Best Formative Poems
Into the deep woods cheerfully I walked
Following the path of a lone shining star
Hosting a magical fairytale in my heart
Beholding sweet visions of who you are.
Sights and sounds symbolized the dark
Resonating nocturnal bird's wailing call
Alarmed by the whining of porcupines
Breaking silence of a formative night fall.
Gentle winds blew carrying ardent vibes
As your beautiful sight graced my eyes
Being a regal princess in heavenly attire
Delighting the province of moonlit skies.
Flashing mythic smile in lyrical vocabulary
Attuned to the cadence of musical strings
You whispered to voices of sensual wishes
Arousing passions seductive dream brings.
As you then kissed me I became a prince
Adding a new chapter to ancient allegory
Until the bird songs rudely awakened me
Alerting you to vanish before end my story.
January 8, 2019
Poem of the day on January 10, 2019
Placed first in February 2019 week 1 contest by Brian Strand
Placed 2nd in Into the woods poetry contest by Silent One
Categories:
formative, allegory, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
Fractals.
Spawn of iterating quadratic functions.
Choreographers of cosmic conjunctions.
Impervious to human dysfunctions.
Makers of multiverses. Encoders of creations.
Limited only by imaginations.
Recursive. Coercive. Immensely immersive.
Purveyors of poetic creative cursive.
With formative fractals you’ll melt your mind’s shackles
and be anywhere that you may want to be.
You can form fractals to your own reality,
and make anything in the sky or the sea.
You can even repurpose them to poetry …
Yes, if
fractals were dactyls they’d flow off the page,
whirling and twirling, sublime.
Freeing us, being us, thoughts disengage,
teasing and pleasing with rhyme,
reaping the rhythms of time.
From mundane equations that yet yield complex
repetitive patterns that please and perplex,
come fractals so beautiful in all respects.
Constructors of coastlines and snowflake concerns,
foundries for forests, and feathers, and ferns,
the deeper you dive they have more twists and turns.
Generators of patterns, like veins in a leaf,
and the branches of trees, shapes of every motif.
Look around, everywhere, there are fractals, good grief!
From the large to the small and still smaller they flow,
simple patterns repeating, yet different, you'll know
that there’s just no escaping the great fractal show.
So, let’s face them, embrace them, we’ll host history.
Let us master them, plaster them, I guarantee:
merge your mind into fractals, you’ll set your soul free.
Reconstructed 3/22/2021, for the FRAGMENTS OF VERSE Poetry Contest, sponsored by John Lawless
Categories:
formative, nature, poetry, science,
Form:
Rhyme
Flowers Emerge
Impose your will on the pretty flowers as you may
Trans-formative wonderment of nature
Entrenched, defiled, they pop up any way in clusters
Vivacious are the colors above the solid stem
Cut cold to death, decay and pain, to follow winters grip
Excellence defined in the ability to survive
Dangerous are the forces that persist to derogate them
Yet they prevail against all odds
Death comes but they regenerate
Grass is their shield. Dirt is their pillow there
Negative winds carry with them ice
Reds and yellows grow on below the sun
Visceral, strangled roots, fragile faces, petal soft, grow cold
Ingenious species, green with envy on the leaf, rise again
A Cacophony of nature’s birds and bees disturbs the peace
Flowers come in abundance, remain, friendly on the green
Distinguished in divine fashion, exquisite, generous to the last
Elevated smiles on pollen grains contain the seed of life
Flowers emerge, aware of life
11/22/14 Poetry Contest - "Encounters With Flowers"
Categories:
formative, appreciation, beautiful, beauty, creation,
Form:
Free verse
"Oh my God how beautiful!"
exclaimed my four year old
Granddaughter as we drove over
a small bridge and she saw
the wash with muddy flowing water.
I was reminded at that very
moment how my prayers for an
enlightened teacher were evident.
Her love spreads out like ripples in
a lake as her vibrations expand.
The colors in her aura radiate a
wisdom from many lifetimes.
An Indigo child filled with compassion,
when she speaks I listen and learn.
She sees a beauty in me I don't see.
I see in her an amazing reverent glow.
As we journey through her formative
years together, far faster than I desire,
I watch her contentment grow along with
her uninhibited vivid imagination.
It is indiscernible who is raising whom.
Her joy of living predicates why she's here,
why she has returned to another earthlife.
She is an earth angel and my blessing!
© Connie Marcum Wong
Categories:
formative, angel, joy, love,
Form:
Narrative
Mother Moon, queen of the night;
guardian of her children;
you light the way so that they might envision
with clarity, not provided by daylight.
The formative years are spent
in your kinder care;
a seven-year nursery of enlightenment;
charted in ephemeris,
you guide the family in nurturing
your young ones.
With a blazing star for every child,
you refresh with wisdom,
the minds and hearts that
build a child’s future;
carving out lifetimes,
engineering careers,
guiding every step of life’s path;
Along with earth, air, fire and water
Mother Moon forges lives.
Categories:
formative, metaphor, moon, space, star,
Form:
Free verse
I'd have whispered, "you're daddy's little boy,"
my everything, my bundle of joy.
