Best Honing Poems
Not for the contest
No more do I despair
writing for contests with an off the wall theme
Those that want me to create a nightmare
from what was once a beautiful dream.
No more do I care
about Marvel characters who fight and kill
I'd rather spend my time writing silly limericks
for fun and honing a particular poetry skill
than worrying about meter and syllable tricks.
No more do I write
for contests where a sponsor forbids me to choose
how many spaces I indent each middle line
by someone who thinks they're a bard. No, I refuse
to write for a yobo whose rules constrict and confine.
No more contests
do I enter for judges who hold grudges and spite
or who offer friendship placements with a wink.
It's not fair to good poets who get N/A'd as a backbite
I've no more interest in participation with pen and ink
No longer care
to write for judges who give novel length instruction
Yes, rules should be followed, but not to such extreme.
It negates poetic license, serving as a poetic obstruction
making that contest sponsor, head of his or her regime.
No more writing
for those who prohibit adjectives and adverbs be used
or if the sponsor has never written in the specified form.
The power that some feel as a judge can be abused
while preaching about dos and don'ts from a platform.
Oh, spare me
from those who don't know the use of literary devices,
metaphors, proper grammar, and over doing alliteration.
To anyone who wants to enter contests, my advice is...
"Don't take a crown seriously. It will lead to abdication."
No more issues
to deal with sponsors who change their minds midway
through contests because no entries for the theme... bizarre,
and decide, without warning they have the right to say,
"I can do what I want." Who made them the contest czar?"
No blight is this
on judges who sincerely host, giving up their leisure time
to make PS a place where everyone can take an active part.
Those who appreciate good fun in free verse or with rhyme.
I applaud the fair-minded sponsors who have a good heart.
A few weeks ago, I decided to not enter PS contests any longer.
Categories:
honing, conflict, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
Departure from the land of death and dying
Enter a beautiful, perfect land of the truly alive
Also, when faced with death's call, some introspection
Take into account how we are living
Honing in on values and priorities
1 Corinthians 15: 55-58
55 O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” 56 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin [by which it brings death] is the law; 57 but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory [as conquerors] through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58 Therefore, my beloved brothers and sisters, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord [always doing your best and doing more than is needed], being continually aware that your labor [even to the point of exhaustion] in the Lord is not futile nor wasted [it is never without purpose].
John 11: 25
25 Jesus said to her, “[a]I am the Resurrection and the Life. Whoever believes in (adheres to, trusts in, relies on) Me [as Savior] will live even if he dies;
All the funerals Jesus attended:
Luke 7: 11-17
Matthew 9: 18
John 11: 38-40
He brought the person back to life.
Our last pet passed yesterday. Even the death of a pet brings to life thoughts of death and our beliefs. I am deeply saddened by the loss.
Categories:
honing, faith,
Form:
Acrostic
10/27/19
"Better Than Ever"
Took a lot of tries
Opened up my eyes
And became wise
Thought
A lot
Took a shot
And got after what I sought
Fought against torment and rot
So oft
People mock
It never ceases to stop
Finally connected the dots
I took it to a higher notch
Time is what it cost
Pondering, whether I ought to or not
As I sat atop a peculiar spot
Where many lives were lost
On a morning with frost
It's a sphere, not flat
As time continues to elapse
This is where I'm currently at
Staying on track
Honing my craft
Had some nice chats and so many laughs
On this world, I've had a blast
Won't be the first or the last
Can't let the opportunity pass
When she crosses my path
Because I'm still looking for my other half
What an adventure!
It's been a pleasure
Doing better than ever
Being clever
Through endeavors
Handling stressors
And pressure
In any weather
Getting an accurate measure
I found some treasure
While in the air was a zephyr
Never
Going to be a pretender
From January to December
I might be of the same feather
But I don't always want to flock together
Can't surrender
Or settle for lesser
A lot of benders
Eyes slightly redder
Stoking some embers
I still remember
All the splendor
God bless her
I wrote you a letter
And left it on the dresser
Beside a craft made with leather
Categories:
honing, heart, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
There is no denying the power of love.
It is a splendid teacher
Quite adept at instructing us
In ways that completely alter our character,
And telling us how to be what we never were,
Or never even imagined we could ever be.
In certain individuals
Its transformations are frequently nothing short of miraculous.
It breaks down all our natural barriers,
And in the blink of an eye
Can turn a niggardly pinchpenny into a philanthropist,
An obsequious milquetoast into a courageous and gallant knight,
And make a paragon of "politesse" out of an absolute boor.
The inveterate sluggard becomes a captain of industry,
And the most innocent of dullards
Becomes a wellspring of sagacity and worldliness.
What a marvelous whetstone for sharpening wits
And honing the senses is love.
Even its most hardened critics…
Those victims and casualties who proved to be intractable and unteachable…
Find it difficult, if not impossible,
To deny the power of love's ability to inspire
The most truly amazing things in a human heart.
Categories:
honing, love, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Sweat drips backstage, mouth parched, heart beating at a sprinter's pace.
