Best Populated Poems
How populated this lonely world often feels
with so much warm flesh living cold and stony.
Some days, we ache for someone to hold us,
smile into our eyes like they wholly know us.
As humans, we talk and talk our searching words
though others grasp only their perceptions heard
and live unaware that their walls thus occurred.
Hearts all desire an embraced soul revealing
of where’s and why’s behind the how’s they’re feeling.
Such tries manifest puffed effects, sky floating
on breezes society contaminates with
numbing subliminal fears to which we succumb.
All emphasized in society’s vise pounds
false perceptions that comfort some lives,
allowing them to safely hide in boxed alibis
where their dreamy feelings lay to perhaps die.
Deep is our need to be known and understood
as a person of unique meaning and worth.
Seems to me, hearts may be seeking in blurred rote
for meanings rarely clear after emotions smoke.
It was very hard for me growing up
As had to raise my two months old cousin.
Me! An adult at the age of six, yup.
After three years, my aunt gave birth to twins.
Then, three years more and their sister was born
To get trained after getting a degree
In the populated house, was forlorn.
Thought for a job to have my own life’s spree.
Then, the uncle and aunt died suddenly
Leaving my four cousins under my care.
And my dream to have my own died wholly
Though my head said, “No, It’s not fair, not fair”.
But my heart won over my head duly
Now the four cousins are my life only
+++
Based on a true story
December 8, 2014
Form: Sonnet: (Tetrameter)
Second Place Win
Counted on howmanysyllables.com (Total 140)
WALKING NEAR THE WATERS
Under the warm golden hug of sunrise’s bliss
shielded by rugged ridges and flagging trees
emerged a peaceful scene.
Through the clear, somber, sleeping, water
sunlight revealed shadows spelling odes beneath;
odes unfolded by rising ripples in cerulean gleam,
touched by nothing but the gliding breeze which
seizes silt and shingles causing baby currents lift.
Sparkling like priced pearls in the still noon,
their waves, a calm heart’s pulse, speak.
I linger, tranquil, afloat in the ageless ocean’s
lea, sitting on a dry old rock-sheltered bank,
drinking the healing power from the scene.
Time is suspend; I see the lake like a child,
the ridges and trees, His grand legions line.
The shadows stretch, His noble progress to a life
unfurled during years of swarming battles.
But, He has a wealth of hope and stood amidst
the sudden ripples; unmoved by fear, for He
can hold the shifts. He who’s polished tough
and wise has championed in a sunken time.
He matured. He populated good influence
calling others to imitate his stance. He promised
life without fear cherished with gratitude, and
his shared touch was not dulled by passing years.
His memory endured, so many remember Him.
______________________________________________________
~Inspired by the painting: Lake by Georgia Engelhard ~
***For the painting, Debbi Guzzi's Ten Paintings, Ten Poems, Not for a Contest, thanks for the wonderful experience.
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
9:17am, January 14, 2015
Little Corona
declared one day
"I will be the strongest,
most powerful I say !"
"I shall conquer the world,
and establish my reign.
The world in my hands,
never free again !"
"The fittest shall survive,
as Darwin said.
And all the weaklings,
will sadly be dead"
"Ridden with fever,
cough and cold,
the world will suffer,
the young and the old...."
"My reign will start
where its most populated,
I think its China"
little Corona speculated.
"I will then go on
to the Americas,
the world's most famous,
celebrated landmass."
"And that's not the end"
little Corona went on,
"I will destroy the world,
my reign will go on !"
"I will make sure,
none can escape, NONE !!
Try as hard as they might,
to fight me or run."
"I am the most powerful,
and I am very clever.
I will conquer the world,
You can defeat me NEVER !!"
Or so Corona thought,
being little and immature.
But man is much smarter,
and will certainly find a cure !
Picture Perfect
Positioning round, global meltdown
Searching for that something not meant to be found
Conditioned we craze, our over populated phase
Why ask questions if the real issue you're scared to raise
Reflexive intuition on which status or position
Freedom to live our lives under certain strict conditions
Egotistically incorrect, assets counted as debt
Proud to be another uneducated intellect
Properly addressed, to crooked to confess
Wondering who is it next that I must impress
Silently ashamed, only false within our fame
Last ones to realize it's all just a game
Shackled in restraint, lies blessed by a Saint
You can't paint a perfect picture...
if there is nothing perfect left to paint...
04/16/17
By its very nature it is romantic and inspired. It sends out a message to snuggle ever closer. Thinkers are blessed by the lack of distraction, and dreamers are, now and then, prolific with its abundance.
