Best Gate Poems
‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars
this ‘green and pleasant’ land of ours
conceals behind its dry stone walls
secrets, streams and waterfalls
where stepping stones that gather moss
‘shine forth’ and tempt us both across
to distant fields of eighties’ skies
now clouded through autumnal eyes
where sheep still bleat as we both pass
along old paths of weathered grass
rekindling thoughts as each track weaves
of first love, hope and burning leaves
that once infused a simpler air
but linger still inside somewhere
to guide us on those wistful miles
through woods, past farms and over stiles
in search of where we sat and spent
time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt
over the hills and far away
inside a world called yesterday
and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late
in fields beyond the kissing gate
where now through gentle smiles and tears
reflecting on those forty years
it feels like time has flown so fast
since young love asked if love could last.
Regally it stands, the staunch guardian of her lonesome heart,
Reminiscing in revelries of yore, treasured memories impart,
Defying glum turbulence of now, hanging on to seasons past,
When springs-winsome banished, doldrums harsh-winters cast.
Disheartened, the gate harkens back~ O, so young its master died,
Lamenting of distressed times, when grief stilled her teary eyed;
Yet, with resolve, it squeaks its hinges, resounding a voice of pride,
Beckoning to benevolence of bliss, fate had so callously denied.
With kindred vibes it greets her, vying elation of cherished days,
Suppressing aches and rattles of its rusting, clamoring, phase;
Preferring realm of time, when he was the keeper of this place,
As dutifully now it opens wide, exuding mirth of youthful grace.
O, how fondly the gate recalls, dance of duo beneath full moon,
Humming melodies intimate, passions of doting souls croon,
Embracing celebration of life, as heartbeats enamored attune,
To rhythms emanating song of love, strumming infatuated tune.
Despite groans and whimpers, blaring aloud clattering of pain,
The gate vows to protect her, refusing ever to wither or wane,
Unwavering through thunders, rains, vicious strikes of feeble age,
Challenging its steeled bones, to gallantly defy seasons’ rage.
Withered memories invigorate, rekindling rhythm of heart,
Grabbing hold of me to retrieve elation of forgotten past
Throbbing in enchantment, treasured memoirs now impart,
Where decaying house stands, bearing grief seasons cast.
Up the hill I trek, gazing pastures glistening in dawning day
As glint of dawn slowly scintillates horizon shrouded gray
Amid mooing calls of cows, where mango trees gently sway,
Waltzing echoes of yore, clucking~ clattering hens convey.
How regally it welcomes me, my cherished childhood place
Beckoning as it peeks through the creaking old metal gate
That opens wide its fatigued frame, exuding welcome grace,
Lamenting of rusted hinges, squeaking of weathered fate.
Buoying on impulses serene, you enter boldly realm green
Fixated in pristine meadows~ burbling tenor of streams,
Holding my indulgent embrace, there you proudly preen,
For being blessed to own endearing piece of idyllic dreams;
Envisioning an intimate chalet, built on love felt and known,
Where cattle graze, birds built nests, animals freely roam,
Among paradise of orchards, vines, bedazzling as it’s grown,
While rusty old gate, loath to moan, beholds bliss of home.
July 1, 2022
Placed 1st: One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Part 3: AT HEAVEN’S GATES
To set Her free from destiny was far from my design,
but, though unplanned, I touched Her hand to give Her peace of mind.
She told me then, and then again, that providence Divine
had cast a curse, and even worse: despised by all mankind,
She walked alone, unseen, unknown, Her soul incarnadine.
To break this spell of living hell, of loneliness enshrined,
and end Her days within the haze, a sole redeeming deed
would give reprieve and maybe leave our destinies entwined -
Her final quest be put to rest if only I agreed,
but no surcease nor perfect peace nor hope if I declined.
The shadows, shawled in silence, crawled, the night Her fate was sealed
as vespers tolled across the wold beneath the muted fog.
The heavens cracked and sorrow slacked as chimes of children pealed
while in the hills (where midnight chills) there wailed a daemon dog -
with no delay I lead the way, the path to Potter’s Field.
Her weathered face was lined with Grace, Her eyes shone emerald green.
