
Help me, oh Lord,
The soul you have entrusted me with,
As pure as possible to Thee,
With
My last breath, to surrender!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
10 March 2015
How did a decent lady like me end up here, anyway?
The only girl aboard a ship of unsavory men.
The last thing I remember was sipping a glass of wine in a tavern.
Then, when I awoke, I was at sea,
on a vessel, and surrounded by pirates.
Shanghai'd, I think they call it.
For what purpose, I do not even want to think about.
However, I found that out rather quickly.
Then, I learned something else.
A sharp cutlass and a loaded pistol are a girl's best friend.
I am hardly the damsel in distress, for I can take care of myself.
There is one thing on board this ship
that I do not mind thinking about.
The captain, or so he calls himself.
My gaze often finds him, though his never finds me.
Only when he is giving me orders.
I have been entrusted with the helm of this vessel.
While he stares off into the waters of the Caribbean Sea.
Perhaps, planning our next heading.
The seas are strangely calm at the end of this day.
The sun is half way sunken below the horizon,
making the usual aqua-blue waters glow a golden-orange.
I stare into the dark eyes of my pirate captain,
they reflect the sunset, and shine like the gold of a doubloon.
His eyes are a lost treasure that I hope will find me.
I would trade all of the hidden treasures in the seven seas,
just for one look of those eyes.
Rubies, rare pearls, sapphires,
even gold cannot entice me more.
I leave the ship's wheel to make my way
down the wooden steps to the empty deck.
And, I ask him if he has our next route mapped out.
The captain leans against the ship's rails,
looking down as if contemplating.
He slowly turns his head,
and looks up at me with those enchanting eyes.
Then, he gives me that mischievous half-smile....
I had to leave him
at the adoption drop-off
of the place I’d entrusted
with his safe-keeping. . .
his mournful howl followed me
as I exited the door
For Line Gauthier's 'Bite Size Poem no6' Contest
Enlightened by God’s truth, abide in His will
While His entrusted tasks you fulfill
Labour for Him, trekking stewardship hill…
Press on, God’s servant*; in His peace, keep still.
Enabled thru Christ’s strength, work for His glory
While claiming His assured victory
Love Him, reaching out to others thru Gospel…
Press on, God’s servant; vanquish guilt’s injury.
Enriched with the Lord’s grace, share your blessings
While giving your best toward fruitfulness’ enforcings
Lead others to spiritual life's abundance against selfishness…
Press on, God’s servant; conquer slothfulness’ cursings.
*Matthew 24:46 Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall find so doing.
April 15, 2019
As we watch our dark evening sky
Bejeweled with magnificent stars,
Called to our minds comes the endless
Dream to solve all the mysteries
Entrusted to vast cosmic space-
Forever, our undying wish.
Great questions we ask about space;
Have the answers always been vague?
Is it much too much to surmise
Justly, far worlds support life?
Know of us- where we are?
Likely explore their own skies
Many million light-years away?
Now, we are secure on this Earth;
Of course, when we think about her,
Perhaps as just dust in the sky,
Questions about why we're here,
Relative to measureless space,
Sometimes are too much to address.
Thank God for our heaven of stars
Under which we thrive, even though,
Vast, endless heavens surround us
With mysteries deep and unknown.
Xanadu for sure, you are Earth!
You are our great castle among
Zillions of spheres in the cosmos.
February 14, 2015
Contest: Abecedarian Poem Any Subject You Want
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Do you know a child
That will get up to play?
What if they died before tonight?
In the third world children are piled,
Thousands of them die every day,
Poverty is their daily plight.
Do you care?
Do you fight?
For you have the power,
You know it can't be right
So many 'buds' don't flower.
Do you have a fridge
That is filled with food?
Unlikely our children will starve,
If we all linked hands, built a bridge,
Wiped out their debts as a prelude,
By that act the dying might halve.
Do you have a home
That is safe, snug and warm?
How would you feel if it fell down?
Bloodied, children’s feet have to roam,
Around their eyes and mouths flies swarm,
Obscene to them must seem a jewelled crown.
Do you care?
Do you fight?
For you have the power,
You know it can't be right
So many 'buds' don't flower.
Do you have a mind?
Will you stand and say no,
That no more will needlessly die?
Do your utmost to help mankind,
Use your power, make it not so,
Face their truth, stem the tears they cry?
Do you have a child
Could you stand, watch them die,
Knowing that they could have been saved?
Could you carry on, not feel wild,
Look other children in the eye,
Not by a 'white' lie be enslaved?
Do you care?
Will you fight?
For you have the power,
You know it can't be right
So many 'buds' don't flower.
Please fight endlessly,
Use entrusted power?
Make poverty history,
Help all those 'buds' to flower.
Make poverty history,
Help all those 'buds' to flower.
If, entrusted were I, with a magical purse,
one that held what was needed, but not monies curse.
One that neither bulged, nor would ever be empty,
so when I reached down within, there I'd find plenty.
A handful of tolerance, I would pull each day,
to pass out to those in need, I met along the way.
I would take a fist full of hope, to toss aloft.
Scatter it among the throng, letting it land soft.
I would enter into the turf of gangs and their wars.
Trading peace for their guns, so they would kill no more.
I would go to Washington, there I would invest,
two handfuls of honesty, perhaps ten, would be best.
Charity, I would share, with those who live large.
Help them to give some away, so no one need starve.
I could change so many things and alter many lives.
But, I could also do harm and make so many cry.
As it is so easy, to think one self's above,
to take control of lives, forgetting about love.
So for myself, I'd take a bit to keep myself humble.
So that I and my purse, never, ever stumble
In mount caves of the West, rich of looted gold
Sleep scaled beasts of fiery breath and poisoned wings
But son, look to the Eastern seas and there behold –
The majestic and the true, the great Dragon Kings!
They ride trains of cloud through azure skies
Bringing rain to bless the wilting land
Through epochs they have climbed, the most wise
A thousand years clutched in one clawed hand.
It is an orb of pearl that they have earned
Some say it fell from a blossoming heaven
The Imugi that catches it is to Dragon turned
Entrusted with power to guard kingdoms of men.
No wings do they need that flap and scare away;
For true kings don’t rely on anything but their might
They breathe not dark fires; their souls shan’t decay
Carving rivers and seas, they bring hope and light.
So son, you need not fear of the dragons in false lore
That fly through towns, destroying with fire and shade
Instead, watch for these emperors prevailing through yore
These are the true Dragons, and their lights never fade.
___
FYI: The dragons I am speaking of here are those from Eastern tales -- the Asians have always viewed dragons as benevolent creatures that bless and benefit mankind. Here's a link to a graphic pic to guide your imagination... http://www.mtv.com/movies/photos/d/dragon_wars_082807/dragon.jpg
I think I shall never see the beauty
In absurdity of human bareness.
The aide in whom God entrusted duty
Of our design was quite inept, I’d guess.
The feline form was designed to impress,
With fur coats adapting to the weather.
No bird is pretty without a feather.
God saw the bad results in time to say,
We should give to man a coat of leather.
We’ll hire fashion designers right away.
I don’t go to the beach just for the sight
Of man or woman in bare essentials.
They may be young enough to look all right.
Others should wear clothing and credentials.
Parts of us should stay as confidentials.
Ruben’s nudes are ridiculed as fatter
Than savory pork served on a platter.
In public keep your clothes on if you don’t
Want to be dubbed crazy as mad hatter.
Stay safely home if nudity’s your wont.