Best Methodically Poems
Winter's Slumber Contest
Regina McIntosh
Winter's slumber has me in cozy places, warm and comforted
I am grateful for the wood fire that burns, many blankets I have
So many things to help me get through the bitter cold
The wind that howls through the woods and all the piles of snow
It is the season to hunker down, giving time to reflect on past events
To plan positive things for the days ahead, to process methodically
A time to be grateful for new things and old creative talents
Still, the sun shines on many cold days, rising with endurance
As it creates sparkling stars in the pure, white, snow
Showing beauty bypasses the battles of the cold weather
I awaken from slumber on these stark, beautiful, days
Birds come to the feeder, as I watch the show through frosty windows
A colorful picture filled with songs, alert my senses to see and hear
It is a time to cherish the shelter of this safe home
To appreciate all there is when the world is cold outside
A time for rest, a time for relaxation, a time to enhance intuition
It is a contrast of kindness and bitterness, calmness and fierceness
The power of patience, granted by the bulbs, waiting to bloom in spring
12/26/23
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom
I listen
As drums beat in Africa
Voices rise above the pounding
Mourning
Crying out for their lost
For their feverish
Helpless people dying one loving touch at a time
Ebola, your tears bring destruction
You methodically make your way to the city
The river from which you flow is cursed
A stream of blood gushes forth
Pouring out and through Africa
Thathud, boom boom boom
You, Ebola
Travel in secrecy
Disguised as lesser diseases
Now the uncommon more common cold
You wear malaria like a illusionist's garment
Making your way through the marketplace
Taxicabs fill with your unsuspecting victims
Fear and ignorance, your loyal companions
Following you to the hospitals
Places of healing become decimated
The healers hands are not protected
Their fingers become your own
You whisper "take me home with you,
let me kiss the face of your loved ones!"
Still the drums continue to beat
Thathud, boom boom boom
Hear the beat of Africa's heart
Bring your Doctors across her borders
Open Samaritan's Purse
Ebola, must not win
Let us love Africa one person at a time
God's loving hand's poised to heal
Redemption is possible
He has not forgotten his children
Strength will once again course through their veins
Africa will sing a new song
The fever will break
Ebola, you cannot
Shall not
Will not
Silence the drums of Africa!
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom........
The world's grey. Slowly, methodically,
Feathers from colorful birds have been burned.
Sheep in a fog on a snowy mountain.
One man thought uniformity equaled
Superiority, ugly furor.
Their ashes floated down all around us
There's no color left in this sooty world.
Beauty's palette swirled with color beckons.
Diversity screams for a slight foothold.
The heart just whithers in colorless worlds.
APRIL 23, 2016
Word count 62
OK PD let me explain to you how it is why you are only successful because of me
regarding all your supporters and sudden notoriety.
There I was. There was P D.
I'd been around awhile, but not my little PD.
I had and still do have many supporters who truly do support, love and care about me...
but I've given them all to my little poet destroyer P D.
I did this very methodically.
because I wanted to make a success out of my little poet destroyer PD.
It's tit for tat in this world of poetry,
despite whatever else others have tried to convince upon me.
The more comments you leave,
the more comments you receive.
and so one day I saw this very struggling beginner PD
who obviously
craved attention and fame,
because you see P D is very vane.
So I slammed PD bringing her some of the attention she so much craves,
bringing much needed publicity and notoriety over P D's way.
All of my backers so to speak who never heard of PD
were all P D fans and supporters as well as of me.
Then I stopped commenting on all of the supporters of me,
because I wanted to give them all to my little poet destroyer PD.
Because P D craves the spotlight, but not me.
I prefer to remain in the shadows actually.
and so you all can clearly see,
PD is largely successful because of me.
My little poet destroyer's forever herKidster, Billy.
When the time is right
one again will walk with you unaided
in an eon of age,
where promises are made
not to conform to life’s illusions.
