Best Impacts Poems
Written: February: 06, 2024
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Peaceful solitude,
letting exit of daily routine,
surrender to peace,
deep breathing calms the spirit,
relax tight muscles,
exhaling painlessly,
away from extraneous impacts,
falling into happiness.
Our palms are extended,
only a few inches away,
approach the
shrouded sanctum,
excitedly expecting,
the lavish outpour,
with the cherubs,
leap forward,
our contaminated chalice,
we shed transgressions,
slithering veneer,
digging for who we are,
out of the covetous quagmire.
Gradually into an ecstatic reverie,
where time and space are muffled,
mental symphony, being level and quiet,
quietness says volumes,
rich and calming,
controlling all noises,
who enters my head?
stillness grows inside,
permeating every bodily fiber,
magically interacting within,
so aged things may be rejuvenated,
a baffling land that hides delight,
swaying daisy petals and soft skin,
circles of cutlery.
Colorful smells scent them
pasted text paralysis,
capture lovely theaters,
subtle care cracks,
juxtaposed with colors and rich smells,
falling and reveling.
Coach Dad
It is a magic time when a child ventures
Into the world, spreading wings,
Beginning the oft painful process
of moving from the nest to the sky.
And it is a fragile time, where first experiences
Weigh heavily on shaping the direction
In which young life begins to move
And often whether it moves at all
It is a trying time, of fear and nervousness
One little step out on their own
The start of something bold and beautiful
The molding of a young child's eye
Much is made of parents and peers,
Oft unaddressed is the role of others
Teachers and coaches, a collective entity
Not dissimilar from fathers and mothers
The torch of responsibility being passed
If only for a brief moment
No more clinging to the safety and comfort
of what is already a norm and known
Encouragement or unkind words
So often a matter of chance and moods
Have mighty impacts on growing hearts
Precious opportunities to help a growing life
Young minds and hearts right on the surface
We remember our coaches, good and bad
Caring or not, patience or none,
The struggles, thin times and thick
A team of seven year olds
Is not unlike a litter of unruly puppies
How will they ever pay attention?
Give them a ball, a glove, and a game!
Pride, courage, athleticism, self-confidence
All showcased for the world to see
Taking turns and building bonds
Grasping much more than a newfound skill
If you can stand to be measured,
and fail by that measure, even repeatedly
But come back from it, you'll forever have
One more vital skill in life’s toolbox
One youngster will not win the game alone
But the team can, and its joy
Is multiplied many times over.
All these things and more can be taught.
Whether it be on the field or off
Teamwork, respect and camaraderie
Will forever be entrenched in the mind
Of a well instructed boy or girl
5/4/16
© Tom Quigley and Tim Smith
One flower almost gray
but visibly not
Brushed by a breeze on
concrete wet
Emerged from a crevasse
along the corner
Forced to hold on to its
limited yellow
Open to suggestion
More than several
shapes take hold
On a distant wall of
wind emerged tornadoes
Spun in favor of the
days rotation
Coming in from the west
At a 90 degree
declination
Turns to be determined
left or right
Angles perpendicular to
the east
The eye wall wobbling
uncertain to reason
As gray turns to black
Rises with barometric
pressure
Collapsed on the
moments fragile flight
Palm trees hang
suspended, then animate
Fall like paragraphs
pinned down by wind
News wires bent on
facts lean in to learn
There to understand it
Hurricane begins,
uproots humanity
Removes them like tooth
decay
Electric lines freak
out, burn on orange red desires
Dangle in the wind in
pain without a smile
Touch puddles as
children walk by
Inclement weather does
strange things
Impacts
the storm track still intact
Leaves nothing behind
or to the imagination
Including its name
which is forgotten
Roads clear and are not
there
Traffic, trees,
people... Poof!..all gone
Storm warnings move on,
hunger for warmth
Looking for a tropical
paradise to wrong
The emotions and nature intertwine setting our mood,
Plan each day accordingly for the changing of one's attitude.
The silence within is quiet
like the newly fallen snow,
The happy thoughts within are discovered
like the flowers that begin to grow.
The anger of struggles within is a rage
like the thunderous storms,
The confusion unsettled within is everchanging
like the chameleon that constantly transforms.
The surprise emotions within stir
like the gust of cold wind moving endlessly,
The sorrow within causing pain is unbearable
like the destruction of the awaken tornado that impacts the land
tremendously.
