Best Philip Poems
Quiet, pensive, waiting, from out of nothing, a flash, dancing!
Back and fourth, faster, bolder, more beautiful, more radiant…
The sound envelops, and the beauty firmly wraps its hands around my ears…
Relevance and resounding, growing, pulsing, whipped into a fever!
And then easing back just a bit, like a rest to enjoy some perfect nectar of echoes.
Then back again to churn, not with blades, but with brushstrokes.
The pulsing art grabs my soul and I sway to the rhythm, the life, the light…
All around me, so necessary is this, something so pure and powerful.
Flex and twirl in the rays of sunshine, on coming the clouds and thunder!
Pounding out the feeling, the pace is relentless, but in my arms, pushing, harder!
Squeezing ever ounce of love from the air, the earth, the fire and then easing again.
Dripping with sweat, a deep breath, another, still moving but slower now.
More deliberate, but still full and open, slowly, gently, slightly and then quiet.
Categories:
philip, art, music
Form:
Free verse
Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt,
(Tribute to Philip Freneau and his poem,
The Dying Indian)
Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt
I welcome you- sweet dawn, soft break of day
As your vibrant voice sounds, seeming to say
Lad, I bid you relief from dark and gray
Feel my coming golden rays and rejoice
So precious life's gift, giving love free voice
Embrace your honor, honor that wise choice-
You are of braver heart, red is your blood
You are red-man, Native pride your soul floods
You hunt ancestral lands, wade tidal muds,
There amidst tall trees, beauty of the glades
You young lad are of pure Native blood made
Spirit must stay strong, as your time soon fades
In dreams, you sail to paradise isles
You race through countryside for miles and miles
Live, soon your tribes will become sad exiles-
As you dare the great beast to your soul fight
Search mysteries that hide truth out of sight
Know that same hungry beast, will your race smite!
Alas! Fate's wicked hands, its evil sends.
Stopping mercy, from which Heaven descends.
I beg mother earth, this carnage avert
Heal dark souls of men, stop such coming hurts
Are we not brothers, made from the same dirt
Do we all not cry, the same red blood bleed
Are we all not sprung from weak mortal seeds
In pain, do we not, to same Father plead-
Will violence and death, your greed absolve
Can we seek to, our differences resolve
Must destruction serve as means to evolve,
Is what will be gained, a treasure to you
Shall we learn to love, same sky's glowing blues
Share life's sweet gems, paying brotherly dues
Walk lit paths, love flowering meadows too-
Live serving peace and discover anew
Enjoy a rainbow's hope, its many hues?
Alas! Fate's wicked hands, its evil sends.
Stopping mercy, from which Heaven descends.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-07-2020
Rhyme, ( Written for new blog-- a blog not posted yet )
Categories:
philip, appreciation, conflict, dedication, history,
Form:
Rhyme
The marching band played John Philip Sousa
My daddy held my hand
Lining the streets elbows to my head
My daddy put me on his shoulders, where I could stand
~
The marching marines stopped in front of us
And in synchrony stomped boots our way
The men sang in perfect harmony
Daddy crossed his heart that day
~
And over head, as the men sang
Bursting here and there
Colors of red, white and blue
In patterns, I’d not seen anywhere
~
Some sounded like rockets
Szshoozing overhead
Some were loud like cannonballs
I covered my ears in dread
~
In amazement, I beheld the lights
Were there angels over me?
Exploding in perfect orderly colors
“Daddy, how do they do that? How can this be?”
~
The choir of men sang a special song
And Daddy started to cry
I didn’t understand why
A father with tears in his eyes
~
“From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine.”
~
Then, above the grandest sights
A little girl had seen
Splitting colors like stars and stripes
The happiest, I’d ever been
~
Lights splashing with the music
Bursting colors with the beat
The patters in my little heart
Thrilling for me, a child of three, to have the very best seat
In the parade
Categories:
philip, child, nostalgia, patriotic,
Form:
Philip is an inchworm, he has neither legs nor feet,
He also has no arms or hands like others on his street.
Phil isn’t good at football, and he can’t run round and round.
His hand eye coordination’s missing something quite profound.
He’d like to play a tennis match but can’t for some strange reason,
Golf is just beyond his grasp and will never be in season.
Phil can't do cartwheels, jump, or clap, and rugby's not his forte,
But he's colored like a rainbow, so, who cares if he's not sporty?
Categories:
philip, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form:
Rhyme
He was alone and lonely.
Sadness swept his eyes
before he jabbed at me
with his cynical sarcasm.
He slowly lit his Camel.
It was a simple act of murder
and he was a scholar of sorts –
a player of chess, a fan of poetry.
I knew I was under his scrutiny.
I agree it looked rather suspicious.
After all, the body was there
and I was found holding the knife.
I squirmed under his hard eye
but leaned back into the chair
in front of his desk knowing
he had a soft spot for women.
A hard drinker, he took a bottle
from his cabinet and offered
a glass to me. I didn’t accept
as I knew I should stay alert.
“It was a man, a squabby man,
with a glimmer of glee in his eye,”
I said. “He looked at me, then
threw down the knife and ran.”
Marlowe said, “I don’t think you did it.
There was no blood on your clothes.
Your shoes would have soaked
in the blood and crusted.”
I relaxed a little and offered a smile.
I knew I was home free.
I was glad I had changed my shoes.
“I’ll take that drink now.”
She took the bait…
Inspired by but not entered in Natasha L Scragg’s Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Categories:
philip, confidence, death, murder, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
Goodbye, Prince Philip, husband of the Queen, age ninety-nine.
