Best Newcomers Poems
"The Circe Effect" (Part 1)
Circe, Goddess of magic, nymph, witch, bold enchantress
daughter of Helios, Sun God, her father, can you imagine? ...
let me paint you further, the tree of this wacked-out family canvas -
daughter of Perse, her mother, wild Oceanid Nymph, spawned not on landmass,
but in the vast deep blue deep.
Aeetes, her brother hung tight to his Fleece
and Pasiphaë, her sister, given in marriage to King Minos of Crete,
had a fling with a monstrous White Bull,
a gift from Poseidon, ain't that so sweet?
she bore a bastard child, the Monataur with a ring in his nose,
horns and hoofed feet.
Now there was a family of total dysfunction
and Circe, poor dear, betrayed for remaining herself,
remaining non-function
was banished to Aeaea for murdering her husband
the Prince of Colchis.
There on Aeaea, as revenge, Circe drew out her magic wand - not a sword,
transmuted her enemies, all those who offended her into wild beasts,
where they were left to circle her mansion and roam to eat swill as their feast.
Docile not dangerous, drugged and delerious,
these beasts never gored -
they were fawned on by all newcomers, who were simply just curious,
never bored.
These entranced beasts lured newcomers to our girl Circe
with a woof and purr.
Enter Circe, quite disturbed, in a logical kind of way.
“More pets for me!”, she thought, “they will never stray”.
These lonely, adventurous vagabonds who ventured into her lair,
well, she showered them with all her incantations, but they never heard
her words of Love ever there –
Circe would finally reveal who she truly was,
for you see by now all that pain, all that hurt
had converted our dear old Circe into a siren
otherworldly, deadly lethal, mysterious, re-birthed;
all that ventured into her Kingdom now were
captivated by her spells and
then promptly, with a wave of her wand,
transfigured forevermore
as creatures,
of her Elysian Fields interred.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
Oh hearken to me Destroyer of Poets
With heart in hand I declare my feelings
Without pretentiousness humbly kneeling
Thou art the greatest and now I show it
In verse for all so they shall to know it
My desire for you I've been concealing
Conversations with you left me reeling
I'm amazed how you remain so stoic
So beautiful, so gracious, and funny
Promptly greeting then eating newcomers
Wittiness and charm forever ascends
You cast the longest shadow when sunny
And call out those duplicitous bummers
I'm glad we've decided to be good friends
Italian Sonnet rhyme scheme abba abba cde cde
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
For my friend Linda "Poet Destroyer"
III.
But I had a much higher purpose now,
damned or not, I would serve the True God,
for thirty years I served with my brothers,
upon a humble path I faithfully trod.
Maybe I wasn’t a miracle worker,
though I saved lost pilgrims in my time,
age etched lines in my brothers’ faces,
but it had no effect upon mine.
The abbot swore newcomers to secrecy
about the truth of my vampiric fate,
and I guess I believed I’d just go on
serving an eternity in this way.
But one day as the sun started to set,
I looked out upon a terrible sight:
A small girl running, screaming in fear
as a wolf closed on in for a bite.
I hesitated for just a moment,
the sun was high enough that I would burn,
but the terrified cries of a five-year old
were not something from which I could turn.
I sprinted out with unnatural speed,
instantly my skin erupted in flames,
raced past the girl, thrust my burning hand
to the wolf with jaws of snapping rage.
The fire seared both myself and the beast,
with frantic yelps of pain he then ran off,
I staggered back, my pale skin burned to black,
bits of flesh had flaked off and were lost.
I made it back to the small gatehouse
and I collapsed in the shadows within,
the abbot ran close, with my fading strength
I weakly tried to say goodbye to him.
But he just looked down, said,”We need blood.
Run to the chapel and fetch me the wine!”
A brother raced off, returned with the jug,
made no sense to my greatly pained mind.
He filled a chalice, look to the Heavens,
said,”Lord, I know that I am no priest.
But if he must die, let him drink of Your blood,
let him take part at last in Your mercy.”
I felt this would be a fitting way to die,
burned by the holy blood of my Lord.
But when I drank I did not feel the fire,
in fact I didn’t feel pain anymore!
I didn’t see it myself, but they say
that the charred skin beat a fast retreat,
and through the haze I managed to feel
a deep breath and a steady heart-beat!
When I sat up the sun came through a window
and it fell harmlessly upon my skin,
I felt true hunger, thirty years overdue,
by His power I once more was human!
