Best Gleamed Poems
Lightning rarely strikes without thunder,
causing havoc in gloomy skies.
Humans can't control their plunder,
seeking shelter until the storm dies.
Once, I was your prince - full of charm
and you my willing Cinderella.
Kept you safe from storms that could harm,
just like a human umbrella.
We danced from spring until the fall
and laughed so much, until you cried.
Now here I stand, trying to recall,
that exact moment the music died.
Those eyes of soft chocolate brown,
gleamed with your sweet tender smile.
Now all you seem to do is frown,
and even a glance seems like a trial.
Its been such a long time
since my kiss made those lips quiver,
and my hands didn't commit a crime,
but now my touch makes you shiver.
To unlock those sad songs in your mind,
I couldn't sing the correct lyrics.
Still the right words, I struggle to find
as I love you, doesn't raise your spirits.
As our love begins to rot,
regret plants seeds of discontent.
Yet my love remains, but yours does not,
as you lose yourself in malcontent.
How ironic as you walk away,
the radio plays our special song.
I don't have the strength to make you stay,
after all, it would only be wrong.
Your ghost will linger in the gust
with memories that wish to remain.
When bridges burn, ashes turn to dust,
its difficult to erase this pain.
A book that I plucked
from an antiquity of books
filled my nostrils
with a smell that I will always know
and always love.
This love cannot be explained,
but neither could any indifference.
At the back of the hall,
distant from and opposite to
the comical speaker's rostrum,
behind rows of chairs filled
with the attentive and the obliged
and the hands raised in angst
to express righteousness
and cleverness
(look at me ! hear me !),
I, too, would be righteous
and clever some day
(wasn't that clever ?),
but those dusty old books !
And who could forget God's hand ?
It thrust earthword,
its sword gleamed
a split second before cleaving
a wicked man in two,
skull to groin,
a dusty old book
among dusty old books,
explored with petrified daring
by fingers so tiny they're forgotten.
A platoon of books competing,
all to be explored in turn,
some more readily than others,
all old, all dusty, all so rich in scent,
none to be forgotten,
never to be forgotten.
5th July 2020
A phantom horse came galloping
beneath a silver moon
across a field of recent war
where corpses’ bones lay strewn.
With thunder in his hoof beats,
again and then again,
he raced along a river which,
like blood, ran through that plain.
Though frightful he appeared to be
on land that reeked demise,
a sole intent gleamed strongly
in his sad and ghostly eyes.
Then finally, as dawn began
to paint the broad stretch red,
the unrelenting stallion stopped
and seemed to bow his head.
He briefly knelt, then stood upright
and bore away, with speed,
the spirit of the knight for whom
he’d been a trusty steed!
2014 post for Angela Tune's A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Submitted Oct. 13, 2022
for Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 17 Poetry Contest
Living Truth
Ancient guides of venerated truth
Stumble through numb spiritual graveyards
Where truth casts its shadow in chiseled words,
A signature of affection,
On moss bathed alabaster stones that once
Gleamed in treasures of veracity,
Autographed insights of the ancient sages
Screams out the litany of wisdom
Then begs, like balm, the insomniac unconscious heart
To intone a resurrection,
A living trove of living verbs in action
Breaking from the bondage of a chrysalis redecorated
With raw promises to shake off stagnation,
Relight the lantern star of the eternal spring’s veracity
Springing into actions that rise from stone inertia
Insight’s revelation releases a new song of songs
Truth that lives anew –
That propels the quest of new a-ha’s
That plants new reasons for renewed actions
In the waiting heart embraced.
5-3-22
Contest: Our Truth
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
1st Place Our Truth
How fondly he recalls when doting moon stared
Blush of her radiant smile gleamed opaline skies
While cuddling stellar vibes love they declared
And embracing her allure he venerated his prize.
In womb of romantic night passions-grand aired
Exchanging fervent vows, longing dawn of sunrise,
When revealing prurience every intention bared
In rhapsodic titillation euphoric feelings surmise.
Alas! soon emotions hid—dispiritedly impaired
When blissful times saddened hearing her cries
As souls, deceptively beguiled, no longer cared,
Silence between them grew stoking sullen guise,
For rise of whimsical day, woefully unprepared,
Shadowed glamorous arc, deeming fate unwise,
And upon sanguine horizons stygian storms flared
As the pledges of forever, destiny chose to revise.
She pleaded to forget the love they once shared,
Its flame was extinguished by whim of disguise;
Dreams they dreamt could no longer be repaired
Once the spark of aspirations abandoned her eyes.
Suppressions of emotions left them bereft, unpaired,
As lovelorn inhibitions roared, to spell their demise
Exiting prized fervor, forsaking dreams unrepaired,
Trapping unrequited love-vibes where passion dies.
May 10, 2022
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 30 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: Internal Inhibition
(A conversation with my wife Vera Selena (Osburn) Hinshaw on our 70th wedding anniversary 12 October 2022)
Honey, I thank God every day for bringing you into my life;
For making me the father of our children and for agreeing to be my wife.