Thank you, for giving up prince hood from Greek and Danish lines.
Thank you, Royal Navyman, for setting prisoners free;
thanks for wildlife protection and awards as D of E.
January 13, 2022
Contest A Celebrity Epitaph
Sponsor Michelle Faulkner
He was a patient Prince Philip.
Categories:
philip, 11th grade, death,
Form:
Epitaph
Prince Philip with his blest* sterling legacy
keeps reigning midst his regal Queen’s history
marked by God-granted tasks of royal duty
championing Britain and its grand monarchy.
*Ezekiel 46:16 Thus saith the Lord GOD; If the prince give a gift unto any of his sons, the inheritance thereof shall be his sons'; it shall be their possession by inheritance.
January 18, 2022
2nd place, "A Celebrity Epitaph" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner; judged on 2/13/2022.
Categories:
philip, appreciation, blessing, character,
Form:
Epitaph
You look me over as if you have never seen me.
I am dressed in sackcloth, tied to the pole.
I am St. Joan of Arc, my bones burning me from the inside.
You are the inquisitor; you weigh the verdict in your hands
and pick at your fingernails. Or perhaps you are St. Philip Neri
with the heart too large even ribs fall in the byways.
We will stand next to each other in the Hallelujah Chorus --
my soprano to your baritone. You floated off into heaven,
but I burnt to the ground; they gathered my bones for charcoal.
You know, your eyes woke me once in the night
and you shone like Moses' face beneath his womanly veil,
but I, doubting Thomas, could not believe.
Instead, my arms clutched at each other
to drone out the gnashing of teeth.
Categories:
philip, imaginationme, me,
Form:
Free verse
Abide
by Michael R. Burch
after Philip Larkin's "Aubade"
It is hard to understand or accept mortality—
such an alien concept: not to be.
Perhaps unsettling enough to spawn religion,
or to scare mutant fish out of a primordial sea
boiling like goopy green tea in a kettle.
Perhaps a man should exhibit more mettle
than to admit such fear, denying Nirvana exists
simply because we are stuck here in such a fine fettle.
And so we abide...
even in life, staring out across that dark brink.
And if the thought of death makes your questioning heart sink,
it is best not to drink
(or, drinking, certainly not to think) .
Originally published by Light. Keywords/Tags: Philip Larkin, Aubade, abide, death, mortality, depression, religion, drink, drinking, drunk, drunkenness, alcohol, addiction, fear, fettle, mettle, Nirvana, solitude, curtal sonnet
Categories:
philip, addiction, death, depression, drink,
Form:
Sonnet
Stained glass castle
with teakwood walls
fingers heating up the keys
sent soulful down the halls
Leather bound book of Paris
from 1928
maps of streets which know your feet
which your return do wait
Scent of Monaco on your sweater
sand from it's beach in your shoes
You're no longer called a traveler
by these cities you chose to peruse
Home is transient sunshine
through the window at the end of the hall
Love is the way you respond to your friends
when at their wit's end they do call
We hope wherever you are
you carry our names as we part
We value your wisdom and count on your friendship
we wear your tattoo on our hearts.
Categories:
philip, friendship, life, love, people,
Form:
Phillip, dancer of the skies,
Artist of heaven crosswise.
The god of the twin towers
Made obedient by a wire.
Phillip, a winged man.
Elegant and poetic,
Charming and majestic.
City birds above and city crowds below,
Both couldn't fathom
The celestial waltz above New York he showed.
A horizontal thread spread across the top of the world,
Philip escaped into his creative element
Of balanced beauty and eloquence.
For he was not satisfied
Until he walked along his wire in the sky.
Categories:
philip, america, angel, creation, fantasy,
Form:
ABC
The piano music is quieter now
He barely hears the tune
His mother’s right beside him
He wonders if she'll ever know
He was just trying to help
Trying to protect his father
Trying so hard
Just trying
He chokes out one last line
The light is dimming now
He wonders how it is,
To die
He counts one last time
With his mother
Like they used to
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
seven
Categories:
philip, america, anger, angst, conflict,
Form:
At sea
Fish of gold gleams
Old memories return
Beam of sunset’s pink light sent from
Valis
Categories:
philip, memory, psychological, remember, spiritual,
Form:
Cinquain
January years ago, confused far away I was with the cold.
Landed in Bristol on a snowy airport, as snowed were the meadows and frosted my mind.
A trip to say hello and goodbye to a beloved one,
taking my hand, she closed her fading eyes into her last sigh. I saw the dark face of life
turning into the beauty of an angel flying.
Sad and freezing with a bag full of mixed feelings, somebody took us to Norton St Philip in Somerset, just to have some fun. My husband and I were surprised.
Feeling blue we were, but soon the George Inn changed our sorrow into happiness.
Family shared moments for the history of our lives, photos in the white snow for a new album, nice food and a toast with white wine in the George Inn, made my trip to England a especial memory to be remembered forever in my heart.
historic George Inn
~elegance in Somerset~
locked deep in my soul
Categories:
philip, adventure, blessing, emotions, england,
Form:
Haibun
He didn’t make 100
So there’ll be no birthday fest
But the Windsor Castle Chapel
Is where he will lie at rest.
Prince Philip died at 99;
The flags will fly half-mast,
With ceremonies more subdued
Than in pre-Covid past.
The Queen and all her subjects
Will join in to mourn the Duke,
The public told to stay away,
Though not with much rebuke.
The question that’s on all our minds,
The answer far from clear,
Is whether Harry and his wife
Will buck up and appear.
Categories:
philip, death,
Form:
Rhyme