They said In Him All Things Are Possible,
and I suppose I am the living truth,
strangest of all I still looked a young man,
blessed with the power and passion of youth...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
Announcing it in the paper that day,
the LGBT club soon got under way,
meeting at Bruce's bike shop on their harley's,
is where they'd all meet before going on their journey,
some newcomers arrived as well,
and from the looks of them couldn't
tell if they were a woman or a fella,
some looking kind of like Mrs. Doubtfire,
while the younger ones like a Caitlin Jenner,
Bruce started scratching his head
and started to wonder,
why all of a sudden his club was so full of transgender's,
then he realized when he looked at the paper ad,
that he had to change the clubs lettering just a tad,
because his Lumberjacks Go Biking Tuesday's club,
was not going to be used anymore after that
coming out masquerade fad!
The war is ever-nearer to the boarders of this land
Seeping forward through the woods
Releasing acrid echoes of doom ahead on energetic tongues of stowaways
Lucky to survive their ordeal
Here they are welcomed, and in this cozy tavern
Their woes are hidden in the shadows while they warm their feet by the fire, regaling their heroic tales of escape;
growing ever grander with the generous plying of ‘the innkeeper’s secret’ special brew
‘It’s a secret,’ he tells me, as I take a sip;
Warm amber fills my mouth, washing my throat with a sense of sweet spicy sunshine..
Suddenly I know, how despite being closest to the edge of conflict, this tavern will be Sanctuary …
Spying the patrons and the ever arriving newcomers from my shaded alcove seat;
Spotting frantic newcomers; a beacon of fear in a sea of jovial patrons slurring songs of old, arm in arm with one another
It’s not hard to see that this tavern if filled with patrons from both sides…
But it seems that the only person seeing this…is me
‘How do you do it?’ I ask under my breath, reluctant to destroy this mirage of comfort before me.
‘It’s a secret,’ he smiles, melting into the crowd.
I try to follow, but my legs are soo heavy, anchoring my flying torso to my seat, my will fighting my body to stay in the now,
´HOW!’ I shout out, a cry of desperation …
He turns back, only once, with a cheeky smile and a wink for good measure … then he is gone … like he never was
I wake to the sound of twittering birds in a cove of dappled sunshine, before me a meadow where once stood a cozy tavern…
All that remains; a tangled arch of wisteria and jasmine …
And the eerie susurrations of songs of old,
Inviting all in … to the toadstool ring.
Dazzling lights
Throngs of people
Walking through crowded streets
Reminds us of why we live here
Costumed performers - Bright theatre marquees
Seeing those sights brings happiness
to native and tourist alike
Autumn - a chill in the air
Undaunted, the bustling crowds
head for dinner and a show
No place quite like it anywhere
The masses of people
are taking their full measure
of urban joy
Double decker buses move down the avenue
as newcomers to the Big Apple get their firs bite of it
Even those who have lived here
their entire lives
Still feel exhilarated as they pass Times Square
Electricity lights up the metropolitan scene
The city is working its magic
Untold thousands on the avenue
Eyes meet - a feeling of urban love
works its way into the hearts
of the masses gathered there
The city
Inspired by Opeth – The Drapery Falls and this entire year…
I sip on Super Mario Brothers hot cocoa cup
Filled with convictions’ drop
From streams of consciousness
Ready to skinny dip into a new plateau
No
Holds
Barred
Ferocity’s grip
Looking upon God’s yesterdays
As He hands me a pen
Asking me what I have learned
…
As days have passed
I slow dance with convex mirrors within glasshouse.
Remedies to my confusion
Thrusting me back to the day
A befriending of cotton candy souls
As we ride against Ferris Wheels with a song
That should never end
Holding hands through rickety roller coasters
Pulling me downwards
Upwards
Parallel to perpendicular resolutions
The square root to pale ghosts
Staring with onyx want
All of their tainted wishes
Were for brighter days
…
As these days pass
I recollect collective smile upon my spiraled breaths.
There should have been more.
There could have been more.
It’s not too late for early newcomers into my atrium.
But, you better have your ticket in hand.
For I have already tasted the scalding broth of disappointing screams
Overpowered in salted dramatics
Please
Just come as you are
Unfiltered
No plastic surgeries are welcome within these heartbeats.
…
As days go by
I continue to dream of tomorrow’s smile
Placing loudspeakers against silenced seclusions
With ONE MIC
I hail to cathedral sanity
Swimming within my stream of consciousness that few can dive into
Without turning their backs
…
As tomorrow approaches
Who will be the spark in our cherry bombs?
To light jeweled, nocturnal ionospheres within breaths of security
And sincerity coated fingertips
Who I ask?
Speak loud!!!
Speak in unbridled frequencies!!!
Don’t wait for another day to go by…
...without me waking up to your sound again.
©Drake J. Eszes
Old Watches
by Edmund Siejka
Of all the watches at the mall
It’s the old watches I like best
Antiques hidden in the back
Away from the brash newcomers
Rolex and Tag Heuer.