We would have explored the cafes, parks, and glades,
snapping photos and improving your grades.
We would have gazed up at the stars above
feeling secure in the bond of our love.
And together, we would have shared the earth,
rejoicing in the miracle of your birth.
If only we had more time...
I would have explained the golden rule,
teaching you the lessons not taught in school.
And during your early, formative years,
I would have nursed your hurts and wiped your tears.
You would have entered your teens chasing dreams,
Defiant, in your tee-shirt and blue jeans.
And we would have discussed the birds and bees,
learning about life as you skinned your knees.
If only we had more time...
My heart would have filled with a father's pride
when you knelt at the altar with your bride.
The tears I saved to bless your wedding day
are not able to wash my grief away.
You spent six months amongst those who loved you,
and we gather here today to wish you adieu.
I think of all the things we would have done,
but fate chose to take you away, my son.
If only we had more time...
(Rhyme)
2/26/2016
Categories:
formative, angst, baby, death, father
Form:
Rhyme
The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a
watershed episode from my formative years.
I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than
half of the eraser.
Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one
armed desk made for a 5th grader.
“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE.
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”
*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.
Categories:
formative, introspection, on writing and
Form:
Narrative
The Caregiver
“Stop baby girl”, cried my daddy
be careful lest you get yourself hurt
and more often than not foolish words I would utter
and spew forth out of my mouth in one big blurt.
As a child, I saw into the heart of this daddy caregiver
when he had to paddle me with an otherwise gentle hand,
and I would see the tears that would well up in his eyes
when afterwards I was told to stand.
And momma would warn, choose your friends and close associates wisely
it was the lesson all of us would nightly be taught,
Lest you learn their ways only to find
your feet in the same snare will certainly be caught.
Oh, yes, you try your wings out to see if you can fly
before your chosen time,
only to learn hard lessons were to be gained
which brought you absolutely no peace of mind.
During our formative years these same parents with some
old and new teachers would bring wise teachings into our sheltered life,
trying to help and spare you from hurts
they had had that caused them much pain and dreadful strife.
For we have a Caregiver Whose watchful eyes
will always and ever see,
and such loving arms have then and ever
were always tenderly hold up you and me.
For you see a caregiver now and then has to take a strong stand
not giving in to his charge’s will,
knowing it is for their good and not evil
if they will not run from the correction but obey and stand still.
And, then one day it seems we see
the full picture and reason for it all,
for our God is our Ultimate Caregiver Who gave Himself
to and for us only once but totally now and for all.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings December 2011
Categories:
formative, caregiving, devotion, relationship,
Form:
Ode
Breathe it in ~ fill up your lungs
Their tones muted as the moving crystals
Hummingbird singing a melodious song
Provides you with an opportunity to understand
Nature's powerful formative influences
17.05.2016
- Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
formative, beauty, bird, nature,
Form:
Verse
no one has the saddle over the wild horse by the name fate
Jose as I had known him, had a life twisted by untamed forces
gifted and talented, we were the best of buddies, our lives flagged together
the terrain trans-formative, as we crested into our teens
Sundays were the days when our spirit were humbled
four boys at the alter, hands folded like the portrait of the Madonna
I knew him like the back of my hand, I heard he had a father
a father I had never seen since kinder
yet life moved on, we the sailors displayed our masts
hoping that the winds were channeling us, to a place our souls would please
THE TRANSITION
He woke up to a heard walk, he and his mum weren't playing a game of chase
yet life had him on checkmate
discovering the significance of the two sides of a quarter, you had to employ a plan B and yet keep your plan A on the cricket bat
he led a double life, keeping his closest friends behind the scenes
dropping out of high school was tradition in our hood,only that it marked
a reincarnation, from the faint- hearted Jose to a classical James Bond
FORECASTING
the night intruded by slight mourns from carnivores
lighting sparks and thunder shakes, a grant entry for comic villains
till gunshots, lasting long enough to wipe an army of a thousand
an ambush that "ceased"- captive, the lives of six teens short six times each
one of them a girl, recently dropped out, not even her mum knew where she cribbed
clinging to a heard earned home made short gun, which she innocently giggled like "the machineries" ,the title of a Holy Wood Action Flick
Jose briefly called to inform me of the slaughter, didn't mention he was part only that God had given him an avenue for self evaluation
IT'S DONE
I wasn't into the Chicky gossips, that flew fast than the dailies but this one caught my ears
she came, gasping for breath, thanks to her size she looked like a raged elephant
her gang of hooters awaited the bombshell, till her eyes pinned me
"your little friend is dead"...... I left
I left running to the church next to the sewer, there wasn't anyone but me
quickly pressing Jose's contacts, to the sound of server personnel
"the mobile subscriber cannot be reached"
Categories:
formative, best friend, friendship, growing
Form:
Free verse
MLK's Positive Beloved Community Psychology:
The study
and mindbody experience
of positively regenerative life
as appositionally dipolar,
double-negative correlational,
Mind consciousness
and body conscience
co-arising empathy
back into endosymbiotic dissonance,
physical-ego decay
And metaphysical-ec(o)-soul irrationality
of unbalanced temporal-neural dysfunction,
growing autistic depressive-repressive anger and fear,
chronically disintegrative,
increasingly climatic degeneration,
dis-ease racing toward even further Yangry Fear
monocultural trending self/other
shame/blame,
socio-eco-political
ungrateful
unforgiving pathology
For missing out
on humanely divine
polycultural
dialectical
nondualistic mind/body
crown/root bilaterally intelligent opportunities
To choose full-health wealth investment i
n polyempathic passion/pleasures
of Beloved Woke Community
Interior within Exterior Landscaped
revolutionary content thought
contentment felt
Through Positive BiCameral EcoPsychological Conscious
body gratitude
mind positive attitude
spreading our trauma-in/ex-formative
co-passioned networking virus
ReStoring BodyEmpowering Justice
and Civil MindEnlightening Peace,
PositiveMind BodyPleasureTherapy
CoOperating beloved back
to YangFather
SunCrown enlightening
YintegralMother
EarthRooted empowerment.
