Best Make For Poems
Oh, the memories of Spring
much more the sweeter grow,
when you are at Autumn’s end
and faced with Winter’s snow.
Oh, the new and budding things
that make for Spring’s delight,
fast mature in Summer’s day
to fade in Autumn’s night.
Oh, that it was Spring again,
life pulsating anew;
hope dancing in its gentle breeze
and promise in its dew!
Oh, that it was Spring again,
I’d more the wiser be,
and linger longer on its path
of sweet simplicity!
But, one cannot be wise in Spring-
for it’s a time to dream;
and only Winter sees the truth
of every season’s scheme.
May 28, 2015
Categories:
make for, inspirational, life, metaphor, seasons,
Form:
Quatrain
I awaken; the darkened skies my alarm clock
I reek of whiskey, scotch and pastis
Tumbling out of bed, I reach for a cigarette
The dusk harkens as I rise to ply my trade
I am embodied inside a one room flat
The nightlife and the ladies both coming to life
Out the window I see the windmill so famous in red
Ladies with offers, men with drinks, the recipe for lust
I am the mime of the Moulin Rouge
I ready myself with my white painted face
Tonight another performance or so it seems
I shall juggle my knifes, with my many sad faces
Up up up in the air, one, two, three
Knifes in a whirlwind of iconic display
Around and around like the Moulin Rouge
I perform, toss and catch to applause
My sad face bows in graceful acknowledgement
As they toss their lose coins my way
If they see fit to fill my container of misery
I make for them my spectacular encore
I take a knife, a long black sharp blade
Tossed 12 feet in the air, dancing its way back down
As it slices the stem of a red rose in my hand
I now hand a pretty girl a cut rose
The ladies of the evening smile
They see I too traded romance for coin
How sad it is, this Moulin Rouge of dreams
Eleven more roses, and I shall earn my keep
Or so the ladies in red believe
I, on the other hand, will be changing the last act
I am tired of rent and being rented and rented cloth
I shall perform the ultimate act finale ce soir
Selecting the sharpest set of long fine knifes
Lighting them with orange flame, the juggling act begins
My audience enthralled, once again
Wondering maybe does he ever miss?
I never miss, I never shall, this is a certainty
The knifes a glow in fire, lighting the nighttime sky,
Tossed high, I lie down fast, tossed a rose in the air
A Knife as usual cut the rose stem
One, two, three, the knifes enter my heart
The blood will warm the falling rose
As it gently falls upon my silent chest
I die with a smile, yes my final act a success
The rose so tender upon my breast
Breathless all, Gay Paris has died once more
I never miss
Yet, I miss you
Categories:
make for, rose,
Form:
Light Verse
The Black Hills wept for Thee
East of the Black Hills of South Dakota,
On the Pine Ridge Reservation,
Live a proud tribe of Oglala Lakota,
Part of the Great Sioux Nation.
On saddled chargers rode half the Regiment,
of the Seventh Cavalry.
A tune they played on behalf of the GarryOwen,
was such a sight to see.
While climbing through Prickly pines, they spied,
near the summit of Porcupine Butte.
Spotted Elk with Hunkpapa Lakota tribe,
the chief of the Minneconjou.
Five miles West through the cold day they walked,
the Lakota and soldiers of the Seventh,
Where Wounded Knee creek's icy waters balked,
between hell and heaven.
The Colonel ordered all of the tribe's rifles confiscated,
while the braves danced the ghost dance.
For rumor had spread of a new religion, long awaited,
that would turn the tide of chance.
Then suddenly came the report of rifles fired,
as the women and children fled to a ravine.
From the heights the thunder of cannon, now inspired,
close quarter fighting and lead, now convened.
Who knows where Providence went,
on that cold December morning.
Both guilty and innocent, now spent,
lay dead with little warning.
Bodies of the fallen now sprawled across the snowy plains,
with faces frozen in a moment of violence.
One mass grave with all, is all that remains,
of tears and laughter forever silenced.
In the days that followed medals were pinned to chests,
who proclaimed victoriously.
Though God only knows why, ignoble and divest,
life taken in vain, ingloriously.
In the shadow of the land of Sitting Bull,
was now told the tragic story.
Passed down from Mother to Daughter were recounted,
days of lost glory.
“Let us put our minds together to see what life we can make for our children.”
-Sitting Bull
Categories:
make for, betrayal, blessing, children, december,
Form:
Ballad
THE DEVIL DANCED AT MIDNIGHT
The devil danced at midnight
beneath a waning moon
with his minions before him,
twas a sight to make one swoon.
He pranced in jubilation,
then capered with a shout,
his arms flailed like a windmill
as his legions danced about.
He cursed the God of heaven,
the demon horde gave tongue.
He vowed to steal each mortal soul,
every single one.