The comforting gestures that calm our soul within are created
like the spectacular rainbow display igniting joy,
The sadness forms suddenly within is overflowing
like the flooding waters of rainstorms that annoy.
The scared feelings which fear takes over within is depressing
like a dangerous hurricane taking away our livelihood,
The peace that one longs for within is awoken
like the beautiful sunset that leaves one feeling good.
Oh, my darling, how passionately you whisper to me
Secrets of forbidden love, titillating magical feelings
Mesmerizing romantic night in blossoms of dreams
Beckoning to heavens above to fulfill sweet fantasy
Alluring sensuous desires twinkling in glistening skies
As I feel your vibes, sparkling in your glamorous eyes.
Ah! river’s serene zeal rejoices your sensuous appeal
Rippling exhilaration emanating from tranquil stream
Sensing my arrival in tenor of soft midnight breeze
Rustling shamrock leaves echoing hearts’ tender music
As melodies of doting souls warble from smitten trees
Jubilant in aspirations, mythical fascinations reveal.
Chasing earthly passions in rhythms of ecstatic ballad
Oh, how I, quixotic star, inflame in your cuddling arms
Crooning breaths on sensual lips, answering you call
Satiating night you vied for, till I part at stroke of dawn
Leaving behind part me to forever cheer your heart
Inscribing upon eternal memories, fable of romance.
September 30, 2020
Placed 1st: Impacts and metaphors poetry contest
Have you ever given thought on how language impacts you,
good or bad it all depends on the words you ruminate & chew
be careful what you choose to expel when your mouth spews
for it can either bless someone or wound, bet you never knew
that one can learn to ponder words and usher without blurt
do not speak on angry terms for all it does is bring more hurt
when the sun go down, tuck away hostility and don't be curt
make sure you care enough not to pill, rampage, or blurt
words can be a sanctuary to go to when no one seems to care
they can be a respite from that cruel world, your Lancelot dare
don't let the light of the stars cease to shine because of a flare
be slow to roll that pearly tongue, even slower to make it blare
not everyone thinks like you, wrong and right is only a concept
so don't bully your opinions on others and make them feel inept
please don't yank words out, it would be best if they overslept
good bedside manners are essential, it cannot be windswept.
July 10, 2021
Before diving into the music video ‘King on a Throne,’ above,
I encourage you to first read the poem ‘The Glass Throne,’, below which serves as its preamble.
Together, let’s shine a light on the upcoming ‘NO MORE Week,’ a global movement uniting people from all walks of life to say ‘NO MORE’ to domestic and verbal abuse.
You can help spread this vital message by clicking on the YouTube tab for my video above and viewing it on my channel.
Your support through comments—both here and on my channel—would mean so much.
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Thank you for being a part of this journey. Now, read on and immerse yourself in the
‘The Glass Throne’
the Poem!
Clay castles built on fleeting breath,
where thrones are carved from glass not depth.
Once love adorned with shimmering gold,
now whispers weave through mirrors cold.
Shifting like a restless ghost
In shadows doubt—the spiteful host.
A monarch drunk on self-versed curse.
Malicious barbs that once disturbed
Now sputter into broken verbs
Darts shot through ego’s bliss
A precarious balance at the pale abyss
But glass will crack, and winds will rise,
As shadows bleed beneath her skies.
From gold leaf lips deceptive lies
Though hidden truths unveil their guise
As complex carved illusions fade
The masquerade unmasked ~ No charades
It’s a time to shine a spotlight on an epidemic that impacts 1 in 3 women and 1 in 6 men globally. But it’s more than just about increasing awareness; it’s about collective action.
When individuals, organizations, and communities get involved in the movement to stop and prevent abuse, we are louder, stronger, and more impactful.
Power to the People who put up with it.
in vibrant colors
shades of green on a hillside -
where wildflowers grow
~
a glass of red wine
hot tub and barrel sauna -
summer enjoyment
in the wind the bubbles float
the effect impacts your mood
I am stardust born into flesh and blood~Long-lasting impacts and actions I embrace will determine my legacy—quote by poet
I am
made from dust
given breath to eat and drink
and embrace ‘till the end of me,
taken from the dust and back to the dust
on earth, joyful and to do good as long as I live
‘till the end of me, two deaths being consciousness
the other, mere flesh and blood ending physical struggles
and my battle transcends the material world into an energy
here in the realm where peace will abound until the moon is no more
My memory is like an ill-tempered old car
that refuses to start
on cold, miserable mornings...
or sometimes stutters
and shudders to life
in fits and starts with rattling parts
Names and faces of those behind me
shrouded and clouded in thick exhaust fumes
'til memory resumes and smoke starts to clear
...oh, what was the year?
