Best Facet Poems
Some of us are secretive at first. We hide our poetry’s soul self,
gently letting her peep out; sometimes regretting it immediately.
Fearful of critiques from people who do not understand that poetry
is something we are compelled and born to do with our feelings.
Your diary entries may form themselves into goodness or badness
before you realize your calling as a poet.
Truths shockingly ooze out, surprising you.
Feelings creep out onto a page, in loud angry letters,
or romantic feelings daintily brush onto a crisp lined page
in the form of sweetness and light.
You are a word player, because you cannot
stop this obsession, but it does not define you.
This poetry gig is but a glimmer of a glimpse of yourself.
You might be a caregiver, or a wonderful friend.
People who count on your smile every day may not realize
you have a love affair with words, and an obsession to write them.
We are each a unique jewel, mined from God’s mind.
Poetry may initiate a whisper of a tiny facet of ourselves,
but our secrets are safe. We not merely poets. We are lovers
of life, and words. Most importantly, we remain gloriously hidden
and unknown to most.
Written 12-20-18 Contest: You Are Not Defined by Poetry
Sponsor: John Hamilton
As every drop hath magic of its own,
And yet within a river finds its whole,
So are our lives of merit all alone,
And yet a facet in a greater soul.
Or as a shard of light that shines in spring,
Within the fabric of the dazzling day;
We are like notes with which a choir can sing,
But having sung, like notes, we fade away.
Strange thing our moment’s glory is not long,
Is but a passing glance within the all;
So great the wealth of beauty flowing strong,
It little cares that you and I shall fall.
As when at last the final ember’s gone,
A bird is lost, and yet the flock flies on.
I stood still on the top of the mountain
Gazing at the nature's colourful fountain
Wondering what's behind this amazing rainbow
I ventured curiously on to every high and low
The Violet proudly presented the Valiance behind her Royalty.
Indigo proved that Devotion yields Power and Dignity.
Blue demonstrated that Wisdom is the outcome of Stability.
The Prosperity, as Green proved, results from adventure.
The colour of sunshine revealed that Hope fuels Survival.
Orange disclosed the secret behind the joy of Freedom - Commitment.
Red introduced Courage as the guiding force of Self-empowerment.
I extrapolated these rainbow lessons to understand the essence of existence
Then I was amazed to look at every bit of life's radiance
On the other side of the rainbow of mother's love, there was labour.
On the other side of rainbow of success, there was the waterfall of sweat.
On the other side of the rainbow of sweet dreams, there was bloodshed.
On the other side of the rainbow of independent thoughts, there was abuse.
On every facet of life, only one side of colours is typically seen.
But the brushes that paint them are surprisingly umpteen.
A Burst Of Orange
By Lauren Hardman
For me,
Orange
Bright and new
Symbolizes warmth
Acceptance
And strength.
Orange blends well
With fuchsia pink.
The two colors
Match up nicely
To construct
Alluring sunsets
Along with sunrises.
Orange has
An intermediate tone
That isn’t black or white.
It allows for great contrasts
With numerous colors.
That’s a facet of orange
That I appreciate.
It’s kind of like life.
People need to be different
To be united.
The brilliant color
Makes me feel elated!
It uplifts my mood,
Molds my personality,
Puts my mind at ease.
It unfolds a creative
Sweet side of me.
That lets me be
Who I am.
I realized who I am
By doing things I love.
Singing,
Playing piano,
Drawing designs,
Examining various colors,
Crafting poems like this one.
I believe that
All colors tap into
The depths of your imagination
And provide
Great insight
Into who you are.
Eternal Breath
Hardly could I see you through my watery eyes
Holding you in my arms never to let you go
As your existence dribbled to the ground
There was no light, no air and no sound
What all could I see, was just you.
A death rattle took your last breath
At very moment, without dying, I was dead.
I see you in every facet of a single crystal
In a single flower I see you in each petal
I change my stance to see you in each tree
With outstretched arms of the branches
In all life I find you hiding and thriving
I have lost myself to the fading dreams
As snowflake melts in the summer sun
I am nothing but a stranger in my own house
+++++
Date : 10-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place Win
Contest: Eternal Breath by Gail Angel Doyle
“we look for that that does not come and go
it cannot be organic form, subject to decay
thoughts and beliefs are fickle, how little we know
yet come what may, our inner child continues to play”
The 'umbilical cord',
hereby symbolic,
its severance
where
initiated,
a soul of three,
and then much more.
Growing up was an
in-depth shared
furtherance,
whereupon,
directives were encountered,
either embraced or tossed aside.
