Best Hasten Poems
At long day’s end, our thoughts may stray
to where we long to wend our way-
a peaceful place where we dismiss
all things in life that are amiss,
and none are wont to cause dismay.
Our footsteps hasten us to this:
the warmth of hearth, the welcome kiss.
For those less fortunate I pray
a home sweet home they'll find one day.
Why should one wish the days to pass
Of lush and verdant meadow grass
And butterflies with stained glass wings
Which autumn's burnished hues outclass?
A summer breeze revives the mind
As worldly cares are left behind
And gentle waves of lapping seas
Coax weary bodies to unwind.
Await the golden harvest grain
But may lips linger once again
On luscious strawberries' sweet delight;
Resplendent fruit of summer's reign.
Life's hourglass is finely planned
Why hasten on the grains of sand?
Let scented roses fill the air
And summer's splendour take its stand.
03/10/18
The dog days endure contest : Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
N/A Second Chances N-A Poems From My Contests Only Part I Chantelle Anne Cooke September 2020
Love’s journey, joy and tears,
Guided by grace through all the years.
Gotta love, in every guise,
Each chapter cherished, beneath the skies.
True love with God, tranquil and pure,
Promises eternal, pristine and sure.
Divine devotion, a destined delight,
Faithful forever, in the Father's light.
Memories murmur, melancholy in pairs.
Gone is the glow, a grievous gap glares,
Whispered words weep, wounds within deep.
Separation's sorrow, shadows silently sweep.
Tender touches, time transcends too soon.
She sings softly, serenades under the moon,
Laughter lingers long, lovely in twilight.
Living with love, life's luminous light.
Heartbeats hasten, hopes held high, hues of blue.
In anticipation, ardor awakens anew,
Gotta love the glowing gaze, a girl's gentle bloom.
Glimpses of grace in the gathering gloom.
The dank petrichor of grainy night,
meters stand like gravestones,
the obsidian avenue slick as a sapphire,
windowed granite rising in sharp cut shadows,
wind gusting, tumbleweed clouds somersaulting
in a moonless ghost town.
I jingle keys with atonal sky
and listen to my footsteps on concrete
ticking like a clock.
There are places to be.
I hasten my step as rain drops resume,
one by one mounting into a riotous crowd.
Umbrella-less, I am soon sopping,
hair a wet carpet, suit a gray saturated tarp,
the briefcase and tote onyx boulders.
My car is still a block away,
but eventually I reach it
like a leaf washing down stream.
The tote slips off my shoulder
as I stoop to retrieve fallen keys
lying in a shallow puddle like a shattered talisman.
Suddenly I begin laughing,
dropping everything in the street,
my face skyward, arms splayed like a crucifix.
Now there is no tomorrow,
only the farce of my predicament,
standing like a drowned coyote howling
at the moon as though it would be there forever.
soft, soft, I ring the bells
soft, the bluebells blooming
softer tho' her pleading eyes
with each breath, consuming ...
hark, hark, I call to thee
hark, so blushes morning
hearken to her linen cheek
crimson as the borning ...
haste, haste, alas the years
haste to cut the bracken
hasten to her dimming gaze
'fore the shadows slacken ...
hush, hush, I whisper yet
hush to bide the nether
hushing now, her angel voice
gone, my love ... forever.
As the reaper approached, I lie waiting for death,
whispering sad goodbyes while gasping for breath.
In a blurry haze of awareness, I drift towards sleep,
as visions of childhood days in my mind slowly creep.
I hear muffled sobs of loved ones as they weep.
There's a shadowy presence flying high overhead,
those scavengers of death, those that I most dread.
Their beady black eyes intent on watching my face,
circling around and around. It's a feast they chase,
ebon wing feathers falling as they hasten their pace.
I've need of sanity, so I close my eyes and pretend
I'm walking on a summer day with my best friend.
We're chasing tadpoles and sloshing in streams,
laughing as our skin turns bronze from sunbeams,
then I wake to realize that these were but dreams.
My memories are fading, and my lips feel numb.
To eternity's slumber, I will soon succumb.
I asked someone near me to chase them away...
She bent close and whispered, "What did you say?"
"The vultures circling me. Please keep them at bay."
Clusters of tenebrous clouds obscured the sunlight.
I heard raucous calls of the damned vultures in flight.
Oh, how I begged for their tormenting caws to cease,
for only then would I live my last moments in peace.
I heralded silence then welcomed life's release.
July 10, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 31 Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Theme: Vultures Circling
The hands of June will soon scoop up this earth.
Her palms will gently cup sunlight and rain.