With me as guide She stepped inside to grieve and mourn Her loss,
and thereupon, though pale and wan, the night took on a sheen.
With weary eyes as Her disguise, She placed a wooden cross
upon a mound (unhallowed ground) and whispered ‘Sibylline...’.
A falling star flared in the far and burst, a bolide flame -
beneath the light, the Final Rite no longer hid undone.
And kneeling there in silent prayer, we seemed to share the shame
but could atone if left alone, forevermore as one.
Before we both could breathe an oath, I asked Her once Her name.
Through lips, pale red, She simply said ‘Some called me Abigail’,
and neath a birch where white doves perch, I took Her for my bride,
beheld Her smile a little while, but all to no avail...
Her cloak and cape, and shrivelled shape lie empty at my side...
for now She waits at Heaven’s Gates, not far beyond the Pale.
Rusted, but well oiled and continuously in use, heaven’s gate.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: One, One Liner
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Placed 2nd
© 9th November 2016
Often, I open the cemetery gate to visit mother,
"I took the bus mother, the scenery was lovely;
I brought you a red rose from my own garden,
and now I stand weeping."
"Do not be sad daughter,
my time was finished;
you know I suffered,
now, I know peace."
(The birds are twittering.)
"oh but I miss you so much mother,
your voice, your touch, your love;"
"We had a wonderful life you and me daughter,
talking over tea, gardening, going for country drives."
"Oh, yes mother, I remember all that and so much more!"
(The leaves are whispering.)
"It is time daughter to let go,
do not dwell with the dead;"
"Mother, I wish that I could break this chain of grief,
so many lay with you beneath the cold earth."
" And we are all at peace, beyond all pain we dwell,"
(weeping) "I must go mother, I will back soon, promise."
(A red rose left, disappears.)
___________________________
September 5, 2016
Verse
Submitted to the contest, Best Sad Poem Ever II
sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
I wished to ascend,
so I called a friend,
who knew of such things
and how to grow wings.
‘God’s abode’s within’,
he said, ‘so begin,
by simply choosing,
head and heart, fusing’.
‘Each impulse distil,
aligned with His will’.
So I set out thus,
aboard God’s love bus.
I reached heaven’s gate
and there chose to wait,
for the gate was locked,
so I stood there docked.
A voice then affirmed
that I’d have discerned,
the gate’s my ego,
which I must forgo.
Once there’s no blockage
and no desires rage,
cleansed of every sin,
I may then walk in.
I cowered in fear,
for my life was dear.
What’s left, if I die?
Is heaven, a lie?
Conscience egged me on,
ego shorn, reborn,
the false dropped away;
I saw then God’s play!
I was living light,
shining day and night.
The gate was but thought,
fears, ego begot.
The manifest world,
but intent unfurled,
to know all are one,
each being God’s son.
Life’s a lucid dream,
where thought forms do stream.
To exit this game,
simply take God’s name.
The rot’s sunk in deep.
How long will we sleep?
There’s no gate, dear friend.
Vaporise! Ascend!
23-June-2022
One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Syllables: HMS
"The faces of pretty flowers will brighten anyone's day." By Poet
Today I took a walk down the street,
and found a beautiful flower garden.
I was in awe of the "Jewel" like flowers,
some stretching their heads over the white fence.
The "Gate" was open so I went in,
the bunny heard me "Mutter" heavenly place.
A weeping willow caught the sun in a "Shadow."
Spawn of the arcane, glutted, she sprawls upon the sands
of mythos. As victims, star-crossed lovers, outcasts,
we have all seen the traces of these nether lands.
Sphinx-like, besotted, she lays among the bodies dashed.
A pixie smith has cast her silver chains, retained her
inside this mystic plane, stained her hide vintage rose.
Among the cards on the table, it is plain; she purrs.
Do you know what she knows; guess, a riddle she poses.
Protection sought from life's trials is at her command.
But, few coupled or single have journey past her grasp.
Unknown, to the unschooled, their senses unused, banned,
Christendom, the sacred fecund grail has miscast.
From Hatshepsut's visage, bound to Sekhmet she's sworn
beware, beware The Chariot's card once it is drawn.