We were just two starry-eyed kids when we met on the Bermuda Isle.
Even then I knew you were the one I hoped to escort down the bridal aisle.
Diamonds gleamed in your eyes when we pledged our eternal love.
There is no doubt that our life together was ordained by God above.
Love glowed in our hearts when we were united as man and wife;
Romance has been very much alive during our wedded life!
We've shared so many wonderful memories throughout the years.
There were lean times, laughter, and yes, a sprinkling of sorrow and tears.
Even though your hair has turned from bonnie gold to gray,
To me you've become more beautiful with each passing day!
You've met the vicissitudes of Air Force life with dignity and grace.
You've taught Sunday School and Girl Scouts leaving each base a better place.
You've made a house a home whether in the states or foreign lands.
Our kids and grand kids are what they are today due to your guiding hands.
I brought you a bouquet of yellow roses since they're your favorites, dear.
My love for you grows stronger and stronger with each passing year!
(My eyes welled-up with tears as I knelt and placed the flowers on her grave.)
In dream lone blackbird sits on telephone line,
pleading, what more do I have to give.
Wing once beat out a metronome in time..
leaving thoughts lost through a sieve.
I swore to rebuild our earthen dam,
and hold the waters at bay.
Your dream found a different plan,
left nothing more to say.
Race, now long finished, deemed total loss..,
left my prideful soul entreating.
Waste heart's song diminished, too high the cost,
ask why the day so fleeting.
Last candle's light gleamed in his glowering gaze,
Write journal'd fate, no answer would he belie,
September's temper teamed in shortened days,
to kiss late remember'd lips good-bye.
"When pain, rage and screams buried in the asylum of your heart start to poison your heart slowly and surreptitiously, you become a living ghost." - Anne Winter
Last night I had a dream,
I was a ghost in an asylum,
So many unheard screams,
Intelligence turned into something dumb and numb.
I looked at me,
Her hair frizzy and frazzled,
The ghost looked back at me,
My hair, soft like silk and dazzled.
My eyes, brimming full of life,
Her hollowness of face,
Her eyes dry like a dull knife,
Just like my hollow heart days.
“What did you do”she screamed,
Glass shattered and clattered at my feet,
Her crumpled ghastly face, tears gleamed,
My lips sealed, my heart scared to beat.
Should I tell her it's not her fault,
But my throat is closed and tight,
“It is”said the tears soaked in salt,
My eyes shrilled “Look for the light”.
She was about to throw glass shards at me,
I woke up before she could do it,
I apologise I couldn't set her free,
My room and bones, dimly lit.
Taste of my tears opened my eyes,
Self neglected, broken one always dies,
Fair or unfair,
It was just a nightmare.
I couldn't understand her, I'm not that deep,
Maybe Sylvia could understand the girl in my sleep,
All I could do was weep,
I couldn't fill the gaps so steep.
The ghost left me howling
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry”,
My heart sinking and drowning,
Her eyes, dull and starry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cardboard cathedral, fortress of dust,
you held galaxies in your corrugated ribs—
a kingdom where spoons became swords,
where thimbles gleamed like crown jewels.
O relic of scuffed soles and weary feet,
you were ark and archive,
sheltering braids snipped in summer,
ticket stubs from matinees,
a child’s palm-smudged drawings
of dogs with too many legs.
They called you empty.
But we knew better.
You were the alchemist’s vial,
turning nothing into everything:
a teacup carved by stubborn hands,
a dollhouse with wallpaper scars,
a toy soldier’s trench lined with yesterday’s news.
Father’s voice, rough as burlap,
said, We had bottle caps and stones,
yet here you stood
a holy reliquary of enough.
Beneath beds, you gathered ghosts:
dog tags, a boy’s last letter,
a photograph of Mother at sixteen,
her smile a secret pressed between layers.
When the new world became
all chrome and neon and more~
you remained, stubborn as a scar,
whispering:
The riches are here, inside my ribs.
Now, as I lift your lid,
the past exhales~
a scent of glue and dime-store perfume,
of hands that built castles from lack.
O humble box,
you were never just cardboard.
You were the map,
the compass,
the keeper,
the proof
that life sometimes fits
in a 13x8 shoebox.
*this poem is part of the introduction to my soon-to-be-published book of memoirs titled "Shoebox Chronicles."
Scarlett thought she was promised permanent security.
Satchels of resilience bound her fragile wrists.
Woodland deities hailed her.
Underworld demons feared her.
The curious townsfolk simply stood in contemplation -
Inviting epee's gleamed in their eyes
as the garden shears, in their hands, smiled.
Scarlett oft pretended she was Joan of Arc.
Threads of meshed titanium webbed her sheltered heart.
Sour Grimm moppets heralded her.
Skeptical fairy godmothers chastised her.
The relentless wheel of innocence spun without interruption.
Persnickety rogues sashayed in dumbed silence -
permitting their sordid counterparts unwelcomed invitations
into a void where reverend satchels are tragically punctured.
