Best On Poetry
The wonder of nature you describe with the color of feelings
that even the blind sees the beauty, for you anoint with your sight.
From my forgotten core, words you inspire gush forth in indignant prose
like the lion who protects her young, who roars in warning lest she devour.
You lend me insight from your wisdom and give me laughter with your wit,
you pump the pulse in my veins when passion and sensuality is lit.
You kindle the fire in this heart when love is found
and collect the ash from the burnt cinder that haunts, when love is lost.
You hold my breath in exhilaration when I soar to triumphant heights,
the balm that soothes my pain when I’m down, your song remains
the solace I have found when life is hard, and the one profound
expression of the myriad emotions that defy words of common use.
O Poetry, you bring tears to my eyes, when in your lines I feel God cries
as I endure and withstand the ugliness, the haughtiness, of someone’s pride.
Yet with the turn of page and time, you coax from my lips such radiant smile
for with each stage in this life of mine, a poem is birthed, flutters, and flies.
24 May 2015
Poem of the Week - 31 May to 06 June 2015
Awarded 1st Place for both A Poets's Worth Contest and My Favorite Poem Contest
A first day on Soup is filled with much awe
The wonderful poems will make you smile
Easy is it to fall for all
Some enabled my mind, lingering a while
Just the few Soupers I mention here
Will blow you away with works of this year!
Janet Cervenka almost made us lust
When she penned a piece on Heavenly's bust
Marvelous is the diversity of Jan Allison
Such a dressed gem, and she's only blooming
Nandita then tells us that she's no Jan
Indeed her craft is paralleled by none
Man! the lyrics never cease to flow for Dave
So highly endowed with a skill many crave
You see, my first day on Soup I was greeted by SKAT
Who so humbly laid down the welcome mat
And if there exist a bond no man can put asunder
I have to say it's between SKAT and Linda
O! How can I forget 'Half of A Heart'
A Sara Kendrick special, such design and art!
Who better to mend our Broken Wings
Than the namesake with a quill in full swing
Yes Soupers always brighten my days
Place me in velds full of beautiful haze
And there I spot a Mystic Rose
Defined so uniquely like a Kim Nunez prose
From a consummation a lover was denied
To the hautiness of a lonely man's pride
Whatever we plan to glimpse or scoop
We tend to leave with more from Soup
I post my poems on poetry soup
About farting and guys with brewer’s droop
I’ve been given a crown
And I won’t let Flo down
Be assured I’ll keep on posting my poop!
Posted in conjunction with my blog about my amazing gifts from F J Thomas
25th January 2017
Like hard, dry toast, with no aroma,
Poetry minus heart and soul, puts me in
an endless coma!
My brain short circuits, the longer the poem!
I get a poetic seizure and my mind
is lost and endlessly roams.
Then come the poets, who are would-be
philosophers!
As fascinating, and exciting as wooden bean
counters.
Finally, those poets, who think the divine
Thesaurus, makes a poem a dream?
I sit here, in agonizing tears and do a
howling scream!
11/12/2024
I live on poetry
Instead of money
Means and ends reversed
To alter the curse
Lifeblood runs thick
As stoic veins bleat out
Their passionate terrain
I will die knowing
What life means
So while money hawks circle
Chasing beer and dreams
I will float along
Making food out of song
A bridge from colloquial to courtly
fare
A span where idealism and fantasy
pair
A railway to the existential realm;
celestial lair
A conduit through which rational
discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate,
and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty;
sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter
the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on
civility and decorum
A literary organ; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to
deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational
viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct;
extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring
wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure
gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which
concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by
an idiomatic core
Secretly giving
A gift of words to others
Watch our spirits soar
Dedicated to the wonderful 'angels' on Poetry Soup who gift Premium Memberships
11TH April 2016
The day your pen becomes your past
laid to rest and held its last
shall mark the day my heart is sure
of Silent ache to then endure
The memory of every stroke
echoed in the lines you wrote
engraved remains our history
our life, our love, our legacy
What, you ask, becomes of me?
Of all the love that came to be?
Every word you ever wrote
kept still within my heart of hope
Hope for all the world to know
the depth of love your pen would show
Poetic words you left behind
to guide the hearts of all mankind
-Jeannie Minor
Written in response to the beautifully poetic
words of "Ink Bleeds Only For You" by Silent One
There's a rehearsal in the castle, cult party masquerading on the dance floor latin verse sermons the words heard will entrance you, transfix you,
The devil advances towards you and sits you around the marble table where we talk about our carnal instincts and every situation that we find ourselves deep in.
Morning star calling from the depth of his evil pits where I sleep on bed of nails just to hammer down my dreams with something more uncomfortable than standing on ya steep cliff.
Cold and lonely only having ghosts here to speak with about the meanings of life and the lies that we keep hid.
Within controlling moments of emotions that we sink in and sync with relations on a basis of us needing to create a status where were being with each other cos we're linking and we discover that we break it...... now we're seeing our relationship sinking it sinks to the deep abyss
My vision is impaired by unclear scenes I'm witnessing and feeling sickened to the stomach from the butterflies in flight when my gut instinct senses some lies from bad vibes I'm like
Am I jumping to conclusions straining to think straight brain becomes a nuisance
Am I jumping to conclusions the illusion of love is still just as intrusive.