Time and again, instant moments,
encouraging considerations,
imbued ponderance,
whereto,
we tether ourselves
to a sizeable pole of justifications.
Hail to a fitness club, or a cab to a McDonald's,
intermittent intervals, slim down or fatten up,
choice batters about a pole that remains,
until life expectance,
leans awkward,
wherefore
for time indulgence,
slacks a major facet as the pole evolves minor,
for one's immediate concerns, lies elsewhere, a priority.
All the while, the pole was steadfast but never silent
taking a backseat to the urgencies of the moment
significance tallies the hours near,
wherein
one now realizes that time is fleeting,
wonders how one's pole has shaped itself, was it worth their while.
At that instant, open their eyes
and see the poles that are
standing around them
bedside so they can
measure their
worth truly.
Where
we mete
out ourselves
to whom we truly
Blessed Assurance.
Diversity shines its light upon wisdom; it’s a sage sharing both world and eternity’s knowledge. While cultures are facet of this diamond sage; each other displays knowledge; old and new building on the eternal book of wisdom; it must not be negated.
Millennia old worlds raise children of many colors, species, shapes and sizes; the gifts given to them by God are never exclusive to them but, to be shared by all. When we teach one another, our wisdom and ways, we are sharing the gifts of diversity.
What humans learn and share with one another, is yet another facet but, the same holds true for diversity of species. We learn the value of play; respite from the daily grind; from cats and from dogs; even the tiny ants loyalty. The value of preparation for harder times from squirrels and that size doesn’t matter; from the elephants. Work ethic from the horses; endurance from the camels.
From the trees, we learn to not stand alone; together we are much stronger, when weathering life’s storms. From the flowers, we learn of beauty and that we’re all vulnerable to loss. But, it’s the human species that’s capable of sharing the most.
Human imagination, creativity, ingenuity and fortitude; ensures that we are survivors in our world. Cultural diversity enhances our lives’; it’s how we play, rest, appreciate and celebrate our very existence. It’s the magical catalyst to a potential utopia.
Failure to open our eyes ears and hearts; obliterates the magic. As the beavers teach us; we must work together, to achieve that utopian end; that last facet on a perfect diamond; diversity’s light.
If I were a statue
made of glass from the sea
Would you gaze upon the shards
to see my inner beauty
I would stand up tall, gaze longingly
At the sun on your face,
bright as stars could be
A frozen form, glistening lovingly
Caress me slowly there is no hurry
Yield to the cracks of times great fury
Every facet, every shine, with all its beauty
This statue made of treasure, glass from the sea
*And another beautiful Collab with Germaine Pasley* 6-10-12
This cup is for you
for bluffing yourself
and for thinking you know me,
here’s to you for pretending to care
and make me believe that you do,
here’s to you for
being the puppet-master
in the puppet show,
which is my life
I would like the strings back
before they are beyond repair
I would like to be the master
of my own destiny
for a change
I would like to control where
my journey ends
and what happens
on the way there
but with you as the puppet-master
it’s virtually impossible
so this is me
begging you
for the strings
that contain
every facet of my life…
please be so kind
as to leave it at the door
on your way out…
© Copyright 2010
The rim of my Erembe in hand,
her quiet pace remains.
Today the Angolan sky spills liquid of my breast,
while her breath smothers the blank sounds
of the tired plains
(Colors of snowbird’s crest)
woven with the smoke and strain
of yesterday.
My little Faiza, how were you able to run?
She carries the lone gaze of hours
dizzily felt four and twenty ago:
the shedding, scraping of blood,
our village skin melts neath the sun,
color of cocoa,
scent of smoking gun.
Bear not burden or shame
upon your desperate frame,
my daughter.
Her face and a diamond linger
I know the worth each brings
(Special love and a shiny finger)
Such pretty things may bring about
a slaughter.
Though never
the same,
Though never
together,
each possesses a facet of pain.
The rim of my Erembe in hand,
her quiet pace remains.
From the everyday hubbub I have often fled
to share the stillness enjoyed by the dead.
Over chimes that mark the quarter and the hour
noisy Crows play hide and seek around the tower.
Cross beneath the arch and through the gate
to those here bearing witness to our fate.
Marked by gently listing weathered stone
they lie here all together, all alone.
Through village history I slowly pass
borne on the ebb and flow of unmown grass.
Sarah Smith, taken in eighteen thirty-one
her past just twelve years old, her future gone.
Another Sarah, Eames, near the main porch,
each facet of her tomb topped by a torch.
In a corner by the hedge with beard of moss
a solitary ornate Celtic cross.
Reverend Ogle, keeper once of Church and grounds
now waiting for the final trumpet's sound.
