Best Offering Poems
Ironic tears that spill are mocking me
in scathing streaks delighting down my cheeks.
They trace their paths as soft as fingertips
atop sad ivories caressing pain -
but shame me in their scalding disregard
and blame me that they even do exist.
I ache in death knell spiral of regrets,
their embers smolder as they stoke with ire
with flaring pain till nothing’s left but ash -
besmirched by lust reduced to worthless grey.
My life now but an aftertaste of soot;
sweet self-indulgence too much to withstand.
In sunset mood I grow my shadow’s length
in angst I’m reaching out midst twilight guilt,
beseeching in day’s fade Salvation’s light;
forgiveness of my own abandons me.
Oh, burn of sins does choke my soul in smoke
as tattered heart is purged upon the pyre.
Susan Ashley
February 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: Contest 600, Any Free Verse, Any Theme, Max 20 Lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
offering, angst, dark, loss, lust,
Form:
Blank verse
My verse has been chosen as Poem of the Month at Sherborne Abbey!
The curious offerings of sacristans
Are given in obscure humility
The symbol of the cupping of the hands
Enshrines the essence of this mystery
The dawn unlocked; the turning of a key
The mystic world behind the little door
The mourning weepers, watching, silently
The quiet foot upon uneven floor
The layered shadowed centuries; the pass
Of long dead worshippers before the throne
Slow shifts of coloured pools of stains of glass
Soft drift of latticed light on pillar stone
The empty candle, thirsting for new oil
Unscrewed and filled, screwed up again and lit
The hidden corners, carved by masons’ toil
In which a wary flickered flame may flit
The covering, uncovering; each fold
Of linen and of altar cloth an art
Within the starch of white, on marble cold
The space to hold His living, beating heart
Here, understated wafers wait in line
For blessing, as an unblessed congregation
Here silver, water, light, and red wine shine
Anticipating sacred consecration
Here eye, and hand, and mind, seek symmetry
In objects placed, in psychic ebbs and flows
Seek that perfection only God can see
In right angle and scented mystic rose
When all are done and gone, her hands will shake
The fragments of His flesh on holy ground
Shed drops upon the earth its thirst to slake
Pour water through the light without a sound
When all are gone, all blessed with wine and bread
There, in the East, where better men have trod
She kneels and presses to the step her head
And, lost in awe, she speaks these words to God
I am that ancient soul you always knew
A part of you, from when time first began
The I am that I am, the that in you
That serves thee, as I will, while still I can
I come to you as Christian, Muslim, Jew
Agnostic, Gnostic, Druid, Angel, Man
The cupping of my hands I give to you
The curious offering of a sacristan
© Gail Foster 2016
Categories:
offering, blessing, god, mystery, psychological,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
I thank THEE Oh, LORD
For
All the treasures, THOU HAST
So generously upon me
Bestowed:
-
My life
My sight
My Hearing
My touch
My scent
My taste
My arms
My legs
My brain and every other
Organ,
-
Treasures of worth untold
That
Money couldn’t ever buy
-
Forgive my, LORD,
My egoism
My ingratitude
My greediness
My complaining
My insatiability
My forgetfulness,
-
If only THY charity were I able
To remember
And
The multitude of unfortunate ones
That isn't as blessed as I:
The blind
The deaf
The feeble
The sick
The irrational
The disabled
Every second should I THEE, for life,
Thanksgiving offer, MY LORD,
Rather than once a year!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
15 August 2020
* Today is my birthday and this is my way to offer thanksgiving to
our Lord for keeping me alive at the age of seventy-six, despite the
fact that I came close to death on three separate occasions because
of health problems!
Categories:
offering, birthday, thanksgiving,
Form:
Free verse
you
offer
help
but
you can’t
want it
more
than
they do
for it
to
still
be called
help
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Posted on November 18, 2018
Categories:
offering, encouraging, freedom, inspirational, life,
Form:
Free verse
Sip from the cup
of June
The sweet wine
Of summer
That intoxicating maiden
Who frolics
Through the land
Dressed in emerald
She taught the birds
To sing
And the breeze
To blow the scented jasmine
Through lazy curtains
Seek the feast
Awaiting the tired eyes
As nature's paintbrush
Tips the fields
And the distant hills
With colors splendid
Do not drink too fast
But slowly cherish
Each fragrant red rose
Each tiny blue bird
Each crystal moon
Close your eyes
Savour the pleasure
As summer's cup
Will be empty
And soon, the wine
Will become Autumn's
Bitter dregs..