And I'm tryna figure out what to do brain doing figure eights tryna draw up clue to this mad moment
I feel clueless in bad moods, usually I'm living as if I've something to lose
And now I'm tryna figure out what to do blaming you isn't saving myself from the truth proving our pacts broken.....
......Will I think logical or act on emotion when I'm tryna figure out what to do brain doing figure eights tryna draw up clue to this mad moment
I feel brutal in bad moods, cluelessly now living as if I've nothing to lose
And I'm tryna figure out what to do thinking of a better way to proceed to see all this bull through re-evaluating recent events judging my errors bearing in mind I'm civil and often couldn't be fairer
Anything I tell you isn't out of a conscience I'm conscious but I'm hurting inside and this stomach aches constant
I've put up with this nonsense dealing with ghosts
Like sometimes it bothers me and sometimes it don't
Word-painting, they say; or painting with words,
In charm, it's charmer than most charming birds;
Feeling, for many, is its first foundation,
Expression, in words, brings affirmation;
Sentiment and muse must fondly marry,
Verses should flow-grand rhymes and rhythms carry...!
Does my work, yet, picture of life portray?
Do all colors intertwine, like sun-ray?
Do joys evade the scene when pains flourish?
Does bliss its jubilant psyche nourish?
Do feelings of fear, anger and surprise,
Find: it's impossible to compromise...?
What's the inner-flow of my florid words?
Are they merely beautiful flocks of birds?
Flimsy butterflies that flutter around?
Cats, rats, geese, cattle and horrible hound?
Do beasts of the woods and reptiles well-blend?
With their hitting and killing stories end...?
Do they paint pictures of human struggle?
Or stop just with some selected snuggle...!
The deaf, dumb, blind and the lame, who, in calm,
Add, to this futile life, tremendous charm...?
Young, and old who're, forever, deserted,
In my poems, with honor, inserted...?
Composing poetry, is not mere fun,
A divine mission, with this, is inter-spun;
Painting of actual facts should pave way,
Toward opening of a small headway;
Life without struggles is unfeasible,
Dissensions, yet, could be made peaceable...!
26 April 2022
POEM ON POETRY MUSE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
1.30.17. // 8:54 A.M.
And that day, I told you I was glad
that you made up your mind.
You just kinda laughed
but you didn't say anything.
After 30 seconds of silence,
peacefully holding hands,
with my head resting on your shoulder,
I asked you if you were glad
that you made up your mind.
You said yes.
I asked if you were happy
with where we were.
You said yes.
But obviously you weren't,
because that night,
you said you didn't know
if you liked me anymore.
And not only did you break UP with me,
but you broke ME.
You broke my heart.
And you broke us.
- J.T.A. (“I only dated you because I felt bad for you”)
Someone inquired of me about poetry contests,
And I shared some thoughts and considerations,
The contests, I wrote, are an incentive to write
Learning about poetry’s forms and foundations.
Don’t enter a contest for an opinion of your work
For your very best will sometimes go unnoticed
Some sponsors recognize only what they like
Their credentials for judging are clearly modest.
I have learned which sponsors to take seriously
The ones I want to give my very finest efforts,
Knowing they recognize merit even if I don’t place
I’ve learned few sponsors* are actually experts.
Then, I cautioned, a few sponsors you must court
For they only give placement to their best friend
You’ll identify them right away, the **** for tats,
I don’t take them seriously for any poems I send.
The best poems I write are rarely contest entered
And I enjoy most the poems I write for me alone
So, remember you are writing what pleases you
And if you win a trophy for it, that’s a milestone!
If you enter my contests, I can assure you of this:
I carefully consider the merit of every poem I get
I don’t care who wrote it, whether friend or foe,
When I post my placements, then I have no regret.
[*including me!]
Written July 10, 2022
poetry on poetry:
A true poet tries to write
even when his muse
is silent
Susan Burch 12/18/11
Received 4th place in "poetry on poetry quote" contest
The house is much quieter,
since you went away
I feel so much happier,
without you around
I'm glad your not here today,
to ***** me out
And my laundry's alot cleaner,
doing it myself
You wanted a superman,
which I'm not
And You thought it was funny,
when I fell
I've been on my knees,
praying for this day
So now that you left,
you can go to hell
You always acted like,
you were always right
So what are you gonna do,
without me around
I won't be there,
for you to start a fight
So what are you gonna do,
without me around
You listened to the words,
from your nosey friends
They all had wimpy men,
they could push around
You couldn't cook,
so that ain't no big deal
And I Think you found your friends,
in the lost and found
Especially that ugly one,
who's name was Jill
She had no friends,
you were her only one
Oh how I love it here,
now I'm having fun
I'm glad you left,
It's like heaven now
You always acted like,
you were always right
So what are you gonna do,
without me around
I won't be there,
for you to start a fight
So what are you gonna do,
without me around
Is free verse ever truly free
For the likes of you and the likes of me?
Hours spent in an easy chair
Having evaporated in thin air.
Sage rhyming costs us too you know.
Following us with a willing glow.
The time we spend writing poetry
Is time forever gone for you and me.
Yes when we are gone someone might say
I read great-grandma’s poems every day.
But the likelihood is also true
My only reader is actually you.
You are enough, dear reader, friend.
Appreciate your comments in the end….