Best Polestar Poems
As the moon bled
Into the night,
The waves danced
With the lilting wind,
He stood there
Remembering her,
How their souls merged
Like the sand
And the sea,
She was the flower
He, her perfume,
She was the sea nymph
He, her song,
She was the breeze
He, her direction,
She was the polestar
He, her night sky,
She, the butterfly
He, her wings,
She, the hummingbird
He, her nectar,
She was the silence,
He, her voice,
She was the poem,
He, her words,
Together they
Blended well,
Leaving footprints
In the sea of life.
04.09.2021
For Robert's "Relationships" contest
Winter Roses - Mystic 11-8-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter Roses
white winter roses
amid the wrath of blizzards ~
born in summer wombs
seeds baptized by rain
birthed in warm breaths of sunlight ~
autumnal surprise
frosty solstice queen
dressed in a gown with sequins ~
winks with aurora
pink frost party dress
hues of jewel tones glitter ~
cold winter thriller
magical snowbells
descendants of vernal joy ~
wears chilly bloomers
peppermint ice roams
with soft pompoms like snowballs ~
stays to kiss springtime
polestar spreads her seeds
as tempest breath turns sultry ~
artic roses sleep
mystical flower
a rose blooms at the manger ~
yuletide miracles
..............Baby Steps Out..
..........There's a waiting world
.......Doctors nurses eager staff
......A doting father, mother in pain
.....It is said that we chose our birth
....An act of free will, desired destiny
....The paths are all charted by our will
....This birthday I decided to recall..loll
......A memory jog, back to time of birth
.........An unborn peeping into his future
..............The little steps on roads ahead
.................Unfolding destiny milestones
.....................Cherished moments in wait
.....................Some vivid some smudged
.....................Hand drawn on masterprint
..................Paths to travel people to meet
................The resting places n thirst stops
...............Careful leaps on stepping stones
...........The journeys that were yet to unfold
.........All vivid in storehouse before take-off
.....In the sojourn I was told: Precious is birth
...In baby steps or our giant strides a purpose
.The joys or sufferings are like passing screens
There is an axis a polestar guiding & connecting
A constant the unchanging in all that is changing
Distracted get our senses by colors cacophonies
.Not difficult to lose the picture in such a journey
...Precious is birth- holds many a promise....es ....
......like many seeds...finding ground.. ..yes !!
.........pods germinate ..stored... ..loved ..
...............friends near far ...unmet :)
......................thank you.....<3.....
.................................Fam ....frnds
.........................................................for remembering
.............................................................flowing wishes
As the moon bled into the night,
The waves danced with the lilting wind,
He stood there remembering her, how their souls merged
Like the sand and the sea,
She was the flower, he, her perfume,
She was the sea nymph, he, her song,
She was the breeze, he, her direction,
She was the polestar, he, her night sky,
She, the butterfly, he, her wings,
She, the hummingbird, he, her nectar,
She was the silence, he, her voice,
She was the poem, he, her words,
Together they blended well,
Leaving footprints in the sea of life.
Originally written on 04.09.2021 as Anacreontic verse,
revised on 04.30.2021 to Free Verse
When I, like an old professor, scoff all to shape;
My inner child scratches me within, like an ape.
I laugh aloud forgetting all belittling ills;
He says, I'm a hyena, and thus my zeal kills.
I cry and he says you're a soft sensitive girl;
And my emotional eruption gets a curl.
I lay peaceful wanting to have 'Kumbkarna' sleep;
He laughs at me and says, sleep has nothing to keep.
When I, like Buddha, go to the 'Bodhi' he says;
Any tree is 'Bodhi' if you're in Buddha's ways.
Each work he criticizes yet he's not ill-willed,
It's because he's my true and only inner child.
My child is critical yet so objective too,
He is, to his conscience, always honest and true.
It's he, yet, my life, like a judge, evaluates;
Owing to him, as the sun, my life operates.
Times might change; years become eras; life designs all;
The child in me, like the polestar, directs my call.
N.B:
1. Kumbkarna is an Indian mythical figure who slept for six months continuously every year and slept again once his appetite went down.
2. Bodhi is the holy fig tree under which Gautam Buddha received enlightenment.
9 September 2021
Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Consciousness Correction – 11-20-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Consciousness Correction
Envy sneaks in unseen
A thief robbing light from my house of gratitude,
Sowing simmering anger, extinguishing thankfulness,
In blind yellowed views
Gratitude held captive,
Strangled,
Pennies of “I wish” tossed into stone cisterns
Where winter thrashes cyclconic -
Vortex of a gleeful witness to spring’s demise -
Dead-ends swell in jealous broken branches,
Wrapped in near sighted stigmatisms,
Lenses smeared in covet.