Categories:
offering, nature
Form:
Verse
Strands’ fluid strength; bliss, distress, routineness plait,
Tears multi-colored seeded, love's wisdom grows.
Esplanades calico edge Shangri-la’s gate,
Memoirs in motifs bittersweet and rainbows.
Thruway taken true.., not meandering fate.
Garden, Eden’s stroll sought, golden lit primrose,
‘I love You’ lives in amaranthine splendor;
We know love is actually... Surrender.
Susan Ashley
August 7, 2017
N/A
Contest: Love is Actually... Premiere
Sponsor: John Anderson
Categories:
offering, appreciation, love,
Form:
Rispetto
When the sands of life run out for me
And I'm about to die,
Will St. Peter say "Come in, Ma'am,
If I bring a piece of pie?
Gravensteins from my own orchard
Are the apples I lke best,
With sugar, cinnamon, butter, flour.
Recipe on request.
I handle the crust carefully
To preserve the tender taste
And delectable deliciousness.
Not one crumb should go to waste.
I learned the process from my mom
Who learned it from her ma.
Grandma honed her skills a lifetime
Making pies for my grandpa
Who was connoisseur of pie
And ate it every day,
Wanting fresh pie for his breakfast,
Not stale slice from yesterday.
Grandpa's hankering for pie, perhaps
Brought him to early grave.
Dad said if pie should bring him harm,
He'd just try to be brave.
My apple tree is bearing
An unusually big crop.
My family is clamoring
For apple pie non-stop.
Last week I had no money
When the tithing plate came by.
I hoped no one was looking as
I left an apple pie.
This week a plumper minister
Could not quite meet my eye,
But when my money hit the plate
I'm sure I saw him cry.
If you think I am just bragging
About my luscious pie,
I'm taking one from oven now.
You're welcome to stop by.
For Linda Marie's contest. "Dreamy Desserts"
Placed 8th
Categories:
offering, food
Form:
Narrative
I offer you a glance
And our eyes instantly lock.
An unexpected shiver runs through me
And time stands still on the clock.
I offer you my hand
And you take it warmly into yours.
No words have to be spoken
Yet we have opened so many doors.
I offer you a dance
And our bodies meld together.
We are both in awe and astonished,
Both wanting this to last forever.
I offer you a kiss
Which makes us quiver in delight.
The passion and the pleasure
Intensifies through the night.
I offer you my heart
and I trust that you won't break.
To fall in glorious love
is a risk we yearn to take.
3/6/2009
~Posting my first poem had me feeling both nervous and excited, would other poets like my poem, and I was happy knowing others were reading my words, getting warm comments was the best feeling ever~
Categories:
offering, love,
Form:
Rhyme
make an offering
pray for guidance and answers
interpret riddle
Categories:
offering, religion
Form:
Haiku
mangled memories and misery doors of deception and doubt
one way in.... one way out
slumbering children awaken to reality and strife
into world of vibrational frequencies and light
our minds hover in darkness as our senses feel for proof
searching for the subconscious switch that inevitably offers truth
substituting truth for shades of shallow gray
sacrificing sanity as sensibility fades away
listening for the distance knock of oppurtunity
while we granny clutch the gears of spiritual maturity
the body weakens with every passing day
but the spirit strengthens as the flesh is torn away
as we grow old we are forced to believe in something more
to believe in something greater than what we are put here for
we may lose focus and sometimes stray the path
but our spiritual beings ultimately guides us back
the polarities of life imprison our minds
with chains of moral construct
but a beackon of hope flashes within the mind
offering serenity from demoralizing conduct
though we can not physically see... hope does shine
we only have to embrace it in the vastness of our minds
hold true to what is love and hope will play its part
while love paints the portrait hope will convey the art
thank you miss gwen for giving this poem a proper and honorable title i am really bad with titles i suck at it =)
Categories:
offering, love, hope, love, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
As eyes so peer within my depths
With fingers they seem to grasp my soul
My heart beats, quickening by touch
Yet, there you are just looking
Your eyes seem to not only see
But, they too envelop
They make love to my being
As they seduce my every thought
Categories:
offering, passion
Form:
Free verse
My Hopes renewed and doubts subdued,
Pray no grief comes soon intrude-
May Peace of Mind thus tell me true,
"The only one for me is you."