All eyes on me, as lights dim with spotlight honing on mic and lips.
Words flow to a standing ovation - I soak it all in.
One of the highlights for me in 2023 was performing spoken word for the first time on stage in front of a packed auditorium. It was a memorable experience and probably the greatest in my creative pursuits.
Categories:
honing, art, spoken word,
Form:
Sijo
Written: September 11, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Don't fret, dear; let's wend off the strife,
Candor your winsome grace—embrace life.
With a smile—arouse your inner fire,
Ignite the magic; cater glamour to inspire.
Revamp your vibes—yield them to radiate,
With the incitement of compassion, illuminate.
Empower the night to be a canvas for our dance,
Culminate in a symphony of romance.
Desultory whispers—replenish the air,
As diaphanous souls entwine in a rhythm so rare.
The night comes alive with a dulcet melody,
As love's symphony apes, lights shine merrily.
Our souls are in a dalliance—a longing dance,
Bodies squirming, hearts fluttering, stance.
With every toast, zeal will appear,
Early dawdles are the dulcet music we hear.
As a beacon, your smile paves the way,
Honing my grasp, velvety as tunes, light as spray.
The sky is our gossamer, and the stars our harbinger,
As we swirl and spin to the beat of a cosmic arbiter.
Hearts mellifluously carol a saccharine song,
as the opulent moon dances and bears us along.
Every tread, every nudge, every glance,
Speaks volumes of passion in a pastiche dance.
Once again, dear, let's ravel in the heavenly night,
Bosom compassion; wend our spirits; bear flight.
A sumptuous moment, no quest to pretend,
Our hearts will carol—until the seraglio trend.
Categories:
honing, analogy, appreciation, beauty, blessing,
Form:
Rhyme
a notch higher
above the head ovoid
grazing the crown chakra
a moist ethereal implant awakes
signalling embodiment of transcendence
within the aspect of consciousness immanent
the happenstance pleasantly occurring in the night
animates bliss fixated at the fontanel for an hour
somewhat like the hand of God on our head
wherefrom other nodes too imbibe grace
silently honing the Sahasrara portal
readying us for what’s to come
Categories:
honing, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
I am at once pleased and saddened that I have taken your life,oh great creature
of the forest.
I am pleased because I have invested many years honing my woods lore and
shooting skills for this final result.
I am saddened because I have killed one of God's most beautiful creatures for
uncertain reasons.
I don't need your flesh to sustain my family nor your hide to clothe them.
I question myself constantly because I seem to focus an inordinate amount of
time day-dreaming about forthcoming hunts and re-enacting old hunts in my
head.
I question why I am obsessed with checking and re-checking my hunting
equipment as the fall days shorten.
I question why I expose myself to the abuse of the natural elements--drenching
rain, freezing snow and biting winds, waiting for you to materialize.
I especially question this hidden force of ancient origins that drives me to take
your life.
I am satisfied that I have not killed just for the sake of killing--that there is
something deeper, more spiritural at stake. Perhaps I'm attempting to capture a
modicum of your nobility, your sheer beauty and ability to live free, for myself.
Regardless of the answers to these probing questions and as I kneel next to
your lifeless body, I do ask for your forgiveness and promise that your mortal
remains will not be wasted and that the cherished memories of this hunt will
remain with me for the balance of my life.
Categories:
honing, animals, forgiveness, nostalgia, philosophy,
Form:
Lyric
O'er the undulating prairie where grows soy beans and corn,
Generations of premier basketball players have been born.
The Hoosier State of Indiana, where budding talent is so replete,
Where small towns can conquer titans, shocking them in defeat!
Long before lads and lassies leave the cradle to crawl upon the floor,
Dads have hung a backboard and hoop above every garage door.
Seldom is seen a Hoosier home without this indigenous adornment!
The flame begins early in Indiana, stirring souls with excitement!
Ah! The exuberance builds as high schools begin a brand-new season.
Not to support the hometown team is almost akin to treason!
Creative cheerleaders perfect frenzied gyrations honing their skills.
The marching bands look sharp having perfected intricate drills!
Moms, Dads and coaches take pride in their young men and women,
As they mentor, teach and train them to develop their acumen.
Young warriors opposing each other upon friendly fields of strife,
Strengthen character to meet the challenges facing them in life!
A Canadian invented the game using peach baskets and a soccer ball.
You daren't mention that to a Hoosier fan - you're apt to start a brawl!
But Hoosiers don't bother themselves about that, caring not a whit.
Basketball is an inbred thing in Indiana, everyone is happy to admit!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Written at the request of the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame, New Castle, Indiana,
for publication in their Winter 2004 publication, "Indiana Basketball History Magazine"
Categories:
honing, sportsbasketball,
Form:
Rhyme
Our first image of a gorgeous black Aphrodite
To inhabit the halls of power with charm,
Mrs. Obama moves over the sacred fields deftly
Reclaiming the realm with femininine form.
