Best Predicts Poems
The rising sun marks break of day
Its zenith, we call noon.
Its setting brings the evening chill
And ushers in the moon.
The sundial charts its burning rays.
Its pathway plotted out
Predicts the hour of every day
Beyond a shadow of a doubt!
Precious time, there’s none to waste
And so we set the staff
Inventing ways to track its passage
Clocks and chronograph
The mainspring and the pendulum,
The tall Grandfather Clock
Becomes the heartbeat of the home
Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock
The pocket watch with silver chain
Umbilical, life line
We spend our days; entire lives,
Winding our way through time
Time is time, it’s so precise
Ethereal and pure,
With a watch we always know the time
But when we’ve two, unsure!
To be blocked, it’s black and white or grey as a rock.
You can exist and be present, like floating particles in the air,
no mudslinging expressed but someone will make it their nosy affair.
Then a block, no valid reason for them to act like an angry cock!
A childish act of them trying to grasp a little control,
But they’ll end up acting like the biggest troll.
Past behavior often predicts their present one,
it’s only a matter of time before they’ll run.
I will never use my control to cowardly block,
instead, I'll enjoy reading real poetry around the clock.
Not AI generated with flowery alliterated words,
Or full of garbled rhymes that are just plain absurd.
Wise awareness predicts its salience.
Strategy that stretches cognitive sentience.
And the ego wants to hold on to power.
A natural sense of oneness with empower.
What you can handle is your intention.
What you do is determined by your motivation.
Your attitude influences how well you perform.
It's possible that failure is the key to reform.
Something is awry when everyone praises you.
Create at least one foe to put you on your toe.
Enjoy humble things and cherish every day.
In retrospect, it may appear a significant way.
Those without wisdom see murky obscurity.
Thus, they are blind to the truth and reality.
Written: July 14, 2022
In the Catholic Schools of the West
All students are put to a test
Their head must go South
With an open mouth
To measure who comes off the best
A priest is never too fickle
An Adam's Apple to tickle
No need to repent
Its all Heaven-sent
The meek love sucking a pickle
Virile men should become a priest
So many are needed back East
Beneath every frock
Likes a ticking clock
Hungry mouths in need of a feast
The Bible predicts that a beast
Will plunder the Great and the Least
So you can do more
To even the score
When you serve this world as a priest!
Sun Bathing
There is this brilliant gem hanging on high,
radiating down upon me from a clear blue sky.
It takes me back and into a time
when laying in fields, on river banks was sublime.
On a spit I sit, going around, browning under the sun.
Not a care, a worry, no obligations – there are none
as I read history, of the future and contemplate,
what is it that Nostradamus, predicts as our fate ?
Being showered upon by shades of soft, pink flakes,
flowered blossoms light as spring air, no mistakes
by Mother Nature, on her journey – brought down
by springs cool breezes that keep blowing around,
kissing, glistening, crystal spheres, upon a body browned
by the noon hour sun, making the hour feel so good
as all of life’s moments, upon this plane, should.
I lay here, absorbing the waves of musical sound.
Music has been, is, and will always be my companion
until a time when we become a part of the All, to champion
that which lays among the essence of another plane
that will carry us beyond all of our todays pain .
That plane, the beginning and never ending sojourn
that takes us around and around, our souls to turn
into a part of the whole, a place we will never yearn
to depart from, never again needing to know concern.
B. J. “A ” 2
April 26th 2005
We hang on hints or clues to see what's to come next;
I'll cite examples as proofs from a well-known text.
He that crawls in fours when rooster gleefully calls,
Walks in twos like the blazing sun, but soon he falls;
Here's a hint, clue or foreshadowing to foresee
His fall from a life's precipice … and it's a key.
One comes in, blooming and wearing a laurel wreath,
And this bubbling signal, we know, should stop him breathe;
He fights a fierce fight at a place, where three roads meet;
And so soon, we raise the blanket and hear ... three tweet.
A man comes with no eyesight to solve the riddle,
And predicts that sinner stands boldly, right middle,
And he that mocks him for his ill-fated eyesight,
Would leave the city ... groping wearily ... at night.
At last, that man with the clearest eyesight we see
Leave the stage and us in threes as a beaten bee.