The wind, her fertile breath, will warm the eves,
yet here I’ll wake to feel her blush in vain.
Without my love, each star-filled night turns black.
At dawn, the sunlight breaks to blind my path.
My ashen heart will char as summer flames,
and flowing blood will parch in aftermath.
I ‘ve often heard of death by broken heart.
It seems that winter’s chill could hasten this,
but this oppressive heat has fueled my pain.
A frozen heart turned numb might feel like bliss.
The summer sun has slouched, the moon has gone,
but somehow through my grief, I carry on.
Written 5/29/20 for JCB Burl’s
A World Without You Contest
Dreams Dancing A Dance Into Retreating Time
I hasten to see worrying worries flown
In abyss of chastening chastened fires,
For decades she held tight, loving love, her own,
Soft melody, with noted notes that inspire,
Fallen spirit given grasping grasps at hope,
Dreams dancing a dance into retreating Time,
Resplendent ardor, its aching aches a rope,
Wrapping blessed blessings true, sweet and sublime!
There within bluest blues, sweet angel resides:
Her feet prancing a prance in bright ruby shoes
Through mirroring mirrors where no secret hides
With laughing laughs, tossing treasures two by two's.
Where dreaming dreams and only love's heart abides
Resplendent loving love sings, and then decides!
Robert J. Lindley, 3-23-2019
Sonnet, ( Of Dreams, When Full Moon's Glow Sings)
Note: A heavily reworked old poem fragment, which was
originally dated from September 3rd, 1977...
If we steadfast seek it,
feel we truly need it,
heed it as heart moving and joy fueling,
then spirit will send it, but the when
we decide is a date He will override.
Faith is more than asking, it’s relaxing even when
time leads us to believe too much of it has passed for
Him to show up on our behalf. Faith is knowing we
need not know what He knows about the perfect
timing for all things. From revealings to healings to
tangible needs, delivery time is only perfectly
manageable by Him.
When a need realization first dawns so does
the course start that will bring it forth.
Extending impatient hands will not hasten
the accumulation of factors needed for
manifesting a blessing we are after.
Too many details can lessen blessings compared to what
our Flawless Crafter can entail.
Perfection is an intricate creation, many elements converge
to aid it that only Spirit is aware of. Just the universe is
posed to spiritually know the truly ideal blend for the
ultimate, fulfilling send.
While the universe combines
many ingredients for our answers,
we, as an unaware factor, begin
an ebb and flow in thoughts and
feelings that grow us receptively
prepared for what, how and when
the universe shares.
Those who say that Death is vile,
Know Him not like I do.
He mends my heart that once was two,
And triggers satiety with His smile.
He whisks away those with all to give:
To save them from this Earth.
From its horrors He gives them berth;
Harbor from the wicked who live.
They stagger onward, praising Life,
Oblivious to Death's comfort.
Unaware that there's no more hurt,
While those now gone are blithe.
Death, He is my grandest friend;
Eternal and ethereal.
At His feet I'll always kneel,
And for Him, hasten my end.
Here’s a short story of a cowboy I knew
Whose name was Beg Your Pardon.
He wasn’t a gun slinger in the usual way,
Though his hands were fast
And his foots were faster.
But when Beg started shootin’
There was nuthin’ but disaster.
No worries for Beg, he had none you see,
Since he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
But his pappy got ugly
And yelled in his son’s face,
“Until you can shoot
As the son of mine should,
I want you the h*** out of my place.”
Beg had some tricks up his very long sleeves,
Coz he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
He’d show his pappy his skill
There’s no doubt about that.
Yet time was a-wasten
So Beg he did hasten,
But first he took off his hat.
He then wound up his body like a Kansas twister
And slung a cow pie in his usual way.
And broke every record
Did our cow pie ringer.
Since there was no one better,
Pappy exclaimed to his son,
“Beg Your Pardon, I beg your pardon
Heck, you’re some kinda’ slinger!”
For Wild Wild West Contest
Buoyant on the North west winds;
Shredded clouds expose a half moon eye.
An eye that stares cautiously at
The hyphens of cars below.
Stratus sunsets trace the highway,
That leads to my refuge,
and shields me from the voyeur and the oncoming night.
I sit upright against unforgiving vinyl,
on the back of a bus that rebounds daily,
between New York City and my nightly abode.
I watch the cirrus race the Greyhound
and the Mustangs running in packs of three.
A spyglass has formed within a white nimbus,
an oval window into the crowded heavens.
The clotheslines of the Gods turn to skyrockets,
Shooting masterful projections upward,
Now, composed as arrows that hasten
An antelopes final good night.
Clouds drift away without shadow or fault.
