Best My Poems
Dwell not, O soul, on yesterday,
on sorrows past and gone -
the sketch you drew so long ago,
today may be redrawn.
Dwell not upon tomorrow's wars,
nor borrow from their pain -
that energy you need today
let not your worries drain.
Dwell not, O heart, on failures past
though each one left its scar -
rich lessons you have learned have forged
the person you now are.
Dwell not upon your victories,
for those shall also pass -
let not your pride construct a shrine
to trophies made of glass.
Dwell not, O soul, on others' gain
nor envy those with much -
contentment, paired with gratitude,
brings peace no wealth can touch.
Dwell not on anyone's downfall
as though it lifted up
your own estate; we're siblings all
and drink from the same cup.
So what is left, O soul - where does
the prudent soul pay heed?
Become less of a taker
always give to those in need.
Which seeds are we to plant
upon this plot of ground we plow?
Sow seeds of love, be brave, and dwell
in the eternal now.
Written 6 Dec 2020
if my love for you was any greater
the trees would line up in poetic forms
...awe you in sonnets written...
...part...to allow winds to cool your face...
to trace it with nature’s hand.
all the oxygen that covers all the waters rise,
supercharge the breadth of my emotion.
mountains would melt, shed their peaks like tears of joy.
even the arid deserts serve up fruits,
their prickly pears peeled on a platter.
sunset would pause and sunrise hurry...
...exist in a paradox to herald your presence.
petals would climb their stems
regroup to bloom again.
butterflies re-cocoon
emerge as glorious fairies
for all children to adore.
the skies would willingly
shape, etch, paint,
frame my exuberance.
the planet would swell,
the galaxies expand.
in the endless depth
of my singular love
i hold you dear,
safely contain you
in my admiring smile,
for now,
forevermore.
16~10~2014
Armand Hamouth
Come to me my beloved,
save me from life's brutalities,
so this heart can soften -
sparkle like a million fireflies.
For you hold the light
to illuminate my soul.
For you are the ceremony
and I the dance.
As you come near,
I'll spin like a mad man,
dancing in the rain.
If to touch you is a sin,
then I am a sinner,
yearning to sin till my last breath.
If to hold you, means to lose everything,
then I will live as a penniless man,
rich within the luxuries of your affection.
If to love you is a crime,
then I am a criminal,
lock me away and dispose of the key,
chain me within the chambers of your heart.
If this is my last poem,
then let these words become spirits,
sleeping within the sacred sanctuary
of your supernal soul.
Silent One
Simple Musing
5 January 2019
There is a poem in my heart,
that beats in different dialects.
Da ist ein Gedicht in meinem Herzen,
which flows freely through my veins.
Il y à un poème dans mon cœur,
that tickles the tip of my tongue.
Existe um poema no meu coração,
which dances with a million sighs.
Wo xinzhong, youyi shou shi,
that is suppressed by emotionless expression.
Mery dil mein bi aik nazam hai,
silent, as it cannot be heard through speech.
Jest wiersz w moim sercu,
unwritten, as it cannot be read through words.
Am o poezie in inima mea,
that hides behind a dynasty of lyrics.
Det er et dikt i mitt hjerte,
which only serenades internal chambers.
Yparxei ena poihma sthn kardia mou,
that conducts symphonies with my mind.
V moemy serzi jyve poezia,
which may never be understood.
Mei wor echo kèn non ngasangasei,
that whispers words for my beloved.
There is a poem in my heart,
because my heart is a poem.
The Silent One
25 April 2018
There’s a beguiling danger in beauty…
seduced as I was by the fickle fingers of fate musingly stroking my hair,
I envisaged
this lusciously lavish landscape
of sun-raptured heavenly hills and valid valleys
to be a lush, plush place for me to land ~
alas, such deception my naive perception did offer.
Buried beneath the facade of a fertile dream-come-true
and a mesmerizing mirage of natural light and zephyrus breaths -
where your thoughts hugged the horizons of my mind
like clouds on the edges of prairie dog skies
and where your stampeding passions trampled my inhibitions -
were delicate bandeaux of ice;
finespun and feathery like polar gossamer
that formed on the stems of your ruptured dreams
that then became my nightmare
when you had your hard freeze
while warm sap still flowed through your veins,
pumped and pushing through your broken being
and freezing on contact with the chilled clime
cocooning me, in a sudden silken surge of your glazing gauze
holding me, in the vivid wild magic of your frosted crystallized clutches -
fossilizing me, in icy opalescent ribbons of ornate whorls.
Unable to escape the grasping glacial petals of your exquisite pain,
your frost flowers plunged me into the frigid heart
of your bitter bluestem’s prairie winter...
There’s a beguiling beauty in danger
hypnotized and hijacked
as I was by the rhythmic sways of your tall grass ways -
your flickering tongue tasting my air
as my emotions were extorted
till I was bled white -
obviously oblivious
that I was being preyed upon
by a stealthy force of nature motivated by indigenous instincts.