But first a plan was needed
to carry out the deed,
some way to blind humanity
so no danger was perceived.
"Our appearance must be winsome,
our ways seem as a lark,
we mustn't ever let them know
our agenda is so dark."
"Let's make for them a holiday,
the best they've ever seen,
we'll give it to their children
and we'll call it Halloween."
"They'll dress as little goblins,
as pirates and as ghouls,
they'll have parties in their churches
and one at every school."
"They'll beg adults for candy
while they roam from street to street,
dressed as little monsters
as they shout out trick or treat."
"How can there be real devils
if it's just a game they play,
no one will believe in us,
that's how we'll win the day."
"We'll confuse these hapless mortals,
in God they'll have their doubts,
they'll all be dead and buried
ere they know what we're about."
"And if they die in mortal sin
well then my friends we've won,
they'll spend eternity with us,
every single one."
Categories:
make for, halloween,
Form:
Rhyme
My God knows the way I am.
He knows my every thought.
He knows the things I've said and done,
And seen the dreams I've sought.
He knows my heart for what it is,
Knows each and every mood,
Depending not on what He's heard,
From those who think me crude;
For Man looks on the outer crust,
And sees not what's inside.
He hears but words that oft times twist,
And turn the truth to lies;
But God looks on the heart of Man,
And judges that instead,
Not foolish thoughts or actions,
Words that twist inside the head;
So do not judge your neighbor, Friend.
You don't know what's inside.
You only know the words you've heard,
That play tricks with your mind.
If you truly love your friend,
The way you love yourself,
You'll make the same excuse for him,
That you make for yourself.
Categories:
make for, friendship,
Form:
Quatrain
black hole lover
you are
and I,
a prisoner in your event horizon
an astral point of no return
trapped in perpetuum-
two captive hearts
wildly beating
out of sync
time warps, distorts-
cosmic love strings
unravel, become frayed
beyond repair-
despair
the universe
expands then contracts-
entropy inevitable
so too our love-
white hot then space cold
destined to spiral into
insatiable cHaOs
A prisoner I am
in your
salaciously spun silken web
and you
the black widow
enticing me, luring me
until at last I am at your
mercy
pleasure and pain make for an
alchemic, euphoric mix
but prey must be
devoured in the end-
evil fangs penetrate
my flesh
the poison in my blood
entrenched
delirium before demise
still, with my
dying breath
I whisper-
more please
Categories:
make for, romantic love,
Form:
Free verse
I stood alone on the ship's deck all afternoon
just to watch the sun sinking low on the sea,
the Atlantic ocean is so calm this evening
but, that old feeling of dread still bothers me.
I slowly exhale to calm myself once again
and my breath comes out in a white mist,
the air is slowly turning cold and frigid now
as the night's darkness pulls me into it's own abyss.
There is nothing that I can see out there now
except clear-white burgs of ice in the distance,
another odd feeling hits me that I cannot deny
but, how could ice play a role in my existence?
The sun's rising on April 15th will warm me
and I will escape this feeling of an early fate,
my entire body shudders for the very last time
as the sounds of breaking ice and bending iron reverberate.
This poem was inspired by Paul Callus, who suggested that a sequel
to my poem, "Aboard The Titanic", might make for an interesting read.
Categories:
make for, boat, fear, history, life,
Form:
Quatrain
Life comes at you
through a haze of words
distorted and cloaked
by the grey murk of meaning.
Its shape becomes solid
as it passes through
the last droplets of syllables.
In its flurry
Life knocks you aside
with a whoosh of stuff.
Leaving you stumbling
in its slip stream
wishing
you could spend the day
with poetry.
Please follow this link to see the video that I was able to make for this poem on my way to work-
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWL0GC0eLtM
Categories:
make for, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
In my hand an empty pack of camel crushes... I smoked them all.
All the pacing from the stress has beat the pavement raw.
Anger from the moments of my son I never saw.
I'm so gone.
Because I've been holding it in for way too long.
And hashtag to my haters,I will spray you all away if you try to stop me from getting my hustle on.
And I'm not Kirsten Dunst but suckas bring it on.
I'm praying that the whole world pays attention to this song.
See snow the product did it first, but see this best it spoke to me.
And said "you could write a story on how rough your life could be.
And with every verse you spit, more haters get frikazied.
That's when motivation kicked in and I began to believe.
I'll show the population that my ryhmes are mega rad.
And show the child courts I can be a good dad.
And make for certain that I get to make my baby mama mad.
Because every brother out of Gary really ain't bad.
Determined dad.
Categories:
make for, child, dad, dedication, father,
Form:
Rhyme
When fall departs and winter's on its way,
our minds are set to face a colder clime;
the days get shorter, evenings quickly gray,
and winter storms will visit us in time.
Inside, from warm, embracing beds at night,
we watch flakes fall beneath the silver moon.
