Best Proceeds Poems
Immigrants why do you come?
Whether you are spiritual or mathematical etc. This is our Karma:
Isacc Newton’s 3rd Law
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction—Sir Isaac Newton
Tact is the art of making a point without making an enemy—Sir Isaac Newton
I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies but not the madness of people—Sir Isaac Newton
Dangerously nearing a very steep precipice –ran by the shadow in thy kings tarnished soul, he proceeds with his paper kingdom—I Am Anaya
Do not be fooled by the power
of the king, by the shadow he’s enveloped
Open your eyes to the shadow
He pokes, pricks, and stirs the fear inside
Drowning in remorse, regret, and sorrow till
nothing remains but the hatred
Hatred has the king for his paper kingdom
A tyrant evolves
Fragile like the house of cards
Tis but origami paper
meticulously folded
with patience,
is his castle
Immigrant why do you come?
Immigrant you must have dire reason
You’ll only find division, malice
and disfunction
So many dwell under a rock
blindly leading blind
Toward the precipice
Tis this charade! The king’s been tricked
As he parades his symbols
Dangerously close to the precipice
How do we choose
Who will vie for king?
Riddled by the law
not founded on solid ground
after all
The two dimensions
The jack-ass consistently
kicks the lion
discombobulating him
Heretical in families
misjudging the way of the world
Nothing ever resolved
In his paper kingdom
how should society work?
Whose ethical ideas?
Whose ideology?
Spectrum such as the left,
the centre or the right
You Know
By Elton Camp
The conversation has only begun
When I realize it is with a moron.
On every thought he does bestow
The foolish phrase, “You know.”
Just how could I possibly know
Until he proceeds to tell me so.
“I really like sports, you know.
They just put my heart aglow.”
“I met Joe Montana two years ago.
It was just such a thrill, you know.”
How could I know just how he felt
When with his idol he had dealt.
“I like baseball pitches, fast or slow.
That’s the throwing speed, you know”
To learn that I simply couldn’t wait.
On word meaning he kept me straight.
Then golf he includes among the rest.
I learn that it is the sport he likes best.
“I just love to hear Tiger Woods crow.
In playing golf he’s the best, you know.”
His praise of sports continues to flow.
About all he may say, he thinks I know.
“Once, to the World Series, I got to go.
And there I had so much fun, you know.”
For sports tickets, I spend lots of dough,
But it’s well worth it to me, you know.”
I wonder if it is well-spent to his wife.
And how about the children in his life.
Into all of his chat, he continues to throw
His favorite phrase, one that I do know.
“Well, I guess that it’s time for me to go.
It’s been great meeting you, you know.”
As winter's icy talons release their grip,
Leaving behind a landscape barren brown,
Spring waltzes in and proceeds to strip,
Winter of her tattered, lifeless gown,
Replacing it with green and floral crown.
Golden sunlight thaws the frigid earth,
Flora of a thousand kind burst into bloom.
Nature comes alive in glorious rebirth,
Extinguishing winter's boorish gloom,
And infusing the air with sweet perfume.
Butterflies take flight from their cocoons,
Spreading wings of red, blue and gold.
Warbling birds let loose a merry tune,
While building nests, their eggs to hold.
How marvelous to watch new life unfold!
What joy it is to be alive,
To feel spring's sunshine on your face,
To live, to love, to dream, to thrive,
As spring assumes her proper place,
Wrapping us in her warm embrace.
*LIFE, WHAT A RUSH*
Silence needs to be spoken and put out like a cigarette
The joy - the laughter - the expression found in a silhouette
Inhale the wholesomeness - Exhale the worthiness.
The soul- addicted to all the toxins this world contains
Life is like nicotine circulating throughout your veins
Wrath is a venom that absorbs all the fumes that flow
Trigger the mind and you'll see smoke blow
Hope entwined with clouds of wisdom
Tobacco strangling every inch of the nerve system
Vapors exceed emotions, love and veneration
Smog proceeds in slow motion
Puffing the beauty, by draining the heart and mind
Filtering all the nicotine bad breath left behind
~*~
Last night I stole a little - from time.