Only now this earthly spirit
will not last forever,
the journey has been long, now weary,
and this pen is spent
needs to fade
into one’s own mitigation.
Yet your smile your poetry
one will gladly hold dearly
with in one’s heart forever,
as life blends with in
one’s terminal sunset
before methodically melting
into the golden horizon!
© Harry J Horsman 2013
Pretty soon, night will fall upon the city,
And lives of crime animate spasmodically
As Gene Pitney croons “A Town Without Pity”
And the clubs and the gin joints open methodically.
Hepcat jazzmen smoke reefers, shoot junk,
The pimps clean their nails with switchblades laconically,
Fedoras pulled low as they mind-jive to funk,
And the neon lights crackle and buzz electronically,
Breast enhanced blondes catch the eyes of their johns,
Pouting and winking, the sale of depravity,
For a price any vice can be practiced upon
The surface of flesh, any crevice or cavity.
Cops pound the beat twirling nightsticks around,
Turning blind eyes for a bribe taken willingly,
Failure to pay brings the world crashing down,
“It just ain’t your day,” the cops whisper chillingly.
Wiseguys hold court in an old pizzeria,
Smoking and drinking and eating the scenery
Their empire of family governed through fear,
The rule of the gun and Sicilian ancestry.
Corporate needles pierce veins of the damned,
Chalk drawings map lines around death’s ideology
Cigarettes sparked and the siren howls slammed
Through the meanest of streets of pulp fiction mythology.
In the world of the scribe, this pulp writer hack
May exaggerate slightly for sake of the narrative,
Yet film noir seems grey when reality’s black,
At the end of the day everything is comparative.
Joyfully so, she seems to be my (our) biggest fan.
Absolutely wonderful, Jan's embodiments symbolize her awesome agenda.
Never does it fail, Jan shares free hugs—special gifts—maximum encouragers—orchestrated methodically scratching Souper's records, performing as our (my) poetic DJ.
My tribute: JAN ALLISON :
10-9-16
Awarded 1st place in contest submitted. Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Hello to the Soup
My name is Damien and I start my journey in the soup
I create words that riddle, rhyme, twist and loop.
Some folk say my name means The Evil One,
However for the record No I'm not The Prodigal Son.
I am just your normal everyday average savage,
My pen to the paper I methodically ravage.
I came here to say hello and wish you all well,
Before my wicked words cast their spell.
Hello everyone thank you for reading!
Damien Knight 02/20/16
From the world
of Unspeakable
Delights, here you
come
walking and swaying down the
aisle - blessed
with sweetness and bathed
in tenderness - boldly
naked before
me
Anointed with
royal
charisma and power, you
trick me with your
silvery
voice and jolly disposition for
one
more chance to stare at
me uncompromisingly and
methodically
hand searching my soul and
body - faster and
faster - biting each
morsel in
before drowning lost
into my
eyes, intoxicated.
Breathlessly unassisted by your
mind, your
hands contort seeking a
way to either
touch me or find
shelter whereas your divine
lips shiver in distress.
On those
very - divine
indeed - lips of yours my world
gets done and
undone each and every
given day.
Unusual day
There’s a strange scent in the wind,
Unfamiliar scent.
I feel eyes on me.
Carefully hidden from view,
I glance at my land.
Something is different.
A unique smell, a snapped twig.
I grow gypsy ears.
Survey horizon,
Slowly and methodically.
I am being watched.
The ground is barren.
Cold, stiff, and frozen.
So February.
Tiny glints of light
Leads eager eyes to the south.
I know it’s an elf.
It’s not the first time.
In summer I had faeries.
Dancing with delight.
A relieved smile.
I am happy, all-knowing.
So glad they are back!
