Best On A Lark Poems
Some poets write to glorify the Lord
while others like to sing the praises of
earth’s beauty or perhaps of their adored.
So many write of nature and of love!
Some poets have a funny bone. They come
up with cute limericks while some write dark!
Some rant; some ramble; some write haiku; some
can give great thought, while some write on a lark!
All poets use the themes that suit them best.
Some are eclectic. Others use few styles.
It’s not for me to say what is the best.
We can inform, inspire, bring tears or smiles.
So whether it’s with levity or might,
we poets must take up our pens and write!
Oct. 9, 2020 for Beth Evans' A Poet's Duty Poetry Contest
Submitted Feb. 7, 2022 for 'A STRAND (1068)' Poetry Contest
Dusk shone lavender toned skies upon the mountain field
where scattered trees with wizened limbs were steeled to ground.
High grass tickled their small legs while they giggled and ran.
Intoxicated by freedom from rules and the summon of fireflies,
they were four cousins with jars on a lark never known before.
All under nine but two would wake the morn to lifelong heartache.
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
Sammy went out on a lark
sailing his boat in the dark
and while he got drunk
his little boat sunk
so his hangover went to the shark
Ebola Haiku
They were in command
And should haven taken a stand
Not put heads in sand.
Seems simple to me
For better someone to be
Strings attached cut free.
Where is place to park?
Wondered around in the dark
Learned place on a lark.
Can be contagious
Which to me is outrageous
Said all the sages.
Should we only wait
Not be late and educate
Then start a new trait.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Joan of Arc would never bark
A command out on a lark
But would save the day
In a saintly way
Forever leaving her mark
Every time you walk into my space,
Everything that’s real about me,
Gets erased.
Somehow, it always ends up
My mistake—
Comatose I am,
to my own fate.
I have decades, years
Not knowing how--
Can I fix this ever,
If not now?
Every step closer, you’re closing in on me,
You say cruel things
And then say you’re “helping me”
There’s always Doubt— anxiety needs approval:
I’m still inside this hole and
You won’t hasten my removal.
Will you leave me stuck here?
I bend and bow, and
Bow and bend then try again, somehow-
try once more, again, to get “me” back on track,
Sometimes it feels like “me” is
Never coming back.
Broken me feels lost and helpless,
Ripped with pain,
Broken is still broken,
No matter who’s to blame.
You become a non-person
It happens slow—
you don’t deserve to be respected, didn’t you know?
Everything you say is questioned, your life is made a lie--
You broke their hearts, you nasty person, just lay down and die!
Suffering’s hard, and so is pain,
But there’s no one here to stop me, except me, and its become a game...
Of keeping tabs and hoping you’ll never see how broken I've become-
Yet your words against me are only lies, one day the curse will be undone.
One day, you’ll get a glimpse of your iceberg cold
Heart
The Deja vu police’ll
Catch up to you when speeding on a lark,
And ticket you for lying to GD, pretending--
You were only playing Peacemaker,
Your devotion neverending…..
Oh the Horror of admitting
You were in fact, Ego-sitting!
Then it will be plain,
It was YOU who commanded me to wear the Scarlet
Letter,
Not because I sinned, but because you needed to be
“Better”.
But until then, ‘dear’ Christian(s)
Who committed me to this
Hole,
You currently offer generous condolences to
Yourself, not me, the
“Infidel”…
Parading your mirrored mask,
Your friendly smile--now its on, now its off-- just like a faucet
While behind closed doors you
Spread derogatory gossip—
And there can only be an ugly end to this
Charitable epistle,
I wash my hands of them, and wait for their delusionary lies’ dismissal.
Those who stake their lives on
Crying Wolf may
Seem to have the upper hand,
yet Gd sees through their fake disguises--
and always remains in command.
Patiently waiting
with unseen surprises,
Blatantly ripping off
Their dark, dirty
disguises.
In the green Adirondack foothills lies
the haven of our old summer camp,
once a place of adventure and outdoor joy,
and the loud cries of precocious scamps,
their energy you never could tamp,
scurrying ’round on small, rapid feet,
leaping into the pond without a beat.
I remember coming here myself,
gazing up at the grand totem pole,
the mess hall with fieldstone fireplace,
where countless tall-tales were told,
and lordy, was the pond bitter cold!
There was a trading post for candy, snacks,
and toilets which all amenities lacked…
To scampering kids it felt like we were
far off in a rugged wilderness,
that tall white pines just rolled on
in a vast and uncharted forest,
and we were just the ones to explore it!
The only sign of steel on our trails
was a pair of rusted, forgotten trial rails.
Then I came back here as an adult
and found the revelry was long passed,
the town had bought up all the old camp,
no kids raced swiftly ’cross the grass,
it had been too good of a place to last,
folks blamed it on poor demographics,
cell phones, and parents afraid of risk.