Stone citadels rise from my naked spite,
Blind to confessions of incense,
To curl into deep pools
Poisoned by tainted pools of jealousy,
Creeping to the heights of entitled grudges.
Yet nascent vines, fragrant with focal points,
Blooms of correction,
Slip between crumbling buttress mortars,
Sachets illuminate good will
In wreaths of newborn appreciation
That knows its need for candles of kindness
My thankful eyes, that walked in darkness, see
To embrace armloads of miracles come into focus
Reappearing from soot blown corners.
Scales fall in melting flakes
From my bloodshot eyes,
New sight nourished in a corrected wash -
Sweet nectar of reckoning
By a brilliant polestar of clarity magnified
Opaque about-face.
All alone, just by myself
I journey through life,
Many walk alongside
Yet all along, I but walk alone.
Slowly, steadily at an even pace
Resting, but a wee bit awhile,
Milestone after milestone
Wearily, I walk the well-trodden path of life,
Never ever straying afar
Never wading into the rough waters
Just anxious to get somewhere,
Just eager to find myself
a patch of cool shade away from this
searing heat of the mid-summer day.
No compass in hand
No polestar to guide
No beacon beckoning
No sails set
No winds of the sea to steer the course
as I voyage through life
Just hoping to drift rudderless
into some safe harbor someday.
Every so often, I pause to look back
and see only my shadow
grudgingly tagging along
And this winding road
relentlessly trailing behind.
The surrounding silence hangs
like a cold breath in the air
And the waves of the turbid waters
urging me onto its stygian depth.
~Contest "J" Poetry
~Sponsor: Constance La France.
"Own It" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
In the corner
Is my pole star
Light and insight
Never blur
In the corner
Balm they are
For wounds of war
When sun is dark
Empty the park
In lingering pain
limps the lark
Inside the clock
Hours of shark
Roads are blocked
Rooms are locked
Sky has fled
Dreams are dead
I look for the corner
The soul warmer
Delight serene
Ever green
The brilliant shine
The mighty minds
The hill fountain
The lovely pens
Immortal stare
William Shakespeare
The world adores
Bard Tagore
Jibanananda
Clouds in calypso
Brilliant tussle
Bertrand Russell
I sit with them
Love the gems
A river shore
Ennui no more
Lovely grace
All silk and lace
Doves umpteen
My bookshelf green
In the corner
Shines the polestar
_____________________________
26/03/2017
Note: Jibanananda Das, a Bengali poet, writer, novelist and essayist, is often acknowledged as the premier poet of Bengali literature after Rabindranath Tagore, and considered as one of the greatest modern poets in Bengal.
As a representative taste, an interested reader may go through, BANALATA SEN in English translation at poemhunter.com
Gosh, Whom should I thank?
I know nobody of any rank,
Verily neither my peers nor kith and kin.
In the game of life there's no win
No love, no gratitude nor preference;
God, only towards Thee is my reverence.
The wordly gifts I seek not
Heavenly bliss let be my lot -
Ambrosia nor Elixir or Caviar,
Neon light, spotlight nor Polestar,
Knight, nobleman nor king or priest
Save a loaf of bread and wine feast!
~Giving Thanks for 2015 contest by Carol Eastman
You see me at my birth,
Like a fresh flesh dumbbell;
Sing lullabies with mirth,
As silent as mumble;
Ease me, in quilt of care, lest I fall and crumble...
You fix your eyes on me,
At my sleep dream and wake;
Tingles and smiles in me,
You make like fancies fake;
My psycho-physical soul-soothing solace sake...
My childhood you take care,
Like hens to their chicks do;
Adulthood with joys fair,
Like petals and blooms, glue;
Crystal-like, my thought and words, you make glassy true...
When I face test of death,
When God calls me home back;
My body with no breath,
Lies like a torn rag sack;
You pave, for my journey, a peace-filled divine track...
May my moments, betwixt,
Beams of hope, Angel dear!
May my mind and heart fixed,
On God the polestar rear;
Thus, may my grave, heavenly womb-like comfort bear...!
