Best For What It Poems
Colors daubed for seasons' scenes
I sift through life for what it means
In spite of chaos, shades and flings
It comes down to the simple things
The mountain tops, the dark abyss'
Have ground my egos down to this
Of all the chance and spheres I'm of
Life's worth and essence is ... but LOVE
Indeed, I've lived big moments, too
The raptures and sweet rendezvous
Moving mountains - burning skies
Bright lilting lashes, soft lullabies
Shedding poisons like second skin
Too few dreams to wear them in
I dared the devil, danced with death
Swore for mercy's whisp'ring breath
So just when ends seemed all to be
This extra chance was proffered me
Don't take for granted or yet waste
That vigor gained from rigors faced
Don't tend concerns to end or start
It's what's between that fills a heart
True meaning - love's enduring kiss
A life's no less or more ... than THIS.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Select, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Favourite Poem From May, 2019" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Meaning of Life" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
The scent of your soul
a caramalized breeze of fruit odours
reverbrating softly through my memory
Throwing me right back in ninth grade
where we sat side by side
Your right arm reaching slightly for my back
Your name resonates gently with my spirit
as thoughts of you dwell in my mind
Carrying me back to the shade
of purple grape orchids in evergreen woods
Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig
still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup
wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee beans
and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind
Such revoked moments of unknown danger and defiant fun
Other moments of beauty and snow angels
Of freedom and moonlights,sunrise and life
I can still recall the days,months,and years
till our footprints marked seperate paths
Ah,those days,those last hours,How can I forget?
Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice-cream parlour
Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup
Fresh as the colour of every new dream which haunts me
llike an alluring glance of almond-shaped eyes
This afternoon,like other afternoons I walk to the library
which knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own
That fragrance 's gone now,all that is left is the fading perfume
of forgotten petals between old books and dust
No one here except my silence ,and a rotten sliced apple
vacuum packed,lacking its cinnamon and even its spice.
Back home the mildewed strings of a guitar
await my fingertips to play once more
upon the worn out chords of my vacant heart
What will I play,what will I sing,a song which isn't ours?
Fermented wine I poured into a glass
Yearning to taste its purple grape for what it was
before all it was turned out bitter,acidic and sour
I wondered about where you might be,distant or not as far
Listening to my voice on once upon a record player
Or Wishing on a star ?
A repost (written : 10/15/2014
The scent of your soul
a caramelized breeze of fruit odours
reverberating softly through my memory
Throwing me right back into ninth grade
where we sat side by side
Your right arm reaching slightly for my back
Your name resonates gently with my spirit
as thoughts of you dwell in my mind
Carrying me back to the shade
of purple grape orchids in evergreen woods
Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig
still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup
wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee beans
and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind
Such revoked moments of unknown danger and defiant fun
Other moments,of beauty and snow angels
Of freedom and moonlights,sunrise and life
I can still recall the days,months,and years
till our footprints marked separate paths
Ah,those days,those last hours,How can I forget?
Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice cream parlour
Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup
Fresh as the colour of your soul, which haunts me
like an alluring glance of almond-shaped eyes
This afternoon , like other afternoons I walk to the library
which knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own
That fragrance 's gone now.All that is left is the fading perfume
of forgotten petals between old books and dust
No one here except my silence,and a rotten sliced apple
vacuum packed ,lacking its cinnamon and even its spice.
Back home,the mildewed strings of a guitar
await my fingertips to play once more
upon the worn out chords of my heart
What will I play,what will I sing ,a song which isn't ours ?
Fermented wine I poured into my glass
Yearning to taste its purple grape for what it was
before all it was turned bitter,acidic and sour
I wondered about where you might be ,distant or not as far
Listening to my voice on once upon a record player
Wishing on a star ?
Not for the contest
But thanks for the inspiration
Contest name-The Scent Of Your Soul
The scent of your soul
A caramelised breeze of fruit odours
reverberating softly through my memory
Throwing me right back in ninth grade
where we sat side by side
Your right arm reaching slightly for my back.
Thoughts of you dwell in my mind
and your name resonates gently with my spirit
carrying me back to the shade
of purple orchids in evergreen woods.
Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig
still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup
wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee-beans
and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind.
Such revoked moments of unknown danger
Of fearless dreams , and defiant fun.
Other moments of beauty and snow angels
Of freedom and moonlights ,sunrise and life.
I can still recall those weeks ,months ,years
till footprints marked separate paths
and our shared candles became the past.
Ah those lazy siestas, those days...those nights...
Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice -cream parlour
Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup
Fresh as the linen of your shirt which haunts me
like an alluring glance of almond - shaped eyes.
This afternoon, like other afternoons, I walk to the library
that knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own.
That fragrance 's gone now . All that is left is a fading perfume
of forgotten petals, between old books and dusty shelves.
Nobody here, except my silence and a rotten sliced apple ,
Vacuum- packed ,lacking both cinnamon and spice.