Categories:
offering, grief, hope, peace,
Form:
Light Verse
Theme: Bob Dylan's "Blowing in the Wind"
An Offering of Poppies
His family stays after the burial of his body. They linger at his grave site, each one lost in their own thoughts of the beautiful young man who gave his life for them and for country. Each one remembers their own special moments with this man whose potential had once seemed so boundless.
To the war he was forced to go despite his abhorrence for violence and despite the foreboding that followed him there to that crazy place where sanity was forsaken amidst pandemonium. At times he stood among sentries whose occasional shots into the dark reverberated beneath a pall of dread and uncertainty. At other times he witnessed inconceivable horror as blood-sprayed children wailed, kneeling over the torn bodies of their siblings or parents. Long after he had returned to his post, their cries would linger in his mind throughout the night. Sometimes he was forced to take part in random missions of attacks though he rarely pulled the trigger on his gun. He did not have to go often into chaos because, sadly, the blast of a bomb claimed his life early on.
Crimson his blood spilled onto the ground that day as the clamor all around him faded away. . . His mother now lays an offering of bright red poppies on his grave.
utter peacefulness
where his broken body rests. . .
the sentries are trees
Categories:
offering, soldier,
Form:
Haibun
The Offering, Translation of “Offrande” by René Etiemble
(Quatrains rhymed abab, cdcd, efef, ghgh, each line made up of eleven to thirteen syllables. Etiemble is wary of free verse as we shall see in the next posting. From his only collection: le Coeur et la cendre: soixante ans de poésie (the heart and the ash: sixty years of poetry). Illustrs. by Hiro Soumita. Paris: Les deux animaux, 1984, p. 43.)
For you! Here are the hands more scarce than chance
the nails of my fingers remain in bud
which never shed their leaves and agonies of perfumes
there fuse their aromas with the roses of Menton.
Here for you my arms, weary of so many wars
so heavy to bear, so many sent to concentration camps,
that the flesh looks lifeless where of late it sagged
in cribs for winter, in chains for summer.
Here for you my breast (did you sense it so close?)
made heavy by sorrow and this darkened core
that the most beautiful nipples in their flesh cock of the rock
achieve fullness: the cause of their desperation
Here for you this yet unformed abdomen which age
nor love can wound: Ah! Don’t let it worry you
even a bit, forgetting your death by drinking its mirage
and to want to die by drawing the screen!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
offering, devotion,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
"The Elemental’s Confession as a Peace Offering"
In the moment I lost my head
my hands tied without voice
I wasn’t crucified
I was looking for some kind of
release from the solitary confines
of a confessional habit that was
reclaiming an unknown peace
bare legged, yet not running
with the violins soaring
in a sore heart
I was elemental,
some unknown mysterious being
suspended inanimate
in shades of dark amber
immaculate, impaired and too late
crackling through the cameo potentate
black capsuled and swallowed by bitter smiles
with my precious time drowned
in captured glass, scrying,
peeling back all the layers
a confession waiting
unholy and holy
escaping a small mind
metronomed and pulse
throbbing towards you
telepathically,
my sonar to this day, bleeds forth
encircling your heart
it is where I worship
it is my church
bleeding tired heart beats
like a cathedral organ
pipes smoking, a tortured phantom’s hymn
of an unending time it would seem, within
the brutish Bardo, Vulgate immersed
mind staked in the fire, still,
passionate and burning
disconsolate
restlessly waiting
for your confession
to me,
that never came
to finally be opened
to finally be set free
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"I burned your picture last night
just to see you move.
smoke illuminating
from those flashing signs"
1. Habit
2. Confession
3. Bardo
4. Vulgate
5. Elemental
6. Potentate
7. Immaculate, impaired
Categories:
offering, dark, forgiveness, freedom, love,
Form:
Free verse