Best June 21 Poems
I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her arms. She never knew how much I needed her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her soul. She never knew how much I needed her. Between yesterday’s old coffee and today's bright doom I broke in half. My heart slipped away into the hell of her death and my mind created LOST memories. So many moments of despair she held, and so many times of loneliness I lived. Beneath the darkness of the moon I drowned in a river created from her pain. It engulfed me into oblivion and I shall never be the same again. Sisters need each other and I needed her. Life seems over and death seems so FINAL.
teardrops in her arms-
woe brings rivers of d r o w n i n g
DEATH by suicide
I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her misery. She never knew how much I loved her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her heart. She never knew how much I loved her. After the downpour of anguish I fell asleep. Nightmares of our final hug GOODBYE. If only I had held on longer maybe she would have felt more love from me. Maybe enough love to keep her alive. For she never realized how much her pain caused me heartache. She bled in sadness and I bleed in regret. No time to heal because healing is no more. Life seems dark and death seems so BLEAK.
one final goodbye-
not enough pure love from me
two dead souls bleeding
I s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her remorse. She never knew how much I longed for her. I s l i p p e d in a puddle and I died in her essence. She never knew how much I longed for her. Before she was born she was already gone. A lifetime of sorrow and feeling different. It was hard for her to be a lesbian. Too hard. RIDICULED and damaged beyond repair. No more light at the end of her tunnel and the lessening of sunshine during her days. It’s depressing to think about what she felt her final moments of life. Her goodbye letter was awful. Full of pain and too much grief for me to read. I keep it in a journal tucked gently away. One day I will pull it out and read it again. Life seems wrong and death seems so BLACK.
suffered from regret-
too flawed and b r o k e n to heal
sister’s forever
~She s l i p p e d on a teardrop and landed in her grave~
Date Written: June 21, 2016
Today another angel got her wings
Promoted for a job well done on earth
Rejoice! In heaven, all the angels sing
His grace has filled her with angelic mirth
Though quickly earth reclaims the pyre's ash
How swift the ceaseless seasons of the sun
Grief fades and loneliness becomes the lash
A harsh reminder of that special one
But in our times of sad and dark despair
Our angel fans the dying flame of love
No longer suffering, her joy she shares
Reminding us she's waiting up above
This life is for the living, not the dead
Our day will come, when no more tears are shed
"
June 21 2019
A beauty in the forest lived alone.
One night she went outside where moonlight pooled
inside a clearing. There her blue eyes shone
as she looked up to see the sky bejeweled.
Bejeweled with twinkling stars the heavens were!
Those stars gazed down at Beauty and were so
in awe of what they saw, they winked at her!
She reached as if to touch them, eyes aglow!
If stars could be released, to fall from sky
to earth, the face of Beauty they would touch
and on her cheeks, serenely, they would die
from having loved a mortal far too much.
Sweet Beauty, who with nature was in tune,
called out to each and every twinkling star,
“My dears, you are companions to the moon.
I love you, but you must stay where you are.”
The stars shone brighter just to hear her voice.
If stars have hearts, they pulsated with love.
They said, “Dear Beauty, though it’s not our choice,
we’ll here remain and watch you from above.”
Written June 21, 2015 for the Fantasy Poetry Contest
A Shattered Peace
(as a privileged white man searches his soul)
A shot rang out that gave a fright
and shattered peace in dark of night.
For just a while I gave a pause
then ventured out to seek the cause.
I saw a shadow in the dark
as I approached the city park;
the cop stood tall and at his feet
a young black man lay in the street.
"He tried to run," the sheriff said;
reported crimes from which he fled.
(‘twas later found upon research,
the man was heading home from church.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I noted it to be dark red,
the pool of blood beneath his head;
a shocking moment to define,
it’s color was the same as mine.
Are we that different, he and I,
this inbred guilt which you imply?
For which he died, his only sin
‘twas darkened pigment of his skin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How many times must this repeat
these black men dying in the street?
How many times must this repeat
these senseless shootings indiscrete?
How many times must this repeat
until our bias we defeat?
‘tis in our soul the answers lie,
and in the hearts of you and I.
June 21, 2020
Believe in God and put your trust in Him.
With faith, you’ll stumble not; nor will you plod.
Pray strongly though your problems seem too grim.
Uprightly walk the souls who talk with God.
God’s blessings He is eager to bestow.
*The Bible tells us: “Seek and ye shall find.”