Sensuously challenging those who dare deny
Her right to bare her bronze sun-kissed skin
As the queen in a staid pallid white world,
She assumes her role with no hint of giving in.
A worthy image of beauty to accompany a giant of a man,
Mrs. Obama came riding eastward her sword at her side.
She planned for an agenda about change most would scorn,
As a product of northern honing oil and heartland pride.
And she feared not the hard and awful destiny ahead
For a beautiful black woman in a loveless town;
As she brought her fashion for elegance and flair,
Allowing a gawking world to see her face was brown.
As a Capricorn, Mrs. O keeps her keen focus on success,
Never surrendering to impatience, doubt or hesitation.
Her aim is narrow and exact, skillfully chosen
And moored on a carefully thought out foundation.
So doing she has inspired black women to reach higher
And see themselves as lovely creatures of great worth,
Endowed by God to motivate, teach, feed and entertain,
With her nurturing, an emerging color diverse earth.
Categories:
honing, america, celebrity, patriotic, political,
Form:
Rhyme
The game is his friend.
Always there for him.
Never turning him away.
Inviting him to visit
And giving him the
Best seat in the house.
In front of the screen.
It is his sport.
Replacing baseball, football,
Basketball and all others.
It lets him score
And makes him feel
Like a winner.
Like a champion!
The game is his sustenance,
Feeding his thoughts,
Shaping his soul,
Controlling his mind,
Closing the door to family.
To intervention.
To the world.
Anger grows behind
Raised brows and widened eyes.
Desensitizing him.
Honing his skills and
Numbing his feelings.
Making him blind to life.
Making death easy.
Without compassion,
Without love.
Categories:
honing, death, grief,
Form:
Free verse
It was all heat and sweat. Controlled
anger and subdued agony.
Driving themselves beyond known limits.
Pushing bone, sinew, and muscle.
Expanding capability, while honing ability.
Intimacy with a few acres of dry,
chalk-lined practice field. Controlled
fury.The last three weeks of August.
Snatching gasps of fiery summer air.
Every inspiration burning the tongue
and throat over 3 hours of practice.
The heart is a furnace. The air its fuel.
Blood thickens despite hydration.
Ears pounding. Dangerously
elevated heart-rates.
Sprints, agilities, power trains.
Sled drills, Full contact. Three times
a day, two in full equipment. Profuse
sweat flooding every pore.
Brutal, full contact drill and scrimmage.
All measured, yet seeming eternal.
Meetings. Chalk talks. Special Teams
run-through mid-day. All to play the game.
Sacrificing everything
to be part of the team.
At night, sultry stillness.
Craving and needing rest for recovery.
Before claiming deep sleep, meditating
on the gladiators of past millennia.
They trained to extend their life.
We train to see who we are. To play.
"Coach, we who are about to
sweat, salute you!
Will we ever play a game?"
The Agony
Fall Camp '74
Categories:
honing, autumn, football, strength,
Form:
Free verse
or
What inspires you the most?
Written on July 8, 2013
By Gail DeBole
It can start with a title
Popping into my head
After I’ve heard
Something somebody said.
Or I’m on vacation
Seeing the sights
And some type of ambiance
Hits me just right.
Or the person I know
Has a trait or hobby so “cool”
That imagery flows through my head
Like pools of poetic drool.
Something in my past
Pulls me backwards in time
To reflect and write
In free verse or rhyme.
For you it may be different
What inspires you most.
The best poets in town
Can create interest in toast.
Who knows why we do this?
Why the words spill from our souls?
Are we ruled by our brain waves
to create our own form of gold?
Or do we ride our brain waves
Honing a gift from above
As we share this with others
With warmth, light and love?
Categories:
honing, inspiration, introspection, poems, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
I drew you a picture with crayons, bright red.
It’s there on the wall, and your nightstand and bed.
I scribbled some wax on your nicely cleaned floors,
all over the kitchen on the cabinet doors.
I drew you some hearts and a bouquet of roses.
In our family picture we now have red noses.
I thought you would smile, but you cried instead.
That look in your eye makes me think that I’m dead.
I know it’s not perfect, I’m honing my craft,
but please stop those tears, Mom…we don’t have a raft.
I thought you would smile, I swear that it’s true
my message in crayons…is mom, I LOVE YOU!
p.s.
I need a new box of crayons, the red one is worn to a stub.
Categories:
honing, child, childhood, children, growing
Form:
Rhyme
Dark place
my place
standing water
violin frogs...so very quiet.
Where is my voice
where are the lungs
flung into wells of fire
another day for the kiln
another day somewhat overdone.
the meaning of "whole" has paled,
half a heartbeat shy of "it"
karma has raked its orange teeth
on the nape of all regret
parched, dark raiders on desert hills
honing golden knives
slinging crimson shrills
while I collect water in paper palms,
bartering sips for a life
my place
dark place
heart quilled by golden shards
standing water
violin frogs so very very quiet
Categories:
honing, crazy, life,
Form:
Rhyme