Best Fray Poems
Forgive intrusion in the fray
I'm making comments today
Tom's limericks, three
were cute as can be
But of Kim and Jack, I must say.....
We all know how well Kim can write
She graces each page of the site
But limerick queen
Jan is a machine
There's no cause to argue or fight (all done in fun)
Limerick's have a syllable count
Ya can't use just any ol amount
Jack uses too many
His words aplenty
It's a problem he must surmount
It's the same with Shakespeare's sonnet
No matter whose name is on it
There's one Scotland Yard
And only one Bard
No imitators, doggone it
Don't get stalled with rhyme and meter
Sometimes prose can read much sweeter
Write what's in your heart
Poetry is art
Pick up your pen and don't teeter
No showdowns here; we're having fun
Put away your slingshot and gun
Not calling the law
Just havin' a jaw
Don't run me out of town...I'm done
Above the pristine, blue lake mountains stand
Shrubs and yellow flowers surround on land
Could this be heaven? Garden of Eden?
Reflection in water is of God’s hand
I visit here to cast the world away
An inspiring way to spend the day
My pad and pen are toted to this site
Where I’ve time to think beyond society’s fray
For you will find no conflict at this site
And often I linger here through the night
Nary a creature has threatened me here
Nature in harmony, such a delight
Written for John Freeman’s Rubaiyat contest and based on his lovely photo of
nature’s beauty.
4/25/2011
i read indulgence mid scripted words
breaking all the rules and then some,
what be greater than gutting & swallowing
uttermost concentration of language
critically consummated or otherwise,
communing within written ideologies
something profoundly reverent or
perhaps deliberate liberating nonsense,
nonetheless commonsensical compunction to
the discerning foresightedness of poets
& enduring escape artists 'tween psyche's
hallucinations & declarations
about analytically anomalous analgesics
and mellisonant melancholy metonymy,
rising above the fray of brutally alliterated
annotations fragmenting & fracturing dimensions,
steel blades sharpening anthologies' imperfect isms
inferring resoluteness 'tween deductive reasoning,
willing exposure imparting quintessential bollocks
literally grasping mercilessly melded metaphors
courageous enough to virtually be aptly bled,
plunged beneath swords' inky touchstones
Inspired by the poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight" by Dylan Thomas and the following quote by William Shakespeare:
“When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
-
Romeo and Juliet
The Call Of The Fray
Beware the insidious light of day,
As slumber plummets from a darkened height.
Cast with great might the morn’s sunrise away.
Only in dreams are you safe from the fray,
Turn to these arms of caress and delight.
Beware the insidious light of day.
One gentle kiss upon lips will delay
Incessant pleas of dawn’s meddling invite.
Cast with great might the morn’s sunrise away.
Entwined, we dance in love’s infinite sway
On intimate sheets of a tender night.
Beware the insidious light of day.
Silhouettes merging in twilight’s array,
Enslaved again by your magical sight.
Cast with great might the morn’s sunrise away.
Keep still, beloved, if I am to stay,
Or this bouquet will fade with mournful plight.
Beware the insidious light of day,
Cast with great might the morn’s sunrise away.
15th November 2019
Midnight Aurora
I have withstood this austere year
Waiting on skies which never clear
Shadows away
Fingers restless for an hour's peace
Scrapes gold flakes from a drying crease
of papier-mache
Random resistance too refined
Leisure, a luxury consigned
To yesterday
Now, tart impatience I require
Passive manners swiftly expire
Against delay
In rushing tempo, I rejoice
Straight-held shoulders, marching my voice
Into the fray
On stout cliffs, I refuse the same
Meek rain, in favor of bold flame
Where bright hopes lay.
7/31/20
For 'Tail Rhyme Stanza' contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
(a note on papier-mache: howmanysyllables has it as 3 syllables but in rhymezone.com it is listed under the four syllable words. I used the count from howmanysyllables.com, but to check it in rhymezone, it is under the four syllable count rhymes - just so there is no confusion.)
Here I sit, diving into some wits,
my mind over, at this time
Looking for some intellect to jot down
Then, I came across these words in my mind.
It is with the muse, that comes to take up,
With my pen to these words, I do write
With the memories of my past, I can seek
They were good times, and bad times, passed.
Though the journey hard
Those times have I flown
I have no more misery
That need to hold out in my storms.
Those times have defined I,
And these words, as I write
It's time to find an end to my fray,
As I, last write.
From humanities onset,
Before consciousness and intelligence met
Or our ever-present, fear-ridden fret
Of our own self-induced, war-torn threat,
Unseen by eyes unobservant,
There’s been an eternal cosmic war event.
Aloft let eyes stray
To the grounds of the bloody fray
Between the entities called night and day.
In the battle of dawn
Day demonstrates its brawn,
Thereby banishing night from sight
By flooding the sky with its light.
In the battle of twilight
Night becomes days plight
By battling to reclaim its ground,
Inevitably winning without an uttered sound.
This conflict fought with undying devotion,
Devoid of any kind of emotion,
It’s not their perpetual damnation
But is their purpose: our salvation.
