Best Hails Poems
Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor,
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.
In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.
In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.
I Love Horses: A--Z
A is for... Appaloosa. They have
blankets on their rumps.
B is for...Belgian. They work
hard and can pull up stumps.
C is for...Clydesdale. They're
BIG bays with white fluffy feet.
D is for...Dartmoore, a pony
from the moors--so sweet!
E is for...Egyptian, the finest
horse on desert sand.
F is for...Fresian: Big black War
Horse--a Knight's demand.
G is for...Gypsy Vanner, a rare
beauty like fairy tales.
H is for...Hanoverian. The best
all-round from England hails.
I is for...Irish Tinker. A loyal
horse that's black and white.
J is for...Java Pony. He's
Indonesia's working sprite.
K is for...Knapstrup. He's a
horse full of leopard spots!
L is for...Lipizzaner: Grey
leapers known in the Big Tops!
M is for...Mustang. Wild and
Free--roams America's West.
N is for...Nonius: Big-headed
black and drives the best.
O is for...Oldenburg. Dressage
ribbons just get bigger.
P is for...Palomino. Roy Rogers
named his, Trigger.
Q is for...Quarter Horse,
cowboy's fav'rite! Does
Everything!
R is for...Racking Horse. His
ride's so smooth it will make
you sing.
S is for...Spotted Saddle Horse,
Gaited beauty everyone loves.
T is for...Thoroughbred. Racing,
"The Sport of Kings", he does.
U is for...Ukrainian Riding
Horse: Beautiful born after
War's end.
V is for...Vlaamperd: Flemish
black stallion and true friend.
W is for...White (Albino) Horse.
The Lone Ranger's 'Silver'--of
course!
X is for...Xilingol. He's
Mongolia's riding draft horse.
Y is for...Yonagui, a chestnut
pony from Japan.
Z is for...Zebra: African wild
but tamed by man.
A personal therapist long past
the end,
The love of a horse...is the
love... of a Friend.
deborah burch
02.28.2013
As she leaps on pink and satin cloud,
Beauty is with her, like a shroud.
In sunny mist, a twilight stream,
She laughs and frolics as in a dream.
Through slumbrous days and steamy nights,
She oft takes off on strange flights.
The dance is one of mystery,
Performed without a symphony.
In the marsh and in the glen,
She'll pause to rest now and then.
In shady forest and green meadow,
She flits through trees and grass below.
Wearing jewelry of amethyst,
She resides in sunset's rainbow mist.
The trees bow low where she prances;
The world stops to listen when she dances!
She makes the young gentlemen blush;
And the landscape still and hush.
She wakes the robins in the morn;
Caresses waiting stalks of corn.
She hails the sunrise with a whirl;
She's a very special girl.
At times surly, at times sweet,
The wind goes by on satin feet.
Graced by festive home-made trimmings
On an eve which hails life aglow--
Merry tears drift in wonderment
As spark of hope blazes, to flow :
That each dwelling exalts JOY JOY
Bright the praise through heaven above ,
For the magical glee this year—
A wintertime brimming with white of frost
Of beningn dusks. a swerve imperial
Kindling what nourishes all… LOVE!
12/4/2016
Shadow Hamilton's A Winter Poem
This one goes out to a special poetry souper.
Dedicated to an unknown rhythmic ink trooper.
Her poetic pen is mightier than any sword,
she cares not for attention nor craves to be adored.
Not a daily poster, but like petals her words grow,
releasing deep thoughts like tranquil rivers flow.
Pouring out pain, portraying a life full of commotion,
she's never afraid to reveal deep repressed emotion.
Nonchantly, composing sonnets, prose and monorhymes.
A 'free verse' soul with a pure gift, ahead of the times.
Sometimes her humour can lead to hysterics.
Other times her words sing like melodic song lyrics.
From undefined uncertainties to unseen and unheard,
they're relatable verses, reflected through sentiments stirred.
Elegant as a redolent rose with that Midas touch.
Her art is like a masterpiece that needs no retouch.
Needs not hide behind metaphors to create her poetry.
Hails from an island of sapphire skies and turquoise sea.
I know her journey has faced a mountain of adversity
and living among devious souls has caused controversy.
Despite the darkness, she glows like a lantern at night.
In times of trouble, always finds the willpower to write.
When torment arrives, stabbing my heart with spears,
she's always there to ensure my mind's not full of fears.
A honest heart with the modest grace of a pacifier.
Has formed a legacy of an unassuming versifier.
Like a peacock spreading beauty - flamboyantly.
For me, the Aura of Rhymes is poetic royalty.
