Best Gladdened Poems
Winds
raged as
fires glowed in
small frowzy shacks
that strange Georgia eve an angel was born.
The sky proclaimed that lives would re-arrange;
with Joy’s first cry,
the tempest
changed to
calm.
Warm
Zephyr -
spring magic -
arrived with Joy.
Her laughter was kindling for hearth and home.
No galas in her future ; she was poor.
Never frowning,
Joy would flash
diamond
smiles.
Her
Mama
sewed flounces
on hand-me-downs,
which Joy wore with glee, celebrating life.
As Papa played his guitar for them all,
Joy danced and twirled.
Humdrum fled
in her
stead.
Fair,
yellow-
haired; slender
like sassafras,
this sunny lass gladdened all of the town.
Humankind exists that we might have joy.
Those touched by that
sweet angel
all learned
this.
Joy
expelled
gloom, giving
her cheer to all.
Nevertheless, joy is often short-lived.
One strange spring day, a cold wind blew in. As
thunder quaked, warmth
waned, and Joy
was no
more.
For Chris D. Aechtner's
"Double the Fun ~ (Tetractys)"
"Though passing through sad and sombre times, let us be gladdened by the joy and peace Xmas brings"- by Poet
She felt the kicks, this time more intense
A mother’s primal instinct told her thus;
‘Can travel no further, need a place
To rest and ease your birth throes’
Mary and Joseph at last spotted a manger.
Temporarily secured from imminent danger
Sheltered from the gaze of the ruminating herd,
She delivered the babe when darkness still hovered
There lay on the hay, baby Jesus haloed in glory
The one who came to script a new story
Singing with cymbals on that wintry night
His birth was announced by angels bright
“Glory to God on high and peace on earth”
Its intonations creating rising waves of mirth
The shepherds, getting that message divine,
Came in hordes to behold the face benign
They knelt down and worshipped the King of kings
While seraphs hovered around on petite angel wings
On every Xmas, His nativity is duly remembered
And in all corners of the world it is joyously celebrated
On that night the star spangled sky glowed radiant
Sending out a light- luminous and lambent
All was bright and calm that serene night
A rare tranquillity drowning every nook in delight
Waving a magic wand, he has come to reign
To liberate mankind from the bondage of sin
Across the noise and strife of today’s weary world
A festive scene of celestial joy is unfurled
The peace of Xmas, as it sifts through the air
Fills each and every heart with overwhelming cheer
Placed First in the contest
Nov. 28, 2021
“X” Contest, New or Old Poetry
Sponsor – Constance La France
Roses and Sunbeams
Her scent wafts alongside her and sinks into my heart;
For I have become fixated, by a desire for her touch.
She was glorious and overpowering, from the very start;
I am hooked and addicted to her love; she is my drug.
She leads me to distraction, for in her I eyes I am lost;
Hopelessly infatuated with her, I see only roses.
She brings me to Heaven and my trust is all it cost;
For she believes in my faithfulness and in her pocket are posies.
Her words are like sunbeams, bringing light to my darkness
And our candlelit romantic nights; shall never be soiled.
She can remember my love and forget any bitterness;
For I am here to cure her heart and our love can never be destroyed.
She is eternally locked, within a memory of happiness;
For she brings me warmth, when all else in the world is cold and black.
I am alive when our hands are together; embrace me my Goddess.
For I am enslaved by your beauty and I shall never fondness lack.
I have no need to speak to her of my lust for her body;
Because she can see clearly how much I love her; I glide.
In her arms I am forever gladdened, by her proximity;
But if she was ever taken from my eyes, I would surely die.
I need her presence beside me, to guide me along;
This story of a life, as of yet unseen by the world.
But inside her I find, I am locked forever, she is our song;
She is a poem, a poetess, a masterpiece…she is my girl.
She is the flick of the last paint stroke, on the Mona Lisa;
She is the full stop at the end of a play by Shakespeare.
She is the last chip off the shoulder, of the Adonis sculpture;
She is the seal to enclose the writings of a scripture of literature.
She is the last second of pregnancy; she is a new born baby.
She is the last, she is unique, she broke the mould; she is reverie.
She is the Gateway to Heaven; she is the perfect lady.
She is Gods day of rest after a week of creating humanity.
She is the last heartbeat of my life and she is love…
She makes me complete…she is the perfect finishing touch.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
"When festive seasons come, I can't but slip into memories of the time I lived with my parents making me feel that unlike photographs, memories never fade and into their faces framed and hung on my mind's wall, I always peer."~ By Poet
Once again Christmas is here, the merry Christmas time,
When the church bells at midnight sweetly chime
I see streets and houses with Christmas stars adorn,
To receive infant Jesus, who in human form was born.
As Christmas has come, I think of the vanished bliss,
Of the days when life moved like a gentle wind with a sweet hiss,
And for us kids, with no trace of sorrow, it was all fun.
A time when we got love, care, and attention in ton.
Of those days, what all sweet memories I still can weave.