Another cross, lain flat with hole for flowers
rests darkly in the shadow of the tower.
Wind and weather from it's face the name long taken
unknown, but unto God is unforsaken.
Inside the Church in amber candleglow
stand the Alabaster Angels- and they know.
Respectfully I pick my way back to the gate
till next time, and eternity, they wait.
One last glance back, then time to move along,
All Saints calls out the hour
the Crows are gone
It seems, in truth, that I'm such a glutton,
For a pulsing, lighted or sliding button.
Christmas, for me? An arriving shipment,
Boxes packed full with musical equipment!
Nothing can compare with the digital glow,
Of rack-mounted processors, row-on-row.
Is there no surer proof of a world in order,
Than dancing lights on a multi-track recorder?
And how could you decorate a room any cuter,
Than guitars on the walls and a laptop computer?
Near-field monitors and microphones aplenty,
So, to whet the whistles of music cognoscenti.
Keyboards, amplifiers, drum machines, effects,
Mood lights to decide what track to add next.
Well, it may not sound like YOUR place to be,
But this shimmering scene is heaven to me!
And what's so fine about this electronic roost?
Well, it's a place where musical dreams ...
Are produced!
* SECOND PLACE in the "Meraki" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Sponsor. *
(I am and will always be, a musician/songwriter, first-and-foremost, and while performing is my second love, [and poetry a close third], there's nothing for me like the creative process - writing, recording, producing songs in the studio - laying down the tracks one-by-one, layering the instruments and voices, building and watching/hearing the song take shape, and mastering the final production - in control of every facet ... looking back at the incredible amount of time and work involved, and feeling proud of that musical piece of you that you can listen to and share with the world ... there is nothing like it, and the lights of the studio equipment are, for me, like a Christmas all my own, and the dancing pixies of a wonderland of sound and melody - my meraki, indeed!)
There on the threshold of the dawn
when lights of night of had been outdone.
His chariot was slowly drawn
before the Mistress of the Sun.
Her sable breath was caught by day
locked in his snare, their paths aligned
Diluting Earth in passion’s haze
Her soul absorbed, her love entwined.
From out within that Eastern sky
a flirting warrior touched her face
and lured a blush from maiden shy,
a russet moon with fawning grace.
She paused a moment, heart undone
to drink the charm of Master Sun.
The twilight never warmed as much
as naked fire in hungry eyes
while basking in his ardent touch;
each new facet a sweet surprise;
the way his light made her fall blind
the way his warmth stayed on her mind.
But Ah! The game, the Missing Game
brief moments claimed while on the run
her duty calls, his life’s campaign
enlists the Mistress of the Sun.
His light reflected dusk to dawn
her own desire she could not find.
In each eclipse, his shield was drawn
so quick to hide, leave her behind.
His meager offerings of light
so often waxed and waned again,
and yet her thinning heart held tight
to fairy tales of princely men.
A damning war of heart begun
to love or hate her Master Sun.
.
She gave so much, he never took
and took so much she never gave,
his victor’s eyes too oft forsook
the feelings that she longed to save.
A failure’s guilt, a bitter rind,
a gray, bald husk o’er heartsick mind
A farewell kiss from parting lips
his tantric palms on prizes won.
From wells of eventide he sips
then leaves the Mistress of the Sun.
A mistress of the light no more
‘twas not her place in day to shine
in spite she takes what he affords
to taunt him with what he’d declined.
Carve the face of the sleeping moon in a
Pebble of bone and set it in silver,
Adorn another finger.
I see his soft, peaking profile when my
Hand lies where you should be.
An inward smile unfolds inside me and
Gently calls my eyes to close so I can
Imagine you, here, for a while.
Beneath my palm, the pillow is the
Velvet curve of the back of your head,
And the cold blue wall is the bricks of
Your back, where my kisses would fall
Between your blades.
I could lose a whole week to the sound
Of your laughter, that iridescent song which
Lingers in my hair like a perfume or spice.
I tell my ears I can hear the lyrical
Tide of your breathing, and I long to be
Drifting on those languid waves which
Soothe the shore.
I'm sure your love which lives in me
Recalls the very essence of you, mirrors
Each facet, so you're
Always,
Almost,
Here
When I put my mind to it.
B Believe in yourself
E Everyone need someone to believe in them
L Love yourself and have faith in your own value
I In God’s eyes you are a facet of his diamond
E Every soul shines and you’re no less
V Visualize your light piercing
E Every dark night and believe what you see shining from within.
Written: 3-11-19
For: "Writing Challenge, March 2019- Inspirational Acrostic - Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Dear Heart