Such tranquil scenes outside glow in its light
where satin banks of snow and sky commune.
Protected, safe from winter's icy blow,
as gusty winds make snowflakes swirl and fall,
we'll drift to sleep lulled softly by moonglow
and swaying tree limb shadows on the wall.
How lovely are these winter late-night scenes-
that feed our sleep to make for peaceful dreams.
Categories:
make for, moon, nature, night, snow,
Form:
Sonnet
Written by CayCay Jennings and Mark Woods
Tip-toeing to the music
Appealing turning flow
Pirouetting, fling quick
Perpetual lover’s glow
They’re moving
Grooving
Blood begins to flow.
Rhythmical growing sound
Creating trembling sway
Tunes make for yearning
Takes all their cares away
They’re sailing
Sharing
Ardors clear display.
Deliberate sensual stirring
Pulses summoned by the beat
Melody softly changing
Sustaining precious heat
They’re teasing
Breathing
Intense moves repeat.
Every note now flirting
Revealing passion strong
Building an intimate need
Blending want within the song
They’re burning
Aching
Senses are now gone.
Caressing gentle measure
Notes etch upon the flesh
Urging gently drives them
Want catches in each chest
They’re craving
Cresting
Dancing twosome mesh.
Categories:
make for, dance, desire, emotions, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Wisdom of Winter
Oh, the memories of Spring
Much more the sweeter grow,
When you are at Autumn’s end
And faced with Winter’s snow.
Oh, the new and budding things
That make for Spring’s delight,
Fast mature in Summer’s day
To fade in Autumn’s night.
Oh, that it were Spring again,
Life pulsating anew…
Hope dancing in its gentle breeze
And promise in its dew!
If only Spring could visit once again
Perhaps we’d breathe much slower…wiser be,
And linger longer on its lovely path
Of carefree, sweet and dear simplicity!
But one cannot be wise in days of Spring
For it’s a time to chase and capture dreams…
And only Winter lives to savor joys
Of every passing season’s life-filled themes.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~5th Place~
Contest: Rock Me Around the Clock or Rock Me to Sleep—Rhythm Poems
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper
Judged: 02/12/2015
Categories:
make for, allegory, life, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
She wakes to scrub the walk with brine
as endless tales pile in her thoughts.
This, shy young maid named Caroline,
she fears labors will be her lot.
Reprieve, a pen is her best friend;
wearisome work, few hours to lend
for frivolous pursuits and cares.
Alone, flowing words wash her bare.
Late night, find her by candlelight.
She writes until her fingers bleed.
A writer born, her words alight
with blazing pen, an innate need.
She scrubs clothes in the stream each morn,
admiring roses, pricked by thorns.
The struggles she cannot foresee,
will one day make for great stories.
Categories:
make for, devotion, girl, words, writing,
Form:
Rispetto
Thou lay'st like a rose on deaths pillow
Silent and still, unsoothed by lifes request
Asleep the dawns and days of all and all
Eternity. My lovely Juliet
Wherefore art thou companions company?
Dost thou mockest life? "O my love, my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty"
Knows't not you of these intense tears that grow
Onto your soil a river of a kind
Thou body blooms, unscarr'd from cheek to bone
Thus trees and rivers art jealous of thine scent
But be it may thy mouth will ne'er move
Upon itself to echoe, Romeo!
Nay life will ne'er become a friend in hand
And I to life a friend, nay, I think not
The sun and moon shalln't make for watching eyes
To view me with life and not with thee, my love
Thyself I say art bandy with thyself
Yet man of all, I'm troubled at thy race
'Twas not the serpent that reward Eve bale?
And God created man, and bale is man
For in our families doth men collide
To often foredo every innocent thing
With swords where-in great morning and lights night
Tis fineless feuds our families perform
What bravery to birth our tragedy!
I balk that flesh is where abodements lay
O wife, I canst o'er-crow life in thine distance
May I afront death as thy hath approach'd?
Perchance I die with drink. Ay, there's the rub!
No time to fettle, ay, at once death come
Into my life as I drink thee in full
Slowly thy soul escapes. Thou art foredone
Soon to bewray thyself with waiting wife
Romeo and Juliet; How tragic is love
7-8-11
Categories:
make for, death, lovelife, death, art,
Form:
Blank verse
a poetic heart ~
isolated and unique
as a Baikal Dzen
2 January 2021
________________________________________________________
BAIKAL DZEN/ZEN
The rings are caused by warm, circular currents of water under the ice, called eddies. The eddies' strong currents melt the ice at the edge, but weaker ones keep the centre frozen.
Lake Baikal in Serbia, Russia, is the deepest freshwater lake on earth. Another phenomenon is the quantity of methane gas emissions -- the bubbles make for some stunning photo shoots.
Categories:
make for, analogy, heart, nature, poets,
Form:
Haiku