When I was a kid I watched grownups
On early mornings
Carefully turn the watch’s small button
Winding up its tiny moving springs
Bringing the watch back to life.
In those days there were no quartz parts
The old watches
Were marvels of human ingenuity
And old fashioned craftsmanship
Encased in brass
Tiny springs and miniature wheels
Moving together in synchronized harmony.
My old watch still works
Moving effortlessly 360 degrees
Past the 12
Down to the lowly 6
Marveling at its resiliency
That this thing,
This very old watch
Handed down to me a long, long time ago
Still keeps time.
Every so often I bring the watch
Back to the jeweler
Holding the old timepiece in his hand
He would solemnly say
“They don’t make watches like these anymore
The young prefer I-phones
To tell time
That’s technology for you.”
Each day
More and more of the old timepieces
Are lost or forgotten
In bedrooms where Grandparents
Kept family documents
In dark dresser drawers
And faded photos
Graced night tables.
Where are the old watches now?
Why just this morning
A practiced hand
Was needed to tenderly turn a watch’s small button
And gently nudge the old timepiece back to life.
A slow funeral dirge loops through my head as I bend the reeds
of wild alley weeds in my old neighborhood, pausing to listen
to the drunken diatribes hurled by the shell of a man, 3-houses
down…praying I won’t be seen.
Newcomers don’t often visit, the same faces cringe in surprise at
the sudden change in tempo or tone, afraid a new direction may
result….sounds never heard before….questions never asked before.
Finally, I find the familiar crevices and secret passageways, proven
over time…..balms and knowing glances, to a place I know,
……a place
I know
10/22/10
© All Rights Reserved
5:22 am
Mom had a stroke Monday,
She’s doin a bit better…….
I’m hangin’ on
Long before the white man came
to the Black Hills of South Dokota,
in a teepee made of buffalo skin
lived a young Sioux warrior called Akecheta;
he hunted with a hawk that spotted the slowest
horse, his friends admired him for his courage.
He rode through prairies for hours,
never taking taking a nap and rest
under the shade of a Prickly Pear Cactus!
He watched rainbows stretching
over a horizon dazzling with sun
and invoked the Great Spirit before
heading home through prairies;
he lived in the shadow of mountains
where Howthorne trees showed
their small red berries in the beezy
and pleasant days of early autumn!
He found a hawk who had injuried
wings and showed him his kindness;
hunter and predator became friends,
their boldness could scare a bear.
On his hunting days Akecheta carried
a red-tailed hawk on his shoulder
for guidance, hoping to find a fawn
to take home to feed his family!
Ackecheta hunted for rabbits and deer,
their meats were so tasty and tender;
there's was no scarcity of food:
either be buffalos, nuts or berries.
America was already blessed by God
before Europeans came to conquer;
was the God of the Sioux kinder than
that of the adventurous pioneers?
Ackecheta never saw a beautiful ocean
with shrieking seagulls flying overhead...
only mountains that he called canyons.
He loved the majestic Roughlock Falls,
but he cried when he saw the newcomers
cut down all the tallest Quaker aspens:
had he tried to stop them with angry
screams, he would have been killed!
Written on 6/12/2017
Skagway, Alaska in the late 1890s was sure a rowdy place alright!
It was seethin' with humanity a-raisin' hell all through the day and night!
'Twas the gateway to Chilkoot Pass beyond which lay Klondike gold!
Why! You could scoop up nuggets by the bushel, or so it was told!
Jefferson Randolph 'Soapy' Smith 'owned' the town and was so very brash.
He came up with nefarious schemes to relieve newcomers of their cash!
Madame Gertie arrived with her soiled doves and set up houses of ill repute.
Among the ladies were Ethel the Moose, Mollie Fewclothes and Maude the Mute!
Tinklin' pianos and screechin' fiddles played in saloons invitin' boozers in.
Hordes of horses whinnied, dogs howled and mules brayed addin' to the din!
The Home of Hooch, Red Onion and Mangy Dog saloons flung open their doors,
To sate the thirsty sots before they tried their luck at diggin' by the scores!
Hawkeye Blevins, notorious gambler, grabbed a table at the Hungry Pub Saloon,
And with slight of hand relieved many gullible rubes of their moolah all too soon!
Even preachers tossed aside Bibles and grabbed shovels to join the endless queue,
To foolishly struggle up Chilkoot Pass in the dead of winter with that motley crew!
A few hardy stampeders found their Eldorado but many more came to naught!
Death, disillusionment and starvation stymied the quest for which they sought.
Many a hapless feller lies beneath that frigid land never more to roam.
