Best Hew Poems
Captive damsel of creative-writing programs,
Personalized, eulogized job of small groups,
The frenetic activities handy to very few,
Poetry now belongs to a subculture hew.
We have accredited professional poets,
Creative writing teachers at all levels,
Composing computer- created poetry,
Creating illusion of the Golden Age artistry.
These professional poets have secured
Their own niches in the academic world,
They cry over the spilt milk like jackals
Snarling over a dried-up well with no aims.
Quantitative work is guaranteed success,
Accuracy, meaning, technique matters less.
=================================
Fourth place winner
Contest: Poetry for poetry's sake of Paula Swanson
Quo Vadis is a Latin phrase meaning "Where going"
Everyone has an
inner child
My inner child
Is apart of me
When it is quiet
I hear hew speaking
Sometimes she will cry
I do not know why
Why she feels this way
Only she knows why
She could be happy
That is rare for her
I would speak to her
Finding her reason
When she feels so sad
I listen when she chats
Then add my opinion
Sometimes she feels better
Or she feels too sad
Just for a while
Then she feels stronger
I understand her
How she is feeling
She is apart of me
My inner child
Will always speak out
Whether she is sad
Or she is happy
I know her feelings
[in Rhyme Rhupunt: a,a,a,b c,c,c,b]
At water’s edge there danced below,
amid the ripple and the flow,
royal blue and sun aglow—
and ragged clouds in limpid sky.
Standing tall and stately there,
swaying in the languid air,
a mighty oak in quiet prayer—
and not a soul to reason why.
Long ago when earth was young,
and all alive had common tongue,
songs of praise were often sung—
to sacred trees that beckoned all.
But time will always stir the brew;
Men soon forgot the hymns they knew;
came next the ax, its certain hew—
then dread silence, gruesome pall.
Yet Oak survived, of all that were,
whose buried might began to stir—
its dreams for earth none could deter—
for it had promises to keep.
Oak then rent thunderous all the earth,
forged resplendent its rebirth.
accorded thus eternal worth—
serene the tree then welcomed sleep.
Image if one will, a field where paper roses grow,
Each color an emotion, it's variations symbolic to
Feeling felt, and yet expressed.
Compositions of love letters, shaped into delicate
Blossoms, growing or dieing within the fragile human
Heart.
A unique species of floral design, enchanting the
Raw essences of it's creator, with a mystical fragrance
All it's own.
Passions spice crimson red, romantic sensuality
A white splicing with reds undertow.
Blues calming peaceful shades of hew,
and a navy's hardened edge exposing devotions
Everlasting love in beauty's open petals of the divine.
A golden sunflower opens wide, a visions friendship flower,
Seeds cast to the fertile soil beneath the kindred of humanity.
Compassion's evergreen bouquet,
So many multitudes of description,
It is impossible to describe all,
For change is the one constant rhythm
Of life itself.
Death's black rose, a crumbling love letter that melts away,
A disintegration of thoughts emotion unto the river of dust.
Not completely forgotten,
Living only by memory's remembrances,
Of past echoes,
Left alive in shadows contrasting shades faded by time.
Fragile is the human heart, made of crystal glass,
Shattering easily to the touch, if handled to roughly.
But even more delicate are the emotions held within,
A prism of reflections.
It's light leads to the inner garden of the spiritual soul,
Where the paper roses do grow.
Imaginations field of wonders, thoughts glorious
Bouquet of possibilities to draw from.
A limitless expressive well, for the poet's ink pen,
Lightly dripped onto the empty page of white,
To write upon, vivid are these roses to the poetic heart.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
If you come to find me
Look no further than you must
For I will be burning effigies
A conspiracy is afoot
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Too much time in the attic of my brain
I have fake conversations with myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
I think they don’t understand me well enough to know
So call me a mad man.
The axe is buried deep and falls again and again
Wood chips fly as I hew the tree of death
I am working on commission
That’s right the agents are paying me
A coup d’état
To overthrow loneliness
I burn effigies of myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Ask me if I care.
Ask me if I can find my way home.
Ask me if the sewage is raw in my veins.
Ask me if I can crack the code of loneliness.
I dare you to ask me.
Some might say I spend too much time alone.
I can never have enough time alone.
It spares me the spirit of life with society.
I burn effigies.
Let the flags and cannonballs fly.
A war upon my soul will not stop me.
I'll ride a pack of dogs into the teeth of the storm
And rain down pain upon your shores
A coup d’état
A coup d’état
Will you finally come and spare me?
I doubt it.
I am not an anomaly
I am free to ramble in loneliness
It burns my flesh, flesh that is hard as gasoline
Underneath the muscle is sinuous and built for pain
Come save me if you must
I am not an anomaly
I just spend too much time alone…
Then, he knew why he must hew
old memories from marble-
emotions quarried from heart's slew-
Oblique fight with his faith's garble
Cut block unfolds Christ, enthroned
on mother's lap- death sleep supine...
