Best Here Poems
Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016
I wish you well...
I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed
I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk
I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue
I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones
I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight
For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…
@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016
I thought I would go backwards
Into my uncertain
My awkward
The days of my wondering
What will I be when I grow up?
Will I ever grow up?
Is everyone better than me?
Boy I wish I could be more like that
That guy
Yep him
The athletic confident one
Words come so easy to him
Jokes flow freely from his lips
And they laugh
They love being with him
What's it like to be that self assured?
He has so many friends
None of them would ever talk to me
What would it be like to hang out with the cool kids?
I try telling myself
It doesn't matter
I have a few friends
I want it to be enough
I think it's enough
With them
I imagine and pretend
To be funny
Interesting
Until
One smile
One chuckle at a time
I gradually become me
A better more confident self
Assured
Witty
A lover of words
Dialogue
Conversation
I talk my way towards my future
While listening for clues
Building myself two by twos
Real friends are the ones I choose
Their words
Teach me about them and myself
I don't hide on lonely street
There are more people to meet
So I jump up off my seat
Rewrite myself on many a sheet
Until I can follow and hear my internal beat
Do what needs doing
Repeat and repeat
Until I come to here and now
Breathless with WOW
Understanding HOW
That uncertain and awkward part
Changed everything
It still is
And
Always
Will be
An important part of me
Because it helped me see
There are many many
Incredible
Significant and individual
ways to be
So now I choose
Care Free!
I stand here with every step of my life etched in crisscross lines beneath these
well worn feet.
Well worn feet that have carried me for seven decades and three years more
through pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, on a path of adversity that couldn't conquer me.
I stand here today...a tenacious and contented soul with my mission nearly complete... close to the end of the road where earth and heaven meet.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada
~Yes, I Know I Won't Be Here Forever~
Sometimes, I just don't realize,
How golden my minutes are.
I sit around and criticize,
Like a hapless drunk in a bar.
Yes, I know I won't be here forever!
The decades, as dreams, swiftly pass,
My irritability gets the best of me.
I complain too much and sass,
Surprised I am not banished to sea.
Yes, I know I won't be here forever!
I never seem to fully appreciate,
That each minute never is coming back.
Time to love and not to berate,
All the beauty God laid in my life's track.
Yes, I know I won't be here forever!
June, 19, 2020
Poem# 1254
6:30pm PST
When the last wind blows
and my final wave goes
what shall become of me
said the sea to the sky
wanting to know why
there was no moon to feel
The sun blocked the way
growing bigger each day
touching the atmosphere
boiling all oceans clear
in the blink of an eye
a billion years after I die
It’s a whore to be sure
I’ll be dead and obscure
a victim of God’s gift
or universal thrift
and there’s nothing I
can do but imagine it
I don’t need to live forever
only in the brief moments
I never wanted to end
when life forgot to pretend
that every day’s a blessing
or one worth possessing
The future beyond me
will happen or not maybe
I’ve no way of knowing
once my mind is gone
and totally withdrawn
on the mad house lawn
so when the last wind blows
and my final wave goes
those moments were enough
to have felt it all
within the tidal squall
of weal and woes
And I trusted the flow
went with it sometimes
more often capsized
under a swell of lies
mostly of my own making
for believing them true
* * *
I don’t have immortality ~ just some moments that make life worthwhile
~
Here one minute, gone the next
Life is everything it seems
Live each moment like your last
Never give up on your dreams
Wake each day to something new
Offer up a helping hand
Smile at a perfect stranger
Help a weary one to stand
Count your blessings one and all
Find the joy in every day
Best foot forward with each step
Show the world you’re on your way
Actions have their consequences
Think of others it affects
Time is short and always moving
Here one minute, gone the next
~
10/2/19
Written for the: Here one minute, gone the next Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Marmalade
drips from
the sky,
and all around me, the world is awash
in vibrant orange splendor
splashed with yellow gold
Here in Paradise
where graceful palms
lean toward
dipping sun
I dip
my toes
into the liquid amber of the tide.
As if to catch the day’s last rays,
I embrace radiance as it embraces me.
Far off in the distance,
the stretch of mountains
on a neighboring island
cradles
what remains of the sinking sun.
I have now waded out into the sea. . .
my eyes savor
the sky’s color of sweet marmalade
and below it,
water’s warm honeyed gold
lapping softly at my shoulders.
Suddenly
a swarm of swooping wings
bursts from the heavens!
My eyes now feast on hundreds
and hundreds of dark
wheeling gulls,
stark against the bright sky -
the marmalade sunset’s
surprise finale.
For A Place Called Beautiful Contest of Janis Thompson
when your heart is weak
not beating well.
Your tired and weariness overcomes
I will hold your hand,
whispering softly in your ears
I am here for you.
Time has come
your eyes saying goodbye
your heart no longer beats
I will hold your hand
saying farewell not goodbye
I was here for you.
I hold you close
in a last embrace
my heart is broken.
