Best Proffered Poems
Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
Gate,
Stood opposite the empty wood
Where the vacant threshold silently awaits,
I pause, when, resonating quietly back...
I now hear...
Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood
Tugging like a Siren upon my ear.
With a heartfelt pang I turn to move,
Before my staring should offend some
Old friends ghost
To manifest in vengeful affright,
Towards the comforting sanctuary proffered
By the warm kitchens weak neon light...
That sneaks out from behind the half-shut
Door,
But held - Transfixed!
Brought from wither-not-where to this one
Small place - Staid...
As if caught in a state of heavenly grace,
Conversing to the soft wind in harmonious
Angelic rapport:-
Thus soothes like enchantments waves...
Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon
Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore.
For what be this odd muse
That upon my aging senses does so readily
Enthuse...
And to my inner soul so inextricably
Implore?
Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to
Say,
Before darkly gathering skies extinguish
Over weak flames of the last spluttering
Ray,
Perhaps it is our inner voice
That seeks out the solitudes of
Tranquilities choice -
To witness and record and dutifully store...
Those rare and fleeting moments
We all too briefly adore.
Colors daubed for seasons' scenes
I sift through life for what it means
In spite of chaos, shades and flings
It comes down to the simple things
The mountain tops, the dark abyss'
Have ground my egos down to this
Of all the chance and spheres I'm of
Life's worth and essence is ... but LOVE
Indeed, I've lived big moments, too
The raptures and sweet rendezvous
Moving mountains - burning skies
Bright lilting lashes, soft lullabies
Shedding poisons like second skin
Too few dreams to wear them in
I dared the devil, danced with death
Swore for mercy's whisp'ring breath
So just when ends seemed all to be
This extra chance was proffered me
Don't take for granted or yet waste
That vigor gained from rigors faced
Don't tend concerns to end or start
It's what's between that fills a heart
True meaning - love's enduring kiss
A life's no less or more ... than THIS.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Select, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Favourite Poem From May, 2019" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Meaning of Life" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
This morning I woke up and bend my knees
To enter the highest of holy place
Here from my Patmos to see the Shekinah seas
And taste the eucharist of grace.
I am praying man, for prayer is the only eye
I have to see the things unseen
The promise of choral trumpets in the sky
When from this life I am weaned.
Sometimes day's burden invisible gets heavy here
Until I lift my prayer up
When suddenly cares like clouds disappear
From the proffered cup.
O I bend my knees to give HIM thanks, to ask
For favors for my friends
And in HIS peace awhile with HIM to bask
Till blessing for my children descends.
I pray for country too, and strangers far unknown
That they for therapy could shake
Some compassion from compassion's throne
And know the joy I have awake.
She senses before she sees
The manicured nails - the elegant fingers
Holding out the hundred dollar bills - enticingly - so temptingly
A generous nights takings of busking here
In one proffered hand
She grabs at it petrified it might be an illusion
Evaporating in a puff of smoke
Fingers hold it back, teasingly
Compelling eye contact
She looks up sceptically
Dark eyes meet her aqua blues, sparking a sort of affinity
‘Eyes are the window of one’s soul’- so it is said in all sincerity
But the magnetic dark eyes of her enticer are fathomless in their intensity
His type she has encountered before - money for favours
Well she is no novice - a living after all - a girl has to make
And his generous offer rivals his devilish good looks
But she senses a darkness favouring the energy emanating
A cold shiver runs through her veins like someone just walked on her grave
Fear ripples down her spine akin to a stroking finger chilled in ice
The spell he casts foreboding
The calmness of the night has taken flight
In its haste to set the macabre scene
Mesmerising are the eyes that bore into hers
Projected thoughts furtively slip into her mind
Infiltrating it like a slithery snake
Bringing with it forbidden thoughts of desire
She falls into the inky black abyss
Succumbing to heady dark passionate conceptualization
However the chilling message is coherent
This is not a mere opportunistic one night stand
That he desires
This is more - so much more
This is taboo concupiscence unleashed
This is her life in exchange for what?
Her life for immortality?
Surely not!
Yet his eyes eloquently convey it all
The hunger so unconcealed - so transparently flagrant
To yield to darkness
Satisfying his appetite for
Death of a different nature?
Obliteration of life as she knows it to be
Tenebrous Immortality in exchange for her blood
A prelude to his finale of taking her soul
And then a metamorphosis
From Prey to Predator
Video clip -
Like a Vampire- Catrien Maxwell
Old and ugly and well married is the visage
that I carry, and yet, there is another world
that keeps opening up its magic door.
