Best Posthaste Poems
The Shifting sands
Kingdoms of Dunes
Desolate sands
No life. Low tide
Landfalls now twixt mud and sand
And then the seals appear
Their sad calls staying in my memory
I walk the dunes
Why am I sad?
I’ve just returned
Alive and not wounded
The girl I left behind
A friend I thought
No commitment
No declaration of love
The enemy advanced
I was hard pressed
But while in deep despair
I thought this was my end
I realised then
I loved her
But when I came to her
She’d found another
she said “Just a one night drunken stand
So ashamed
Could I forgive?”
Logic says I should
I made no promise
Nor did she
My ego’s not so sure
More seals arrive
Floundering on the mud
They call to me and say
“Forgive her? What’s to forgive?
You had no right
You do not own her.
Go to her now and beg forgiveness,
Declare your love.”
I walk the dunes
Why am I sad?
I’ve just returned
Alive and not wounded
I go to her posthaste
To beg forgiveness
“What for” she cried
“Because I turned my back in wounded pride” I said
“I have no right to judge
Can you forgive me
I love you please take me to you heart.”
Oh Joy unbounded
She forgives me
And offers me her heart
Kingdoms of Dunes
Desolate sands
No life. Except us two Low tide
Landfalls now twixt mud and sand
And then the seals appear
Their sad calls staying in our memories
We walk the dunes
I am no longer sad I’ve returned
To meet my love
First a simple lunch –
soup, salad, rolls and dessert
(and wine if we choose).
Then the book.*
We become critics when we read.
That's half the fun of it.
The other half is the pleasure of the word.
Prose can be poetry.
Our preferences are as diverse as our personalities.
What I like, you don't, and vice versa.
No book appeals to everyone,
just as no work of art is universally appreciated.
This particular book drew various reactions –
first "enjoyment" and then disappointment.
We agreed that the images were vivid
and the metaphors enlightening,
but the story dragged a bit.
The tragedy's resolution,
arriving at the tale's end, was anticlimactic .
Why had the author waited so long
to get the accused off the hook.
The ample evidence could have been revealed sooner, much sooner,
saving us from suffering endless descriptive passages.
Clearly, dangling was the writer's intent.
No one appreciated being dangled.
We wanted the case resolved posthaste,
with fewer stalling tactics.
"Get on with it,"
seemed the general opinion.
Critics should be aware
(alas, we sometimes are not),
criticism is infinitely easier than creation.
Creation is inspiration
mixed with plain hard work.
Authors, like all artists,
have their way with us.
We're simply along for the ride.
As critics we agreed –
a fine journey: long and well worth it.
"Snow Falling on Cedars" by David Guterson
I enjoy reading through the New Poems List
Skipping only those who’ve proven a waste
Naming even ten, so many would be missed
I could never perform this exercise posthaste.
Skipping only those who’ve proven a waste
I find gems in the poetry of at least forty-three
Some of the best are naughty, others chaste,
Occasionally I find one worthy of a grand prix.
I find gems in the poetry of at least forty-three
Naming even ten, so many would be missed,
Occasionally I find one worthy of a grand prix
I enjoy reading through the New Poems List.
Written December 3, 2022
Submitted to "Three Best Poets" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
[modified Pantoum to meet three-stanza
requirement]
They paused neath a tortured moon
whence delusions met ocean tides,
eliciting a volatile hurricane's vortex
masking intentions in the sand,
whilst escaping horizons surrender
under disillusionment of passion
in posthaste of sunlit warnings
hidden amidst clandestine shadows,
wherein night no longer shaded love
CONTEST 247 any form - Brian Strand
I enjoy reading through the New Poems List
Skipping only those who’ve proven a waste
Naming even ten, so many would be missed
I could never perform this exercise posthaste.
Skipping only those who’ve proven a waste
I find gems in the poetry of at least thirty-three
Some of the best are naughty, others chaste,
Occasionally I find one worthy of a grand prix.
I find gems in the poetry of at least thirty-three
I faithfully read every single poem they write,
Occasionally I find one worthy of a grand prix
If I listed three, I’d be certain to provoke a fight.
I faithfully read every single poem they write,
Genuinely impressed and moved by so many
If I listed three, I’d be certain to provoke a fight
For poets are a sensitive group, we’ve a-plenty.
Genuinely impressed and moved by so many
Naming even ten, so many would be missed
For poets are a sensitive group, we’ve a-plenty,
I enjoy reading through the New Poems List.
Written December 3, 2022
[Original version before it was
modified to fit three-stanza
requirement for contest.]
muscles of the clock
shook me awake, as i neared
the slim margin between dusk
and dawn, having slipped
up - intensity of dread —
soft sunlight alarms the blinds.
i attempt to rise,
entangled in shifting sheets.
dripping sweat from every pore,
my feet meet the floor
and i race to the shower. . .
precariously washing.
hair still soaking wet,
i shift into drive posthaste,
find the highway and i race.
suddenly i slide
to a stop, as the clock stands
in my way, then wakes me up.
7/16/2019
Fives and Sevens Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Joseph May
Picture 4
*Time after time - repeatedly
Much like a lucid ambient layer—
I find myself floating down to the surface
Into the stratosphere without a care—
Projections about which I cannot repurpose:
Into my own inevitabilities;
Into the oxygen which I cannot breathe.