Then suddenly (without warning)
the engine revs high, and I start to fly
downhill fast, into the past
brakes not responding, gripping the wheel
too much to feel
that terrible fear- stuck in high gear...
Old trauma impacts like a car crash
re-living events that
don't always make sense
deadly debris and jumbled bits of trash
litter my head, feeling half-dead
confused, in a mild state of shock
Although a car is a useful thing-
sometimes it's safer to walk!
Truth bubbling forth as from a mountain spring.
A gem set in gold resting on purple velvet,
“Better a smooth step than a smooth tongue.”
He rotates his posterior to the world,
While his eyes are transfixed upon its reflection,
Body impacts a light pole without anticipation.
Mouth pontificating.
Heart petrifying.
Soul putrefying.
She smiles believing there is always hope
Is there such a thing as an overdose of sadness
Lives are not immune to the impacts of time
Even after death our special bond will remain
Not content, Grim Reaper returned without warning
There is no beauty in tragedy, nor a remedy
Once again you disturb my sleep
Now there are hollow walls with silent floors
Echoes of her voice tingle -
________________________
January 10, 2021
Poetry/Acrostic/Silent One
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1319-961-10
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Capture The Essence
sponsor, Margarita Lillico, Judged 02/21/2021
All Quotes from the following Silent One Poems:
Crimson and Ivory Poetry numbs the pain
Its a part of me Eternal Memories
Broken Wings Drowning in Darkness
Cobwebs - Seasons of Death Will to Survive
Fragility of Dreams
Bells, bells, sound of bells fall now and then in my ears,
Their tone and timbre varying, sometimes singing,
Sometimes jarring, sometimes rising to a sweet crescendo.
Clanging and clashing, tinkling, and jingling
Every day I wake to the sound of the tolling of bells,
From the church steeple early in the morning,
A call to the parishioners to start their day,
In prayer and devotion to the Heavenly Father
Each toll causing varied impacts, sad or sweet.
While wedding bells ring with a sweet melody
It is with great dread that we listen to the alarm bells,
Cautioning and alerting men of some imminent danger.
As the funeral procession moves slowly down the streets,
With men treading in silence and the bells ringing a doleful tune,
Reminding us of the inescapable end waiting for each man,
A foggy pain creeps through the alleys of the mind.
Thus, the sound of bells through ages has been rolling,
Through hills and vales crossing hamlets and towns
Either whispering a sweet tale or forewarning an omen
Producing timeless echo, vibrant and resonant in the eons of time!
They met each other in a dream one night
In the mist by the bank of the river.
When their eyes locked in their own embrace
They both felt a quiver
Each were captured in the moment.
The water hushed the trees.
Thumping hearts and shallow breaths
Were carried in the breeze.
The gap between them began to close
A tip-toe at a time.
At the lightest connection of their fingertips
A bright spark struck sublime.
They both glanced down at their hands
At the feel of irresistible desire.
They thought about what these hands could do
Their imaginations catching fire.
Their eyes locked again with lips curved to grin
They both felt a sudden rush.
She was a lady, he a gentleman
Yet their lust bled into blush.
He ushered her to take a seat
On a bench made just for two.
They took a deep breath and faded away
Into a hazy hue.
Though they enjoy it when they meet
In the fantasies of the night.
It impacts on the loneliness they feel
When such dreams take flight.
Each night when they settle down
The dreams they hope for evade them.
But when they least expect it,
They will meet each other again.
Coffee is a reasonable substitute
for spirit possession.
Surely your heart will tremble,
open the gateway
for earthquakes to exist
within the fault lines
of your fingers —
but at least your pants will be piss free
when the officer asks you
to dance along the straight line.
And when he asks, “are you nervous?”
you’ll respond in the affirmative.
Explain how since 1996
you’ve been waiting for the day
an asteroid directly impacts your car
as you sip espresso
heading southbound on the I-10,
on your way to work.
And you won’t have to explain to your coworker
why your pants are missing,
ass in the air,
bad decisions spilled
on the fresh mopped floor —
dreading the ride in,
knowing he knows
you’d never compete
with his fresh ironed shirt.
This morning I chose slow drip,
because life moves fast enough.