12 syllables in each line
A 1st Place in the following contest (judged on Feb. 10, 2021)
Feb.9, 2021 (Originally posted on Nov. 25, 2020)
The Gem That Slipped Through The Cracks Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
A 2nd Place in the following contest (judged on Jan. 8, 2021)
Podium Placing Promise (5)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
In an hundred years...
Everything around us will be changed,
And everybody will be dead,
Yet, something will continue...
Will it be, as my radical leftist brother predicts,
The final takedown of Western Civilization?
Will we all rise to pray and face east?
Will we all rise and face nothing but a cup of sustainably-grown coffee?
Will the common people be able to afford coffee?
What will have become of our words, penned
sometimes in ink,
sometimes in blood?
Who will still read us?
Will our great-grandchildren show old, unrotatable, digital photos?
What of those of us who have no children? Will our words survive, even a generation?
Will our poetry be sold, half-price, or clearance?
What footprints will we have left, who built no buildings, saved no lives, ended no tyranny?
Yet, I think we will survive for a generation or two,
For there are always a few who hope to feel something,
To know the grounding reality of shared human experience.
I do not pretend, they will be reading ME,
But, perhaps,
They will be reading US...
That shrinking crowd that comprises the body of
Our words made corporeal,
And one or two of us, they will remember...
I hope for nothing better than a sea,
And quiet waves that bear away once-me...
Greetings from Canada dear readers ! Let me cajole you with a wee bit of fun
and ardent banter. Well, obviously I am Canadian and we are very polite and
charming people, we are sorry when we are guilty of nothing. We say please
and thank you and your welcome often. It is drilled into us from childhood.
You bump into us and lickety-split we will say sorry! It can all get quite absurd.
Talking about absurd there is a real rigmarole going on with a groundhog, a
rodent who predicts if we will get a long winter or a short winter. What kind of
nincompoop believes in this gobbledygook. The story goes that if the rodent,
excuse me, I mean groundhog sees his shadow we have six more weeks of
winter. Now, being a fairly intelligent girl, I say in a forceful voice, balderdash!
I could have predicted six more weeks of winter. Without getting cantankerous,
it is bloody freezing outside! Apparently this pampered, Willie rodent saw his
big fat shadow and it was declared. What a brouhaha that caused. Why did they
not just ask me ? Oh, we may get a little melt, to tease us but the snow and
cold will stick around to torment us, the wind will blow and the snow will fall.
the bare branches wish
for soft emerald green gowns-
snowflakes swirl and twirl
_______________________
February 4, 2018
Poetry/Haibun/A Bit Of Lofty Chit Chat
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9895-87
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Eloquent Banter; You tease me so nicely
sponsor, Edward McCall
Honorable Mention
revelation of revelations!
an ordinary morning til..
discovery of discoveries
brittle chrysalis
upside down, branching
breathing, pulsing
I pause and
inspect the
pupa’s fortress
tight and hard as
childhood memories of
milkweed pods
splaying, splitting, dropping
fragments into the
pungent soil beneath
My birth sac
splits apart
Baptismal waters
run down my legs
he’s going to be a
football player the
doctor predicts.
one last push
spills my babe
onto linen’s
glaring whiteness.
oops, he’s a she
and so beautiful.
A parallel universe
repeats, reflects, completes
an ever changing
life cycle
sunshine dries
black and orange panes
tiny filaments of gossamer
wings shimmer silky white
against the opaque sun
Dad’s car delivers
mom and babe home
their newborn squalls.
her tiny fingers
curl in a tight fist.
each digit is a
prayer bead
chanting its presence.
I gaze in amazement
my mind awhirl
wings and elbows,
antennae and toes
displace space now that
seconds before was
unknown. unclaimed.
