Best Pitted Poems
To appreciate our planet,
begin with its snowcapped mountains:
where sunbeams morph crystals of ice
into gems of glistening light.
See pink clouds hover in the skies,
afloat on a vista of blue:
and a setting sun smear scarlet,
onto puffs of marshmallow white.
And jungles, at its equator:
create a sash of vibrant greens;
while burnt sands ripple Earth's deserts,
with shifting dunes of tans and creams.
Watch Earth's leafy forests change from
deciduous to evergreen:
and tundra, pitted with blue lakes,
fade to stretches of virgin snow.
And volcanoes erupt in flames
spewing plumes of ebony smoke:
as lava bleeds from gaping wounds,
while giving birth to molten Earth.
See cobalt and aquamarine
waves, crested with white foamy froth:
and two tilted poles, capped in ice,
sparkle, like crystalline jewels.
View it from afar, as it twirls
within the vacuum of space:
like a phantasmagorical
cerulean marble: called Earth.
The setting Sun singes the edge of Earth:
dimming down, any lingering light found.
And Sol's receding rays give shadows girth,
while ebony slowly engulfs the ground.
Twilight fades, and darkness begins to creep,
silently leashed to an ebon tether.
And from the undergrowth, there's not a peep,
as Dusk stitches silhouettes together.
While the day shuts down, stars begin to show:
twinkling against a drab backdrop of black.
And tides in a cobalt sea, ebb and flow,
while Gaia welcomes a pitted moon back.
Awaiting Dawn's releasing rays of light;
shifting shadows are shackled to the night.
Like a baptismal rite, the waters flow
upon the sandy shore marred by the feet
of travelers. There, in the golden glow
of sun, where sky and land and ocean meet,
each scar is washed away by the deep reach
of faithful waves, poured from the font-like sea;
here liquid spirit bathes the pitted beach
and leaves behind unblemished purity.
I walked along the water's edge and saw
the prints I made, which in so short a time
were gone- the shore, agleam without a flaw,
and I exulted in the holy clime-
As if my soul, like scarred and trampled sand,
was mended by the hallowed sea's great hand.
Inside this temple made of brick and clay
the many shades of your heart
are the prisms of my soul
Pinioned and shackled to your fires
we are vaulted by our own desires
two lovers breathing as one
Outside this prison of hell stands my nemesis
buried behind its boulders I am decaying
like a rotting apple de-pitted then discarded
Bitwise assaults to my soul,
I summon courage and finally break out
of this ridged corrugated pas-a-deux.
Your industrial face carries the pain of waiting;
but it never came.
Your flesh pitted with the scars of wanting;
but it never came.
Your heart heavy with the sorrow of trying;
but it never came.
Your voice faint with the force of praying;
but it never came.
Your eyes pale with the sea of tears;
but it never came.
Your hands drip sweat with the worry;
but it never came.
Your soul cries out from the frustration;
but it never came.
For you, it was never meant to be;
It never came!
© 19/7/2014
The cradle of three of the biggest faiths
Rocked by the claim one agenda stakes
Locked and loaded and ready for war
With righteous blessings for terror and gore
Sentiments civilities and landscapes pitted
All of human decency finally outwitted
A red sun, pooling like a drop of blood:
coagulates at the edge of darkness.
And ebony flows like a rising flood:
black as pitch, inking a seamless starkness.
A gilded moon, like a pitted gold coin,
beams in the sky as a beacon of light.
And twinkling like flashing fireflies, stars join
quasars and pulsars, lighting up the night.
Dawn frets like a nervous actor offstage,
while preparing to introduce the sun.
And as a gossamer breeze comes of age,
morning shimmers, like a web, freshly spun.
And Sol rises: as a golden balloon,
afloat in the air, like a songbird's tune.
I saw an old wagon wheel in the antique store the other day.
What type of vehicle it must have conveyed, I couldn't really say,
But I let my imagination roam as I studied the old wheel,
And pondered its odyssey and what secrets it might reveal.
Its iron tire was pitted and rusted due to age.
