Best Hereto Poems
Your golden hair like Jason's fleece
Flows and streams, now disarrayed, yet neat
Waving as a banner at once to the beat
Yet with promise and rapacity so replete
How your eyes sparkle behind your lids
How they must glow and how they must flick
Flash when they open so wide and blue
Yet now closed, as fire trap't by flue
Your arms now lift, delicate fingers wave
To banish the world of monotony and pain
They so loose and murmuring true meaning
A life I view 'thout your simple, sweet reasoning
As you move, loose rapacious rampant glee
From a world of spirit - simplicity
Your hips they do sway, speak condemnation
Of all misery hereto, to which we seem hasten
Conniving voracious creature which harkens
Is banished and cast off, made but microcosm*
Leo, great lion is as nothing to your rhythm
Struck off as venality to your creation, your schism
The human so simple so caught up by miasma*
Is at once transfixed, in place, in paroxysm*
This viewer at once poised, caught up in his pride
Is now gravitating, and to thee I must slide
Knowest you how wonderfully you exemplify
What is contrast to left - so right
Nay but you don't, and such is thy grace
You dance so light-airy, make perfect this place
Shining hair and glowing eyes
Re-laxed posture, abandoned pride
All memory is cast away, aside
As you dance in beauty, perfection, arised.
* Microcosm - A world in miniature.
* Miasma - A noxious atmosphere or influence
* Paroxysm - A sudden attack or violent expression of a particular emotion or activity
*** The image here represented is supposed to be a girl dancing. Leo was a suitor of hers, rebuffed by the dancer, who enjoyed herself, while dancing alone to "It's a beautiful life," by Ace of Base
-Dedicated to all those suffering with an eating disorder. Beauty, true beauty, belies a gentrified, pretty exterior. You are not alone-
Benighted whispers and spurning dreams
Forthwith in blisters and burning streams
Shameful saunters in billowing blight
Hereto haunters with pillowing plight
Weep and wither betwixt a bawling bloom
Seep shall deliver amidst a falling fume
Expel and deliver for the morning's bright
Swell and shiver for the swarming's night
-
Hereto while my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of ages,
nothing but a gasp remains.
There abides a wisp of pity
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of compassion
on this saint/sinner's face.
I'm not meant to meet my maker
till I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to His liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and you.
then will I be granted access,
pity, grace, compassion mixed,
I won't need exoneration,
all my feats and foibles fixed.
Tis the eve of another Christmas day
A sacred time for Christian’s world wide
Looking past the glitter that would blind us
we seek to remind ourselves of the true purpose
of this sacred time as we pray for peace
In a world that is trembling from the ugliness
practiced by those that prefer evil over good
we look inward for the strength to continue
the battle that those that advocate love over
hate continue to wage not only at Christmas
but throughout the entire year.
It has been said that God is not a Christian
nor a Jew nor a Muslim nor any of the other
hundreds of religions or sects that believe in
a higher power. God is the love that beats
within the hearts of those men and women
that would share their last piece of bread
with a stranger that hungers.
Be you a believer or a non-believer matters not
If you cherish your fellow man, regardless of
his many flaws, the love that blooms in your heart
is of a higher power that transcends all religions
that hereto and hereafter may be known to mankind
© Charles Hampton Gragg, December 24, 2015
Many souls linger therein pity's pot.
Many minds subcomb thereto th' Addler's.
O, shall we permit ourselves hereto rot?
So challenges white waters -- the heart of Paddler's.
Hereto, as my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of time
'til nothing but a gasp remains.
There abides a wisp of evil
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of confusion
on this saint/sinner's face.
I'm not meant to meet my Maker
'til I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to Your liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and You.
then will I be granted access,
evil, grace, confusion mixed,
I will need exoneration,
all my faults and foibles fixed.
Hereto, while my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of time
'til nothing but a gasp remains.
There abides a trace of mischief
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of confusion
on this saint/sinner's face.
