Best Etched Poems
Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.
But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.
And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.
So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words.
If my love were to be frozen in time
would its enamored glow forever remain
as poetry in a book, Sonnets written in rhyme?
If in flakes of snow, my heart was encased
would my affection wax and never wane?
It's said a heart without passion is frigid
and incapable of feeling torrid emotion,
but if winter frost glazed o'er me, a rose,
do you suppose my love would become rigid?
Nay! It would survive with endless devotion.
What of spring, when then I would thaw?
Would my tears mingle with melting ice?
Perish that thought for being profound,
for my love harbors no fault, foible, nor flaw.
The sting of cold is a meager sacrifice.
I will never be cloaked in withered petals
no wilting will be found in my tender bloom.
My ardor will not shrivel like dried nettles,
and no demise of my love will ever occur,
nor darkling days shrouded in sullen gloom.
No matter the harsh chill of Winter's season,
do not dither in despondent shadows,
for I will plead innocent, "Not guilty of treason!"
You've no need to fear woes of despair,
for nothing can weaken the bond we share.
Love avowed as truth, through eternity will last,
a promise etched across the breadth of my heart.
In realms of desire, I promise to linger with you,
and to this fervent pledge, I will hold steadfast
until the villain, mortality, wrests us apart.
February 6, 2023 / 2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest / Sponsor: Mark Toney
July 28, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10
Sponsor ~ Mark Toney
Sifting warm sand
through my fingers,
shimmering fine grains
glitter my palm.
Sand,
filled with life’s memories
of nut brown days
of summer.
A soft silk breeze
formed dunes
with our dreams
that summer
when we danced to the stars.
My heart laced yours
listening to the sea
undulating waves of emotion
as we kissed
on the velvet strand.
I still hear
the rhythm of the ocean.
Waves tumbling in unison,
a sweeping sound
gently caressing
as we lay silently
listening to sand
shifting over stone
to the faint chiming
of seashells.
My first love
a sea salted embrace
on a breast of sand.
The memories
forever held
in the sand
in glitter on my hand.
I etched our initials in a maple tree,
surrounded by a heart
Nine and in love,
smitten by the way you looked at me,
smiled at me,
talked with me ... so beautifully friendly
The tiger lily flower you gave me,
placed in my hand,
made this boy feel like a man
Held in your hand
was my butterfly heart
Fluttering ... ready to chase after you
across daffodil fields of time
You never did become my silken winged mate,
but for a brief while it seemed that you would be the only one
I could ever love
Young childish thoughts
wrapped in cocoon innocence
I loved many since,
but none can ever feel like the first love ...
that sweet first taste of love
Forever etched in my heart
are virgin memories of you
artfully chiseled
abstract feathers etched on glass...
a jack frost sculpture
(haiku)
11/06/2022
A NEW HIKU FOOTLE TANKA Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The eye in the jewelry box
was the aged rusty gate
Sensory images,
overgrown paths -
Grief vent itself in tears
No ties between past
and future generations
The mournful reverberation
from the house of emptiness
Sound of rain dropped merciless
Dilapidated and abandoned
Attacked by the ravages of time
The once white painted walls, graffiti
Ceiling beams arches, hammock
Slate steps and slate top broken
Decay of the years -
etched in stone
My name is etched
On Insight Lander
On Martian soil
It waits for me
To be where gravity is low
So be careful where you go
Mars’ atmosphere has little air
So beware
My name’s still etched
On Insight Lander
Along with miliions
Who like me dream
If we can get to you
Insight Lander
Your solar panels
We’ll surely clean
I paused today
Put cares away
And finally let
The moment stay
Saw feathered skies
Through children’s eyes
Let time stand still
And realized
This life of gain
And gathering in
Pursuits of gold
Desires to win
They offer not
But jaded dust
Doomed to decay
By moth and rust
And time cares not
Nor pardon grants
For foolish charge
Or circumstance
But slowly slips
As grains of sand
Through trembling grip
Of aging hand
So lend an ear
And pause, I pray
Take time to let
The moments stay
For precious times
Allowed to be
Etch memories for
Eternity
…Jeff Bresee
There are things about me which are unknown
by many of the people that I know.
Memories I treasure are etched in stone.
These gems stored in my brain still brightly glow.
My days of youth and sunshine so divine
are padparadscha sapphires, with a hue
beyond compare. In orange-pink they shine
along with turquoise varying in blue.
In ebony, nights of romance are etched
inside my mind, forever to live on.
I wish that one night longer had been stretched
into citrine or heliodor dawn.