The wooden spokes were intact but their age was hard to gauge.
Its diameter was about five feet and its tread six inches wide.
Ah, if it could only speak to me, its mysteries to confide!
Could it have carried a pioneer family in a Conestoga wagon west,
With the anticipation of a new beginning in their relentless quest!
It with other wagon wheels rutted well-worn trails along the way,
And traces of those treacherous routes are seen to this very day!
Could it have graced an army lorry drawn by cantankerous mules,
Driven by a pugnacious trooper to deliver hay, grub and tools?
The wear and tear was evident due to many military campaigns,
Crossing perilous rivers, mountain heights and endless arid plains.
Or could it have borne a farmer's wagon as he plied his trade,
Hauling crops of wheat, corn and oats once the harvest was made?
Oh, the many miles it endured through the mud, dust and snow!
I left the store still musing about its odyssey of so very long ago.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Come close, come closer ...
let me bend your ear, my estranged countrymen
It don’t matter to me
if you’re a Democrat or a Republican
Your political persuasion
is of no concern of mine
Me be a global citizen,
parochial politics, I’m not so inclined
National jingoes
don’t make me do patriotic monkey shines
Us free thinkers,
we got an elevated state of mind
Listen here citizen Democrat,
don’t be no left-wing party socialist cheese eating rat
Listen up citizen Republican,
don’t be no right-wing party capitalist mice eating cat
It don’t matter to me
what your politics be
It don’t matter to me
if you’re a Republican or Democrat
Independently speaking,
neither party got any good stats
So vote however you please,
it simply don’t matter to me
I’m a global citizen,
don’t have no national self-interest
What’s good for humanity is what I want best
Are you listening citizen Democrat,
are you hearing me citizen Republican?
If America is one body,
how is it that the left and right hand ain’t shaking?
They both don’t do enough compromise,
they both love to spew party propaganda lies
History just repeating itself,
another divided house destined to die
Fighting against each other
Civil War
Brother pitted against brother
Rich against poor
Democracy now seeking cover,
done voted themselves a dictator lover
But none of that matters to me ...
I ain’t no Democrat or Republican
No, my friends,
I’m a practicing voter vegan
Don’t have no red meat party allegiance,
got no partisan politics infecting me
I’m a global citizen, 100 percent absolutely
So whatever your politics be,
it don’t matter to me ...
I’m above the fray,
I’m free thinker range-free
The blade penetrated the flesh
like a prong to a pitted plum
he had played with war
toyed with war
yet the gun
well the gun didn't have balls
Not for him the sterile
three shrouds removed
expunging of visera with a gun
sissy pistols
pansy takers
Stick um good
part the seas of red
wake and feed the hounds of war
plastic pop-guns shatter beneath the heel of Mars
Man UP, raise the staff
and shove the pig sticker into mother's child
Oh man, war, Old Man War
do you visit him each night as you enter
what should be the path to love?
Have a poke little man
just remember, all that was is ...
and will be born again.
Dedicated to a constant friend and inspiration Chris Aechtner
Inspired by his write "kids use toy guns'
(Dedication: For Michael Zachary, my son)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sense this knowing: can the blind see?
Homer still sings fond tragedy.
Troy was a thought where siege was laid,
A war well fought as heroes paid.
Love and hate doomed to mortal rage,
Ten years once groomed that fatal stage.
Such fine faces like Archilles,
Hector traces with Odysseus.
Proud Agamemnon did hoard the sands,
Trojans beyond the high walls grand.
King Priam spied Greeks' battle scream,
Aegean waves plied the battle scene.
The rise and fall of heroes there,
The bitter gall of curse and swear.
Both sides pitted to furious fights,
Even witted, no end in sight.
Clever tactics at Troy did sway,
Loss most drastic for each did stay.
So many years the battle raged,
Proud lives and tears on either page.
Weary battles and bloody mess,
Souls now brittle with sure duress.
So many dead in bloodied sand,
The feud most great in defiant stand.
Now crafty thought brought idea grand,
Odysseus's plot to win war's end.