Time to let you go...I
kiss your lips and turn away.
Knowing,
I was here for you.
Penned 3 Oct 2017
A Look Back at Eighteen Months Here-The Show is Over
When your poems reside in a shoe,
like mine,
pounding the pavement to nowhere.
The onset of blisters isn't imagined.
Those blisters take roots,
hindering your motivation
to move-
and to continue to write.
It hurts.
Seeing those poems take residence
in pity.
Sans the
comfort of
leather and lace,
shine and sole,
all of which would have been nice.
But all my eyes see are my poems,
tucked away in worn loafers,
unpolished,
unnoticed.
Not exactly eye candy.
But eyesores ...judging by the lack of views, here.
And undoubtedly my shoes made of synthetics
and sneakers
to the purveyors of good poetry
and good shoeshine.
I look down for good reason,
defacto
and stigmatized,
no contest wins,
no poems ever in the top 100 (new) list,
no scent of roses (or views),
nothing.
Nothing.
An abyss of sublimity,
save for the white bird
that chirps
to nobodies ears.
To wit.
For he who signs up for this site
got a handful of mixed emotions,
confetti less tomorrows,
a begotten rah, rah,
a ladle of spiel,
poems published ...
and in my case alone footnote
that I was a member
sans the shoe shine.
I really have to admit,
writing here,
eighteen months now,
has taken its toe.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Kind Regards,
connie pachecho
4/26/2018
The proprietor of the show has decided to call it quits, citing mental health issues here. The posse of black bears got to me. The guises, pretense, and hate towards me eroded my spirit. Tell her she can play with my insanity but not my spirit. To my readers, I really appreciate your patronage during this journey here even though the crops are bare and the barn fronts a blank stare.
The cows fight with the pigs, and bacon went to waste. One thing I take is the seed in me to aspire elsewhere, which I've already planted at HP under the name Logan Robertson. Thanks again. Wish everybody the best.
Here I am, My Lord,
A hot iron,
On the anvil of necessity,
Waiting
To be forged by the hammer of destiny
That
Is following Thy divine commands
For
To shape me, into the proper instrument
Thy
Celestial Will, humbly
To serve!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
28 October 2015
[heptapent sonnet]
The Sun has been off, hiding, where its warmth is far from here,
its lustrous fingers stroking other planes.
And I, abandoned to the winter's ruthless time of year,
exist in hope that somewhere spring remains.
The wind will blunt the spirit like a whittler dulls a knife.
The darkened days will bleed intention dry.
It seems that surely all the world stands, tremulous and rife
with creeping cold, as icy snowflakes fly.
I long for gentle summer days, where bluebirds light and sing
from flowering trees where blossoms flutter down;
to dance with fireflies in sacred starlight, worshiping
the moonbeams, dressing me with lucent crown.
Here I await, with cherished hope that summer's melody
will loose the arms of winter's will that binds the joy in me.
Let me 'neath fleecy clouds be. For spring is here.
God's creation all for me. For spring is here.
So many glorious gardens to admire,
Clematis attracts a bee. For spring is here.
Aubrietia produced in profusion,
Scented Daphne in valley. For spring is here.
Up in the mountains, veiled with alpine flora,
Wild primrose and rosemary. For spring is here.
Orioles and robins lured by blush cherries,
Magnolias so airy. For spring is here.
But there on the calm wide seas, racing dinghies
Ketches, sloops sail to the quay. For spring is here.
Oh man, what's that I hear, someone is sneezing?
Hay fever? Or allergy? For spring is here.
11 syllables per line.
11 September 2020
Ghazal Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Her ink has dried, her stories spun
On distant shores, her songs are sung
Atlantis must be beautiful in fall Carolyn,
Love always, jim
September, 2021
As you ponder each turn that has landed you here,
taut tempo will quicken and frail futures loom near.
Take one somber moment, step away from the din:
The voyage, the detours, the past and what's been.
You look back behind you to retrace every mile.
It bring tears of regret and the trace of a smile.
Hang on first, then let go, due to whimsy or age.
What you keep in the end is the test of a sage.
Fools still ignore the supreme ticks of the clock,
in each change in fashion, embraced by the flock.
Walk on and ignore them, don't bother to chide,
these pathetic lemmings swept away by the tide.
Peer off in the distance as you fight off the chill.
You must climb still further to the top of the hill.
Play the tailor to time, cut and trim, make it fit.
Find the time in your life. Take time to enjoy it.
These days you're with me, everywhere I go
I know you're there, although you never speak
Just yesterday we waded Dogwood Creek
It picked me up when I was feeling low
Last night, out on the porch we swung real slow
Your being there enhanced the night's mystique
You fell asleep, I kissed you on the cheek
It was so soft you didn't even know
Today, we'll go to some exotic place
Some island where we've never been before
Escaping far away from this rat race
Just you and me on some secluded shore
Although I've never met you face to face
You're here inside my heart forevermore
by Daniel Turner