I suppose I should be thanking the town,
because the made the space into a park,
at the very least it will be preserved,
even though it’s missing that old spark,
and youngsters sprinting ’round on a lark,
they’re even cleared out some new ground…
by tearing half the rustic buildings down.
The trading post, now a picnic pavilion,
the staff cabins now an empty field,
the docks pulled up and carted away,
the pond belongs now to minnows and eels,
not entirely sure how I feel,
out there we swam and swamped canoes,
now it’s blocked off from public use.
The mess hall, at least, is still standing,
they say it’s becoming a historic sight,
but to see it still present, all alone,
somehow just doesn’t feel all that right,
with its clap-board fading in bright sunlight,
at least the boat-house still rises near,
though it’s probably collapse within the year.
I turned away in a very glum mood,
made my way to my car rather slow,
thinking of all I had done here
that my children are never going to know,
there are few places like this left to go.
it brings a well-known though to my mind:
Damn you, damn you, damn you time!
One day I decided to go and sit in the park.
I sought fresh inspiration and a new muse!
My decision was the perfect panacea done on a lark.
In no way would my spirit this time me refuse!
I sought fresh inspiration and a new muse.
Out of nowhere a cynosure materialized!
In no way would my spirit this time me refuse.
My heart pounded, I held my breath, I was mesmerized!
Out of nowhere a cynosure materialized!
An angelic ingenue was walking in my view!
My heart pounded, I held my breath, I was mesmerized!
This Woman's presence stopped all of time! This is true!
An angelic ingenue was walking in my view!
Both subtle and profound glamour did she possess.
This Woman's presence stopped all of time! This is true!
Dumbfounded and speechless was I! This I do profess!
Both subtle and profound glamour did she possess.
She had a feline lissome movement in her stride!
Dumbfounded and speechless was I! This I do profess!
Bewilderment and inspiration within did collide!
She had a feline lissome movement in her stride.
A demure aura emanated as she smiled!
Bewilderment and inspiration within did collide.
My composure I tamed for this vision drove me wild!
A demure aura emanated as she smiled.
The most mellifluous "Hello!" exited her lovely mouth!
My composure I tamed for this vision drove me wild!
I floated north and simultaneously, I crashed south!
The most mellifluous "Hello!" exited her lovely mouth.
I was frozen in this most ineffable of human states!
I floated north and simultaneously, I crashed south!
Her chatoyant orbs for eyes launched me right into space!
I was frozen in this most ineffable of human states.
What would it take to keep this moment sempiternal?
Her chatoyant orbs for eyes launched me right into space.
I will never be the same outwardly nor internal!
What would it take to keep this moment sempiternal?
My decision was the perfect panacea done on a lark!
I will never be the same outwardly nor internal.
One day I decided to go and sit in the park!
WTA-IV 5/12/2016
Pantoum Form
*Written in response to Silent One's poem "Unforgettable"
with a challenge request to use the 10 following words-
Chatoyant, Cynosure, Demure, Glamour, Ineffable Ingenue,
Lissome, Mellifluous, Panacea and Sempiternal!
Some questions for you, Little Miss Riding Hood.
First, do you often walk all alone in the wood?
Why yes, as a matter of fact, I do.
I like being out in nature. Don’t you?
Yes, but the wood is scary and dark.
I wouldn’t go walking there just on a lark.
Well, I go out a lot, for my grandma lives there.
Unlike Goldilocks, I’m afraid of no bear!
But I read in some book that a big bad wolf ate
your grandma. Then also you met the same fate.
You’ve read the wrong version of a dumb fairy tale.
It’s barely the truth and things ended quite well!
Well, that’s plain to see. You’re as live as can be.
What actually happened? You’ve got to tell me!
When the wolf in my grandma’s clothes lay in her bed.
I was thinking, “Oh, crap. Is my grandmother dead?”
So the wolf did not fool you, and you did not say
“Grandma, how big your nose is” that day?
Even a fool could have figured things out.
People don’t have noses as large as a snout!
So you guessed right away! But weren’t you afraid?
Your story is nothing like how it’s portrayed.
In my basket I carry a nice big sharp knife.
I used it to take the big bad wolf’s life.
How daring and brave. But your grandma was dead.
At least that’s what every fairy tale said.
Oh, no, they’re all wrong. My grandma’s okay.
The wolf only knocked her unconscious that day.
My questions are answered. I thank you, Miss Hood.
Your story’s not gruesome. The ending is good!
You’re welcome. I think my tale should reinforce
if you want the truth, you should go straight to the source!
