Best Interpretation Poems
If you can keep calm when all around you,
Are frustrated, and angry with you,
Always believe in yourself, and be true,
Don’t be too proud, be positive with others too,
All good things come to those who wait,
Don’t ever listen to lies, that’s a fact,
Try to avoid being hated, don’t ever hate,
Do not show off, and from yourself distract.
Dream, but do not let dreams absorb you,
Put all to thought, and exercise this through,
If you succeed, become befallen too,
And meet these dire opposites at their game,
Stand up to truths that you believe in,
They know not what they speak, they only shame,
So jealous of your hard earnings, a twin to sin,
They try to mimic, to no avail, they do not gain.
Put all you have achieved to one side,
Knowing who you are, believe in do or die,
You might lose, begin again, with it abide,
Tell no one of any loss, reach for the sky,
If you can use your strength, and soul,
To carry on, as grace helps you to become whole,
And try everything within, to reach your goal,
Tell them I’ll carry on, not dig myself a hole.
If you speak with others, to thy self be true,
Be proud, never lose sight of who you are,
If friend or foes have no ability to scar,
If they agree with what you say, but not with all,
Be forgiving, don’t think you're better, and then fall,
If all you say is sound within sixty seconds,
You have achieved your worth, which always beckons,
And - indeed more - you’ll be a man my son!
POTW - 8/12/2022
I held the calligraphy brush and
Practiced the movement for hours and hours
Somewhere betwixt art and dance
It was meant to look as effortless as a breath
Simplicity at its core
At first glance you recognize
A tall wispy tree on a little island
Surrounded by a flowing current
That’s when I tell you that my avatar
Is the calligraphy symbol for ‘play’
Not only do I love the fact
That it is crisp black on white
But the symbolism is multi-faceted
Several correlations come to mind
Play and nature are preeminent and dynamic
Unpretentious is the notion of freedom and grace
Creativity’s natural interaction with the universe
Welcome to my avatar its play that I embrace
AP: 3rd place 2020, 3rd place 2021
Submitted on January 20, 2019 for contest WHO IS THE STAR IN YOUR AVATAR sponsored by MARK MASSEY - CONTEST CANCELLED
Can beauty be interpreted
Like the King James Version
All the scriptures made correct
All the verses like virgins
Can punctuation be the eyes
With the comma being a smile
The period being the entire face
And chapters being a style
Can books be the ages and pages
From Genesis to Revelation
And the New Testament
Being the Virgin Bride
Never to be tested or questioned
Can faith be the saving grace
That keeps the form of beauty
The woman, the Queen, the little girl
From whom smiles and hugs were given
From heaven comes the angel that saves
With the rest the soul requires
The comfort given to the mind
Escaping certain fires
Can Esther, Bathsheba and Jezebel
Be just the same as Deliah
With faces that inspire kings
To have that deadly desire
Possess the ability to speak in tongues
Without making a sound
And in the end give God the glory
For the victories He has won
My Interpretation Of Love:
Is being a true friend no matter what.
Is allowing yourself to love from your
soul.
Is giving of yourself self without taking.
Is being comfortable enough to bear it all
without any restrictions.
Is choosing to stay for the long haul in
spite of the imperfections.
Is learning new ways to be on a never
ending honeymoon.
Is willing to listen when you want
to run out the door.
Is embracing the good the bad and the
ugly.
Is willing to see past the wrinkles and
cellulite.
Is knowing that your heart has found a
home even in the midst of a storm.
Is not letting any outsider bring calamity
to your union.
Most of all I believe that love is all these things
and so much more.
Inspired by the “ What Is Your I Interpretation Of Love” contest
Sponsor: Bobby May
1-13-19
The radiant sun
Pounds the surface of the earth
Upon the rising of day
Forcing its presence
Onto the green and blue
Allowing the color of day
To be spread upon
The canvas of life
With an artists eye
One can see the beauty
The brushstrokes and hues
And interpret the morning, the day
As a true work of art
Fireballs, meteors, or comets
hurled at the world like falling stars.
Aimed at little houses and little cars.
Speeding downward to crush the
homes
of a village and town where love and
freedom roam.
And this is seen but unknown by the
faces
that reside in such beautiful places...
For all appears as night and stars..
And they look up high into the sky
Yet none die or wonder why... They
live.
They give up no signs of fright
But gaze upon a Starry Night...
At glance and in trance up above.
For by these stars, they know "HIS"
love.
His love and unconditional affection.
"He" keeps them safe. They know
protection.
An unconditional love they can share
forever.
Be it with him or with each other,
they
live and laugh and love together...
On a Starry Night when light is gone
With him or with each other, they
are never alone...
On this canvas, they understand this.
They understand this:
Love, faith, and hope... somehow,
Will keep them safe from danger
now.
Wow...
They know this somehow...
They "know" everything I wish
I could "feel" right now...
Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh
beneath a gold sun
a small child with arms outstretched. . .
joy of life embraced
wearing just a smile
the boy straddles a white horse. . .
strength in purity
an orange banner
grasped tightly in the child's hand. . .
vitality seized
sun's rays in blue sky. . .
good vibrations undulate
on the horizon
nourished by the sun
four sunflowers beam brightly. . .
life's sweet fulfillment
For Tracie's Contest on Tarot Cards
Please see the following link for a look at the card's picture:
http://tarotandchaldean.blogspot.com/2012/05/blank_31.html
He could see words,
but could not read what she had written.
A paragraph was as difficult as deciphering
telegraph dots for the first time. Cluelessness
was washed all over his face.
"Honey, what is this?" he asked.
"A letter written for you," she replied.
She could tell from his face he couldn't read
the language of the heart. She had to make him
understand.
Collected every word and every letter,
minced them up in her thoughts,
and read them aloud to him.