The clouds, the clouds
I alone with my burden,
Where do they go?
In a small café, customers stream through the door. I jot down orders that pile up as I wonder what’s happening in the back kitchen. The patrons are looking more and more displeased. I scurry table to table filling glasses running endlessly dry and simultaneously noticing the increasing number of empty napkin holders. Where’s the manager? Why is there nobody here but me? The order slips are almost gone. And now plates of food begin appearing in the back so quickly that I cannot recall to which table each one goes. I’m running and running, the proverbial dumb chicken but with its head still attached and throbbing! I hear the clamor of “Where’s our meal?” and more people keep entering through the door.
Now I find myself in a plain white-walled classroom of my school. The clock on the wall ticks on and on as students trickle through the door. Students sit staring as I search a pile of papers for the attendance sheet. The papers fall and I just know my lesson plan is lost among the scattered sheets. I bend to pick them up and my brain is a fog. What am I to teach? I sift through the disarray as ticking seconds become minutes, and a silence pierces me as I view the stony faces before me. I try to mouth words, but they simply won’t come. I can almost feel the fidgeting of the students as my upper lip begins to twitch. I know they are thinking me an imbecile. As I stand dumb stricken, time is fleeing, and more students are entering the room. . . . .
I awaken to the loud incessant ticking of the clock beside my bed. I’ll rise to greet my day, get into my car and meld with a stream of other people driving to their everyday jobs. There will be days that I encounter the cheerless or dissatisfied faces of strangers or even of family and friends. There will be times that I hasten frantically, feeling all is futile as bills pile up or work overwhelms me, and there are sure to be times when I will feel at an utter loss as I live vicariously the nightmarish woes which sometimes my husband must confront. How grateful I am for ordinary days whose hours of normalcy are heaven compared to the mind boggling misery endured throughout this world. And how thankful I am for ordinary days that greatly outnumber a few awful dreams!
"Thoughts of a Sexual Nature"
Vivid thoughts of you,
in your birthday suit.
Sprawled on my living room floor,
anxiously you wait
for what you came here for.
Long toned legs,
a rippled mid-section.
I want to hear you beg,
you caused this ********.
Incense burn!!
Sex on the Beach
heightens the mood.
I allude,
to a massage.
A mental mirage,
a dream.
Vivid thoughts accrue,
as I knead your birthday suit.
skin like a rare passion fruit,
and I'm working for your nectar.
You're my aperitif,
and I have a sweet tooth
for your vermouth.
_________________________________________________________
Strumming your neck,
my tongue is the pick.
Hearing you moan lightly, "Oh your so thick."
So eager was the lass,
for me to.... hose down her fire.
You see, the blaze I intensified.
I knew her desires.
Slow down I pleaded,
hasten your pace!
We have all night baby,
and first base is my face.
I had overdosed on her Vermouth.
She poured without a care!
Enveloped in lusts rapture,
it was, to soon to conclude.
Ambiance is important, so I'll set the mood.
Red lights, mirrored headboard
& playing softly in the background,
a love songs
interlude!!!
_________________________________________________________
Soft moist lips lick you're ear
whispering words of delight
pursuing my plight for your might,
my tongue rolls down your neck
peck on peck,
as my goal unfolds
kissing chest nipples
your dimples of gold
tanned bronze like a god,
excitement,
ecstasy
extension to explode,
the ride enhances as liftoff begins
tastier than sins,
searing flesh on flesh emotions
enmesh juices of love in thrombosis,
in oceanic osmosis,
as we fall...
spent ...
content ...
in orgasmic opulence.....
"This is a collaboration written by three different poets... Starting with Me...
Samuel Brooks has the middle section, and Linda Marie Bariana concludes...
This turned out well and I am sure all of you will agree..
Jared Pickett---Asavvy1
Samuel Brooks----ChocolateWoW-------------------------1/27/2010
Linda Marie Bariana------Sweetheart
My darling sweet, wake to me!
A beautiful melody
is your morning treat.
Wake and hear the euphony
coming from a leafy tree.
Look, my darling sweet,
and a goldfinch you will see.
In his trill is poetry
sounding joy replete.
Hasten to your window seat.
Look outside and see dawn greet
you with its first ray.
Rise, my love, and with bare feet,
through the fields of amber wheat
we will run today.
Come follow me. I entreat
you. Hasten, love; time is fleet.
Darling, don’t delay!
There is nothing to waylay
us. This is a golden day.
Where marigolds gleam
in the meadow we will play.
Then down where the cattails sway
by a sun-lit stream,
all the afternoon, we’ll stay.
Come with me, love. Come away
to my golden dream.
2012