I sing the shifting dirges of stars
And the pragmatic proselytism
Of the rapists, of reapers and preachers.
But all of them so far have bled the same
And so many more will scream out my name
And none shall suffice as succinctly as
The one who hath passed her judgment
So fast. Posthaste I declare her dead.
With rushing hands about our hips
and loving thoughts so hardly chaste,
let locked together be our lips
as equal rights we must posthaste:
for in love and in God we trust,
in them here in this psalm's the thrust.
This day we are an ardent pair
as we do our impassioned best
to disrobe ourselves and thus dare
to expose our fair, lovely breasts:
for in love and in God we trust,
in them here in this psalm's our thrust.
Full of fervent, delicious zeal;
we make love while it's pure delight
to show the world we'll not conceal
what seems so wrong but feels so right:
for in love and in God we trust,
in them here in this psalm's main thrust.
With disregard and with scorn, dare
we stand and fight for what's our right
to love, work, live, and prosper where
e'er we are, hidden or in sight:
for in love and in God we trust
(in this great nation of the just)!
A verbal warning this day
of redundancy, an end to
Twenty-four years of hard graft,
releases doleful innuendoes
from those safe, left on the staff.
Each dawn! That initiates, now
leaves the sound of silence
ringing, in one’s dependable mind,
each journey down “Everglade”
strange, empty and wry, now the
dignity of retirement, fade from
an unveiling sky.
Yet! Upon this February day, the
puppeteer of Vevey reaches out
to the land of the “Long White Cloud”
Weaving his website of hideous agenda,
strategically infiltrating the very soul
of simplicity, when lifting of the
corporate shroud, upon an
ethical unswerving crowd.
His disciples cynically well versed,
a subtle way his empire constructed,
the turning of the Sabre
of injustice within the wound.
His greed insatiable. Shop floor
loyalty marooned!
Oh! Nested bird, pretender of
family values, branded power
taken from long ago sincere ways,
who’s personified voice, continually
heard on mountain peaks,
within the valley, around the bays.
Yet! This minute, many lives,
especially those belonging
to us “The Clown”
Have seen in lieu, better days.
Alas! Time does surrender
each day the scaffold unfold,
hour upon hour, one assumes
a condemned man’s threshold.
As the final moment approaches,
the noose of disparage
set, posthaste!
The “Vevey Executioner”
gets rid of his
industrial waste!!!
© Harry J Horsman 1999
The case of caviar the Humpherts ordered
was missing from their mansion. What a mystery!
Could long-time butler Stephan be the culprit?
If so, posthaste the traitor would be history.
One Humphert child cried out, “He wouldn’t do that!
“Some stranger could have slipped in,” said the other
and swiped those little cans. Are they expensive?”
“Oh, yes, five thousand dollars!” said the mother.
They then recalled that when their goods were stolen,
the butler and his bowling team were out of town.
They told the kids, “You’re right. He didn’t do this.”
The stunning theft resulted in a weeks-long frown.
The kids now keep a secret from their parents.
They’ll never tell how much stray cats love caviar.
They buy them cat food now with their own money.
Stephan just smiles and nods while watching from afar.
Choice 2
July 15, 2022
entered in the One in Five 2 Contest placed 1st
Sponsor: Joseph May
A child from the 'burbs on a Big Apple trip
Found it all more than slightly exciting -
The buses, the taxis, the swings and the slides
All seemed magically more than inviting.
A glorious day on his grandparents' turf
For a long-overdue city taste
Gave this nana a glow and a grin ear to ear
That I hope will be echoed posthaste.
orchids, mist-moistened,
on prim petals, dews glistened,
bumblebee hastened.
NEIGHBORHOOD WALK
strolling posthaste past neighbors
a walk to kickstart spring
“too fast drivers”
“lovely day”
woman on cell
no fence, defense, boundary
wave, keep on moving
witch-hazel shrub, same as last year
those lovely crepe myrtles
brisk movement, brisk cold
little pooch on a leash
climb the hill that i drive
a sudden dash for the hose
as the wind kicks up
a bush on fire
my neighbor quenches
what could have been
a catastrophe
Time has fled posthaste
Yet clandestine deeds remain
Ever silhouetted.
Regardless of what some folks are saying
The weather is changing, climate’s askew
Major storms threaten atypical places,
Is there nothing at all we can do?
Let’s begin by developing a new respect
For this planet all of us call our home,
Consider cutting back on fossil fuels
Using fewer plastics, learning to defoam.
We can resolve to reduce pollution
Be more careful with disposable waste,
Recycling is an excellent practice
We should all begin doing it, posthaste.
The glaciers and icecaps are rapidly melting
We are destroying the vital ozone layer,
And it appears a time is quickly coming
When all of us won’t have a single prayer.
In truth, some will never be believers
They will, in ignorance, never play a part,
So, it seems to me rather obvious
We must hurry up and get a head start.
Let’s face it, global warming is upon us,
The weather is changing, climate’s askew
But, believe me, when I hasten to say
There’s plenty to slow it, we surely can do.