From humanities onset,
Before our consciousness and intelligence met,
It’s been unquestionably evident,
Though to eyes unobservant,
That life couldn’t survive without this cosmic event.
Looking back past this blink in time....
Finding his innocent child; had we known
How to save a life I lost a friend, somewhere
Along the way amid life's bitterness silently gazing
Purity's eyes
Death’s Fray
Enemy troops discover.
Young soldiers find cover.
Fear of death’s fray hovers
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 26, 2010
Poetic form: Englyn
Poetic Form: Englyn Milwr (The Soldier’s Englyn) REFERENCES follow:
http://blogs.warwick.ac.uk/zoebrigley/entry/the_measures_of_1/
http://jpicforum.info/types-of-poetry/englyn-milwr-680.html
Lines: 3; Syllable count per line: 7,7,7; Rhyme pattern: A,A,A
Nutter Butter. Almond Joy, Mounds Bars, and Cherry Mash.
Those candy manufacturers know how to name to get their cash.
We contenders scoff; we snicker and sneer.
The toymaker crazy idea brigade has just arrived here.
Someone throws out, Betsy Wetsy, Tiny Tears, Shrinky Dinks!
The contest is on, we are throwing down our inks.
Uh-oh. Star Wars George Lucas has entered the fray.
R2-D2, Han Solo, and Chewbacca have paved his way.
I do not mean for imaginations to get crazy, you all.
But is that manly cowboy, John Wayne, giant and tall?
Whew. Relief. False alarm. Just an advertising man.
From the 50’s, with a Marlboro cigarette in his hand.
“See the USA in a Chevrolet,” he screams loud and clear.
“Winston takes good like a cigarette should,” Trixie screams, and all hear.
What are you doing? I hiss, slightly embarrassed, and fully miffed.
Garfield comes in next, with his pal, Heathcliff.
A haughty sixty’s model brings in Beatniks, Hippies, and Happy Faces anew,
Informing us that the 60’s and 70’s was where words really came into view.
What about our urban dictionaries? The 1990’s delegation screams.
We invented words faster than a Mattel toy-namer figured out Barbie in her dreams.
The contest is on, now, the whole imagination convention is dancing and twirling.
My dendrites are hopping, clogging, doing somersaults, flipping and swirling.
What about those music videos? White-gloved Michael Jackson asked.
When his creative prowess enters, everyone promptly is aghast.
Are we doing words, ideas or what? I hear a contender scoff.
Three prissy judges get mad, and two promptly walk off.
No matter what, the creative committee is having a field day,
Meeting in Room Sixty-Two thousand ideas, and we all want to play.
Here’s an idea, one screams loud and clear.
Let’s just throw out some words, and scramble right here!
Trixie is ready to drop our hat into the ring.
She jumps right in there, to do a bit of Jell-O wrestling.
I am proud of my muse. I give her the wink.
She grabs Donald Duck, and she gives him a twink.
Her medal is all over the place, in shades of yellow and pink.
We are having a great time, our ideas on the brink….
Enter madness
enter sadness
two hearts colide
in a beautiful divide
eyes begin to tear
now the end is near
soulless wispers in the dark
lifeless lovers invade the ark
it has to end now
but we cant find a way how
we have to get out
or oblivion will come about
I'm feeling so cold,
I take it in with each breath I hold.
As I sigh to exhale all this pain,
But my soul has strayed.
Now I walk alone towards brighter skies,
With just these tattoos engraved by my knife,
The same one I used to make myself bleed
Just so I could be free......
I want to change just like the wind,
Blow me in a direction away from my sins.
And I want to change with the seasons beginning with fall.
so I could leave the cold behind me and love a new warmth.
Beneath a willow, children play
Sun shining brightly, a fine day,
Observe our lovely neighborhood
So peaceful and calm, all is good
Problems? We live above the fray.
Written May 23, 2022
Submitted to "Bite Size Poem No. 45" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Sickness incredulously slipped the noose
wormed its way past healthy constitutions
and lodged spear like into Adams’ rib
Tenaciously Life held back
marshalling the frontline
lymphocytes funneled nutrients
from Mother’s soup
into the societal fray.
The sparrows and cardinals
squabble -
hedgerow turf wars.
Sudden low evening rain.
Do the trees weep, or does the sky?
Anger seeps into drywalls
fills eyes with a restless acrimony.
Yesterday the sun was a brightness
on the wrists of small boys.
They played out a violent video game,
a shrill virtual savagery;
strife is merrily cast into the consonant air.
Garden blooms seem to badger each other
for a nook of sky.
Tonight I hope the owls keep blinking.
I hope tomorrow,
the Dalai Lama, or a politician
will actually say something wise.
Perhaps, a news anchor
will tire of his daily sneers?
Will owls stop questioning?
Wait! Is this a fresh morning breeze?
Are there hand-washing angels, do they rise
now within us to scatter and flay,
lather all into amity;
dissolve the moth bones, the spiked wings,
of that darkly spawning fray?