12 December 2021
''A'' Forms, New Poems, 10 or more lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The night was calm and breezes free,
A silken gown wore the trees,
The night walked with divine beauty,
Firmament had an utopic shine.
A gift of nature was her voice,
Dazzled like a polestar with platinum poise,
A treble of heaven played by God,
The night was calm and breezes free.
Her sanctity was a dove of Venus,
Her music crafted an art of genius,
For thousands slept a sleep of heaven,
When the night was calm and breezes free.
What joy it gave has little claim,
The appollian treasure I had attained,
My vacant heart as a wandering bee,
Desparate for that honey of glee,
When the night was calm and breezes free.
In my tender age, darling, and in yours,
Midst looks... smiles... within, yet, with many wars,
Timid, insecure, nervous, bashful, shy,
Watching all around whether there's a spy,
Planting that rose betwixt index and thump,
My blood pressure rose as my heart fast pumped...!
The rose inside my heart tingles my veins,
Pricks my flesh and bones and my body pains;
It jumps, leaps, bounds, walks, bikes, runs, and, dances,
Toward cloud nine, at random advances;
Years, though, have passed and seasons have altered,
Its color, shape, and form are not faltered...!
Scents and frankincense fragrance, within, spreads,
Beads of faith and humility it threats;
Thoughtfulness and caring and compassion,
Become ceaseless existential fashion;
Temporal tasks turn tranquil; trouble-free
This rose, sure, is, the polestar of my sea...!!!
22 March 2023
The Rose Inside My Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Still you are
with your lamp of trust
searching the gold coin.
lost in darkness
swept by coincidence
still you are
with your mast of hope
sailing to the polestar
lost in darkness
swept by coincidence
however
anchor is waiting
here or there
All alone
just by myself
I journey through life,
Many walk alongside
but all along I walk alone.
Slowly, steadily
at an even pace,
Resting but a wee while
Milestone after milestone
I walk but wearily
the well-trodden path of life,
Never straying afar
Never wading into the rough waters
Just anxious to get somewhere,
Just eager to find myself
a patch of cool shade away from this
searing heat of the mid-summer day.
No compass in hand
No polestar to guide
No beacon beckoning
No sails set
No winds of the sea
to steer the course
as I voyage through life
just hoping to drift rudderless
into some safe harbor someday.
Every now and then
I pause to look back
and see only my shadow
grudgingly tagging along,
and this winding road
relentlessly trailing behind.
The surrounding silence hangs
like a cold breath in the air
and the waves of the turbid waters
urge me on into its stygian depth.
~"Any New Free Verse Poem" contest
by Lu Loo
though avast percentage
of Stone Temple Pilots, she push peep pulls
viz vernacular speaking population
to most pious take as gospel
every word in religious tomes
their collective soul asylum polestar,
and doth decree important doctrines
with especial accord
equal insignificance applied toward
Judeo-Christian holidays across the board
thus easter tis no exception to the golden rule,
where santa claus reached an a chord
follow auspicious signs alit in the night sky
shaped like a drinking gourd
perhaps amassing plentiful harvests
upon hamlets strewn
across scantily populated Earth
asper cornucopia exhibited secret hoard
sharing plentiful Horn
(and Hard art learned lesson)
to stave off barren ness, ignored
going forward seeding nascent
March Madness with help from Lord
and Tailor as midwife hoot
tended Ville Nova moored
by Wildcat fanatics, who unbelievably
espied heavens cleft asunder
and golden rays poured
while collective spectators loudly screamed
akin to the soundgarden
of ferocious cats roared
witnessed history scored
earning players knighted
with Excalibur sword
thence entire team handed
Taj Mahal shaped award
which aforementioned ass hide lacks, cuz zit
happens tubby April Fool's joke
thus above iterated verses somehow
needs just a little bit of relevance to yoke
thine admitted ambivalent reaction to sports,
yea aye pay figurative toke
hen to Rabbinic, generic fanatic primal
tribal village people clan destine woke
and swinging focus of this poem
back toward Religious perp ported berth
when (sans antiquity) trumpet signaled
thus, any superstitions blew away dearth
when distant shofar heard
in every home and hearth
anticipating arrival of the Easter Bunny,
who brings mirth
and hop poly distributes sweet treats,
which children as grown adults,
no matter necessity for teeth to be removed
the sugary over indulgence wool worth
today thee American Dental Association chastises candy
manufacturers bandying more weight
gaining deadly, debauched, and decadent, trait
then adultery verboten fruit to sate
hash-tagged reprobate.