The gray overcast sky predicts
Rain to layer the damp
Cool will become colder wet air
Trapped inside, lifestyle cramped
It is worse for blossoms turned brown
Their spring beauty cut short
Soon to join spent blooms 'pon the ground
Cold their life did thwart
The bullfrog croaking in the pool
Not hindered by cold air
Is he calling his love to come
See his fair lair
There is a stillness this morning
A quiet 'pon the air
All the birds softly sing their song
Yet stillness says beware
AND SO THE SNOW
And so the snow
Continues to blow
The wind
It's driving force
The hills, once brown with sand
Took on a new face today
White until the barest rocks
Almost did not exhist
Then the sun did come out
The temp twenty at it's height
Nothing happened all was still
The mountain cold and white
Ten days went by, the Holidays passed
All was beautyful to behold
Ten inches of snow but it took help
Before I got to go
My readings done
My groceries bought
I breathed a sigh
And went back home
That night on the TV
The weather man did grin
Ducked his head, cleared his throat
And then he did begin
"An arctic front is coming in
Lots of snow and dangerous wind"
And so I ordered more propane, gritted my teeth
"Here we go again"
The build up of snow like last time
This time never came
The snow did come but before it built
The wind had then stepped in
The number of inches was hard to guess
But the drifts began to grow,
I watched the ghosts swirl and sway
And dance among the rocks all day
Day one, day two, the beginning of three
The sun does have a scheen
And as like the day before
It's the wind predicts the scene
As the sun begins to think of rest
It high lights the bare ridges
And the shadows of the drifts
Has not the ghosts hidden
I went to Church today
And had ease of mind
I no longer feared the ice and snow
I just sprinkled salt where I wanted to go
Cile Beer
Inspire by Weston Gregory
When the sun comes from the east
Shining its beauty through the
leaves,
I'm so inspired by what I see.
Its way though not easy to say
I sigh when the rare jasmine bloom.
I smile at the monarch butterfly
choreograph loops,
and laugh in this lazy afternoon
I all but spy its spectrum hue
and am left mesmerize by its hovering
on the west bound horizon too,
Jamaica is haunted by a spectre of
gloom,
on its fading from sight on Negril west end
soon
As if wishing on a dream
Within the swirl of unsynchronized scenes
our nature predicts tomorrow
Whether serendipitous or nightmarish
horror.
Response well to a global hallow
a prayer;
Goodnight my blossom see you in the morning,
When the sun comes from the east
Shining its beauty through leaves.....
red sunset predicts
welcome weather tomorrow
red sunrise beware
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am thinking of evolution
My theory reveals the nature's mystery
"It all begins in the sea, our ancestry."
Scientists bow in my appreciation.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am a doctor prescribing medication
My job is to keep diabetes at bay
"Please take this pill twice a day."
Patients are full of admiration.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am an actor performing an imitation
My act amazes the most critical person
"It's elementary, my dear Watson."
A deserving Emmy nomination.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am writer requiring direction
My book is a thriller
'Vengeance of a charitable killer.'
An interesting plot in formation.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am an army officer defending my nation
My command evokes my army
"Today, we shall crush the enemy."
Daring acts of retribution.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am a philosopher seeking a solution
My notion predicts the downfall of capitalist mentality
"Change we must for eco-friendly sustainability."
A guaranteed life time award and recommendation.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am a leader of revolution
My speech inspires the people to fight
"Brothers and Sisters, it's our birth right."
A sea of charged up population.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am building a perfect nation
My government is the epitome of socialism
"Minister, I see a populace full of optimism."
Few steps away from perfection.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am a poet of aspiration
My prose is a limerick
"Hmm! It rhyme's with 'Blackadder's' 'Baldrick' "
It's a poetic exaggeration.
A tale from the soliloquies of my imagination
Now I am me dreaming about another impersonation
My brain needs to stop
"Oh God! need no more dreams to pop."
Wonder why I always keep dreaming a situation.
P.S the soliloquies are in quotes
Always treasure what you write
Have your pencil and pad with you at all times
you might think of a subject
or a verse
write it down so you won't forget
Get all your ideas down
then try to rearrange them to make them flow and give them ultimate impact
to reflect the tone or slant of the piece of writing
Move words around in your sentences and see which sounds better
Capture a moment or an emotion always put your thoughts into words in whatever way you think most adequately displays them
Be alerted by nature and images you see around you
focus on the way it moves
Describe your subject
Find all sorts of descriptive words
Follow your insight; transport yourself to a location you want to write
Put yourself in its place and use all your senses
What do you
See,
Hear,
Smell,
Feel,
Taste,
Title is so very important in capturing the reader’s attention
It predicts content
It catches the reader’s interest
Truly valued verses of inspiration
Your heart is your guide
Encourage yourself
When you read others work, please be kind we all love to hear inspiring encouragement that motivates to keep writing
If critiquing is done in a nice way we don't mind hearing it, that is how we learn and grow.
5/17/2015
Contest: Advice for New Writers: Words of Wisdom in Verse
Sponsored by: Tyshawn Knight