Back home, the mildewed strings of a guitar await my fingertips
to play once more ,upon the worn out chords of my heart
What willI play , What will I sing , a song that isn't ours ?
Fermented wine I pour into an empty glass
Yearning to taste the grape for what it was
before all it was turned bitter, acidic and sour.
Alone , I wonder where you might be
So far or not so distant ,listening to the mood in my voice
on once upon a record player, Wishing on a star ?
Absolute Truth
What’s in a word that fades away in time?
Seldom heard like a masqueraded mime
What’s in a name that hides in the shadows?
Of feverous fame where poets compose
May we speak of love this echoing eternal bliss?
Be it weak in silence and deepen with a kiss
For love has many ships set sail to heaven’s shore
Thus never ready for what it has to explore
It changes faces right before our effervescent eyes
With its traces left behind admits the guilty guise
But love a constant the ethereal glue of the infinite
For in its content we know little of the magnificent
In its Omni purpose beyond our comprehension
There burns a furnace of emotions in each dimension
We think we know it all but there is much to learn
For within our fall we will always youthfully yearn
We are born out of love and defenseless desire
Mourning death with love amongst the angels' choir
Love the only absolute in the seasons of the abyss
For we are en route for the active soul to reminisce.
...dedicated to Heidi Sands for her Love and courage...plus constant support...
...Music by Sheriff~'when I'm with you'...
June.04.2018
Active Soul and Mankind's Self-righteousness
Sponsored by: Catie Lindsey
My God knows the way I am.
He knows my every thought.
He knows the things I've said and done,
And seen the dreams I've sought.
He knows my heart for what it is,
Knows each and every mood,
Depending not on what He's heard,
From those who think me crude;
For Man looks on the outer crust,
And sees not what's inside.
He hears but words that oft times twist,
And turn the truth to lies;
But God looks on the heart of Man,
And judges that instead,
Not foolish thoughts or actions,
Words that twist inside the head;
So do not judge your neighbor, Friend.
You don't know what's inside.
You only know the words you've heard,
That play tricks with your mind.
If you truly love your friend,
The way you love yourself,
You'll make the same excuse for him,
That you make for yourself.
My wild Irish heart - what could it do
that March when into my sweet girlhood blew
euphoria to make my heart careen?
Oh, heart as fresh as clover - kelly green -
when zephyr brought its scent of something new.
The breeze caressed me; all was made askew,
for what it had been carrying was you!
Beneath my tender breast there throbbed, unseen,
my wild Irish heart.
You bridled it and then you pierced it through.
Yet wilder than before and tough it grew.
For in your aftermath, I was to glean
the lessons that my youth had not foreseen -
and evermore would pulse in me - now blue -
my wild Irish heart!
Originally For Sandy Ivy's Go Green - what green means to you? (new or old poem)Poetry Contest and now for Linda's Get your GREEN on!!! (Get into the spirit and Go Green) Happy March17 (old/new poems)Poetry Contest
Emphysema is like
living underwater,
Surrounded by an ocean
of air,
Which just can't get
where it needs to be
Even if you lie quietly
In your home, your lair
You wake up gasping
As if you ran
Up three flights of stairs
And there are many moments
When you have terrible scares
It's uncurable
It's progressive
It's fatal,
And but a matter of time
you have left
And anybody's guess
Of how many years
you will have lost as a victim
To it's nasty theft
Inhalers, pills,
Nebulizer machines,
You'll do anything to breath
You'll go to any means
Some, like me
Find solace
Only in their sleep,
Others, I suppose,
Only when they weep
But it's the hand
God dealt me
And I accept it
For what it is
And long ago
came to grips
With what I face
in life
And hospital
visits
As familiar as
would be a wife
No one lives forever,
Save Jesus and Dracula,
And I have the advantage
One really quite spectacular
For I have a gauge
A hint of things to come
Makes every joy I taste
More savory than for some.
Facebook I wonder if you are a blessing or a curse?
People Sharing their pictures and videos of their best and worst.
Clever sayings, obscenities, prays and vulgarity.
Show up on your pages with some form of regularity.
You will find people you have seen or haven’t seen for years.
Laughing one minute and then shedding a river of tears.
Selfies of woman showing what God has given them to cherish
Proudly displaying themselves when they should be embarrassed.
Religion and Politics is a good way to stir the emotional pot.
Both thinking their right when you know for sure they’re not.
You can share your likes, dislikes and give a comment or two
But be careful not to be too honest or you might just be removed.
Games of every kind you will find here for your pleasures delight
Sending requests to people even when they don’t want your invite.
Facebook is a place people display their everyday life with others
Making statements that could hurt or showing love for your mother.
Facebook is not the one I should blame for what it shows on its feed
It’s just an empty space to fill with life’s true nature for others to read.
So before you post your thoughts and feelings in this open space
Ask yourself would this be something I would be willing to share face to face?
