Best Fending Poems
In silent hours till nightfall
When shadows grow long before fading
Heart thumps, a deep longing,
a soft knocking on a door still closed
Shy and introverted
As if saying: if I knock too hard
will I knock you over
and send you away forever?
I listen quietly as moon light
creates lonely silhouettes
on the far wall where your picture hung,
a faded rectangle, bleached by evasive desires
wondering who could be knocking
as I have been lost for so long,
to be found again is as frightening,
as it is dream-like
Fear to open the rusty door
to a heart, starving to find you.
Caught in a lullaby of moonlight
louder than fear can sing
Reunite me with you, hammer
your imprint in me, on the
bare walls of my loving soul
where you still live
And I hear the breathing
in a once empty corridor of numbers
random order, tarnished brass digits,
above patterned carpeting
foot worn and tattered,
I have heard them all, never once
stopping at mine, the one without,
unassuming, invisible to most,
slowly opening
Near the defensive rectangled door
I sit fending the creaking,
of the almost lost voice that's mine.
And while I search on the worn wall for
fringed marks of years past, you enter.
I find in your face the wrinkles
of time, wondrous ripples in a soft smile
And I am lost in you.
***
Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White
May 3, 2017
Shapely to coarse green stem,
sitting alone; wanting to grin.
Patiently waiting for the take,
wanting Halloween to begin.
A few more weeks left to grow,
inviting; nestled in straw.
Children soon make their choice,
with little eyes in awe.
Fields abundant in orange hue,
serenading a season of rest.
Large or small or fat or thin,
any grab will be the best.
Cold winds blow just enough
to take its nipping bite.
Scarves and hoods, snuggly warm,
fending autumn with wraps pulled tight.
Little arms try to carry
the most perfect pumpkin around.
The patch now shrinks very thin,
remnants of a once lush ground.
Copyright © 2009 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "Happy Halloween" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kelly Deschler
Nov. 04, 2015
Jungle Drums
Well known was Molly by gossips
Words fell so easy from her lips
They always found ready ears
Revered was she amongst her peers
A casual meeting Molly made
Good conversation she displayed
Invited then to mothers meeting
Where received a rapturous greeting
For all the ladies gathered there
Knew Molly had a tale to share
About the folk at forty eight
Procured across a garden gate
Passed along tongue to tongue
It must be right, it can’t be wrong
Second hand, thrice removed
Each time the details are improved
Behind her curtains, Mrs Rose
Who sees all that comes and goes
From her shadowy oasis
Offers Molly on the basis
What she tells her will be treated
With respect and not repeated
Knowing only far to well
Molly cannot wait to tell
Everyone she knows
All she’s gleaned from Mrs Rose
And Peg the paper shop assistant
Said “It’s true”, she was insistent
She had heard the news confirmed
By Mrs Smith, who had learned
About the tale and of course
From a most reliable source
It’s not hard to understand
How she holds them in her hand
Like ducklings on a pond to feed
Molly delivers to their greed
Her listeners are now captivated
By her words uncomplicated
Said with such simplicity
Masked by dark duplicity
Who would believe, ill intent
From a face, so innocent
Having spilled out all her news
Others offered up their views
Ever wilder each new claim
Fending, proving, placing blame
Then Ginger Adams put her spoke in
“ I had heard, “She’s done her bloke in”
With a glare from Molly’s eye
Ginger just wanted to die
For she had not learnt quite yet
Where the sights they should be set
Which appears to be somewhere
Between uncaring and unfair
With no way to recognize
Which be truth and which be lies.