Sculptor's concepts cast in stone,
art wrestles with thoughts divine.
And sorrow, stilled in her young face,
speaks truth of words kept in her heart-
mother, son, distilled in saving grace,
sacred words saved in graven art.
A pity, the piety
so few true onlookers saw...
Revealed in society-
few look on In devoted awe.
II
Now she knows why she must express
emotions whittled away, and smoothed
from quarried heart's deep distress-
The process leaves her soothed...
Such feelings are not cast in stone-
Warmly carved in reflective marble, maybe,
as he wrestled with tempestuous thoughts
burning, guiding hands that draped
unmoving drapes over motionless shapes,
shaping faith that cannot be bought.
And the tenderness on her gentle face
belies the hurt of curse's sword driven
straight through her mother heart...all trace
of ancient prophecy hidden.
Till truth, preserved, be told.
Had he not told them many times
he would return, come back to life?
And that word was kept, unfailing.
And the stone was moved, revealing...
Posted: 22nd April 2019.
Note: I am totally in awe of the stupendous sculptures produced over the centuries.
Miraculous as they are, I believe in greater miracles, the resurrection of Christ being just that.
I am also a mother of two grown up sons.
My little miracles...<3 <3
Luke 2:25-35. Luke 24:1-8
Miz Liberty welcomed Luigi to America's shores to begin a brand new life.
He arrived at Ellis Isle with piles of baggage, three kids and his addled wife.
He knew not a word of English but there's one thing he understood;
He must soon learn the baffling lingo so as not to be misunderstood!
Luigi enrolled in an English class and was bewildered from the start,
Trying to absorb the meaning of various words the teacher did impart!
There were so many words that sounded alike that he could not construe,
And how to fit them in a sentence or a conversation, he had not a clue!
"For example" he asked, "How and when do I use-a you, yew and ewe?
Please-a told me once-a more when it's-a proper to use-a do, dew and due!
When I visit da zoo, is da beast in da cage called a new, knew or gnu?
Can you tell-a me if da tree colors in fall are called hue, hew or Hugh?"
"How can I know if I use-a these-a words correctly, too, to and two,
Or if I get-a sick which of these-a words do I use-a, flew, flu or flue?
I'm-a having all kinds of troubles with these-a words, heir, hair and hare!
In da market I can't figure if I should ask da man for a pare, pair or pear!"
He strove to comprehend the perplexing language and all its doublespeak.
His kids could speak like natives but for him things were looking bleak!
But over time he learned to parse and spell and the jargon he did subdue!
Last I heard of Luigi he was a tenured English professor at Columbia Yew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
Shaking his head, following her voice as it trailed
He smiles to himself, ’give it time’, he knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
It was love at first sight, the surround greyed and paled
Spotting this electric eccentric, dancing in the rain
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
As time flowed by, he knew how they’d not failed
He is her best friend through all; hysterical laughter to anguish and pain
He smiles to himself, ‘give it time’, he knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
She loves him wholehearted, though never been veiled
On the news of their daughter, he’d tried proposing, in vain
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
Now soo much older, their matured rich love haled
She is both bubbly and light, and a grumpy old pain
He smiles to himself, “give it time’, hew knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
She turns to face him, happy laughter regaled
He takes her hand, “So about that sword cane…”
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
He smiles to himself, ‘give it time’, he knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
Contest: Third-Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
Hosted by: L.Milton Hankins
Date: 23.11.2022
My volatile mind ascends high in lone emptiness,
floating on the cleft of crimson sunburst cloud,
makes a fascinating painting of formless fantasy
on the crumpled blank canvas,
I kept in the museum of memory for so long,
as with the remains of naive passion of childhood
I follow beguiled the imaged trail of butterflies.
I drift on their latticed wings,
flittering on the cascade of whistling wind
to the flamboyance of the fleeting rainbow hew,
that inspires me to discover from behind the mist
the beauty of life the dark clouds of dismay conceal,
and to believe nothing can stop me
to become a bird spreading wings,
soar in the sky suffused with seamless daydream,
taking my entrapped anguished mind
to the halcyon horizon of infinite freedom,
saturated with the aura of timeless bliss,
when I can imagine I can fly.
January 25, 2021
Contest : Can You Imagine-Any Form
Sponsor : Constance La France
Summer is over and the farmer now rests from his toil,
Having labored hard to wrest his crops from the fruitful soil.
Fall has arrived and all the crops have been gathered in.
The corn, wheat and soy beans lie dormant in the granary bin.
It was a good year - his farm was favored with abundant rain.
Thankfully, there was no wind or hail, an anxious farmers' bane!
Pecks of onions, pertaters and carrots are preserved in the cellar,
Along with bushels of resplendent apples - golden, red and yeller!
The hogs are ready for market but he'll keep a pair for meat,
And he'll butcher a steer or so to ensure there's enough to eat.
His wife jammed mason jars full of beets, termaters and peas,
And there are a few honeycombs filched from the gullible bees!