Scarlett donned spiked eye patches in her latter years.
Protective velour swatches masking mass and the masses.
Myths and urban legends empathized with her.
Gods and martyrs appropriately buried her.
The dumbfounded spirits circle Scarlett's broken window with raised eyebrows.
Quizzically staring at rotting barrels littered with skeins if shredded satchels -
yards if tainted fibers being hopelessly spun into yet another
dark, forgotten midnight.
When spring arrived, my mother dear
hung things on the clothesline.
The bed sheets were a spotless white.
She loved to see those shine!
Dried in the sun, they nearly gleamed
and also waving there
in April’s breeze, on full display-
our old bleached underwear!
#3 : Clothesline
for the LET ME FEEL YOUR LINES Contest of nette onclaud
May the first is traditionally the beginning of Spring
St Joseph is their patron saint this day to be
the only free day when no workers joined
the throng of people shuffling looking already tired
to wherever they work, eyes down still shut tight
Make them work long hours you will find
was their bosses right.
May Day the food was prepared with what money they had
try to find some newish clothes to wear,
though second or third hand.
Their beautiful daughters would wash their hair
then brush it until it gleamed
a small flower was placed with utmost care
A maypole is placed in the village square
With bright coloured ribbons dangling there
The fiddler would play, soon up stepped the gents
follwed by the maidens, with no lover as yet
They weaved and they bobbed shouting with glee
Many a romance started when they danced happily
At the side the morris men would dance
Jiggling their bells sending you into a trance
All made for a happy day, set in your memory
making you smile for another year
before a day free
The may queen was chosen some blushing young beauty
Crowned with a ring of flowers and a small bouquet
She would dance for the people in a small ring
waiting to see who wrote and would recite the winning madrigal
May first brings the spring and buds bursting into flowers
A trillion small petals like a shower would flutter down
the myriad it makes brings a smile to your eyes
Cheers everybody it's spring,
our bodies need this time to relax and survive
Penned 10 April 2015
* madrigal. - a short love poem
Picture taken by an old friend Dave Chang who gave me permission to use it.
“And the rains descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not; for it was founded upon a rock.” Matt. 7: 27
One day along the beach I took a walk.
Before me, there appeared a church. It seemed
to have a strong foundation. Built on rock,
its white brick surface in the sunlight gleamed.
I thought of One who stood upon a mount
once long ago beside a great sea where
his teachings poured like water from a fount
of wisdom for the poor in spirit there.
He said to build one’s house on rock, not sand,
and spoke of charity - the higher love.
Salvation for the meek, he promised, and
the sweet and everlasting peace thereof.
Since Christ so often taught near Galilee.
I loved the sight of His house by the sea!
By Andrea Dietrich/ Sept. 25, 2011
For the Contest of Constance La France ~My Dear Heart ~
"The Church By The Ocean Poetry Contest"
I am a sea shell
exotic and rare
delicate, luminescent
beyond compare
I once was a home
for a creature so tiny
who hid in my depths
protecting her hiney
For she was so lovely
she gleamed and she shined
that she would've been eaten
in that tasty sea brine
But I gave her long life
in my hard purple shell
no one knew she was there
(or they couldn't quite tell)
And I loved her so much
that I named her Ariadne
and fed her tiny bits
of juicy sea debris
'Though she died long ago
and no longer is here
you can still hear her spirit
if you hold me to your ear
Amidst the binge of the champagne, and the glitter on the faces, she heard the
distant lullaby. Glistening repertoire of appreciation elated her, but her soul had been
far forlorn. She smiled her way through the ballroom, shaking hands, wishing
prosperity and hugging the nonchalant children, who didn't even remember her...
their innocent, curious eyes, complacent enough to defy contact.. but still she bore
them momentary warmth.. and quietly soon enough, they gleamed with fondness
towards her. That made her happy. She danced through her guests graciously,
illuminating even the minuscle flicker of the dynamism that inflamed her celebration of
triumph. It was her day of glory, but somewhere, the gaping hole within her had
grown deeper.
She couldn't bear the tinge of strangers crawling beneath her destiny.Like cobwebs
spun all around her, she gasped for someone to call her own. The outlanders raided
her memories in the making. Her soul became an illicit labyrinth that had been
expanding like a monster. She couldn't find her people! Her People. Everywhere she
looked, her vision proliferated from Void. How could she hide from darkness itself?
She cried, but...
A sudden loud burst of laughter from a nearing clan hurled her back to reality. The
strange realization that she had been ruminating through her desires, made her
smile naively. She knew she couldn't be happy. The lust for satisfaction glided life into
her. She resumed her counterfeited solace. To tunes so subtly high and alone, she
began dancing again.
Only till the guests had left, she looked at the empty glasses and collected her tears.
She saw her reflection...The splendour of the ballroom in the background, the beige
on her body and the silence....she felt alive, only, to die again.
~~Won 2nd prize for the Dark Prose Poetry Contest~~
~~~~Thank You all, so very much ~~~~