Best Master Poems
I signed a contract with the state
to use my body as they will.
My mind they did manipulate.
In the name of freedom, I would kill.
I never questioned right or wrong.
Obeyed all orders without thought.
I strove to be Army strong.
My loyalty and heart were bought.
The flag I served flew overhead.
My uniform bespoke my pride.
A true soldier born and bred,
I marched on while others died.
As time went on, before my eyes,
I saw a different point of view.
I prayed to God my soul baptize,
wash clean my sins, be born anew.
I threw down my master's glove.
I left the life of blood and sword.
My orders still come from above,
but now I serve the Lord.
July 5, 2015
At my ripe age it's plain to me
That wisdom can come painfully
But found within our trouble, too
The best of what we humans do
All that's drawn from mind and heart
Is what weaves object into art
Crimping spouts of twisted metal
Changing common can to kettle
Time and Heaven's weep remake
A meager pond into a lake
The finest instrument lays quiet
Without a skillful hand to ply it
Still and barren, paints and brush
Until obliged a master's touch
Pen and paper don't enthuse
Sans a poet's poignant muse
And I am but a hand-less glove
Without my faith in God above
A walking, breathing implement
The tool for His divine intent.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Standard Contest Number 70" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Kettle, Pond, Lake" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor.
L o v e and you, the f a d i n g
phase of lunar wings,
spectral silver ~
floating in the deep, dark abyss
of the obsidian skyline,
refracting reveries of a redolent realm,
slipping and curling
through opalescent glass ~
like a window unfolding
truth veiled in twinkling twirls,
powdered with pearl dust
on the hidden face of you ~
between curved lines,
around lips of lament,
like Selene sailing
through sanguine ripples
on a sparkling chariot adorned
with citrine embers,
laced with fluorescent flames.
I dare you to trace the footprints
of forgotten words...
And when the dusk falls
upon your trembling silhouette,
the moon reminds you
of scribbled solitude ~
etched within emptiness,
echoing aching blankness,
with no question nor answer,
no one to scream at you,
no wind to wrap you in warmth,
no colors to cradle coldness,
no stars to sew the silence,
no chorus to soften the pain ~
swirl back to the crescent hammock
emanating glistening gold.
O heartbeat of the hummingbird,
lost in the feathered horizon,
turn around and taste
the temptations of twilight.
Let your soul kiss
fervent fingertips of the sun ~
you are the master of the moon,
the artist of the acrylic air,
the weaver of fragrant dawns
before the seething storms;
the dreamer ~ carving compassion
with hazel haze.
We, the immutable poets,
plead in stillness, in need
of your awakened conscience
to shape you, to make you ~
and return you to the unbreakable,
as you rise
like a dragon’s pulse
detached from the heinous heat
of the megalomaniac sun.
For you will never
forge my breathless mind
to dwell in eclipsed darkness,
shackled by soulless shadows.
I am the master
and the mistress,
the queen of quiescence,
crowned in mystical musings,
enthroned amongst
thunderstruck galaxies ~
like a slave of the heaven
who fears not the unknown
but rules the moon and cosmos
forever engrossed in
the esoteric eyes of
the celestial magic ~
u n t o u c h a b l e and u n m o v a b l e...
~Marionette Master~
All my dreams evolve around my wooden floor
Candles and clowns the show must go on
~~~~
The Moon slowly moves its way into my room
Dust pushes through my window making shadow puppets on my walls
The talent on my walls dance, scaring my sweet dreams away
No cradle-songs tonight
Dangling artisans’ fingertips scratching down my core
Exquisite observation, an alley down “Death Street.”
Panic rattles my bone,
Stuttering a taste of ma' ma' ma' mama' off my lips
Grandfather clock ticks with every pull of the string
Invisible jellyfish puppets swaying their feelers that sting my site
A superior skill eating away at my fear
I can’t breathe,
I can’t move,
It dangles!
What can I do?
Carved Marionette figures locked in my head
A game in which trickery and deception are the main events
Staged with an evil sinister mask, sanctioning my nightmares.
No one to rescue me from the danger of this bedside playground.
The puppeteer engages to provoke me with my own dolls.
A dramatic performance throttles my mind …….
I cannot come out from under my blanket,
I cannot run,
My hands cannot reach the circus print lampshades!
A shadow show played in slow motion!!!
Realizing the moon can pull a world of strings with its own light
***
Suddenly, boney fingers from the sunrise show me the way…
I look down until my toes touch the cold wooden floor
I creep and creep,
Then I flick on my lamp.
The purple walls swallowed the orgy drawing inspired by the mooned night
A huge diversity of graphic illusions of puppetry in my room vanishes in one click
Mother please no more Pinocchio in my lullabies! ;-)
Forget about futuristic wars
between nations, race against race
country against country
tongue against tongue;
soon the populous will know no
borders, continents no boundaries.
“The New master”
Is awakening manoeuvring
stalking, his plan already activated
The twenty second century will
see his bidding become
formidable, the pocket, whims,
thoughts and desires
will be his to regulate, what
to eat, drink, lay on ride on, he
will control, no law will hold him,
he will be the law!
Politicians will become
his directors and producers
will guide his script, play his media
trouble shooters
his bounty hunters, seeking out
the moralist, the Salvationist,
no competition will be his aim,
manipulation of all things
one world
one God
one Board
one CHAIRMAN
“The ultimate ONE COMPANY”
© Harry J Horsman 2018
The Bloodstone, The Raven And Master Poe,
Part One
The ancient stone, here Raven bled
Cursed and flew away alone
To follow the dark and make its night-bed
Unholy accursed path, bloody the stone
From the abyss, into light of the earth
With Fate and anger, its darkest of hands
A beast reborn - shadow of devil's worth
A repugnant new plague upon this land.