Don’t worry he’s got plenty on his hands
You could call it daylight robbery, but that wouldn’t be strictly correct, since
It occurred on the first of spring, at a minute past midnight.
But it’s really only semantics – isn’t it?
Oh I intend to give it back, but not until fall, I promise you that.
So for now, I intend to give it to those who
Hate waking to insipid mornings but instead,
Prefer the comfort of a long, alluring evening…
Time still has enough on his hands of course
To wake me in the usual way, the additional
Daylight finding gaps in my louvered blinds, it
Finds me; blinding me with stripes, a colouring of
Dusty motes with that angelic silver
A sliver of morning’s grace piercing my sheets
But the mornings are for birds…
And they don’t give a hoot about what was stolen.
Oh there are plenty of people who wake up to that inky blackness
Or even that rusty red, that bleeds all over the horizon
Oh they’re definitely not receivers of stolen goods,
Simply lovers of a pantomime, albeit in the morning.
She is one of those lovers… My wife Bronwyn,
A Welsh name to match her pale pearlescent skin.
Skin like perfect porcelain, that’s not in
Need of the proceeds of thievery.
Bronwyn stands over me now, the daylight interrupted
My slivers of dust broken
My colourful stripes stolen
Grace no longer piercing my sheets
Instead a finger piercing me…
“Get up!”
I did get up, for I needed to
Spend a little of the proceeds from my crime
Let the morning unwind naturally, feel the hush of
Time press upon my skin, when the sun is at its zenith
And ease into the evening like sliding into a warm bath…
John Lawless’s Poetry Contest – Saving Daylight
14 February 2015
A man I met once said to me,
“Love does not fall down from the trees”
A common expression from these parts
When you search with your mind, and not with your heart.
Love should be sought with the inner soul
Not as frost bitten leaves, withered up with cold
Neither rotten fruit, cruelly stabbed by blight
Nor nuts that have ripened, then taken flight.
I think love must grow out like a vine
If the roots are strong, it proceeds to climb
It entwines the heart, crushes trailing fears
Then spreads and stretches with the years.
I do not believe love lies upon the ground
For we would spend our lives hanging upside down
But if it grew along a vine
It could grip and swing, with hands of time.
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
United Colours: Green
Sponsor: Silent One
Escape with me into tranquility, my sweet,
relax with me inside your vitality and growth.
Lead me into your emerald world,
full of balance and harmony.
Of all the seas I've sailed, your chartreuse
island seems to be the most romantic destination.
The seaweed may create difficult tides,
but our perseverance out shines resistance.
For my yellow has mixed with your blue,
and our love created natural green,
full of prosperity and abundance.
Our wall built from olive branches,
proceeds to block out anything
that would get in the way of our wealth.
Our four leaf shamrock, I hold in my
locket, wearing it while I travel this
journey with you. Heal me with your moss,
a stable piece of nature laid out for our fertility.
Oh, lift me to the top of our snow capped pine trees.
All things green...has saved our souls...
Different Shades of Green:
1. Emerald 2. Chartreuse 3. Seaweed 4. Olive 5. Shamrock 6. Moss
7. Fertility 8. Pine
Date Written: March 1, 2016
Great Spirit whispers on breathing breeze; 'It is time',
puce plume in saffron noon signals hunt's aborning,
ThunderBeasts' harrowing hooves erupt Great Plains grime,
soon will ail, widow's wail like a wild dove's mourning...
Ancient wisdom, ebony eyes, high cheekbones wide,
buffalo, he knows, mystical foes who fight back,
astride, he rides his Spanish horse with native pride,
his soul cleared, spiritual prayers 'fore the attack.
Timeworn trails, bison beaten by shaggy stampedes,
hunting grounds feared and revered, tribesmen o'er the brae,
power potent, cloven cloud, hastened heart proceeds,
ambush laid, panicked herd, embrace the bloody fray.
Casualty's chance, horseback dance, drum lethal hoof beats,
thunderous trample of ample prairie crocus,
Sioux and beasts' sacred throes, their crimson flows 'neath feet,
death has a way of bringing life into focus.
Susan Ashley
October, 24,2017
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Tribute To Native Culture
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Collisions avalanche, beneath the icy
Waves, of the North Atlantic.