Your splendiferous day is finally complete.
Your grateful heart smiles, with joy replete.
Knowing you survived this day’s travails.
Unecessary, for you to get any hurrrahs and hails.
In your serene bed, beneath a soft quilt, you retire.
Knowing you did your best, and in some hearts, lit a fire
Outside, you observe, the deep onyx skies has eyes.
That love and care for you, ‘tis absolutely no disguise.
You surely are a child of a stupendous, watchful, universe.
Sent to planet earth, to express your vivid truth in verse!
1/11/2024
Not Again! six inches on top of the snow we already had! This started out to be a blank verse sonnet, but it didn't turn out that way.
The snow has smothered life tonight
Our world now gleams in flawless white
Below the earth, the bulbs’ low whine
impatient with delay of time.
Their voice is faint and fainter still
the cry of birds in fluffed-up chill
so hunger thinned in winter snap
with hidden food beneath its wrap.
Yet seed thrown out on top of snow
and cooked with peanut butter, slow
then shaped in cakes with honey glue
has brought to us a checkered queue
As daylight hails, we watch to see
this comic scene of feathered spree.
...... Part 3 ......
The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
repaint the point o’ dyin’.
A magpie flies with frightened eyes
(on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.
On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
with icy hails ’a blowin’.
The storm abates and terminates,
the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.
As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
(the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
......End......
In moments when the twilight sparks
To gently flare as dark embarks,
Tender comes eve swinging a hum
While air-brushed clouds, on flight, succumb.
Yet, through the lull of sky, I hear
Their voices billow quite unclear
Whispering mildly, still I know
Those refrains from seasons ago.
Somehow, before the call of morn
When foggy mist glides on hawthorns,
And daybreak hails a new sunset
I trace past journeys now at rest.
Amidst the quiver of my dreams,
Beloved voices float midstream
On to pathways that bless each name;
Marked deeply in my soul, aflame.
Andrea Dietrich's Let's Get Technical Contest
~new poem~
*Image of Julius Caesar by QDT.
The Ides of March
Spun spells pummel our Earth ... as a Sun scanned absence swallow,
vacuumed blues taxes light once deemed eternal ... plus righteousness,
escapism from existence ... edges evacuation,
Birth ere the latter days ... ventured the laurels that were Rome,
the incarnation of iniquity ... masquerade innocence,
like clovers and thistles ... lure eyes above the common grass,
Furtherance besought ... midst tossed bone for multi contentment,
parades that paralyze souls ... usurp minds to sweeping abandon,
celebratory hails the seasoned ... emblem of power,
The gods and goddesses' palms of warring pulse ... 'tis peacetime,
nonetheless ... tributes adorn the temples of Mars in abundance,
'tis time of awash hands of mere grimes ... toxic suffers freely,
Citizens housed upon Palatine ... the triumphant hill,
felicitations honorable legions ... protectors of Rome,
promissory constants ... declared Remus per Romulus,
Roman Senate played a chess game ... Caesar kept them in check,
every move was scrutinized ... made vulnerable and powerless,
autocracy trumps democracy ... seeds gangocracy,
Plans are planted within plans ... schemes are shrouded inside schemes,
the beast entrails read ominously ... Spurina forewarns the marked,
timely debts to be paid in full ... matters to be settled,
At the Courts of Pompey ... the assembly awaits for him,
armorless donning senatorial garb ... metals pierce a man,
till mute ... last recalls *haruspex, "Beware the Ides of March".
*Haruspex; reading of omens from the entrails of sacrificed animals. The subject of Shakespeare's title play came from his thorough accounting of Plutarch's writings.
2022 March 30
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 11
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 April 22
*HMS; 14,16,14 syllables per x 8 stanzas
God the Father sent His Son, through whom we are forgiven.
Yet man, preferring darkness chose
To shun the light and from His glory driven.
Oh the crimson price from Him that flowed
To purchase man’s redemption and be risen
That we with Him, victorious arose.
The life of Christ is vain, had He not arose.
The Father’s chief ambition: that we be forgiven!
The glory of the Cross is: He has risen!
Sin’s penalty is broken when men chose
To come and in repentance kneel where mercy flowed.
His invitation ever hails where nails were driven.
Oh His love for sinners; those for whom He’s driven.
Christ, the Lamb of God who from His throne arose
To come and to redeem us, what grace from heaven flowed.
Jesus is the “gift” for the forgiven.
Our faith is predicated on the life He chose:
To reject Him, one is lost; to receive Him, one has risen.
It is at the Cross, where new life has risen.
Condemnation, guilt and strife away are driven.