All our dear ones from far and wide used to gather on Christmas eve.
My mother would be busy cooking the Christmas meal.
The aroma of cakes being baked, even from far we could feel.
Though there were no presents under the tree to be opened
And no fanfare as of now, we were all gladdened,
By a pair of new dress for each to be worn to church
Over which my siblings and I were excited so much
In new dress, it was bliss walking with our parents along the street,
For the midnight mass, unmindful of the pain on our feet.
Now as Dad and Mom are gone, all I can do for them is to pray,
And remember with a thankful heart their love, I can never repay.
Festive occasions spark such nostalgia that I always crave for,
The warmth I got as a child from my parents who are no more.
When I think of my siblings scattered in places, out of reach,
A lump forms in my throat that leaves me numb without speech.
Our home had been such a beautiful place where there was only light.
And the sweet faces of my dear ones for ever stay in me so bright.
As waves of memories from the past relentlessly throw back and retreat,
Blood calls to blood and their echoes beat hard on the walls of my heart.
I am the breath of teardrops drying
A whisper coaxed awak’ning on rippled pond
Shadows creeping amid the grey stones
Concealing both prey and predator
A faint kiss to lift the butterflies aloft
Caress the wafting scent of budding roses
A shiver on the sweaty back of toil
A riffling of leaves still wet at dawn
A gladdened moment dancing with a feather
The dusty face of tumbleweeds at play
I am the humming voice of towering pines
That eerie whine amid the canyon stones
I am a sound e’er present in the silence
A gentle hint that life is everywhere
A woman’s spirit hovers
above an inert body that is hers.
She sees the surgeons cutting
and then sees their frantic efforts
as they try to bring her back to life.
She had died and yet is able
to describe exactly everything
they’d said and done
when her anesthetic wears off!
Others – many others – have had
similar experiences called NDE’s.
Many see a tunnel or a light,
and some with loved ones long departed
may briefly unite.
Their hearts are gladdened.
They wish not to go back to this life
that most of us fight so hard to stay in.
But God alone determines when we die,
and so we know it was not time for THEM either.
Science cannot prove the afterlife,
nor can it disprove it.
How can anyone explain NDE’s
wherein the subjects’ hearts stop beating
or there is no brain activity?
They try to say the mind hallucinates
when on the brink of death,
but how can they account for miraculous recoveries?
And how do they account for the utter joy and love felt
by the many who get that precious glimpse of heaven?
What kind of light of such resplendence
could make a person wish
his soul had not even been returned to his earthly body?
Things that mortals cannot understand
in time (and in death) will be comprehended.
Lucky are the ones for whom
near death comes to them,
for death to them would have to be
a thing never more to fear again-and instead-
would be a thing to live for!
N/A April 27, 2022 in Chantelle Anne Cooke's Near Death Experience Poetry Contest
Submitted Sept. 18, 2022 for Sotto Poet's Your Second Chance 2Nd Submission: Poetry Contest
Kick.
A lot of questions arose in mind always and
Always those vanished from scene
Today I gathered them in mind and called
O I noticed you were ultimate piece.
Searches of bliss and peace and wealth of axis
Noted honestly by flowery pen with golden tips
Blank paper was gladdened with ink and flip
Told me I am happiest gist.
Amidst dreadful knocks of jolts and downs
Started to notice: I want to be your wrist
And was urging please be dedicated to assist in this
In your cities and towns I am arrested with natural kiss.
Love you so sending this SMS from my pad
I believe modern tongs may deceive but honest is chips
I will be afternoon this to shake hand broadening teeth
Questions emerged from mind then will be all dismissed.
(05/08/2014)
The vividness of the dazzling tones
of an Autumn's landscape is alluring,
making the beeches gleam when it rains;
it has captured me into the realm of fantasy,
as I am taken onto a road walked by a couple
that strolls side by side so gladly and serenely.
Gogh's ghost speaks to me from a gilded frame,
he invites me in to accompany him to his home...
down a path that he has walked before;
he senses my contentment of wonder,
so gladdened by his September landscape,
then slowly he unfolds his mystery to me."
He explains why he painted the flamboyant scenery,
" Any man affected by such a vision
must not stand still and contemplate it;
he must grab brush and paint and live
his last noble moments in the shadow of solitariness. "
" After I died, my paintings have made fortunes,
I was paid little, not enough to survive my day;
at times, money was scarce even to buy
a canvass, but relying on providence
I have been rewarded for my patience,
and seeing you admire what I've created,
makes me happy and worthy of my accomplishment. "
" Thank you, kind friend for your valued company;
I am a few yards from home: a grave with a granite
headstone is the coldest place in the depths of the earth!
Here, I'm warmed by sun rays...a return to a past life;
may I ask you to take me back to my gilded frame?
I feel a complete stranger after a long absence;
my real home is not where I was born and painted...
it's there in that landscape I call sweet refuge. "
I walk him back as he straddles on his tired feet,
and looking at me he warns, " Aspiring artist,
don't let time be your merciless foe, defeat it
with every ounce of courage, get to work! "
I heed those prophetical words and ponder
them along the lively path that resembles the one
he had painted for humanity to appreciate beauty.