There's an old timber, farm gate at the end of a track.
You wouldn't see it driving past unless you looked back.
It's made of roughly hewn wood more than a lifetime ago,
time and weather has worn it down, as the seasons ebb and flow.
A rusty abandoned ute lays near, covered in pine tree nettles.
Where weeds and braken make claim to it as in the earth it forever settles.
Late sunlight filters through the trees, casting shadows through the gate.
Where once cattle on the other side for feed would stand and wait.
Young children used to play on the gate, stand and swing it open wide.
Then climb through the cypress trees for another place to hide.
Atop the rail the magpies perch, warbling away without refrain.
Intently gazing across the fields, the kings of their domain.
The children have all gone now, grown up and moved away.
For many years the gate lay untouched, its frame in disarray.
Who knows? maybe someone will see its worth and fix the old farm gate.
Embed it back into time, for another's memories to recreate.
The old rusty gate Could not hang straight It had way too many years on it It needed dads tool kit.
When were young We hung on the gate and swung Going back and forth But never north.
As we grew up The gate and us were no longer a new pup The weather got the best of us We were not going to cause a fuss.
The old rusty gate needs
Some paint and some beads Like when we were kids She needs some new digs.
Date Written: 6/22/2022
on the pinnacle
he resists temptation
traffic resumes
THE GATE OF DEATH
I will shut my gate; and no man can open it.
And if I open it; all men shall come in once because of hunger in their world.
The bodies that entered me daily is unbearable.
The entrance of my gate has been battered.
Come with your money; ye affluence that desire my beautiful gate.
The weeping voices , blood stain of the innocents and the curses that follow some death into my gates; Scared me.
I am only an entrance for your journey and not comforter of the bereaved.
I lift up my gates, for evil souls to enter without security check on them, yet they refused to enter.
They are waiting to snoop –on my gate; in my gate no detective enters and return.
The imagination of hell kept many souls from dying,
The gate of death where only the dead in Christ dances for eternity.
My entrance is a sepulcher of peace for those that come in full age and lived rightly.
Gate of death where entrance is optional.
The faces of sepulchral, gloomy and somber tone voices of farewell never seize.
Foot prints of the dead has broken my gate.
But the architectural splendor of my gate which split personalities;
Whenever they come in contact,
I will shut my gate against unhappy faces; and corpses will walk freely with the living until the time appointed.
Written by
Pastor Emmanuel Brown Omojevwe
To New Year's gate I come with this old pain
I need to lay it down my peace to gain
I'm unresolved in issues of the heart
and soon I hope this sadness will depart
The year that passed has witnessed death of love
and brought to grave the dreams that soared above
It taught my heart the lesson of regret
and yet those sweetened lies my joy beset
And so I stand here at this blessed brink
I want the wine of love once more to drink
My mind is searching for that blessed place
where heart can bury pain and leave no trace
The New Year comes and with it hope springs new
That hungry eyes will savor words from you
Eileen Manassian
I'm sensing something familiar as a lost memory
coming back and revealing itself in realistic form;
glancing at the rose-covered gate without a worm,
it looks different, somewhat newer; its color was gray
and roses that now cling weren't there...it's so enchanting!
Looking closer, I perceive another feeling of elation slowly rising.
An old house with long florid windows stood there,
beautiful flowers waved on windowsills looking out to the daisy-draped lawn...
that was the only beauty it had, then Erica ran down
and met me and gave me the most gorgeous sunflower;
I couldn't resist the lovely smile in those eyes color sapphire...
she was burning like the dry desert sand and asked me to quench her fire!
I recognized the passionate gleam in her enamored look, yet fearful as a deer;
she led me through the rose-covered gate with unbelievable rush, her fair hand
was much warmer than the blood in my bursting veins, we had to explode
in passion and emit moaning screams that only the serenading bluejays could hear.
There it laid: a bed made of lilacs and jasmines...strong was the aroma I breathed,
I pulled her down as someone too desperate to devour and satisfy with eager eyes;
and too happy to lose myself in that ecstasy, I became the wild man she needed...
chimerical as dreamers, we clung to each other and sighed in our splendid Paradise.