I'm not meant to meet my Maker
'til I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to His liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and you.
I will need exoneration,
all my mischief set to rest,
then will I be granted access,
take my place among the blessed.
Hereto while my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of ages,
nothing but a gasp remains.
There abides a wisp of pity
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of compassion
on this saint/sinner's face.
I'm not meant to meet my maker
till I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to His liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and you.
then will I be granted access,
pity, grace, compassion mixed,
I won't need exoneration,
all my feats and foibles fixed.
In the morning fog, nostalgia hovers
On a lake of perfumy memories
Bittersweet musings of bygone lovers
Amidst waterlily territories
Recollecting lovesome dreamy stories
Subtle hush slicing on through waters still
Receptive hereto a beckoning trill
Distant recall of lingering romance
Balmy breeze stirring the heart as it will
A fleeting kiss of passing circumstance
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 3, 2018 for CONTEST NO. 475 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Rumble bars ~ the education
is slowing down to advocation,
a better choice, or celebration
this hereto reason of duration!
The poet's handle, co-relation
wants time to think, their own creation
is rhyme, is rhyme, its' innovation,
composite thought, for allocation!
We dinker here, we speed, then ration
what facts could flaunt, we're our own nation,
the poet's poet, the graced sensation,
all else gets caught by time's invasion!
Stop now ~ the sign is mind's abrasion
it must be taught, fine art's embraced run,
a line, so brought with meaning's phase one,
the poem, the wrought, soul's recreation ~
Is hereby drought . . . . spectrum's persuasion!
ike the Montana wind I am electrify wind among a carrier
Set one free heat of night glory of a town broken through a
Solid wood of
TONIGHT
Pressure there is none hope last the heat among village run
Include not delude a capture of a vision hereto to brilliant
It like eyes that shine after so long the glory venture the lights
EYES
That bright meant for distance what do eyes tell of a journey
I ask the old man he speak not tone but fling of cane
Hill hill it went want more then answer
Then the pounding of the house
And when he left the cane the winds
BLEW
And I took from mean a test had from
I might not be full blood
But thousand mile march I can see the strive
HOWL!
Tonight Eyes Blew Howl
What was the clue.
Come, come one come all! For there awaits a
lush garden rife of color and verdure;
Which's tended to by the imaginations,
the imaginations of writers.
Come, come and join our ranks as an equal.
Where not an once of bashing may be found.
We hope you'll join us for a bowl of soup.
With no further ado, we welcome one
and all hereto "The Soup", poetrysoup.com.
I fell head over heels loving you,
and you now say to me we are through!
How can you be so cruel, make me blue,
after all our great times, you construe
to be free, and this choice now pursue?
Just so quick, no review to undo
what you say are bad things done to you,
and no chance to amend in my view
any change that will work to renew
how you feel about me, work it through.
But now wait, looking back, it's adieu!
You're not worth my good heart, so hereto
we are done! Without me, you'll unglue
when a new love of life I ensue.
No more head over heels loving you!
Sandra M. Haight
~5th Place~
Contest: A Rattling Rhyme
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Judged: 08/28/2018
Fiction for Contest
Hereto while my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of ages,
nothing but a gasp remains.
There abides a wisp of pity
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of compassion
on this saint/sinner's face.
I'm not meant to meet my maker
till I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to His liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and you.
then will I be granted access,
pity, grace, compassion mixed,
I won't need exoneration,
all my feats and foibles fixed.
Hereto while my soul lies dying,
throttled by the winds of change,
hobbled by the wrath of ages,
nothing but a gasp remains.
There abides a wisp of pity
tempered with a shred of grace,
an iota of compassion
on this saint/sinner's face.
I'm not meant to meet my maker
till I've done what I must do
to set the ledger to His liking,
strike a chord 'twixt me and you.
then will I be granted access,
pity, grace, compassion mixed,
I won't need exoneration,
all my feats and foibles fixed.