Please forgive the implication that this behaviour is
exclusive to the fairer sex, it is simply for the purposes
of this write. I have known men that easily equal any
woman in this sphere of life, and be just as catty, hahahha
it's been two hundred years that I have stood here
Casting my silent signal on the sea
Warning those that venture near my coastline
Protecting those that place their trust in me
On this rocky crest I am the master
The crashing surf bowing at my feet
My eye guides the fate of weary sailors
Anxious for their voyage to complete
Weigh your anchor safe within my bosom
In your hold your cargo snugly stow
You have survived the perils of the voyage
I salute you with my lanterns glow
It is I, the sentry of the harbor
Fending off whatever nature hath
Believe in me and I will be your savior
Shielding you from Poseidon's wrath
Take me, oh this soul does plead
Once upon a midnight dreary, as I ponder weak and weary
Falling as a distant star comes reaching of my heart
Knees connect with fertile soil, darkness on this hour loyal
Twilight bid its fond farewell as evening spends its start
~
Chilled this open field a’ rest, facing east my own confess
Silence comes in wintered thoughts a’ calling to my mind
Lone is found this majesty, born mine lonely eyes to see
There upon the heavens form this beauty I do find
~
Reaching for your open hand, actions of an empty man
Seeking but the wisdom that shall lead me to your side
Grasping at the frosted air, evermore I long to share
In amongst these feelings glowing bright this velvet sky
~
Take me, oh this soul does plead, thee shall be my every need
Endlessly I cherish every vision sent above
As a light does glisten free, when your smile my heart does see
Fending off this winter with the warmth of your sweet love
I was challenged to use the opening line of Poe’s “The Raven”
“Once upon a midnight dreary, as I ponder weak and weary”
and create a love poem following the form, cadence and rhyming pattern of the line
Dark, punishing days lie ahead.
Winter has crept up once again and I'm deep
in sad contemplation, saying a silent prayer
for the downtrodden without the creature comforts
I often take for granted, imagining how
they're muddling through life.
Each time the furious rage of winter roars
belligerently, wreaking miserable havoc,
and it's chill on my skin is immediate
and unforgiving; I think of those occupying
ramshackle dwellings with no heat
to keep warm, and say a silent prayer.
Especially on my mind, all the homeless folks
I've given money to while stopped at a traffic light.
"You've made my day, sir. God bless you!,"
I remember one once saying to me.
Where is this man now? Somewhere warm and safe?
Please, God, hear my silent prayer for him!
The mere thought of one,
just one stray animal, fending for itself out in the cold
is depressing enough to make me misty-eyed.
Why is life during winter so appallingly savage?
It's too harsh an element for such a poor creature. I say
a silent prayer for God's mercy. It's really all I can do.
Submitted for...
Your 2021 N-A Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Date: 04/25/2021
N/A in All Yours Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/20/2021
Date posted: 01/17/2021
Date originally written: 07/23/2007
Buffed out as though with emery;
Alzheimer's stole your memory.
And you sit in your chair and gaze;
lost in a perpetual haze.
You aren't in pain, but don't look well:
for you're, little more than a shell.
And when I touch you, you pull back;
as if fending off an attack.
How horrible to be confined;
essentially trapped in one's mind.
And although I wish it weren't so:
love only adds to my sorrow.
Dementia's something we'll work through,
for I'll never abandon you.
And when you breathe your final breath:
my tears will pierce the heart of Death.
At times we tend to feel nothing but pain,
feeling like we have nothing to gain,
our hearts once again a wrecking ball and a chain,
on our sleeves an obvious worn out blood stain,
Our thoughts slowly driving us insane,
in our hearts an obvious torture chamber,
broken hearts not amounting to much,
hearts on the mend fending off life's saber,
Our hearts laboring to do something we savor,
tasting happiness again we do someone a favor,
as little by little we remove our hearts road blocks,
our hearts beating merrier to the ticking of the clock.
11-14-16
If today is Friday, joy's on stage
Emerging from feeble phase
Roaming happily all day
For a freedom filled weekend
When family reigns supreme
Seeking relief from drudgery.
If today is Friday, thrill's on horizon
Determined to have fun
Showing off a budding date
Conversing in crowded settings
With evening made of dreams,
Stealing kisses with every sip.
If today is Friday, all is worry free
With vibes made of pleasantries
And eyes searching happy places
Finding ephemeral feelings
Ringing inner bells, saying all is well.