Infamous Soapy Smith lies at rest in Skagway Cemetery, there, his final home!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
"Hungarian Festival"
Pro bono bands gradually allure the crowds
Their effort is unmatched while working unique instruments
To make people understand where they came from
Let us not forget our many predecessors as they sing
About the land beyond our own
Loud speakers tantalize throughout the day
A foreign and beautiful demonstration of national pride
Adorned in gowns and bonnets of floweresque appearance
Little girls dance about in the street displaying lessons they were taught
Cute little sensations build the fantasy and wisp so many away
To a place they never knew of others and their founding roots
A new experience teaches newcomers that their world is not the only one
Where a rich culture runs flamboyant, it is a rare chance to shine
Spices in the air fill ones nose with enchanting scents from every food station
Dishes of colbasse and saur kraut put together with loving care
The dilemma of so many is because their stomachs are only so big
But good spirits will come not from a cup but from the heart
As good people try tirelessly to share themselves with others
The museum evokes a thoughtfulness for the furniture and paintings
Century old representations that the Hungarians were always clever
Sculpted pottery of undecided interpretation warm you up for the air blown glass
These people are to envy for a world outside our own
They are bountiful and harmonious and plentiful
An inspiration to make our own contribution
We should all be as complete as them
You will begin to see yourself as spiritual support for all the
Good work being done
Through your parish if you can stay away from the following:
Negativity: Negativity usually starts with a few disgruntled
people who complain about virtually everything
Can spread like wildfire
The best way to deal with negativity is to address it head-on
by asking some key questions
Gossip: Gossip is negativity directed at a person or a group
of people in the parish
Every parish has gossip-mongers whose own insecurity drives them to put others down as a way of feeling better about themselves
The best way to deal with them is directly by asking why others really need to know the things they share
Or by asking how others can help the person whose reputation is at stake
Or by just
Ignoring it
Cliques: Sadly, people involved in a clique usually don’t think
of themselves as “cliquish.” They’ve just been running things for so long
that they rely on the same people over and over to help Sometimes they just need a friendly reminder to invite others
Newcomers also often benefit—and help the parish
Refusal to change: Tradition is good
But when parishioners become too rigid or too liberal about how the way things have “always been done”
A parish can quickly begin to decline
Change is never easy
Try to find a balance that will maintain some time-honored traditions
Including devotional practices
While incorporating new ways of doing things and involving new people in doing them
No parish is perfect
Even the best parishes can improve
Imagine what would happen if every person in the parish did one little thing to make the parish better!
kyrielle sonnet
Graduating from college life
in June of nineteen sixty-five,
I recall in music's spotlight -
The Shadow of Your Smile - top-flight.
Departing from four-year friendships,
Some thought that nothing could eclipse
a love affair, they knew was so right -
Shadows of Your Smile at midnight.
On the world's stage, we’re newcomers
We march to different drummers;
All but forgotten, tribute’s slight,
the Shadow of Your Smile became trite.
What wistful star may shed some light?
The Shadow of a New Smile might.
written 18 April 2016
Contest: Gren's Evergreens (Golden Oldies) #1, Host: Teppo Gren
Art gallery glimpses
Posters on walls;
Unfamiliar insights
~~~~~~~~~
Fresh good market
Country festival;
Abundant fruits
~~~~~~~~~
Young child escorted
Proud parents each side;
Nurture greets nature
~~~~~~~~~
Roasted meat stall
Duck, chicken, BBQ pork;
Appetizing fares
~~~~~~~~~
Pay day queue
Busy ATM buzz;
Cash flow escapades
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy moments
Heavy eyelids flutter;
Bedtime stories
~~~~~~~~~
Quizzical notions
Unanswered query;
Planning-in-progress
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese Pu-Er tea
Refreshing brew;
Fragrant sensations
~~~~~~~~~
Sparrow sing-song
Rainy day complaint;
Resting on my ledge
~~~~~~~~~
Crows on a tree
Casuarina bough;
Wet evening dark
~~~~~~~~~
Ships by the bay
Sunset silhouettes;
City lights glimmer
~~~~~~~~~
City skyscrapers
Deserted weekend;
Sullen silence presides
~~~~~~~~~
Sunday orchestra
Noisy enclave crowds;
Chattering diaspora
~~~~~~~~~
Foreign workers gather
Common language screams;
Home town dispensations
~~~~~~~~~
Social integration
Newcomers and old salt;
Brine for salted cabbage
~~~~~~~~~
Dear Pandora
Curiosity brings curse;
Hope endures boldly
~~~~~~~~~
Words struggle now
Crisp commotion here;
Pain sublimates thought
~~~~~~~~~
Style sparks smiles
Bitter gall precipitates;
Ideas emerge
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
30 November 2014
Singapore