Woe! To the unsuspecting that are blind
Wading through life, unaware of the beast
A heart slayer, infester of the mind
Ravenous for innocence, its great feast
Invisible to most, a curse to few
Relentless in darkest of wicked guile
Ever seeking the cries of victims new
Witty its bold actions, patience its style.
For centuries it search to he then meet
And with the cleverness of its black wit
At his house uninvited take a seat
Torment nightly, drive insane- bit by bit
Blind to the ghastly creature was young Poe
He that life and love had been so tragic
Raven decided, put on a fine show
By showcasing its best evil magic.
First to wake its victim at midnight hour
An ungodly screech a soft tapping sound
From the walls, using its wicked powers
Then whisper, to further its victim hound
For years Poe pretended not to such hear
He was busy, with writing his great verse
No time for such nonsense, no time for fear
Deny the truth of this tiresome new curse
In so doing, shut out this bothersome beast
Pen sweeter words of love and write, write, write
Enjoy fame, his being toast of the East
Phantom ignore, that newborn curse of night
Yet to Raven, this was but the new game
Had it not, its greatest victim now found
And in glee, flew aloft screaming that name
Swearing an oath to one day have Poe bound.
Robert J. Lindley, started Sept 4th, 1979
Rhyme
Note:
Part one of three, this from the original that was never completed.
Edited-- with now to write the two remaining parts to complete
the dark tale.
Once upon a time there was a puppet master.
Who was very lonely and wanted something to love.
So he decided to make the heavens and the earth.
Earth was empty and dark.
Then he made the light into a big ball called day.
The darkness called night.
Later he put a sky up so high and clouds that looked like cotton.
Since there was too much water on earth he separated it in two parts.
Making one land and the other called the sea.
The puppet master saw that it was good.
Going all around the land he planted vegetation, trees, fruit and many other
things.
Looking at everything that he had done and saw it was good too.
He separated the day from night.
Made signs to mark seasons, days, and years.
Two lights were made over the earth.
One which shined all through the day called the sun.
A night light called the moon was the second light.
The clouds in the sky played with the sun all day.
Made the moon feel lonely and wanted someone to play with.
He thought about giving the moon some friends.
Therefore he made the stars to dance with the moon at night.
Everything he made was good and still wanted something to love.
Then he made creatures to live in the water, land, and in the sky.
Blessed them the gift to multiply.
Different kinds of animals where made in every part of the earth.
He liked all the things he had made and saw it was good.
However he still couldn’t find something to love.
Thinking over and over what else to make.
He looked in the mirror to see his own reflection.
An idea that he never thought of came to mind.
To make an image that looked like him.
A man who would rule all over the sea and the land.
A woman to be by his side and to share the earth.
Then it was done just like that.
Blessed them to be fruitful and to increase in number.
He gave them all the seed-bearing plants to eat.
All the creatures that moved on the ground, water, and the sky belonged to all
mankind.
He found his love and saw it was good.
His play was complete and so was he.
Form:
When I’m craving a well-plotted story
with a strong theme and creative rhymes,
I can say I have found masterpieces
here on Poetry Soup many times.
Give me characters, real or imagined,
that will speak to me right from the page
in a story that holds my attention
and would be great performed on a stage.
Fans have long deemed this poet a master;
yet, he’s modest. When he writes reviews,
he encourages others with praises.
I say hats off to Tom* and his muse.
*Cunningham
To be Jack of all trades
But a master of none,
As my memory fades
Still, some do come.
To be master of one
Like poetry or art,
And know how it's done
Is love from the heart.
As I stare at the wall
Shall inspiration turn up?
Does my muse hear me call
Will she fill up my cup?
So I wait patiently
Just for one drop,
As she sits next to me
Now I can't stop.
My pen running wild
catching all of my thoughts,
Feel like a new born child
But still out of sorts.
Will this be as brief
As I believe it will?
At least now I have relief
She did return to fill.
This cup is for you
for bluffing yourself
and for thinking you know me,
here’s to you for pretending to care
and make me believe that you do,
here’s to you for
being the puppet-master
in the puppet show,
which is my life
I would like the strings back
before they are beyond repair
I would like to be the master
of my own destiny
for a change
I would like to control where
my journey ends
and what happens
on the way there
but with you as the puppet-master
it’s virtually impossible
so this is me
begging you
for the strings
that contain
every facet of my life…
please be so kind
as to leave it at the door
on your way out…
© Copyright 2010
Gen 1:1
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth
pillow clouds frame the earth
shrouds the beauty of your master
flowing fingertip.
~Master Painters~
(The Cinquain Chain)
Paintings
Some beautiful
Masterpieces I love
The Mona Lisa with that smile
Arcane
Arcane
Delightful ones
Paintings that bring much joy
Rembrandt, Vermeer, Van Gogh, Kinkaid
Masters
Masters
Of great paintings
God given gifts that glows
Study their work looking at them
Brings joy
Brings joy
Many stand time
Picasso, great painter
J. Waterhouse, just mention some, are
All great.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2012
July.16.2016
~Author's Notes:
The " Cinquain " is a poetry form or style developed by the Imagist poet, Adelaide Crapsey.
Dangerous water,
A master of deception;
For I am...black ice.
Passive in passion, taking in the sweet scent of the bloom
Milks the serenity of an environment, within nature
Rides the ferocious wind that formats the raging ocean
© Harry J Horsman 2010
Rhyme Master
Should I hearken or heed
From bondage I’ll be freed
For, Beat, Rhyme and Song
To Angels they belong!
**Dedicated to Just That Archaic Poet for his unending pursuit of Rhythm!
11th Oct’ 2013