Best Meier Poems
I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain.
Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.
You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.
You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.
Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.
The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest
Iambic Pentameter
1st place
THE BLACK
SATIN HAT
SAT TIGHT
ON THE YOUNG MANS BALD
HEAD. HIS
EYES BLACK AS
NIGHT STARED INTO
NOTHINGNESS. IN
FRONT OF HIM
WERE 3
PATHS WHERE THE
CHILDREN HAD ROLLED
THREE BALLS OF SNOW MUCH EALIER THAT VERY DAY.
PATCHES OF GREEN GRASS
STUCK THROUGH PACKED
FREEZING SNOW.
IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS FACE
A CROOKED CARROT POINTED TOWARD
THE HOUSE WHERE CHILDREN SAT LOOKING
OUT THEIR WINDOW AT THEIR NEW FOUND
FRIEND. HIS BUTTON MOUTH SHAPED FOR
HIM TO LOOK HAPPY SEEMED TO SMILE
AT THEM AS THEY STARTED TO BLOW
KISSES AT THEIR WONDERFUL
NEW SNOWMAN.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.27.2014
As the sun arose in the eastern skies
a fairy princess sits rubbing her eyes.
Yawning she glimpses her magical isle
and her tiny lips, curl into a smile.
Standing she stretches in her treetop bed,
anxious anticipates what lies ahead.
She flutters her wings to get them ready,
raising one knee, she jumps slow and steady.
Hovering like, a hummingbird she glides
then races off with both arms at her sides.
With lots to see her day has just begun,
she never stops until the setting sun.
Racing through the forest over fields of wheat
smelling the flowers, is her daily treat.
Talks to the butterflies this sunny morn,
tests the fresh honey and tastes some sweet corn.
Spotting a pond sparkling like a mirror
zooms back and forth each time getting nearer,
watching her reflection, no time to think
crashed in a deer who had just stopped to drink.
Later discovers she’s broken her wings,
Lies in bed knowing what carelessness brings.
Six months of bed rest was taking their toll,
this fairy princess was losing her soul.
Finally the day came to test her wings
her will is determined her heart now sings,
shouts out with joy as she reaches the sky,
nothing feels greater, than when you can fly.
Iambic Pentameter
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
01.14.2015
Contest: Sketch a Fictitious Character II
Seven generations walked through your door,
Which stood so strong and always welcomed in.
You said goodbye when boys headed to war,
Two soldiers lost to battles they can’t win.
Your kitchen always busy as a bee,
With canning, baking apple crumble cake.
Stone hearth, a place for warmth and drink some tea,
The table decked with riches to partake.
The living room a place to sit and chat,
With pictures hanging for one hundred years.
A chair still there where ancestors once sat,
This room for laughter and at times for tears.
Your nursery where many babies grew,
With bassinet where ev’ry child did lie.
The paint would change at times from pink to blue,
A place where time would always quickly fly.
The floors within have felt each child’s first walk,
Their worn out wood drowned many times with stain.
You watched the aging people gently rock,
You’ve heard and felt the tapping of a cane.
I stand and listen in your sacred halls
And feel that you’re a part of everyone.
Each breath we took embedded in your walls,
Of fathers, mothers, daughters and of sons.
Old house of stone your warmth embraces me,
Your children now all scattered far and wide.
You still stand proud for all the world to see,
The thoughts of you, sweet memories inside.
The house my children grew up in.
Iambic Pentameter
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.02.2014
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
2nd
Best of 2014 1st place
As I walked into the banquet hall of the
Goodman’s Inn, the first thing that stood
out to me were the eyes of the people. I
felt as though I could actually see hope. Eyes
seemed to sparkle and everyone in the hall
sat talking to the others sitting around them
as they waited for the main course of the evening.
To understand this report we need to go back just
over a year ago when Lindsey Long won the 50
million dollar lottery. Apparently the multimillionaire
booked the Goodman’s Inn for December 24th through
to January 2nd of this year solely to house the homeless
over the Christmas holidays. Miss Long walked through
the streets herself over the last week inviting the
unfortunate homeless to come to the motel for these
festivities. Lindsey Long has not only provided the rooms
for this week, she also has clothed them with new
wardrobes and warm winter clothing and accessories.
Now as the people sat around the table they were
told Miss Long had an announcement. We all waited
to hear what this amazing lady had to say
and excitement filled the room. When this
beautiful young woman began to talk there
wasn’t one dry eye in the building. She told them
how she was not going to just send them back
on the street next week but how she had
built a new centre that would have sleeping
facilities and showers to accommodate all
of them. This new facility will be serving
three meals a day which will be prepared solely
from themselves on a voluntary bases.