He and the boys used crosscut saws to hew cords of wood for heating,
To warm their Victorian home from the winter's snows and sleeting.
There are jugs of cider to sip and ears of popping corn to pop,
As the family enjoys a roaring fire to reminisce with lore to swap!
The humble farmer was so grateful that on his knees he knelt,
To offer his gratitude to the Lord, a simple prayer most heartfelt.
A benevolent harvest moon smiled on the pastoral scene below,
Seemingly to bless the peaceful panorama with its mellow glow!
Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Untamed as a hew in mid air is the heart,
so spontaneous !
Allow the golden coin of heaven
to beam down at you
its a living sun
and it lives above the sea
Drink the wild air of life,
and be its poetry;
Unnamed is the ocean wild and carefree
it belongs to you but it also belongs to me
This is not a Baptism
slice into it with unbarred laughter
Don't live in the shallow
nor sit like a clam
Swim like the otter
drink its wild forces
You can't tame the wind,
but you can claim the air.
A_Abalone by the sea floats to shore then adored
B_Bonnets of the world make my heart unfurl surely not bored
C_Conch alive how their song can jive
D_Dove Shell rings my bell not like bee hive
E_Egg Shell poached with the quail
F_Flamingo Tongue_Cyphoma Gibbosum lives by Opposum Dale
G_Goblet of gold stories of you many which are untold
H_Helmet of the sea seahorses shield from Stingrays stinging bee hold
I_Irish Baking Dish let's fix those Tuna Fish
J_Janthina what a shell purple with great knish
K_King's Crown Shell not on the shore unless mangrove nearby
L_Limpet shell star colored like stars in the universe that fly
M_Money Cowrie_Cypraea moneta_once used for money
N_Nutmeg Shell_Cancellaria Reticulata it's articulata, honey
O_Ostrich Foot Sea Shell looking like a spiraling universe
P_ Purple Turritella spiraling like universe in color submerse
Q_Quest on seeking shells, name it quit or quint and be different
R_Red Moon Sea Shell similar to the clam but red color current
S_Starfish decorates earth's seas
T_Tiger Moon those cat's stripes I see
U_Umbilical Egg Cowrice with your spots
V_Veluntina with your pink hew but not dots
W_Whelk definitely not a woods roaming Elk
X_Xenophoridae shells so varied not spelk
Y_Yellow Helmet exotic shell
Z_Zesty be one's hunt and name a shell Zell...
Shells by the sea shore, fun to find and collect galore
Can you name them all now or do you need to learn more?
Written: March 03,2013
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest:ABC/Any topic
**I am a nearly seventy year old mother, grandmother, and great grandmother..I enjoy going to the seashore for vacation..I have always enjoyed picking up seashells and wondered if they all had names..Well, there are over 15,000 different kind of sea creatures that live in those shells and some have not been named..
Finis'
You've got to be kidding
Captive damsel of creative-writing programs,
Personalized, eulogized job of small groups,
Quo Vadis poetry, a damsel in distress?
The frenetic activities handy to very few,
Poetry now belongs to a subculture hew.
We have accredited professional poets,
Creative writing teachers at all levels,
Composing computer- created poetry,
Creating illusion of the Golden Age artistry.
These professional poets have secured
Their own niches in the academic world,
They cry over the spilt milk like jackals
Snarling over a dried-up well with no aims.
Quantitative work is guaranteed success,
Accuracy, meaning, technique matters less.
+++
December 16, 2014
Form: (Contemporary Sonnet)
You come like a song on the breeze
Unique notes gliding in harmony
Unison perfected with such ease
Dancing to your own melody
I stand in awe of your grace
This composed whirlwind of flight
Round and round, tips interlocked as fine lace
Pearls, strung against blue skies - white
Among auburn sunset painted and living
You settle, gathered clouds floating
On a ribbon of river so blue
Challenging morning skies lovely hew
Rest now under stars blanket of light
Dream as I, of another day
For tomorrow nature claims her right
To continue her arial ballet
Calling, morning's golden rays crest and tease
You leave like a song on the breeze
©Donna Jones
Ha Ha Ha - Cartoon- funny
Giggle - Valley Girl- Preppy
LOL - Texting- Hilarious
Snicker- Your worst enemy- Flippant
Snort- Pig- Belly laugh
Chuckle- Manley Man- Sportive
Howl- To much alcohol- Cracked up
Hew Haw- Country Girl- Tickled
Teehee- Sophisticated Women- Amusing
Ho Ho Ho- Santa Clause- Jolly
Horselaugh- Mr. Ed- Smirk
Hoot- Best Buddy- Grin
Died Laughing- Bills are due- Breathlessness
Guffaw- Mother-in-law died- Just kidding
No matter how we laugh or what we laugh at
it's good for the soul.
4/19/2015 Contest sponsored by: Thomas Martin 'Humorous Poetry'
T Reams 1st Place