A hollow horse as token gift,
A rousing toss for Troy's uplift.
Greek ships slipped round to hide away,
Vanished fleet found with deceit's play.
This cunning ruse worked with sure craft,
Troy seemed amused with hoarding draft.
Dragged the wood crypt within the walls,
Stupor and script tell of Troy's fall.
In dead of night when sleep wrought themes,
Greeks murdered fight in Trojan dreams.
Homer the blind brought us grand sights,
For here we find our saving light.
Now we can see the fight go on,
Harsh as can be here and beyond.
Wars and battles reveal who's slain,
Man's not gentle who lives harsh gain.
We think and speak to weave fashion,
Give in to streaks of ambition.
The hunter hunts the chase until,
The victim grunts to turn and kill.
Troy and her days remind us still,
Live truce that pays in wise goodwill.
What of Helen who is part myth?
Fond beauty turns a timely drift.
A lovely tale of human gore,
To now assail that love lives more.
Thus all the world remembers well:
Dear heroes swirl just where we dwell!
Leon Enriquez
19 November 2014
Singapore
A spent sun, sullied and bleeding,
starts to sink, defeated by Night.
And chameleon clouds blush pink,
absorbing drops of crimson light.
Vermillion inks the horizon,
like luminous carnival glass.
And a pitted, golden moon shines
like a sphere of unpolished brass.
The sky is cloaked in black velvet;
an ebony softness that flows.
And sleep's allowed to wander free;
to tend to fantasies and woes.
The sun rises like a phoenix
from the charcoal ashes of Night.
And sets the eastern skies afire;
ignited by Dawn's breaking light.
Peach, strawberry, and cinnamon;
tint, scattered clouds of misty grey.
And this mix of pastel colors
indicates that Sol's on His way.
Shifting shadows detach from black
when the sun chases Night away.
And twinkling stars swiftly vanish,
washed away by the light of day.
Luna the Moon
Earth's satellite
My, she looks so lovely and bright
She lightens our lands
In her nightly gleam
This heavenly object in orbit dream
She's pitted and scarred
Through eons of hits
But still above us she patiently sits
Her ability to control our oceans and seas
Is quite a feat, considering where she!
To have the grace to invite us to land
To take her rocks and her lunar sands
So if we decide to habitat the Moon
She's the bride and man the groom
This beauty in the sky who shines at night
For millions of years such a wonderful sight.
It looked like a bleached tongue
pulled from a mouth,
petrified and incapable
now of letting a word slide over
its calcified silence.
I picked it out of the wet sand
and held it in my hand.
It had little weight, smooth
on one side and pitted
on the other. A cuttlefish bone.
It was a marvel of engineering.
My fingers followed its shape,
took in its texture, the pleasurable
feel of its form. I lifted it to my nose
and smelt its salty, faintly fishy
odor, sea washed to a clean
unsullied smell. It had undergone
a change into something
beyond life, into an artifact of time.
I kept it cradled in my hands,
held it like a sacred relic.
I have seen them too
shrink wrapped in plastic bags
on the end of supermarket shelves,
a calcium supplement for birds
to be hung on a hook
inside of a cage.
They were selling for $2.50
or thereabouts.
Within the woods, stood a wall of stone
molded by hands from a distant time.
Though roughly hewn, it had endured.
What narratives could it tell of its past,
this ancient bulwark, built to last?
My fingers traced each pitted wound.
I wondered as to the tragic fate
of one missing mortared rock.
I dared to peer inside the hollow;
the scent of age overpowered me.
A sudden dizziness rattled my senses
with a brief glimpse of a long ago battle
when weapons pricked the rampart's bulk.
This bastion had served as a battlement,
a barricade between differences of opinions.
Was the victory worth the lives forsaken?
Because of it, were families torn apart?
With need to offer words of compensation.
I paid homage to the unyielding wall,
whispering, "Stand strong, brave soldier."
October 6, 2020 ~ A Wall in the Woods
Craig Cornish ~ Sponsor