Its arrival is a security blanket for poets-an inspiration for their moods. We are those that let it do our running from the humdrum of the ordinary. No other force in nature is so powerful, so all-encompassing, so awe inspiring, and so kind. Unwanted forces can only penetrate the veil fleetingly, then disappear from sight and sound.
The appearance is unstoppable and, for us dreamers and poets, most welcome. Dreams are real if only for the moment. Difference disappears, as does sameness. A million tiny get-a-ways are yours for the seeking; minute worlds populated by one or two.
I cherish these moments of arrival for it covers the real world and seems to balance nature. When its task is done it departs slowly, cautiously. It is gone, but it lets you know it will return and diminish your problems once again.
Hurry back, fog...hurry back.
19 Nov 1990
Sometimes to no avail
You struggle to be different
Like snowflakes you fall
Believe you are vindicated, distinct and exclusive
With innovative design and crystallized mind
Attempting to impress everyone with the hand you have
only we all have the same cards
Razor sharp edges and frosty images
We are slush after a too many Sunday afternoon
Deteriorated with a warped spinal column and a stone-washed mentality
Liquefied by last season's snow boots and plowed to the side most of the time
Human quality is overstated and overrated
the world is far too over populated
we are all the uniform
snowflake
with carbon bonds, hydrogen and oxygen
I doubt my DNA complexity is what makes my soul mine
We are all hypocrites, benevolence is only to benefit ourselves
When you come out of the cloud your eyes are misted and your judgment’s
twisted
With age it doesn't get better only you assume you grasp what you require
But really you've been programmed and proselytized until you do not know what
you desire
We come out with different intentions and modifications but I’ll see you in the end
Still that damned snowflake condemned
Every morning upon rising
Routinely searching my vital signs
As a poverty stricken person
Searches pockets for spare change.
The grim news reports,
The skyrocketing death tolls,
Mausoleums more populated
Than the emptied churches,
Many desperately seeking God
From the confines of their dwellings.
I remember the time, early in life,
When I use to peer from my window
Into the darkness outside
For the headless Dullahan at the reins
Of the Cóiste Bodhar (coach-a-bower),
Its four black black horses
Powerfully pulling the death coach
Up to my front door, as I ruminate
On the words of Yeats, casting
A cold eye on life, on death.
Life, death, such separate entities,
Or so it seems, on the surface.
Yet, forty-two years of lessons
By grieving families have only
Taught me the oneing of life, of death.
As the beloved Anchoress of Norwich
Gazed out the window of her cell
Upon her nation devastated by
The Black Death and war,
So I gaze out my window on a world
As broken by plague and political violence,
And am comforted by the word of Christ
To this simple Middle Age mystic,
“All shall be well, and all shall be well,
And all manner of thing shall be well.”
(c) 2020, Robert Charles Wagner.
those moments i hold
when love held me
jewels that adorn my memory
some are of you
others are lodges far deeper
a populated field of young
wannabe future all-stars
filling a sandlot full of future
where wild horses reign free
you lost in hugging the dog
the cat cuddles up next to you
even deeper those pigtails
the temptation before me
how else do you tell them
I have it bad for you
which I had perfected
the moment I saw you
that instant love brings you
into its' sweet embrace
and so I measure life
as such
these jewels within memory
and nothing in life may intrude
bitterness stands as an anathema
before Grace
I give no quarter to resentments
because I have no expectations
wherever life takes me
this is the only bag I carry
love's sweet embrace
life is a miracle
deserving a devotion of gratitude
Oregon 7/23
She is the reigning queen of poetry soup
Producing a plethora of poems at will as from a mill
Children or adults, she fits into every group
A woman of childlike innocence and goodwill
Though her poems cannot be ranked first rate
They flow smoothly with ease, and never need edit
Hardly enters a contest but has written everyday till date
And she has thousands of poems to her credit
Her world is populated with fairies and elves
Thus endearing herself to all children
For whom she works and they closely follow her heels
With a fiery passion for poetry, she is driven
This poetess from the United States
Resides in a world of fairy tales and fable
With flair, umpteen poems she creates
And joyously wears a poet’s illustrious label
Her poems are peppered with a pinch of humour
She is warm and genial, seemingly untouched by strife
Driven by distance, all I can do is to pray for her bright future
And wish her many more years of creative life
(Wrote for Paean on Poets Poetry Contest
without knowing that its form should be limerick)
OPEN APOLOGIES TO CHINA
My sincere apologies to the nation China.