If today is Friday, it writes own lyrics
In special themes of merry verses
Composing fervent music
Of romantic rhythm and melodies
Fending off pensive memories.
If today is Friday, opulent smiles
Dance the night till day break
Cheering newfound friendships
Looking forward to next weekend
Holding treasures gained
Reminiscing transitory moments.
February 25, 2018
Friday feeling contest by Silent One
When I sing I sound like prehistoric creature
Fending off attackers, defending each metre
A scary old fellow
As I screech and bellow
So beware my friends I'm a ravenous eater
A huge thorn stabbed my side
I could no longer find a way to hide
Carrying it like a heavy cross on my shoulder
I wondered how long my life will go further
I heard the thorn bore its twig
Seemed as if a mountain to carry, it was so big
A tumultuous wave engulfed my being
My hope was wreathed…vision was blurring
I tried to gather strength… fending myself with *****
As I clung to God’s Love and His Saving Trunk
I cried to Him, kneeling and praying
Entrusting Him my agony and everything
As lighted candle in front of me grew brighter
I looked up and found two grey clouds turning whiter
Shafts of rays were beaming on sides
Gliding slowly like doors… showing a blue part of sky
As the sun peeped on that cloudy and gloomy day
Big raindrops fall suddenly and sparsely
With my open arms, I tried to catch-- to feel each of them
Hoping to heal my wound and take away my burden
Wings of good words heralded the miracle in few days
I felt His greatest love, omnipotence and saving grace
Then I was led in the Yardenit where His Beloved Son was baptized
A precious gift of consecration to renew my life
October 30, 2013 7.15pm;te
( old poem)
First Place
Contest: A poem you've not entered in contest #4
Judged: 5/22/14
Sponsor: My dearest poet, PD
Wars round the corner,
wars at every bend
Could it be that all this
warring would never
ever end?
Why can't we borrow
love and peace too learn
to lend?
For peaceloving persons
wars are hard to
comprehend
But in which blessed
century will the world
it's ways amend?
Why not be all sincere
when peace we readily
send?
To our lives defend why
do we opt to offend?
Why can't we all as
Adam's progeny simply
unite and blend?
The world's tearing
apart, which saviour's
gonna mend?
When the scissors of
tyranny all peace efforts
ruthlessly rend!
When will all the saviours
from heavenly heaven
descend?
So we watch and hear all
war cries unto thin air
ascend!
When peace be the only
choice, the only probable
trend!
Ah instead of fending
off war drums why
peace plans off we
fend?
Why peace so
complicated and double
standards at every
bend?
Will all state treasuries on
aggression alone their
budgets spend?
Why can't every foe we
know turn into a caring
friend?
So we're stalked by
friendship
and ambushed by love
godsend!
A world where warlords
and war heroes become
zeroes
who in the first place did
offend.
With peace may no
nation merely play and
pretend!
chances less than one in a centillion
we became human not penicillin
born to planet spiraling around sun
swift journey through life only just begun
not capable of fending for ourselves
relying on what parenting compels
'til point of making our own decisions
despite doubt, false starts and some derision
whether worker, lawyer, doctor or star
we struggle to be sure of who we are
we fabricate our own evolution
hopefully making some contribution
through trials, tribulation, perversity
we dance our own dance with eternity
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |
The Ultimate Sacrifice
Arlington’s air was thick with death’s pathos,
Grief and pain shared once more in war’s great loss,
The great sacrifice of our nation’s brave,
Fending off tyranny’s harsh tidal Wave.
Horse hooves made a doleful unrhythmic beat,
As the caisson moved slowly and discreet,
Step by step in Arlington’s protocol,
Our flag, the stars and stripes, the casket pall.
Lead us, O Christ, to the vict’ry of peace,
Help us hatred and revenge never seek,
Save us from war from which there is no win,
May Thy grace and love reign supreme within.
Old Glory waves for all who paid the price,
To protect and defend the U S A,
We pay tribute to those who gave their lives,
Taps declare none have given more than they.