From faithful hearts God’s living waters flow.
To know Him is to live with peace of mind.
*From Matthew 7:7
June 21, 2020
For Brian Strand's 'YOUR RHY-ME ' Poetry Contest
I will find you in the moonlight,
as the hall clock’s chiming midnight,
drifting slowly with the moon beams
‘mongst the stars, caressing daydreams,
as your thoughts reflect your heart light.
Somewhere floating out of eyesight
through the cosmos, dreamy space flight,
while defying earthly slipstreams,
I will find you.
There we’ll kiss in dim of starlight
while enjoying love’s sweet birthright;
passions stirring in our bloodstreams,
hearts are racing ‘long the jet streams.
There beyond the stars at midnight
I will find you.
June 21, 2026
Poem of the Day - June 22, 2026
He is now a band of sky,
a bird, a cloud, a stream of blue
drifting by in midafternoon,
a dragonfly, a butterfly, a ray of light dancing by,
a sheet of loose paper floating in the wind
with my poem scribbled on it.
He now rides in the rippling waves of Everglades
that glisten in the summer sun.
He comes to me in feelings deepening -
in gravity, energy, peace, commotion, the tide.
He is forever August, forever June…
an ocean wave never reaching the shore
(the sand and sun evermore),
a smile, a tear, laughter that never ends,
a child’s young, inquisitive mind, a friend,
the sweet voices of home,
the comfort of my favorite place, in a photo
or the sun upon my face.
Perhaps, he’s eternal summer, youth running with ease
in his favorite shorts and flip-flops,
hair sun-bleached tumbling free,
or one feather floating high on the ocean breeze.
I often see his face in fluffy clouds blurred beyond my tears,
singing sixties rock-and-roll, a country song or hymn.
He is the music playing in my ear again and again
and the warm, tropical air filling me within.
He lives in the cozy log cabin in a clearing of pines
and in the largemouth bass jumping
from the lake at dawn’s break,
He’s the tortoise sunning on the shore, the buck running wild,
the heartbeat of a father that cried
when he held his baby for the first time.
He is my joyful memories, a new day and the seconds
I live till I see him again. He is the wind calling my name,
dancing with the leaves on the trees…
he is water, he is air, he is in my eyes and theirs.
He is in Heaven but his love is everywhere.
My dad passed away June 21, 2002. He was 52 years old.
Summer was his favorite time of year and is the season I miss him most.
Written, 3/7/15 for The Pain of Night Contest
~~
Soothing and calming is this summer downpour,
Under the tin roof of my gazebo I listen to the score;
Murmuring and whispering in my sadly drooping garden,
Musical, the lovely dulcet melody of utter abandon;
Ebbing and fading and then rebounding loudly,
Reprising again a thunderous and soulful song proudly.
Rhapsodic and exuberant the pulsing sortie,
Absolute and utter is my repose so completely;
Impressive and dramatic the swaying foliage,
Nourished and totally free is my spiritual sage.
__________________________________________
June 21, 2014
Poetry/Acrostic/Summer Rain
Copyright Protected, ID 16-578-260-21
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Raindrops
cool, wet
falling, landing, splashing
puddles, floods, flowers, trees
soaking, nourishing, brightening
hopeful, brilliant
rainbows
June 21, 2019
For Joseph May’s “Sparkling Diamonds” contest
Youth
I remember you well
The happiness and the perfection
A lifetime in which to dwell
No worries to block my path
Playing make believe with my dolls
Unaware of the passage of time and age
Oblivious to hate and cruelty
Happy and content with my thoughts
No nightmares to disturb my peace
Teddy bear pressed to my cheek
Friends to laugh with
A Mom and Dad to hold close
Boyfriends that came and went
A long life ahead
A career, love, marriage, children
No rock left unturned
Elder
Do I know this reflection
This woman who bears my name
Where did the little girl of yesterday go
And the woman that was me
She only resides inside nowadays
My hair has lost its sparkle
My cheeks are hollow and pale
Eyes that are too dark and empty
My beauty has faded away
Many deaths have left me alone
Nightmares rock me to sleep
In the dark I weep
I fear the end and wish it also
The pain of old age pulses in my bones
Dear God, take me home
Death
I lay beneath the green earth
In peace I dwell
Here I watch the changing sky
The rain drenches me
The snow is beautiful as it lays upon me
The sun soothes my bones
The cool earth wraps me in her arms
Filigree clouds drift by dreamily
I listen to the wind in the trees
I hear the voices weep above me
I gather each falling tear
Death is not such a terrible place
I want to say to those above
The youth of yesterday was fleeting
My elder years were long and painful
And only death has loved me well
Now I reside in Paradise
My only regret are things left unfinished
________________________
June 21, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/Unfinished
Copyright Protected, ID 16-487-491-21
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Submitted to the contest, 100 in a Row #2
sponsor, Poet Destroyer, Judged 2013
Sixth Place
______________________________
Written for the contest,
Talking To Yourself, Judged 2013
First Place
Morning sounds wake sleepy heads in beds.