Susan Ashley
March 13, 2018
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Poetry for the Sake of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
*bluestem: tall grass native to the Great Plains with bluish leaf sheaths*
*frost flower: thin layers of ice extruded from long-stemmed plants in autumn or early winter. These thin ice layers form dainty ‘ribbons’ or ‘petals’*
Updated lyrics May 19,2020 to flow better.
THAT’S WHEN I FALL DOWN UPON MY KNEES
There’s no way-
I’ll see another sunrise
My hope is gone-
as I'm contemplating my life
Prospects are bleak-
that’s just the way I’m feeling
My strength is gone-
and my will to live is fading
Here in the dark-
Even my shadow has left me
I spiral down-
into a pit of misery
That’s when I-
remember that you still love me
I kneel to pray-
and throw all my cares upon you
Chorus
That’s when I fall down upon my knees
And then I beg you Lord...
Don’t turn your face away from me
I know I’ve made a mess out of my life
Could you help me please?
When I feel like it’s the end
That’s when I fall down upon my knees
I cannot lie-
I know I’m running out of time
And I know-
that your patience is wearing thin
I must change-
if I’m ever going to save my life
Oh please dear Lord-
help me fight all my sins and win!
Chorus
That’s when I fall down upon my knees
And then I beg you Lord...
Don’t turn your face away from me
I know I’ve made a mess out of my life
Could you help me please?
When I feel like it’s the end
That’s when I fall down upon my knees
Chorus repeat
Finale
That’s when I fall down upon my knees
That’s when I fall down upon my knees
repeat and fade
Re-posted with music and vocals July02,2020
John Derek Hamilton June 14,2018
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2018
You say, I’m too far,
towards the far side?
It’s a hazard of my left-handedness,
that I see the logic in abstraction.
Worlds lay within worlds
and colors bleed personality;
Oh, it may be distasteful
in the world of mathematics
to give a square five sides;
not in my world,
it’s a box with the lid open.
Into that box I pour
my imaginings,
things that only I can see
of which, some folks display
their jealousy;
they accuse me of being backwards,
of not following the rules.
In my world, rules are
shades of grey,
monotone
monotony,
my imagination
does not obey.
No one tells me that
a cow can’t be purple,
that clouds can’t speak
or that you can’t draw the
invisible realms.
Step into my guitar and dance,
it’s playing itself for you.
I’m an original, you see
and I travel in
imagination’s zone.
A funny thing happened on the way to my hanging
Couldn't sleep the night before my head was banging
I was innocent of a crime that I did not commit
But they roughed me up and got me to admit.
The face on the wanted posters said it was me
Anyone seeing those posters would be inclined to agree
I was in a horse drawn prison wagon with bars down the side
Thinking to myself, it will be my last ever ride.
Heading for the gallows then onto Boot hill
To pay for shooting a bank teller that I didn't kill
Two miles from the town all hell did break loose
Unbeknownst to me I'd be dodging the noose.
For ten desperados' brought the wagon to stop
Then ordered the guards, their weapons they drop
Some gang members got me out and they set me free
The gang leader approached and he looked just like me.
He said " in this life you look out for your own "
Then he told me something that I hadn't known
" We were Separated at birth and we had the same mother "
And that this mean desperado was in fact my twin brother .
" We heard that you'd been framed for our crime spree
But you are my brother and that's why we've set you free.
The teller had died because he went for his gun
We grabbed all the money and went on the run ".
He gave me some money and said " start a new life "
Told me head south, settle down and find a good wife
There was so much I wanted to ask him and so much to say
My brother said " some other time, best be on your way " .
Written on 4th July 2018.
For a funny thing happened on the way to...poetry contest, sponsored by Robert Haigh.
You entered my room
a long time ago
across many summers,
now when this winter looks
at the trees shedding the leaves
you are by the closed window
leaning on the cold wall
and I am by the fireplace,
your eyes on the cracking wood on fire
mine on the frosted window pane.
Have you ever wondered
why my voice doesn’t reach you,
the words crash on the wall
and fall silent, that’s why.
Have you ever wondered
why my warmth doesn’t touch you,
the feelings brush the window pane
and freeze inert, that’s why.
Have you ever wondered
why my eyes don’t look into yours,
the vision is stuck on barren trees outside
and waits for the spring, that’s why.
Have you ever wondered
why my hands can’t hold yours,
the reach is lost in distant time
and breaks separated, that’s why.
I have wondered
if I could break the cold wall
shatter the iced window pane
make the trees green again
would my voice rise from the dust
the warmth of my mind melt the ice
my eyes bring colors of spring in yours,
would the time stop
stop to create distance
and I could hold your hands again.
Posted : November 23, 2017.
Evergreen flavored mantras
did nothing to purge bitter bile from my lips
nor slake the smoldering thirst for a Rosary remedy.
Tick-tock petals unfurled one by one
as your poppy shed its last sepal
releasing a scarlet sigh across sunset skies
whilst I placed a tender kiss upon your twilight.
If but for your gossamer bloom in persimmon perfection,
I would not hunger for your ambrosial whispers
nor rue the earthly drought of undying nectar.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss,
blind behind the tear-rusted folds
of a weeping veil’s eclipse.
My psyche a pauper
rich in the poverty of penniless promises,
empty as echoes in hollow holes
ringing with wringing reverberations.
In the grasp of atheist fingers I clasp Holy beads
tilling cries and whys.
Every tear a sorrow sown in brambles,
whose sloe fails to ripen sweet redemption
in the fertile sham and barren sand of my humanity;
crushed by the tusk of this damnable dusk.
Susan Ashley
April 13, 2020
~ First Place ~
February 5, 2023
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem Ever
Sponsor: John Hamilton
~ Seventh Place ~
Premiere Contest: Crushed
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
~ First Place ~
Standard Contest: Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsor: John Hamilton
The last poem…
Standing against the wall.
The longest teardrop made its fall.
Making one final call.
Never will I write about my letters again.
This prison is my pen.
*INK* My enemy~ at the same times my only friend.
*INK* My guardian~ the escort of words into my desires.
This pen is my prison.
No longer will I let it defend and comfort me.
No longer will I let it sit there and take control of my imagery.
No longer will I share it with you...
These visions have been the birth and death to what is reality.
I have no reason to lie; it is time to set my thoughts free.
And say goodbye………….
As I walk alone to the open skies of 2013.
~~The End~~
I look and ponder, watch you grow in haste
Explore with wonder, new experience taste
No fear encountered as you learn the ropes
Your sails adjusting, full with winds of hope.
But there are moments when the seeds of doubt
Without much warning spread and start to sprout
Then you need guidance, words which shed some light
Advice and promptings which once more excite.
I weigh my options when the waves rise high,
Stay in the background, tactful, on standby,
Not interfering, yet with cautious eye
Give needed help should threats intensify.
I am a lighthouse built on sound terrain
In times of darkness, you won’t call in vain.
----------------------
This poem has been published in a PoetrySoup Anthology:
“Radiant Verses” Nov 2024 (print)
----------------------
Placed 1st in Contest 540 Hosted by Brian Strand in Jan 2019.
Lighthouse Poetry Contest Sponsored by Eve Roper Placed joint first POTD on 24th Dec 2018 © 22nd December 2018.
Note: This is a poem dear to me, as the title would suggest, so receiving a POTD award undoubtedly brought added satisfaction.
In my silent sanctuary,
my poetic garden blooms like sun kissed seeds,
carefully placed under a quilt of soil,
sprinkled with holy water.
In the vividness of morning mist,
spring dew drops are like crystals,
sparkling on greens of grass,
ready to vaporize virgin fibers,
as I spill idyllic ink upon each strand.
My muse is an enchanted forest,
where blooming butterflies kiss blushing blossoms,
as my thoughts spread like perky petals,
in shades of amethyst, ruby and sapphire,
mirroring the illuminations of my heart.
I smile at April showers.
In each drop there is mercy,
as I believe there is an adversity in poetry,
where words form like the most vigorous flowers.
The Silent One
6 April 2021
My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs.
They start as fragments,
flecks of ash from my mind's abyss,
a restless volcano that never long sleeps.
The particles of ash collect and form together.
Feverishly I rush to absorb them all
as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers,
employing metaphor, play on word,
or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm.
I mold my poems meticulously to my image,
and then they emerge, fatherless but freed.
Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways,
but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book,
where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them
and often look as a mother does on her infant babe.
Unlike, however, mortal children can do,
when I am through with them, they do not change,
and fully formed, they rarely disappoint.
As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh,
I hope they'll love my poem children too.
For Natasha L. Scragg's Throwback Challenge Poetry Contest
*This poem was posted in 2010, but I think I actually wrote it around 2001. I had been dabbling in poetry for less than a year at that time, and I had written so few poems that I would save them on decorated paper and read them again and again because I felt like I had created magic. Although I had played around with a few love poems and Christmas song parodies in my youth, I did not really see myself as a poet until after 2000 (when I was over 40 years old).
My garden is such a colourful sight,
with pretty roses and scented sweet peas.
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!
Beautiful butterflies gently alight
on flowers dancing on the summer breeze.
My garden is such a colourful sight
Sweet night scented stocks abloom at midnight
their aroma is always sure to please.
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!
Carnations in purple, scarlet and white
are visited by busy bumble bees.
My garden is such a colourful sight
A haven for birds I watch them in flight
they alight on peach blossom from the trees.
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!
Pretty pansies smile in clay pots so bright
I love beautiful flowers such as these.
My garden is such a colourful sight
An abundance of blooms, what pure delight!
190 syllables, 10 syllables per line checked with how many syllables
Contest Villanelle me flowers Sponsored by Broken Wings
submitted to Garden Inspiration contest
sponsored by BJ Legros Kelley
06~13~16