Each happy ruby red or diamond day
I've lived since then cannot be whisked away.
The glass won’t lie to you, but it won’t tell you much either.
It gives you back the angles—
the line of your jaw, the high rise of a cheekbone,
the quiet shadow under your eyes.
It measures you in light and distance,
a cold, neat geometry of flesh and bone.
It shows you where you started.
But bone is only a canvas.
It holds the shape, but it doesn't hold the story.
Because every time you choose to sit with someone in their dark,
something softens around your eyes.
Every time you hold your tongue instead of throwing a stone,
your mouth unlearns a harshness it didn't need.
Patience settles into the forehead like afternoon sun.
Kindness breathes a quiet warmth right through the skin.
And the opposite is true, too.
Cruelty carves its own sharp corners,
resentment sits heavy in the jaw,
and quiet bitterness narrows a gaze until the whole world looks small.
You can’t paint over those things with good lighting or careful poses.
Eventually, what you carry on the inside leaks out onto the surface.
So let the mirror have its numbers and its symmetry.
It only knows what you look like.
It doesn't know who you are.
The mirror reflects your features;
your choices paint your face.
The community cemetery adjoined
the rear fence-line of his property.
Broad, rolling green acres landscaped
with varieties of shrubbery and trees.
Monuments in lines, rows, and diagonal patterns.
Most of them simple, monolithic.
Carvings, etchings, and brief epitaphs
carved in granite or marble
The stones, like spring's green leafed
trees and fresh-cut grass, know the seasons.
They awake to the sun each dawn; grow
shadowed, docile, meditative at twilight.
Nature recycles around them by annum.
Precious stele' standing their post eternal,
while the invisible substance of air smoothes
each carving and etching ever so covertly.
Mornings he would sit, steaming coffee mug in hand,
reflecting on the tranquility of the sentinel stones.
He envisioned the markers being books
to be leafed through, revealing life
from the mundane to the ecstatic.
A few concave or convex letters and numbers
carved in stone could never convey a person's
full saga in time. The humanity of a life.
Those things their blood had seen, felt, or known.
The ranks of headstones still stand guard.
He sips hot black coffee and imagines reading
the story inside each book of stone;
opening each, as one gently peruses
the pages and content of a rare, precious book.
Books Etched in Stone
5-28-15
Free Verse
etched on a tree stump.
the carved memories of us
lasting through the years
Two hearts glare at each other
Clutching their stone tablets
Written by the finger of their rightness,
Guarding the secret handshake
In single sighted delinquent tantrums
Refusing to share the offertory
Of a loving cup -
Consumed by daggers of thoughtless words
Carved deeply in a scarred heart.
Floral offerings wilt
Upon stone manifestos
Where ashes of incense lay impotent
To clear the air
And wipe clean the embedded words.
Passion falls in pixels of distortion
Blurring valleys where sacred poles burn –
Lie in dust written in the past –
Paralyzed
Unable to rise from handwritten crypts
Placed in captive marble altars,
Epithets like an epitaph for love.
Immoveable stone resists the transcendent
Until forgiveness’ chisel
Re-writes the script of etched words
Crumbling in swaddled tears of humility
That know their need for grace
Consummated in love’s perfect signature.
We are one because
your soul is etched onto mine
As patterns on glass
Deeply carved is our love
Withstanding time and trials
Written: April 24, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tread of life
a strand of hair
disassociation
desolation devastation
floribunda flapdoodle
constantly hearing
Voices...
whispering
screaming,
spread their
ivory wings,
fly
in velveteen
sky
Constantly...
berating,
damaging
disparaging
mentally...
unseen torment
pretending
drowning in
unfillable chasm
Trauma...
suppressing
swallowing
existence
dripping with shadows...
When casting spells
seeking peace
amid war
turn off TVs
keep radios hushed
lure of
loathy
illusion
draped in earthy
petrichor shade
splendidly
sculpted from
stardust
bereft of insignia or emblem...
Opus headline
in magnetic bowl
shredded
with a spark
burned in full
anoint ash
on forehead
As Peace Symbol
Then
with a broken gun
on windowsill
east-facing muzzle
align seven shots
heart-shaped trigger guard
shadows shouldn't touch
Then
stir three dove wings
into hot milk
must be flawless
add three plastic
army men
whirlwind
madness
let it cool down &
stir with
olive branch
Dump sharp knife out
sun-facing blade
back spell your name
five times
then step inside &
close the door
etched in
immortal art
of humanity.