A thud against the wall...daddy's home, drunk!
Mommy must have given him that mommy look!
Sis and I rush to help mommy off the floor as
daddy flops across the bed with his shoes on
smelling of stale beer and cigarette's stench.
Mommy is too dizzy to finish fixing our sandwiches
of baloney for our brown bag lunch. With one punch
he laid her flat again. When will his cruelty end?
Tomorrow is Parent Teacher conferences but
they both won't show up... again. They never do.
Mean taunts from ugly kids at school, we don't listen.
We watch the clock on the classroom wall that ends
with a clattering of noisy chatter and beat up books being
joyously slammed closed then shoved into back packs
as the bell loudly rings announcing the school days end.
We walk slowly home together with dulled anticipation
to the empty sounds of no one home to greet us.
The television's voice is a welcoming distraction that
elevates our spirits with happy kids in family shows.
The best thing about T.V. dinners is no dishes to wash.
Mommy comes home from work at the diner after dark
still sporting dark sunglasses to hide daddy's shiner.
The last sounds of the day comes from mommy's singing us
old songs she remembers from her youthful years at home.
6-17-16
Connie Marcum Wong
Poem of the Day June 21, 2016
N/A
WAR SIREN
On the battlefield, the ruby blood,
is caked to warm dusty brown to dry.
Bedraggled women calls the living,
she, with pleasure, makes a soldier cry.
Lady in red, whore of the regiment,
her life spent, intently but corruptly.
She will subtract the soldier from the war,
and seduce him softly but abruptly.
Eerie soldiers of death seek the war whore,
she turns them inside out and to her will.
The men will knock, knock, knock upon her door;
because not every soldier's dressed to kill.
They have removed their blunt minds to fight,
and advance but cannot kill to win.
This femme fatale, siren of the trench,
aspires to take the war out of men.
By Edlynn Nau
© June 21, 2016
I took the bus mom,
h o l d i n g a bright rose for you;
clutched TIGHT in my hand . . .
I b r u s h brittle leaves away,
and lay down my w i l t e d ROSE.
__________________
June 21, 2017
Poetry/Tanka/A Wilted Rose
Copyright Protected, ID 06-991-443
All Rights Reserved, 2017, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Tanka
sponsor, Laura Loo, Judged 08/2017
Second Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Strand (1047)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 01/08/2022
First Place
for you are this longing
gravitational force-
you steal my senses and
secure me to the deepest
parts of your existence.
you and me have this
attraction,
causing a chain reaction-
without reason or rhyme,
we've traveled through
space and time.
for we are intense magnetism-
affinity and allurement,
drawing us closer and closer...
towards temptation.
you and me have this
fascination,
a God-given creation-
keep pulling me near,
live inside my gravity....
...without fear.
June 21, 2017
In the corridors
of my mind and endless passages
I hold the scars that are the road map to my soul
and where words thrown at me and used as weapons
dwell in the cracks.
Fear and sorrow are like chains holding me prisoner
and I must exhume them from the darkness
disinter and expose them
from vast deep voids where they hide
in the fissures.
And the drum of time is beating and I must pierce
through the hollow shadows to dredge up
this cancer twining !
The path is endless
as I dig and chip at the darkness
leaving no door and no emptiness unchecked
as I follow all the contrived tunnels and atriums
as time is ticking.
The forest of my life is at stake and my sky is gray
but this is an excavation unfathomable
oh, through chambers silent
no matter how difficult and weary
I will crawl seeking.
This fear and sorrow is holding me back from being me
so, I will leave no rock unturned
for I must unearth ...
the darkness dwelling within me !
______________
June 21, 2021
Poetry/Verse/An Excavation
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1365-926-21
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, This or That, Vol. 4
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 07/27/2021
First Place