He was devastated. The clues were all there standing
right in front of him; a suitcase and cold hands.
She was leaving him. They didn't speak the same language...
Date: 6/14/2016
I create - my speaker creates tone
Choosing words selectively - having diction
Writing with an implied attitude
The subject it is created
Whether it be fiction or nonfiction
I accentuate and it's syntax in tact
Dramatically forming a phrase
Or sentence therefore into imagery
Detailing - a sound effect
Rhyming - timing - I recollect
Harmoniously - the meter in fact
Plays a role - reading
Listening to a poems language
I hear a voice of it's speaker
The tone we catch
Feeling we sense
In turn! with Process of Association
Voila - deciphering a meaning!
Remarkable be that of the poem
You read -you comprehend - Hence
Developing appreciation.
Thus art - the poem
creatively writing.
speech and debate team members
competed every week
new schools, new judges, input sought
national finals at Niagara University
eleven hundred contestants
vying for trophies worth their weight in gold
mix up the meter, don't stress the rhyme
select a "poem" that would be unique
then give it your own tweak
casting Longfellow and Whitman aside
I emulated Walter Brennan’s voice
reading “The Lorax” by Dr. Seuss
in finals judging was stiff
but I gave them a laugh or two
nabbing a fourth place
first time Monmouth ever had a winner
riding home, we cheered and laughed
Old Lorax’s environmental message won favor
*Entry for Joe’s “Contest Contest”
True story
He, She, they, them, their or choices .
I wonder if your world is round or maybe not because probably your mind is cubical , you are a dice, it is as similar as the dice given as an example of cube , a cube which is closed , has defined corners and one measurement perhaps it would have been better if we could deter to these bold and times old Indian fonts of sterotyped examples and ask for more pentagons and circles which were ***** , just like me .
You love explaining area and mensuration with examples of a gender entangled bangle , a match box that dosent match me , and an unwise dice but little did you realise that you have yourself become a box of typical undynamic identities , closed and formalised with prejudiced formulas of measurement .
So I want to switch your camera from portrait view to a panoramic view to notice that I am a decagon , difficult to the vocabulary of a polygon and unacceptable to the category of human.
Maybe I know that now you are old enough and you've learned about this ***** trans decagon like me but still when you hear about polygons and humans , your answers are straight line segments of triangles & squares and straight people whose gender binary is fair , well unfair to the notions of identity which remains undefined for not just me but also you swinging between choices of being extremely feminine on some days and masculine on others .
You see the problem with this arrangement is confusion of building a glass wall of hatred for people we find strange to our little knowledge of normal , so we assume them to be an abnormal comfort smelter , stone pelter , destined to give us a discomforting experience of flawed birth , flawed to our little knowledge of what's correct .
Them , their , he , She , her aren't identities but preferred pronouns which is a very basic question out of our mean calculative binary syllabus , but a question meant to be inculcated in our cubical boxed syllabus because earth is round and endless and so are my choices .
We each must seek to walk our very own walk
Although most getting stuck inside its box
Through the door of hate well learned,
Another tear drop subsides;
For each table has been turned
The interpretation of a dream,
She was living on a wing and a prayer
Other matters of the heart may have caused dispare
Through shadows in her head;
A cause of panic feelings of dread,
The interpretation of a dream;
Out of mere madness sprung its inner silence
As in caged barbaric schemes...
Through a base of triumph shadows felt its gear toward silence,
The interpretation of a dream
Fought back its silence from within.
Why was my whole special school life,
An interpretation of nature and school?
A philosophical contemplation and analysis,
A freeway inquiry into the education tool.
Because the god concept was lain out,
On the household table, delicately spread,
I was sharp at social phenomenon,
Even as a primary child was not off my head.
When I journeyed down the corridors,
Slowly, because of my disability,
I was more often than not on my own,
‘Cos the others would show off their mobility.
So I thought about the politics,
Of the special school and our integration right,
Our need of ramps and disabled toilets,
The importance of everybody’s mindset height.
I classed the whole organisational structure as wrong,
For using the carers as playtime supervisors,
‘Cos in my old nursery school the teachers contravened,
In any tit-for-tat playground misdemeanours.
The teachers knew us in the classroom,
So adjudicated fairly and with respect,
Were able to administer justice,
Wherever there was a point of regret.
The carers were just not on my level,
And you had to do what they said,
Which overshadowed my whole experience,
Which made me much see red.
It was believed that the carers had a light on,
Because they scribed for us in maths,
But your profession level sets your reception,
Of high-flyers’ stares and laughs.
I mean, I didn’t ever laugh at them,
For their low rank and position,
But that just meant they never put me with,
My parents speech and religion.
But I considered myself determined philosophically,
Not in the free-will line of thought camp,
And just needed a man, board or committee,
To rejuvenate myself and amp.
So I often spoke with the school doctor,
The boss of the cliques and staff,
But the other pupils resented it,
Laughing at my physical prospects, chaff.
When your life does not go right,
Insist, if you can, on calling the shots,
Make appointments with the gods,
And beam with importance watts.
Shadows proned in pierced dark desolation
She waited for me on that day
A given chance at which to bow the knee to pray
There was a rich love I used to know
At bitter silence by which to go...
The interpretation of a dream,
No need for silence no mere solace scene
Never leaving your poor heart alone
As with a rod that Moses felt,
From a distance the sound of wild feathers
A whole host of words that were whispered;
As if you haven't already heard
In bitter silence we become unshackled
From the bitter place with cold egos glaze
The she suddenly spread her wingas on windows peak;
The cold chill sends a rage down spine.
questions
curious, unknown
stimulating, interesting, inviting
veil, fog, lake, glass
captivating, intriguing, revealing
inciteful, analytical
answers
8-6-2022
Dazzling Dizzy Diamante Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger