Best Presses Poems
red rooftops appear to glow in rainy-day haze
lost in memories of pre-war bliss
she looks up to watch them bleed
pain is its own reward sometimes
better than the numbness
she so desperately seeks to leave behind
tiny poodle escorts her on La Rue de la Paix
peace has come to Paris at last
but in her heart, agony lingers
she heard the Fuhrer took his own life
cyanide and a bullet, too merciful for a demon
how her sweet Emil must have suffered in the death camp
his last gift to her, a red umbrella to offer shelter
at a time when he so direly needed protection
from horrific torture, starvation, gas chambers
footsteps behind her; she pivots, her poodle barks
what’s this? is rain playing tricks on her eyes?
he presses his lips on hers and she knows
yes, yes, these are Emil’s lips
still clad in a prisoner’s striped uniform, he holds her
she feels his ribs as they embrace
autumn rain soaks the fashion district near their home
while a violinist in a nearby café plays Chant des Partisans
overwhelmed, she wonders, is this a dream or is he home to stay?
*Written November 1, 2018
N/A in The Red Umbrella Contest
Contest judged that 11/13/2018
Categories:
presses, longing, war,
Form:
Free verse
I’m tired of knowing
That because of my race
Because of where I live
Because of my last name
I’m part of the band…
The children of a lesser God
I’m tired of knowing
That there is so much hate
That it can only escalate
Till someone presses the button
And we blow up in nuclear hate
All because
Some of us are children…
Children of a lesser God
First world
Second world
Third world
Labels and degrees
Different ideologies
Religion no longer a balm
But something to cause harm
Human life of differing values
We mourn them differently
for some of them are children...
Children of a lesser God
How it must make God cry
When His children bleed and die
Unable to understand
That there is a grander plan
One of perfect harmony
In another place in time
He won’t be sitting at heaven’s gate
Asking for an ID
Or checking your nationality
He won’t see the color of your face
Or ask about your race
All He will want to know
Is if you let love grow
Did you live according to His will?
Did you try to relieve suffering and pain?
Were you the bandage of peace
that bound up the wounds of hate?
First, second, third world people
Are all children of one God
Though some may disagree
I ask you all to see
That we are all
Every single one of us...
Children of the Greatest God.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
presses, god, uplifting,
Form:
Free verse
Madame Mistress, ebonies princess,
Southern comforts golden jewel,
A golden beauty down south does dwell.
She hides many secrets beneath her,
Glittering mask of mystery's mystic spells.
A dark priestess is this Cajun queen,
Black widows magic women,
Known as Ms. New Orleans.
In her crimson gown, trimmed by
Velvet's purple hues, she smiles
Behind her white lace fan.
A beguiling angel is she the devils
Own kindred.
The voodoo queen of the swampy delta,
Ruling over the shadow demons,
Whom guard the everglades.
Underneath fancy face and social grace,
Lies the misbegotten heart of a
Witches soul.
Here the trumpets sound at,
La Carnival as minstrels stroll,
Down Bourbon Street with rhythmic,
Precision's precise step.
Come join in celebrations grand parade,
The Maude Gra. Where anything goes,
Here things are forgotten as the sun rises,
This grand lady of beauty's legacy's charm.
Presses one finger to her redden lips,
Speaking not more than a hushed whispers
Sigh carried across bayou.
Thus does the Spanish moss weep, for
Those lost souls swallowed whole,
Beneath nights dark covenant of death.
Ghostly images walk the muddy side shores,
Phantom spectators existing as prisoners,
Trapped in limbos web, a thin fine line
Between the living and the dead.
Beware lone travelers, those for whom,
Seek mysteries glamor and mystic,
Of the southern by ways.
All are welcome to taste our spicy
Hospitality.
Yet beware pay homages respect,
To Mz. New Orleans, she after all takes
Great care of her own.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
presses, adventure, beauty, fantasy, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Abandoned in the fifties after the war
A freight elevator stuck between floors
Obsolete machinery, splintered old chairs
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere
Dead air presses down, stifling and thick
Something still dwells behind one of those bricks
Curled up in a ball, it waits for me there
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere
A musty gray vapor that whispers my name
It seeps through the wall and creeps to my brain
It sighs and it groans as my soul is laid bare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere
It mumbles and moans and drones of ancient tombs
Of claustrophobic closets and dim, hollow rooms
I cry out for help, echoes answer my prayer
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere
The ghost of my lonely, my lost and alone
My hopeless and helpless, my can't go back home
It's looking at me now with a dull, vacant stare
In a warehouse in Newark, New Jersey somewhere
Categories:
presses, dream, me, mystery,
Form:
Kyrielle
In the valley of tall golden fire, I rest
listening to the sound of the earth heartbeat.
Africa's eastern breath presses its cheek against mine
as I bask and savor the exotic serene moment.
I listen and watch at the tapestry of wildlife gather,
a world of tranquil beauty.
Together we forge a strong valley,
but still a world of survival; nowhere is truly safe.
4/30/2019
Poetry Contest: 'Writing Challenge 4, May 2019, No Placement'
Sponsored By: Dear Heart
"Lion" received an N/A on 5/3/2019 in the contest; MAY 2019 PREMIER 1 ANY THEME, ANY FORM,UP TO A MAX OF 14
Categories:
presses, africa, beauty,
Form:
Personification
between pages
of biology book
prankster presses worm
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on March 9, 2019 for contest THE BOOK WORM sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN - RANKED 1ST
Categories:
presses, books, humor, word play,
Form:
Senryu
Friends?
Are we still friends?
Can we JUST be friends?!?
Oh such a horrid, charity-stained question!
What a keen and salient dagger it wields!
The pity that you wear like black lace finery,
Is as deadly and whetted a sword as any raised in battle ...
The patronizing look in your eyes presses on its hilt
With the agonizing weight of feigned cordiality,
To pierce the tender flesh of my hopes,
Deep and quick and precise.
Why ... why this last dose of bitter passion??
To ease your careless conscience?
All you've done is make the blade more jagged,
The wound more brutal and raw.
Now here I lay ...
Exhausted in spirit and sinews,
By what I now realize was lovemaking for clemency's sake ...
One last, tender moment to minimize the blow.
Shards of moonlight through the louvers,
Lay like broken pieces of porcelain on furrowed bedclothes,
As my passions bleed out at your feet,
Draining my heart of the realities
Of what I thought we had ...
What might have been, beyond friendship.
My love for you collects in a puddle of one-sided regrets,
And now this dreadful question makes all a travesty,
A mocking, cruel, pitiful farce ...
No, my love, I can NEVER be just ... your friend.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "My Friend, My Love" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
presses, heartbreak, love, love hurts,
Form:
Free verse
His rheumy eyes film over and he brushes away a tear
with the age-spotted back of his hand.
He watches himself as a young man –
handsome, vigorous, full of joie de vivre.
The members of his orchestra now arthritic.
Or ashes long since scattered into oblivion,
like the beautiful soprano in the film.
But for the duration of the archive footage
they are all young again.
The film ends and their philharmonic youth
is silent memory once more.
He struggles to press rewind but his gnarled finger
presses fast-forward by mistake.
He thinks that time has been on fast-forward
and wishes he could find the rewind control for his life.
With a sigh, he presses play and fades away,
watching his immortal youth.
Categories:
presses, lifefilm,
Form:
Free verse
Look! In the distance, I see them again.
Bright and beautiful red bursts fill my eyes
as blue cascades gently fall toward the earth
and golden sprays twinkle like glitter in the sky.
The colors thrill my skin with shivers and chills,
and each loud burst I hear makes me jump with delight.
Always, in the distance, I can see them.
Her smile bursts forth from her crimson lips
as her glistening tears fall from azure eyes
and her flaxen hair sparkles around him.
I see her quiver as she presses against him,
and through her longing I can hear her deep sighs.
Turning away from this tender moment
my mind starts to wonder what's left of my life.
The sadness that fills me with each passing minute
leaves me aching with sorrow and wondering why
such explosions of beauty I see only at a distance, as time slips by.
06/10/16
Categories:
presses, longing,
Form:
Free verse
These eyes watch the fierce rain
passing through
as earth moves, vibrating once more
my being shakes again
sensing you
somehow, yes- stronger than before
This heart, the beat quickens
with each sound
breath is taken, and so deeply
air presses, it thickens
I have found
raindrops bring you so close to me
These emotions, my heart
a quick glance
as the wild wind twists in my hair
striving to pull apart
just the chance
of me feeling you, everywhere
------------------------
~ You are in the waters touch ~
Powerful Moments
Form of Poetry~ Tri-fall
The rhyme scheme is a,b,c,a,b,c and meter for each stanza is as follows: 6/3/8, 6/3/8. This form requires little to no punctuation and can be written on any subject matter.
Categories:
presses, emotions, longing, love, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
A playful rhythm arises from within
It is, it is, oh so mood uplifting
Each breath intake sees joy afresh begin
Light that ignites us, to vast space gifting
The flame of bliss flickers not in the breeze
Vagaries of fate have on us no hold
Throb of rapture we embrace and release
Our luminous aura now flaming gold
Ah! Come on, come nearer, caress sublime
Pristine presence presses forward its case
Reverberates in heart the cosmic chime
Truly love effervescence is God’s grace
Moment to moment all moments entwined ~
Our consciousness is thus by bliss refined
Categories:
presses, joy, spiritual,
Form:
Sonnet
I fly on wing of song.
Twenty-three miles out of Atlanta
soaring like an eagle traveling from DC
thirty-six thousand miles high
Fly, fly away
Through the blue hues of morning
white fluffiness lie below towards earth
puffy white and gray cotton-like softness
gently moving on windsong
feeling like a Welsh princess
watching o’er her universe.
I see the world through a rectangle
looking out over the airplane’s wing
reaching outward and upward.
Soaring like hope
Moving like faith
Solid span of charity
Humming motor onward bound joyful sound
A higher plane than I have found;
Lord, plant my feet on higher ground
wind under my winged sails
I’m pressing on the upward way.
Arrows painted on wingspan
pointing left as we travel right
viewing “safety line attach point”
feeling secure way up here
three flapjacks adjusting the wind flow
reminding of Father, Son and Holy Spirit
pouring through keeping my soul.
Upward outward incline
continuous motion held by metal strength
while thin white clouds pass by.
Heaven’s sky still far far away
no matter how far up one gets God is farther still
beyond the blue somewhere higher.
Sitting assured as my mind presses on—
landing soon will come
back to earth world
where I belong.
@2011 – Evelyn Pearl Carpenter Anderson
Categories:
presses, universe,
Form:
Imagism
Word Quintet in C Major
By Stark Hunter
Open the door my friend,
Climb on in,
Join me here in this relentless caravan,
This unstoppable, this incontrovertible,
this inexorable movement,
To the depths of the dry gulf.
Join me here my friend,
In this annihilating armada,
This incontrovertible migration,
This inexorable swarm
To the watery crossroads of the dry places,
To the liquid asphalt of insipid time!
I stare at you from across the room here.
I stare and gawk and hawk at you,
And I feel the pelting rain of desire.
You look good over there, sitting
With beautiful gleaming crossed legs.
“Sorry, beg your pardon,
I say, but have we not met before?
Did we not share beers on the Terrace of Tyre
At sunset?
Did we not tell each other stories,
Old stories of love and betrayal and heartbreak?
At sunset?
Did we not look away from each other,
When stories of new love suddenly emerged,
As with a new sunrise?”
My friend, there is no
Escape from this throbbing hole, no
Escape from this cold numbing wind,
This whirlingly insane wind
Of cold blasts of killing ice.
And I ride here
Ride like a sweating Sultan,
Astride the mighty beast of Tyre!
Perched high in rich raiment,
I wave to the multitudes
I send a salute to the throng!
I ride shotgun here
Ride nice and easy
Like a tanning garçon on his off day,
Like a sitting trog waiting wistfully,
Waiting waiting for gams not intended for him.
My friend, the world turns and turns,
It turns today and tomorrow,
It will turn as the river turns in spring,
It will turn as a woman’s heart turns,
When eyes that once stared ahead, now look away.
It will turn my friends because it has to!
Riding, Riding, Riding….
Downhill now! The insane wind
Assaults me. Harasses me. Accosts me.
It presses its loose lips upon my face,
It seeks the mad blood of passion!
“Let us calm ourselves
Reassure ourselves
That all is right and as planned.
Let us all look at one another!
Let us all nod in agreement!
The days ahead will manifest themselves,
Transfigure themselves,
As blooms upon the water lilies.
Categories:
presses, desire,
Form:
Blank verse
Lying in the meadow on a long afternoon
I press soft against you and start to spoon,
but the lump at the base of your spine has now grown
(vestigial tail , I guess) presses hard against my places unknown,
so rolling you over and with gentle caress,
your yellow scaled elbow, I adore, I confess,
I trace the large bump on the end of your nose.
I just love the coarse hair and, how subtly it glows.
You sniffle so sweetly, as never ending it runs,
as of lipstick, thick mucous coats your lips, and you have need for none.
So I lie next to you, of your beauty I want more,
admiring your features, almost all I adore ...only one I abhor.
So, though shallow I feel, it saddens me greatly to know I must leave you
for the one thing I hate, I'm sorry my dear but your eyes are just too blue!
03/22/16
Categories:
presses, goodbye, humor, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
As chandeliers drip ‘round the hall
Bouquets' scent wafts through night’s affair.
In gown of lace she sways with flair
Until her man bows ,to enthrall
A glide of waltz into soft flight,
Where other pairs hope to find bliss
On firefly steps, perhaps a kiss
That her arms fling to breath’s delight.
In whirling turns, she lifts in style
And a roulette from dancing guests
Enchants the tunes of pleasure’s zest
While coy romance drifts and beguiles.
The violin presses a hum
As her glossed eyes casts on his face,
Igniting dipped waists to succumb
Within the fling of an embrace.
Ballroom Delights Contest
12/1/2014
Categories:
presses, dance, romance,
Form:
Rhyme