The feeling in the Inn that night was pure joy
and as the people realized the impact of this
wonderful news, they all broke out singing
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. This is
Rhonda Reeds reporting for
The Good Newspaper.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.12.2014
Sponsor Mystic Rose
The Good Newspaper
1st
You could never be mad at me
Wise old man whom my heart could see
You were there when I needed you
Just a young child so full of life
Causing many an adult strife
If I lied you could see right through
You could never be mad at me
Wise old man whom my heart could see
Because of you I changed my ways
Have respect till my dying days
You were there when I needed you
If I lied you could see right through
You could never be mad at me
Wise old man whom my heart could see
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.05.2014
Dr. Mehta Contest: Sonnetina Rispetto
3rd
Away up north where it’s snowing they say
the elves are preparing for Christmas day.
Big elves little elves, busier than bees
All building toys, for under Christmas trees.
Some work with hammers others building bikes,
some riding through the room on brand new trikes.
Tiny elf voices ringing loud and clear,
everyone’s full of love and Christmas cheer.
Suddenly the chatter stops; all are still,
Santa walked in the room with book and quill.
Looking down at his book, Santa Clause stared,
then lifted his eyebrows as he declared,
Today I looked inside my books
and I found that we are ahead,
and thought because you worked so hard
we shall all go outside instead.
Misses Claus made lots of sweet treats
so let’s all eat and be hearty,
for today here at the North Pole
all elves shall have a snow party.
Quick as a wink the elves they disappeared,
Santa just smiled as he tugged at his beard.
Laughing he watched his little friends scatter
and soon the mountains echoed with laughter.
Snowballs were flying, snowmen taking form,
and hot chocolate kept little elves warm.
They were sledding, skiing, skating all day,
see, elves aren’t simply, all work and no play.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.29.2014
Contest: Children’s Christmas or Holiday Tale
1st place
She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.
Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.
Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.
After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….
And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.25.2014
Contest: Encounters with Flowers
5th
Hello Ms. Johnson, I’m sure this sounds strange
our mutual friend, said you need a change.
She told me how hard you work every day,
come home to your children, no time for play.
Your husband left you without any money
and traded family, for tainted honey.
You work as a nurse, working hard for each dime,
yet nothing’s left over at holiday time.
A holiday spent solely enjoying life,
playing with your kids no worry and no strife.
this dream keeps you going, each and every day,
my dear Ms. Johnson I believe I have a way.
I have a house with an awesome ocean view
for two weeks Ms. Johnson, it belongs to you.
I’m going on a journey and would find it grand
if you could watch my house and enjoy my strand.
If you and your children would like to come here,
believe me Ms. Johnson you’ve nothing to fear.
When you call Janet, she’ll give you my number,
my wish for you is a little less cumber.
Sincerely Brenda Meier-Hans
12.29.2014
Contest: My Wish For You
Shakespearean Sonnet
I remember the day I picked you,
With your sweet little puppy dog eyes.
For my heart was searching for love too,
When I looked down and heard your soft cries.
Your brothers and sisters were running,
They were after a fallen clothes peg,
But there was a puppy so stunning
Trying hard to get up on my leg.
Four years it has been since that moment
And I thank God daily for his gift
Each day you give me such enjoyment
Your love has given my heart a lift.
Today I know as clear as can be,
I didn’t pick you; rather you picked me.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.26.2014
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest: Pets
2nd
I smile and feel the wind massage my face
Then close my eyes to smell the fresh sea air
The seagull’s wings catch wind then float with grace
A day on Sylt can wash away all care.
I love to see the changing of your tide
Then feel your mud squeeze gently through each toe
You steal my breath your rippled surface wide
Now baring gifts of sea shells as you go.
When you return your rushing waters swirl
And take back all your precious jewels too
I watch in wonder as your wavings curl
And I’m in awe just at the sight of you
Now lying on your sand I watch each cloud
They tell me stories changing forms for me
Today the Greek Gods sat there very proud
As if they wanted all the world to see
The sun has bent down low to take a drink
Now thirsty from his journey through the sky
He dips his head in waters turning pink
Then quickly disappearing shuts his eye
Oh, isle of Sylt your sandy beaches fair
Invite me to return and taste your shore
The salty waters where I’ll sit and stare
Oh, isle of Sylt I’m knocking at your door
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
09.22.2014
Contest: Iambic Verse II
Giorgio A.V.