Light Dawns when there's illumination, situations becomes clearer.
I have stained your flag,
Disdain your land and given you a tag:
"Populated poisonously polluted people",
Gradually the world begin to see the real evil.
Sorry for the woundable worrying words
Targeted at you but we know the odds.
Vocable virucidal venomous attacks
Your whole land has taken while on the tracks.
Here comes the time to jettison wrong accusation
That isn't validated by a misconception,
Especially when the four beasts bible prophesied begins to show up,
Wuhan being a testing ground for 5G and Corona is sad enough.
Let's hope for the prevailing of God's agenda.
Accept my sincere apologies China.
VickWizzy
Copyright © 13th April, 2020.
Many place names in Australia reek of notoriety and oppression
Where massacres took place, involved first nation native population,
men, women and children, demonstrates gross inhumane expression
Many of these place names remain, Bones Knob, Murderers Flat, Skull Creek
are mapped in a university publication
The area where my family resided
may similarly have followed, same infamous identification
My paternal Scottish ancestors, original settlers on our family farm from eighteen sixties,
a time of many massacres
With axes sweat and labour cleared the timber, populated the land with sheep
Were they involved in a massacre? And if so, my father, was it a secret he did keep ?
Existing on the nearest road a signpost declaring Butchers Ridge
only a couple of hundred metres from the old original family home
Allegedly named after a horse called Butcher
far and wide he purportedly did roam
When I was young, the story I was told about this horse
he repeatedly escaped from his owners farm, crossed a bridge
Was always discovered on a sloping piece of land,
hence the area was given the name of Butchers Ridge
A different story of the naming of this area which makes more sense
was revealed by mother after father passed away
A massacre took place giving this area its name, about which my father never spoke
did my father bear inherited shame ? It's history now no one can really say
One full moonlit night, around the time of one unable to sleep
decided to arise, some teenage pleasure I would seek
Go fishing catch a big bag of speckled brown trout
from the stream there known as Butchers Creek
Halfway between the house and my intended destination
an eerie whooshing sound right above my head
Look up !! Nothing visible on this very still clear night
Very quickly reverse my fishing decision !!! Hastily run back to the safety of my bed !!!
I have spoken to several first nation dreamtime elders about this weird eerie sound
i experienced on that distant fishing full moonlit night
They say its first nation native spirits venting anger
thus responsible for my fear. I think they may be right
There were special places
where the mind could hide,
way up in the branches
of a tall tree, safe within
a ball of leaves,
halfway to heaven.
Or on a bike aimlessly riding
streets when the hypnotic
hum of tyres and the constant
rhythm broke through
and sent me
into a pleasant trance
as if the body was floating
free of the ground.
Then there were places
where you couldn't hide,
dark and musty hollows
they called holy places
populated with legions
of dead souls sniffling
their sorrows
in the candlelit air.
Dark cubicles carrying
the odor of sin,
the sour breath of absolution
filtering through
a curtained grill.
And all around, images
of pain plastered on walls
pressing a claim
for love under the threat
of everlasting fire
just for refusal.
It all sounds silly now,
the hellish props stacked away
in an unused corner
covered in ash.
Discarded remnants
of an ill informed past.
And yet at times, I am sure,
I can feel something small
still twitch on the end
of a severed nerve.
I call out. But nobody
seems to be there.
"And I rejoiced in being what I was:
In the lilac change, the white reptilian calm,
In the bird beyond the bough, the single one,
With all the air to greet him as he flew..."
From: "The Rose", by Theodore Roethke
One much given
to introspective self absorption,
little inclined to action,
I record this plaintive piece.....
The years go by and, though I age,
I am still the lone, unwanted one.
Early it was I learned
to embrace pain, or to avoid it.....
never to invite, through any expectation,
added disappointment.....
penning solitary lines,
mere mental meanderings.....
My drab world,
all dry sand and clouded sun,
sparsely populated,
was a nearly vacant, arid desert.
My laurels for achievements
I, and others, immediately devalued.
Nothing I did could
be worthy of a lauding.....
no good could come from
an unwanted one,
one outside the pale.....
not from such a joyless one.
The years go by, and still,
I am I.....the lone, unwanted one.
poverty a driving force
The crimes are high
Is like the jails is no new news
To be over populated
Why this crimes here and there
Who is to be blamed
For poverty drives the people
Insane in this world now
Like a force it hit the people
Like a tornado
Yet they don't care about us