Birthed in the cradled of Belfast,
A maritime giant, became crimsoned,
By champions shattered tradition,
An ironic omen presence to come.
For she bares tragedy’s mark, the name
Given to this colossus, the titanic.
An aquatic diamond gem, of ocean
Liners, refined and polished for the
Privileged elite.
A jewel shinning, with a brilliance fire,
No vessel could rival, this grand ladies,
Opulence.
The unsinkable legend survives even,
From under the brimey fathoms depths.
In the whispering wind echoes, carried
Just above the foam and sprays watery
Crest, a haunting refrain is spoken,
Ice burg dead ahead.
A sheer ice blade, is driven into the
Hulls breast plate, puncturing the maid
On her maiden voyage.
Death's fiddler plays an eerie tune,
As the screaming chorus sings,
Dooms lullaby, of remorseful regrets,
Of the living dead.
Abandon ship, women and children
First, but life’s greed proceeds protocol,
And man take seats reserved while
Others are simply left empty.
A once shinning star, is broken now
In two, rivaling in pain, she the
Grand lady, shutters, grasping for
Some hold, but fates evil hand
Pulls her beneath the frozen
Angry sea.
To rest at the bottom of titan's
Kingdom, in a crept mausoleum of
Seaweed, and coral debris.
Yet the Titanic still remains the
Diamond jewel of the seven seas,
Her mystery's beauty, a mystic
Inspiring mankind to solve
The questions that remain,
Unanswered.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
HISTORICAL
**
It was a lovely spring day.
The sun greeted me with a smile.
I heard the sound of rat-a-tat-tat.
Sounds coming from the roof.
I gazed out the large window.
There sat a red-bellied woodpecker.
Dressed for destruction in his red hard hat.
Sporting a checkered black and white overcoat.
This crazed little bird,
sat on a metal vent pipe.
He looked at me and winked.
He proceeds to drill.
He stopped, rather dumfounded.
He shook his head, looking confused and dazed.
He danced to the right side.
Like a mad man, he continued his craze.
I watched this bird for hours.
determined not to give up on his quest.
Finally, the woodpecker flew off, comely retreating.
He lands on an oak tree in final defeat.
4/2/2022
A Brain Strand Standard Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ 1st ~
The storm that thundered is fading still
Reluctant to let go the reign of dark
But the nascent light behind the clouds
Unfolds the scene that's changing fast
On a happy note then she proceeds to allot
Augury of goodwill forgetting the past
And he sees things the way they used to be
Holding hands of love he finds her near him,
Not a blemish in view of his serene imagery--
Snuggling her closer, he reaches for a kiss
But gusty winds return razing his reverie
Blasting cold air on feelings of warmth
Taunting his dreams to accept the fact:
She's the one who unleashed the wrath
November 25, 2018
Placed first in standard contest #145 by Brian Strand
The relay race starts with a bang as rain comes pouring down.
The starting runner, Spring, flies by in her bright flower crown.
Baton gets passed to Summer, who so glowingly appears
right at the very moment that the massive rain cloud clears.
The crowd all loves this golden runner, who too soon is gone.
The sun shines brightly on her as she passes the baton.
The third one, Autumn, plods through leaves and nearly takes a Fall,
then passes off to Winter, who proceeds at such a crawl -
for she showed up in sweatpants, knowing snow had been forecast.
Each spectator cheers loudly when the finish line is passed.
But when that race is over, then a new one's soon begun
with all the fans excited to see how THAT race is run!
Deciduous trees
shedding withered yellow leaves
as autumn proceeds.
Full Moon reminds to harvest
mellow pumpkins at its best.
The Cycle of Life
I walk this golden path in fall’s cool breeze
as autumn afternoon’s warm setting sun
is shining brightly through the crimson trees,
but growing shadows signal day is done.
A bright array of leaves the autumn paints,
her palette filled with amber, rust and red;
she paints the vivid colors sans constraints
throughout the hills and forests so widespread.
And though the season’s colors bring us cheer,
the falling leaves an omen for us all
that old man winter surely must be near;
upon these barren branches snow will fall.
And thus the cycle of our lives proceeds
and moves ahead till springtime sprouts her seeds.
November 24, 2019