This is me conversing with Miss Hood (whose words are in bold print)
For those who do not know, this is a fairy tale for which there are different versions; however, always in the fairy tales Red Riding Hood is tricked into believing that the wolf is impersonating her grandmother, and to me, this just never made sense that someone could not see with their own eyes that a wolf was wearing a grandmother's clothes, so that was my inspiration for this poem
Written Feb. 27, 2022
For A Conversation With A Fictional Character Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
when on a lark, this primate shut his eyes
until sight formed slits doubling up as a wink
this earthling stared hard and scrunched brow
unintentionally mimicking,
the familiar Auguste Rodin statue
likened to a pose when one doth think
perhaps said captive pose pondering
(similar to me) about life on other planets
while I stared at lunar surface
akin to a disc or dime sized skating rink
awash with luminescence
and imaging himself whisked away
by an alien, synonymous
to the peculiar millions miles distant pastische
manifested entity than didst slink
a non hue man feline looking cat in the hat
comical creatures decked out entirely in pink
soft halos conjured up saintly mink
or...a far fetched thought suddenly
came to form in my mind,
that this har creature a found missing link
whose nocturnal glowing facade exploding charade
possibly a message
or motion nothing more
than routine smoothing out an anatomical kink
on front and back oh head resembling
a Doctor Zeus characterization,
viz a harmless rat fink
hm...maybe a vestigial progenitor
of former birth by Gaia now extinct
though from afar, the b52 shaped being
aye espied as fur ball affixed
with a long elephant like snout to drink
and appeared to lack occipital orbs,
yet evinced possible mode to see via a chink
impossible to restrain me noggin
appearing to nod and blink,
--------------------------------
hence entranced my attention fixed
from faint (perhaps a feint)
flickr ring meant as playful faux
role playing lunatic humorous acting wry
impossible to decode explicit antics
(of spacial cosmic guest),
no matter eyes nearly shut tight visual
wondering if non verbal communication
of mine correctly interpreted
meant to kibitz and vie
despite impossibility to validate,
a continuous effort yours truly did try
fixing thy gaze, nee straining
with alm aye might to esse spy
if cheap trick concocted entire visage,
which might not constitute life form
(admitting this chap to prevaricate,
and be full of baloney),
himself prone to confabulate
(dropped one to many times on the head)
when this rocky lunar image,
a moon scape comprising nothing
boot ham and cheese on rye.
mine myopic eyes and ears
sensually and auditorially seduced
analogous to a melodic aire
this quick rhythmic stuttering transposes
gentle natural orchestral autumnal suite
upon limbs gone bare
respectively via constant flow,
a steady thin vail sans vertical crystal clear
beaded pearls (strung together
like glittering jewels) of water
commingling upon terrestrial firmae
liquid readying diverse flora and fauna for winter solstice,
whose deoxyribonucleicacid hibernation genetically coded
multitudinous genus and species of oraganisms
drinking requisite moisture
inducing sleepiness sans flora and fauna musical lullaby,
simultaneously affecting this petsmart human whose ear
(actually both left and right) play significant role to hear
the pitter patter from the slate gray sheltering sky (gone dark)
where the soothing sound linkedin
to Neanderthal Man, hood didst hark
kin to the occasions
when oblate spheroid (and perchance on a lark
proto primate lived here in what became known
as Schwenksville, Pennsylvania, 19473)
encompassing open space and a small park
within Highland Manor Apartments
low slung brick complex thousands of years ago
this land t'was stark
flush with much more innumerable plants and animals
experienced an untrammeled wilderness
even then coveted moisture fallin from sky
as the meterological machine did wark
possibly operated by forerunner to the aardvark
paws sing to relish the fresh
untainted heavenly spring
delivering delicious tasting (maybe like kool aid),
where pools spring beckoning flying organims
on a prayer and wing
to parry and dart with speed most a may zing.
Napping behind bushes at Van Corlandt Park I finally got up on my feet,
and being I was homeless and hungry I started to search for something to eat,
preferring to look for food in the shadow's at night was my objective,
that way I wouldn't be in the spotlight as I hunt around like a detective,
I'd usually go check out all the garbage pails that were put out for the night,
trying to be quiet as I rummage through them for a midnight bite,
finding a lot of leftovers was a cuisine that I'd munch down with delight,
getting all my night time feeding done before the sun light,
Then right before the break of dawn I'd continue on my way,
looking for another park to bed down for a good part of the day,
being a loner I didn't have anyone to give me directions to another park,
so I would just follow my instincts and continue walking on a lark,
Crossing over the Bronx River Parkway I took a chance hoping to find my way,
passing vehicles can tell when they see my coyote carcass which is now decayed.
11-29-16
The wife was just lying their stark
As a young lad puffed on a Lark
Without his pants
It took one glance
To see that her Kent was no Clark!
Hearing subversive, oft-hand remark,
Callously spreading rumor on a lark.
Silhouette of angst o'er mind parks.
Deceitful soul's vast refuge a bulwark,
keeping mind's sentient eye in the dark,
Still short-sighted vision veils a quark,
But to dry, subliminal tinder won't hark.
Fueled consciences' flint strikes spark,
Fanning winds o'er tender psyche arc.
Singeing flame peels soul's, dense bark;
Contrasting light to mind painfully stark
quark: elementary particles having electric charges