Painting: " Les Alyscamps " by Vincent von Gogh
Written on 5/6/2016
The day cannot turn gray
though it may be cloudy
though the storm may be rowdy
but when I walk Your way
the day is not gray.
The night is not frightening
though the moon may not be serenading
though clouds may obstruct star gazing
but when in Your light I am gazing
the night is not frightening.
The wind does not turn me cold
though it may blow strongly
though it may shout loudly
but when it is You I behold
the wind does not turn me cold.
The music of my heart's never dead
though the violins may stop their fiddling
though the drums may stop their beating
but when I feel Your heart turned glad
my song becomes a sonnet.
By CarolineCecile
As my soul nears it's journeyed winter resting place
memories of past seasons are thoughtfully traced
footpaths that were traveled which gladdened my heart
grateful of the spring which gave me my start
Honeyed by the bee's attracted too sweet nectar
strengthened by the breeze of Nature's mentor
sweet song of birds adjoining trickling brook
was an opening to me of an Earthly book
Scripted purpose...symbolic in every sign
my soul's perseverance willingly resigns
to the ebb 'n flow of universal currents
energizing forces resolutely meant
Joyful guidance toward long awaited embrace
opportunity beckons,Heaven's consoling face
as our Earth...the nursery of the soul,
proper attention paid,then reimbursed with gold
Summer's sun producing autumn fruit
bountifully doled from beginning roots
gestures solemnizing eventual union
Spirits agape fulfilling another aeon....
It’s sweet, so sweet, our God’s embrace.
The gladdened news - Christ’s costly grace.
The saddened haze, when all seemed lost,
when leaves fell off the tree, when frost
would splinter hands and feet, deface.
Of atmosphere - our outer space,
the depths he held - our inner place.
Christ paid it all - to sin’s exhaust.
It’s sweet, so sweet.
He wore our leaves, the fig’s disgrace.
He shared our loss of par’dise-ace.
The death of Christ, was worth the cost;
He rose - the barrier was crossed.
The salvation of human race -
it’s sweet, so sweet!
4/22/2022
Contest: Your Favorite Theme (Rondeau)
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Glory ran in my head
I was soon to take the lead
Made into the Queen
The one to rule behind the screen
Was suddenly thrust into the light
The limelight shining so bright
My seat was there, so shiny
It all made me so preppy
As I climed the stairs
I was all in tears
A lifetime of repairs
Rang in my own ears
When I froze, so stony
The announcer said sorry
A mistake it was, his own
My name thrown on the back lawn
I watched, as my seat was taken
By my contestant, so gladdened
No more to be the Queen
I was sure to turn mean!
I have many friends for whom I truly care,
But few, I’ve allowed, into my intimate space;
It’s from this rut’s bottom, at life, I stare,
And most don’t enjoy this uninteresting place.
But with only the few which I’ve shared clock,
The few who’ve made my heart feel gladdened.
Who leave me feeling like the king of the rock,
Not used, un-loved, depressed, or saddened.
Jesus commanded us to “love thy neighbor as thyself”
But loving and tolerating are dissimilar.
Tom
A tree trunk in wet marsh,
Intimate again with its own leaves,
Moves to nourishing decay.
Lichens and moss feed here,
Raising their personal forms
To scenes on insect roads.
Above the changing trunk
A smoke of butterflies
Mingles with resurrecting steam.
Something of a tree has stopped,
Has let its body down by its own weight,
Has simply let go;
And some of us who watch,
Who feel a common motion,
Are saddened by the stopping;
And some of us who feel,
Who watch the common changes,
Are gladdened by the feeding;
And some will ponder butterflies
And find unchanging hope
In hovering evanescence.
Since I began my poetical journey, Mister Guest has been my inspiration.
To emulate this extraordinary poet has ever been my motivation.
He had that rare ability to portray the ordinary wonders of every-day life;
Impish children, the warmth of home and an occasional shrewish wife!
'Twas in my high school English classes that with him I was smitten.
Since then I've enjoyed nearly every poem that he has ever written.
He has gladdened my soul with his wide range of emotions.
His is poetry that has touched hearts here and across the oceans!
"It takes a heap o' livin' in a house to make it home!"
Ah! That splendid line of his evokes warmth of family in my dome!
His is verse that folks can associate with that will stand the test of time.
No haiku or blank verse for him - he wrote with rhythm and rhyme!
He wrote about the joys of youth and the contentment of old age;
Of the vicissitudes of life, dispensing words of advice so sage;
Of the value of work, of beggars and kings and the miracle of love;
The camaraderie of true friendship and guidance from Above.
Dear to my heart shall always be the poetry of Edgar Guest.
His works have inspired generations and we've all been truly blessed.
His legacy will every be the poetry he left behind for the human race.
He has crossed that mysterious veil and now rests in God's embrace.