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
-10/14/2013-
"It happens just because we need to want, and to be wanted too, when love is here or gone to lie down in the darkness and... listen to the warm.” -Rod McKuen
I reflect on them often, those years.
Watching gilded sunsets from the shade of old trees we’d planted in the yard.
I try to reclaim the contentment of our lazy romance.
There was no wine; no little black dresses.
It was certainly not a diamond, ruby, and emerald affair.
But was it any less valuable?
I bask still in the glow of the fires we’d share during cold winters,
and the way the dogs would curl up and sleep on our feet as we’d read together.
Your side of the bed has grown so very cold in your absence.
Sometimes, as I dream, I can feel you, your warmth…
and hear you snoring.
Ok, so you weren’t sleeping beauty…but I needed no fairy tales.
That was our life, wasn’t it? Simple and honest, and perfect for what it was because
we were together…
were.
Now here I sit, chilly,
with just my reflections, and your empty chair.
I dwell on yesterday and my heart listens for the warm.
Perhaps it will be tonight, under the gilded sunset of my own life,
that as the sun sets and the night grows cold
we shall sit together by the fire,
with the dogs asleep at our feet,
and be together once more,
forever warm.
5/5/16
For Contest: Listen to the Warm
Hosted by: Laura Loo
Voice: Jason Williams
STARS IN THE SKY
I'm standing on the shore and high above
The roar of waves and rustling of the trees,
A light is shining in the darkening sky,
While sun is drowning in its warmest glow.
I look up waiting for the one to show,
Its magic glow will warm my frozen heart.
That special light that sun nor moon can bring.
A sparkle jumping to my inner self.
I aim my wish up high and from my chest
My heart pleads to my shooting star above:
"Lift me up high and make me see from far
How you reach out and set my being free."
My white star softly strokes my hair and smiles,
While from his hands the moondust spreads around.
My bright star lifts the darkness from my soul,
In several myriad coloured specs of light.
And in his hands I beam and come alive,
Accept the dark night just for what it is:
A blanket, warm, to keep the light inside,
Embracing starlight deep within myself.
***
8th place in contest: Shooting blank verse
Sponsor: John Lawless
Ignite,
The missing light,
Forget,
What's behind.
Just believe,
That love comes again...
'Cause,
The skies,
Are like a hard glide,
In a shining rainbow's light...
All dreams and fantasies,
Can be reality,
'Cause fantasy,
Is based on reality...
But all histories aren't the same...
'Cause,
Sometimes, we dive,
In our lives...
So,
Don't judge,
For what you see,
Judge,
For what it is...,
'Cause time passes,
But, memories remain...
And,
Listen,
To your heart,
'Cause,
The body, does,
The mind, thinks,
And, the heart, feels...,
While, the soul, lives...
So,
Always remember,
To remember the past,
To live the present,
And to wait and pursue the future...
Listen to your heart,
Before you are telling goodbye,
'Cause destiny,
Might lead to demise...,
But, remember that destiny can be changed...
Life is unpredictable,
But space and time,
Could be controlled...
And even if some die,
We may survive...
Remember,
That life,
Might have an endless beginning...
All that remains,
Is to be reborn...
While we stay silent
The fight is going on.
In Chicago, Los Angeles, New York
The West Indies
And the Lebanon
All over the world
There is a tale to tell
Of some living in paradise
Whilst others live in hell.
Its not a random stumble
Nor a twist of faith,But a master plan.
By those who seek power
Over those who plod along
Its not an illusion, but what is felt
When we are blessed with riches
But cannot share the wealth
But what is ego without a plan?
What is salvation,
when we fail to understand?
Reparation of the soul is a must
If its redemption we seek
And god we trust
When reality rears its ugly head
When babies are born
And cannot be fed
When wars are started
And nothing is said
About the wounded, paralysed and the dead
Mothers lie down and plea.
Gun powder crying out in the atmospher,.
Tormenting my ear.
Some even bow down on bent knees.
They feel the pain and ask for mercy.
In the anguish and suffering , they bite the dust.
The TV the object
Perpetuating the fact
That humanity has taken a detour
On a roundabout
When we fail to act.
From the lack of knowledge
We fail to see
That when we are united
We end depravity.
To grow and prosper, in pastures green
That what was hidden is now seen
The truth for what it is.
When we exist, and fail to live.
When they are taking, and cannot give.
Of time and thinking.
Of mutual living, coexisting.
With love and hope
Not based off trickery and false hope.
`
It is what it is and that’s all it can be
Because what it is will be just what you see
It’s not what it’s not for that just wouldn’t do
For what it is not is not what it is too
It isn’t quite that or it isn’t quite this
It could be so grand or be something to miss
It is just the same as it was just before
Nothing much less and its nothing much more
But know when it comes it is what you will see
For it is what it is and that’s all it can be…
or is it?
12/11/20
Written for the It Is What It Is..............Or Is It??? Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless