Best New Write Poems
you carve your words precisely
like a master does a flawless diamond
infuse your images on the head of a pin
not a letter wasted
you who
speaks from deeper within
with every new write
never one or one hundred reads suffices
each new recite reveals something new
grabs the readers heart
and we the better for it
you are the poet writes
like the brush of Van Gogh
his emotions vibrant in every stroke
every painting a work of genius
in your poetry
we find that pearl
hidden too deep for the diver
now opened and revealed
blinded by its light we see
what was once previously
invisible
now!
transparent
like the gentle prophet
you sew and lay a carpet
that sensitizes us
from the very bottom of our awareness
to the peak of our understanding
it is LOVE that enshrines your words
you!
the fabled unicorn
we
the fortunate
that by your cause
confirms
our childhood dreams
DO exist
september 29 2015
armand
A Poet , a dreamer , a man named Michael.
Named after my father and also a saint.
Drifting through time with my pen I paint.
Just a soul gliding in and out of God's cycle.
My name is known as the Godfather's last son.
Also a star who wore a little white glove.
But mostly just me who writes from love.
An Angel I'm not , but there's no harm in my fun.
Though I'm not Michael the second.
I tried to fill my dad's big shoes.
We coached together whether win or lose.
Such times imbedded in my heart as his son.
Now my own man and later in life poet.
I share my life in words to those who can't see me.
I hope to touch a few of those who read and feel me.
Each new write is another way for me to show it.
Now you have a clearer view of Michael your friend.
A confused life at times but now has found his sight.
With Rosanna by my side all is good, and life is just right.
I'm stronger for it all and never will this heart bend.
"What's In a Name Contest" by The Sweetheart of Poetry Soup
(Dedication: For Monterey Sirak who is the first poet
on PoetrySoup who made me feel welcome here. With
my fond gratitude.)
------------------------------------
Movement feels mellow with spontaneous joy;
Orbit of sure spheres in changing charades;
Night stars to follow the impulse that toys;
Trust lovely times here to style your parade.
Enter a new dawn with easy intent;
Remember to smile with grand demeanour;
Embrace this fine morn with loving content;
Yield to the lifestyle that affords true splendour.
Wise is the bold man who lives soul beauty;
Reap the sweet passion that yields to the light;
Ink and understand that truth speaks calmly;
Touch is firm action that follows foresight.
Endow each new write with discovery;
Sync your voice and cite subtly and clearly.
Leon Enriquez
25 Apr 2014
Singapore
(Note: This poem is an Acrostic Sonnet.)
Ol’ brazen Brenda, battlin’ biography,
Banters bewildered brave boatmen at sea,
Brushstrokes besieging her beleaguered brain,
Broadsided by fiction now baking insane;
Balanced between both broken and brilliant,
Buried by sorrow, bereft not resilient,
A ballyhooed author, back in the day,
‘Fore Brian betrothed her then drowned near the bay;
Basking bereavement, believing though more,
Books barely bound newly found in the store,
‘Betaken, Broad Beauty’, Brenda’s new write,
Beveled bare bitterness abruptly bright;
Barreled, brought breathless by Bernie, beloved,
A character boating where dead Brian shoved,
As buckets with bottoms knowing no end,
Begging attention did Brenda’s mind bend;
Blended for sanity, befuddled realities
Born when begins a life without boundaries,
Betterment bellows because Brenda’s words,
Boxed-up betrayal beneath binding boards.
9/18/2016
We meet once a week, an odd group of poetic friends-
Hannah is from Atlanta and wears a bandana,
Abraham always says hello ma'am to me quietly, oh
Timothy is all fidgety, and
Stephen is dreaming and weaving some new write.
Ingrid and me, we have a kindred spirit, don't laugh
Noah wears a feather boa and I think Naomi had a lobotomy.
Anna is from Havana, loves yellow so I call her banana.
Nathaniel brings his spaniel dog, and
Adam who is French sneezes and says excuse me Madame,
Michael roars up on his motorcycle (I think he is suicidal),
Elizabeth sure knows her syllabus and Esther is an empty nester.
________________________________________
November 11, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/An Odd Group
Copyright Protected, ID 16-849-024-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under .Pseudonym
For the contest What's In A Name
Sponsor, Viv Wigley
First Place
I have written some real bad poems in my day,
so many questionable words- I must say;
but although poor, inferior, I love my janky,
in dusty odd piles and boxes they lay.
To read them you will need a big hanky,
when they lose in contests, it makes me cranky;
and always my pride for a moment- trash,
I weep sadness while sipping sweet brandy.
And my poetic Muse is in a spinning crash,
and my bleeding pen I want to smash;
I read my pretty janky, oh they are right,
then Muse has an idea- I get a poetic flash.
I gather those weird words and do a new write,
oh my new janky will be quite a sight;
s l o w l y my pride is rising and I am happy,
into the night my pen is ready to fight.
___________________________
August 30, 2016
Poetry/Rubaiyat/Bad Poems
Copyright Protected, ID 16-824-368-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
I Can’t Connect to the Internet
By Elton Camp
When I got home from having been gone all day,
It’s into my office to see what e-mail has to say
The Internet Explorer icon I give the usual click
However, it doesn’t accomplish the expected trick
In annoyance, “Oh my goodness! What the heck?”
Then I give all the connections a thorough check
But, all seems to be as it was just the day before
Somehow, I can’t connect to the Internet anymore
Frustrated and angry is how it made me feel
I said, “Oh man, this surely can’t be for real.”
I can’t check on the popularity of my new write
And, even worse, I can’t Google a thing all night.”
Into some electronic oblivion I felt I’d been hurled
Because I was effectively cut off from all the world
I began to think of the things I might well need to do
Then thought the most simple explanation’s often true
I then made a functional check of the television set
And found that not even a single channel could I get
When I made that shocking discovery, then I was able
To know that the trouble lay in the television cable
So, out to the back yard I went, beaming a flashlight
And there on the ground was a most distressing sight
The black television cable was the thing I had found
All twisted and broken and most of it on the ground
Mr. Matsuo Basho
danced his words with delight
making better poets of us all.
Here I sit pen and paper in my hand
Mind is like a tornado whirling around and around
Many letters and words I need to find.
Today my computer and I have a really hot date,
typing out all the words I want to say.
Saying what I want to say,
is not always so easy.
Sometimes good for all to hear,
sometimes bad~naughty.
Sometimes happy~hooray,
sometimes sad and I want to cry.
Sometimes oh so serious,
sometimes, funny as can be.
Here I sit writing away,
I do it each new day just for you.
Date Written: 4/25/2022
1 Place
POEM ON POETRY MUSEContest Judged:4/29/2022
Sponsored by:Beata Agustin
Note: Mr. Matsuo Basho Lived 1644 to 1694.
I took 3 poems blended and added to make 1 new write.
You shine your light
With each new write
Helps me and others
Carry on...
Your Honeycomb heart
Sweetness you bring
Rejoicing unto our Lord
For All our Hearts Sing
You do have a way
Every time I must say
Your Wisdom... Shines
Each word you express
here on line...
True from your heart
You bring... such Joy
Oh... Blessings you give
Each word melodies’
Rings a note.. Love within
Beholds All Keys...
Keep on Shining
Ever so Bright
Beautiful music
as My heart holds on tight
as words of song
still plays.... lingers on
Words song from Lighthouse "You & Me"
As I Thank God
For allowing me...
to be Blessed with knowing you...
For "You are More"
More then I-anyone could ever ask for
God made you unique... Precious..
Come Shine your light for Jesus Christ
When not at hard work; play no copying games
Why copy the hard-work of another poet
If you want a new write do this;
put your pen on paper and dig in deep
and see between the lines,
and see your own piece to highly arise
A talent of your own proudly shown
This also a possibility to win cherished gold
I think I’ve a cycle
a monthly mindful
when I will write more
mind will rhyme pour
with ease and a flex
I see readied text
a pick and or mix
choice with index
pen down at pace
ideas not too waste
on my hand my face
capture to place
and given within
is rhythm too win
tight writes begin
like church bells ring
and I really go
fly smooth with flow
overthinking loads
then damaging rows
long winded
loose hinges
from great rhyme fringe
to cringington cringes
however one poem will prevail
do well
and I’ll buzz and I’ll rush
forgetting rubbish writes of sludge
seek a new write
a rhyme alike
set too the standard
but my mind now hampered
nothing happens
complete silence
I can’t see or sense words
the brain of a bird
rhythm wants to occur
but just goes nurr burr turr
I have a time of the month for rhyming
when I tampax it and catch a flow for writing
the seeds bringing to life rhyme
bleeding pen strings pictures your mind
Parasites, these
unremembered memories
unbidden guests
made themselves at home
within my breast
And suckled in silence
‘til lifeblood waned
vitality drained
only traces remain
of who I was
Now I have become
an ungracious host
shadowy ghost
in a hollow shell
with nothing to feed
these guests’ great need
Odd sensation of wriggling
I feel them digging
their way out of my skin
as alarmed I view
their fight for survival
breaking through
Parasites, these
obtrusive memories
no longer silent
swollen full of violent
past imagery
painful to see
(NOTE: This is NOT a new write- I actually wrote this in 2015, but I thought it might give someone else an idea for the "Remembering What You Want To Forget" Poetry Contest)...
Would you love to read the joy in poetry?
Would you pass poetry to the pit?
Or would you grant me the grace to write in defense of poetry?
If you picked “yes” on the second and fourth lines
Then...
Refresh your thoughts.
Refresh the world.
Refresh the sky.
Refill the air.
Pave paths for poetry
To read my new write...
In poetry, we hop around,
But it is not a futile romp.
Though some lines are heavy,
Hardly to wear them meaning;
Also hardly to write them off—
Because they are sort of traps,
And they make folks shudder.
I have seen folks nurse poetry as distress.
And Kinsmen king poetry as philosophy.
Children know it as not child's play.
Teenagers tilt their heads in discord.
Most minorities said not minor enough.
And the majority said not mainly for them
But poetry is mainly for us.
A poet does not write without reason.
He does not write without meaning.
Though some poets write for the rhyme, they make many murmurs.
But poetry marches deeper unto the soul:
It paints the darndest picture of woe.
It unveils the awful face of war.
It paints the earnest desire for love.
It paints the deepest agony ever felt.
It brightens the darkest face,
And gives the shattered heart the light to shine.
A poet's new write start to end,
can oft be stressful to attend;
held captive once it has begun-
until the verses are all done.
But, when the journey is complete-
the tough road traveled- bittersweet.
October 11, 2022