Categories:
formative, community, conflict, destiny, humanity,
Form:
Parallelismus Membrorum
Quiet Heroes
Illustrious, noble, dedicated, proud
with these traits are great heroes endowed
but so many go unsung
fighting the odds as only one.
A single parent kneels down to pray
before commencing a long work day.
Who hails their efforts, where are the cheers
for braving through the formative years?
A classroom teacher has changed lives.
Discouraged pupils seek to strive.
Who pays them more or does them homage?
Someone will say, “That takes no courage.”
An addict walks away from drugs
accomplishing things once dreamed of,
reminding themselves everyday
they’ve won the battle in every way.
Illustrious, noble, dedicated, proud
quiet heroes lost in the crowd,
have vanquished victories large and small.
The angels see them, one and all.
11/26/17
Categories:
formative, addiction, hero, parents, teacher,
Form:
Quatrain
The truthful liar mesmerized no one
Even his most fervent followers fell short.
We watched his interchanges which seemed crazy,
And his bragging and grandiose plans abort.
His love seemed wrapped up in his loving buck,
Stealthy snake-like purport with enemies he would consort.
Boom! He was on the TV. Crash! He threw out a tweet.
Snorting, chortling, boredom ripe for a big red port.
We watched him boast and brag, some disgusted be.
Formative finance foreman finds a forever fort.
Political dissonance turning our country upside down.
Misogynist buffoon yelling fake news as a new sport.
Thy vileness and thy nastiness befouls thyself,
Thy fantasticalselfishness flamboyantly galantort,
Reinforces our mindfulness that being President is just a sport.
Lines 1 oxymoron 2 enjambment 3 homographs 4 inversion 5 homonyms
Lines 6 internal rhyme 7 onomatopoeia 8 consonance 9 hyperbaton 10 alliteration
Lines 11 metaphor 12 allusion 13 archaism 14 neologism 15 dissonance
Written 8-19-2018 Contest: A Litany of Poetic Devices
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories:
formative, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
She used to think she was too thin.
Probably because everyone referred
to her as skinny. Her older brother
called her bony butt, to her chagrin.
If.......if only the curves would come.
At sixteen they surreptitiously arrived.
Curves on curves that brought too
much unwanted and embarrassing
attention from the male population
to a shy young woman who was just
discovering how to ascertain who
she was and how she fit into the world.
While walking down the street, she
nearly jumped out of her skin, as a car
came up behind loudly honking at her.
Sometimes they even wildly leaned
out the window making lewd remarks.
Her brother finally had to cease calling
her bony butt. He changed it to Miss Priss.
Now looking back on those pure formative
years through a seasoned nostalgic glow,
a smile crosses aged lips when a horn honks.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Categories:
formative, nostalgia, youth,
Form:
Free verse
I was born in the dusk of March.
There was a blizzard, I’m told.
But I don’t remember it that way.
So much for “out like a lamb,”
and at an ounce over ten pounds,
my mother likely shares the sentiment.
I was a baby elephant.
My formative years were electric blues and neon pinks.
Chester Cheetah, He Man and Max Hedrum.
Our family was teetering on poverty, probably.
We lived on the west side of a dead-end street
with limitless possibilities.
Three sisters and four brothers aside,
I was an only child.
Awkwardly, I attempted my teens,
But oh, those glasses…
They probably had potential,
had I been a decade or seven older.
My prized possession was a saxophone
and I couldn’t gain weight if I tried.
I was a six foot something 2x4.
Somewhere along the way, I can’t say why,
The U.S. Air Force took me in.
They introduced me to avionics and a girl,
a doe eyed product of the dust bowl.
She danced from the hip and into my heart.
She became my first and last kiss.
I was a blushing bridegroom.
Now I’m a two-year veteran of fatherhood,
and an over-qualified desk clerk.
I’m the type who would sooner memorize pi
one or two decimal points past useful
than find it by an infinite series expansion.
I cherish creative outlets, so today,
I am a poet.
04/17/15
Categories:
formative,
Form:
Free verse