He crawled methodically up the stairs
A man of six foot four
To what would become his death bed
As he did each night as before
He insisted at being at dinner
With the family while he still could
His family no longer argued the point
Of what he shouldn't or should
I only happened to be there at
this moment to see it all
To see this man's physical reduction
To that of a toddlers crawl
He had mastered a plan from
Point A to B resting part way on elbow and knee
I quietly stood he never saw me
Somehow that's how I felt it should be
He had struggled to keep
manly pride intact
Deciding for self what he
did or not lack
He made his way on his own
Full moon nigh
Has an eerie feel
Dark clouds mystify
Pathway of the surreal.
Raindrops echo steadily
With each and every step
I continue on methodically
While shadows by me crept.
Full moon nigh
Damp fog rolling near
Heightened senses intensify
The woods become austere.
Through my hair, a gentle brush
Breeze or ghostly presence
Upon my skin, icy touch
Starlit path of luminescence.
Full moon nigh
Beckons my restless spirit
The crow loudly cries
"Fate awaits implicit!"
Ancient wisdom implore
Incantations and elixirs
The mind is an open door
For the spiritual path's fissure.
Full moon nigh
When the dreamworld is revealed
Great horned owl flies
Now is the time to heal.
Form:
Negritude has been invaded,
by carefully instilled dread of better change
while misery endures a standing ovation
Power is methodically toned down
in phases,
to colonise freedom…
Don’t allow it
The future is now related,
servitude ingrained
by liberation’s inflated egos’ quest to quench,
Blind to constitutional elevation
of these masses, and an impending storm,
We are not surrounded by defeated fighters…
These lies are unfounded
This battle cannot be grated,
By weakly defined attempts to wrench
a revolution from our roasted patience,
History coloured in sweat may lie forlorn
but piously spawns patterns in melting snow
Don’t let it slip unseen into
a miserly pit…
Let them know
you know
Genial to avoid confrontation
Baseborn kind, complaisant character
A spurious recital, a cheap imitation
Apocryphal mind, and comical creations
Counterfeited Christ
An unholy effusion
Sons of Belial
Clutch arcane knowledge
Esoteric information
Delve into oracular verse.
Deadened faith
Recondite belief denuded denials
Portentous and abstruse
Divested of the truth
Desolate road
Traveled day after day
Seriatim in miles
Strangled in hyperbole
Hypothetical noose
Cheaply loose
Tightening
methodically
Suicidal salvation
Covertly clandestine
Do what art wilt
Deliver the chosen
indoctrinate guilt
Derision to the destined
To learn love over hate
Adoration to inculcate
Imbue their sick lessons.
Let us discuss the circus alive in the theater of your conflicts,
the Master of Ceremonies cremates caution
in the center of curiosity's conciet
where birds bleed songs of azure agony,
madness remembers the melody of a midnight march
to a shrine built from bricks baste with war sweat and stress
as Death sits solemnly thumping it's cranial cudgel methodically
atop drums taut with elephant hide,
a child approaches through the Hippodrome's east chamber
juggling three radiant orbs, omni, omega, ovation,
the audience of thousands uproars unanimously
when Hate, Love & Fate manifest as beasts of the best brutality
encircling the child with a primordial hunger in their bellies,
their handlers cocky and competitive, controls the animals with elements
such as air, fire & water, one by one they rush the child
with violent intent, in their hearts victim & victory are synonomous,
the tiger repelled by the fire of the child's imagination,
the bear repulsed from the whistle of his innocence,
and the lepoard refrains from the current of his youth,
in the balcony, Venus and Mars applaud proudly for sagacious survival,
acrobats appear, the grey one Fatigue, the green one is Resolve,
despite loathing each other they must be team or die from the heights,
gasps from a crowd caught in a conspiracy of soul piracy
as self destruction stands cackling on the arena floor with his anger crackling red,
attempting to whip the hands of the acrobats with a dragon's tail
encrusted with the crushed vertebrae of cowardice,
he strikes their wrists but they secure the dizzing stunt in defiance,
cheers collide with the chimera of acrobats transformed into an eagle's scream
while the Master of Ceremonies welcomes the women of warhorse wishes,
J.A.B.