3rd
As I walk downtown I see an alley
Where a black cat sat staring up at me,
The sound of her purring was so soothing
Lulled and hypnotized me how could that be.
With its green eyes lightning up the darkness
I saw a sign was hanging that said Tea,
It seemed to be just around the corner
In an alley that led down to the sea.
I walk and the black cat seems to follow
Awareness of her presence filled the air,
In a flash we turned around the corner
Where stood an old stone building with one stair.
I looked to find the feline now missing,
Then climbed the step and gently pushed the door,
Cobwebs hung from rafters on the ceiling,
The wind made dust balls race across the floor.
I noticed tea of all sorts lined each wall,
The smells of herbs and spices filled my nose.
Sitting in a corner sat a woman,
Glaring at me sniffing a thorny rose.
Her eyes an emerald green that sparkled
Her hair a shiny black darker then night,
By her stood a broom with crooked handle
My senses told me something was not right.
I turned and ran while saying I’m sorry,
It seems I’m lost forgive me and good day,
Hearing horrid screeches I am shaking
Running around the corner in late May.
Soaked with sweat I run out to the main street
People wonder why I’m carrying on,
As I shout loud, don’t go down this alley
I turn and notice that it now is gone.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.17.2014
For Francine Roberts Contest
Around the Corner
2nd
We sit, relaxed, at closing of the day,
you turn, a record on to softly play,
then place, fresh logs making our fire enhance,
and gently bow asking me for this dance.
The song, we’ve loved since we were very young,
so often danced with, and so often sung.
You sing, so sweetly in my longing ear,
and with, strong arms drawing me oh so near.
I place, my head upon your shoulder,
you spin, us around our humble room,
we laugh, just as when we were younger,
you stop, to kiss me; then we resume.
Such special times like this I feel my heart,
could never last if we should ever part.
Then shed, a tear by thoughts of losing you,
cause you’re, my one and only love so true.
Music stops; we stay together,
in loves embrace, we melt as one.
With fireplace, still gently burning,
our fire has only, just begun.
Per line:
Verses one two and four have ten syllables
verse three has nine syllables
Verse five has eight syllables
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
12.12.2014
Contest: Rock me Rhythm Poems
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper
November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada
(Veterans Day)
When I was in grade 7 or 8 (I don't exactly remember) we had
to write poetry for a Remembrance Day contest. I won and had to read this in front of our whole grammar school. I must of been 12 or 13. This was my first real poem!
I dedicate this here today to all the soldiers who fight or have fought for our rights and freedom.
In Flanders Field with poppies red,
there lies the secret of the dead.
Those blood coloured poppies
so red and so gay,
bring the whispering sound
of Remembrance Day.
Those true earnest men
who fought for their land,
now lay beneath the musky cool sand.
Alert and ready at dangers call,
prepared to fight they would not stall,
but march right on,
now some there lay,
In Flanders Field,
with poppies gay.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
1970
Susan Boulet was an artist 1941-1997
Her paintings are famous for their layered effects which she started later on in her artistic career. She loved fantasy which is easily seen in her paintings. This is my fantasy poem as I look at this beautiful picture painted by Susan Boulet.
The old man sits quietly on the hillside, knowing his days as one
Spirit would soon be coming to an end. He stares blankly at the heavens where the pale blue sky is the backsplash for Cumulus clouds now filling in, the horizon. He chants his prayer over and over again calling his brothers to come receive his spirit and be one with him for all eternity. Brother bear, cloak me with the warmth of your coat that we may walk through each winter and never be cold again. We will stand together as one, never again will we know fear. Brother wolf fill my heart with your loyal spirit that we may rise to heights of a love greater than any human could possibly achieve. His prayer seems to rise more intensely as he continues. Mighty cat, share with me your speed that we may be faster than the wind, jumping through the clouds as one. Wise and good owl, become one with us that we shall have wings to fly as eagles and wisdom to find eternal peace. Now the old man whispers, together we shall hold the secrets of the universe in our hands. Soon his chin drops down on his chest as a smile crosses his face, and the old frail body crumbles to the hard rocky ground. Then the cry of a wolf, the hoot of an owl and simultaneously the roars of a sabre-toothed and bear echo through the valley. As darkness fills the sky and the moon is high, the silhouette of a young warrior stands proudly on the bluff.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.26.2014
For Debbie Guzzi’s Contest:
Free Verse, Prose Poetry, Haibun