If in defiance, one rejected Him and chose
To turn and walk from Jesus who arose,
Then there is not a way to be forgiven.
The well of living water’s where all pardon flowed.
The glory of the Cross; where mercy flowed!
The story never wanes on heavens risen.
These understand the gift of the forgiven.
For love of Him, to his feet they’re driven.
These rose anew because this One arose.
It is all through faith in Christ, that saints had chose.
Call upon the Lord, you will see that when you chose
To ask Him for forgiveness, sin’s hold away had flowed.
Easter’s glory is not death; it is when the Son arose.
It’s in salvation, new creations, destined to be risen!
While we battle with our sin, Christians all the more are driven
To magnify our Lord, and to relish in “forgiven.”
Rejoice all you who chose the One who’s risen.
Where in flowed the life and out death’s driven.
The Son arose, that you may be forgiven.
He saunters along
towards somewhere
An easy walker
with bright white hair
In his Jean coat pocket
a casino discarded deck
If you look close enough
sunshine’s imbedded in his neck
Yes, twenty years sober brother
he keeps his hands and feet busy
The way he shuffles both
slows my mind, makes me dizzy
He’s not one to share his story
by himself he’s blissfully content
I wonder where he hails from
and the places he has went
Still, he’s not my puzzle to solve
his quiet provides my answer
He’s a solitaire aficionado
and a easy walking dancer.
amid the bleats of lambs
and the moo of cows
in a far away manger
a baby, swaddled in rags was born
though despicable in some eyes,
He was the clone of Clones
the one, though Heaven sent,
was the humblest of the humble,
who halved history!
He walked the hills of Judea
with disciples many
healed the sick
met people
lived one among them
until three decades
and three years
the cloud laden sky
suddenly turned dark
the spirit of evil
invaded inside
and outside
premonitions
of portentous occurrence!!
at Gethsemane
the fatal rendezvous,
He sweated blood
as coins tinkled,
Judas through a kiss
betrayed his master
was sentenced
by the marshals of power
and was convicted
Pontius Pilate, washing hands,
absolved himself of his guilt
He tottered to Calvary,
lay on the cross, not by nails
but pinned by love
He poured down love
on those never deserved
to his love, there is no end...
among the hisses of revulsion
and the screams of a vengeful crowd
the tremulous cadence
of an agonized cry
“why hast Thou forsaken me?”
died down…..
did Golgotha’s cliffs echo that cry?
The Father kept ‘an aggressive silence’
The Sun (Son) set at noon
darkness shrouded the Earth
the curtain fell
but on the 3rd day
walked out of the grave
defeating Death and Sin!
Our Lord has Risen….!
to this day
the world
hails this victory!!
______________________
Easter Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
True beauty lies not in exquisite eyes,
I crave it not in Rainbow-robed skies...
Like flames in the wind, it will fade away,
nature nutures dewdrops, dross and clay.
True beauty is not in luminous lips...
and certainly not hidden in haughty hips.
I see true beauty in the words you said...
it hails from your humble heart and head:
I see amazing allure in love laced atmosphere...
the serenity I feel whenever you are here.
Some see true beauty in flirty fraternity;
they reach for roses with romantic rarity.
I am not just a beholder but also a believer,
I taste the truth to be truly free forever.
Some say that beauty is in the beholder's eyes
but true beauty can only be seen by the wise.
Some folks are melted by the sun at noon,
others fall for the ravishing glow of the moon.
Your beauty is like ABC my love:
You act, behave and care like a dove
Your aura makes me fly beyond the blue...
more than face and figure; timeless and true.
This is for you my beloved beauty;
a sweet sister in light, love and loyalty.
Clowns at the Abyss
I’m not a communist,
I’m a Democratic Socialist
Cries the independent Elitist
It’s a right to have healthcare
It’s a right to have welfare
Yet, funding for these generous proposals is no-where.
The clown behind the podium is a saint with your resources.
He proposes everyone pay their fair share, but more so by titan economic forces.
He hails we all work hard, or maybe not, assuming he is a party to the class of workhorses.
But the political party leaders are less like workhorses and more like jackasses.
For they too look down on their Animal Farm with tilted looking glasses.
Under their more-equal-than other proposals, in time all resources will be exhausted for the masses.
We have seen in the last century the million on million dead from empty promises given with a kiss.
We witnessed the suffering. Excuse me but was there something I missed?
If we cannot resist repeating our mistakes, like clowns we be, looking up from the bottom of an abyss.
Coveting is not a virtue.
You can vote your way into Socialism,
but you have to shoot your way out.
by Martin Braun
3/2/2020