It sends me notes and emissaries
that I could be,
I should be much more than what I am.
The first message, that I was aware of
came to me in the high desert where
I sat Walden-like by a pool trying to
get back to the source, I'm told, is
within us all.
Suddenly I saw a flurry
a mile across the valley floor,
a point took flight and became
a mystic preying mantis
that picked my shoulder as a perch.
Mid day church bells rang
at that moment and I watched
the sound reverberate
shaking bushes and trees
down the valley, scattering
birds and small animals.
Yet the mantis on my shoulder
calmly sat, cocked its head,
and in its eyes there was a question.
I replied to the mantis' query that
"I was old and ugly and well married and
I am simply not quite ready,
but keep the offer open and
I will be ready soon."
After a month of worrying that
perhaps I had gone too far,
in refusing to go through an open door,
I summoned it again.
Right there in my backyard I heard
a flurry and found a grasshopper perched
where you had perched before.
The question in its eyes left no doubt
it again was you.
I replied that I just wanted to make sure
that the offer you had proffered still
was mine to take.
You flew away as I explained that
"I was old and ugly and well married and
simply still not quite ready but keep the offer open,
and I'll be ready soon."
Years went by and I forgot the magic,
indeed, avoided magic.
I went to a marriage yesterday,
I sat alone, away from the others,
on a bridge, by a pond,
amongst tall pines and redwoods.
I thought again of the mystic mantis.
Suddenly you were there.
You came out of a crowd of happy guests
and crossed into my solitary space.
You touched my shoulder and my hand
and kept it there for the fastest hour.
We talked about nature and
books we had both read,
the giant puppets you made,
and about things
I'd never tell a stranger.
I looked into your eyes
and realized
that we had met at least
twice before and saw the familiar offer.
In my mind I pleaded for more time because
I am old and ugly and well married,
but please, please keep the offer open
because I'll be ready soon.
Suddenly you were gone.
He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught the junior high Sunday school class and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side, he 'stilled' moonshine way back up in the holler!)
He was faithful in tithing ten percent of his ill-gotten gain.
(For his John Barleycorn he used only the best obtainable grain!)
He occupied the same pew every Sunday listening with attentive ear.
(It was rumored about that he also brewed some very potent beer!)
He proffered an "amen" at appropriate times and wore a suit and tie.
(He was renowned throughout the county for his very delectable rye!)
His tenor voice blended well when singing, "I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord."
(On back roads he did a bit of bootlegging in his hopped-up V-8 Ford!)
He was the first to offer succor to widows, orphans and others left bereft.
(He'd run his still for years - at evading "revenooers" he was very deft!)
When folks were needed to serve on committees he was first to volunteer.
(When asked his occupation he replied, "I'm a 'Spirit'ual Engineer!")
At Yuletide he was generous with the parson giving him a beef, cash and pork.
(At the annual church picnic he surreptitiously passed a bottle to uncork!)
There couldn't be found a finer saint in all of Boondock County, Kentucky.
(He'll continue to "minister" to parched throats thereabouts - if he's lucky!)
Entry for Tania Kitchin's "Primiere Trophy Contest" Contest
This poem is worthy of a Primiere Trophy since it won First Place in the Poetry Soup International Poetry Contest in April 2011. (Won $50 and an Outstanding Poetic Achievement Certificate).
The paintings where discovered in an old barn
The crime of the century
All six paintings masterpieces
All the locals where questioned at length and width
No one had but a single clue
Except for the local art dealer
He whispered to the inspector
I saw a very colorful van
Drive off in the night
It was not someone from around here inspector
The inspector asked Theo, did you hear anything?
The art dealer replied I am hard of hearing you see
Upon which he proffered a flask from his breast pocket
I think Vincent lives near there, off you go and ask him
When the inspector sought out this new witness
He was no where to be found
They suspected it was his van
In conclusion
Vincent Van Gogh
And was never found
Notes: In America we pronounce his name Van Go, not Van Goff
Sweet Talkers of the Devil
Reptiles in human suits are the true sweet talkers of the devil,
and are well known among the various societies in our world
as slick, sleek actors who fancy the breaking of common law
virtues by their actions in supporting ungodly acts of a real
form of reprehensible separatism that opposes all that is right
and true under God’s eyes in civilized human society.
These malefic actors are the perfect humanoid reptiles for
spreading their surreptitious message of greater autonomy
in the world as they seek to divide and conquer all people
in human societies with their notion and true intention of
setting back the real, hard-earned historical progress that
mankind has achieved over the centuries that have been
marked by war, strife, prejudice, tyranny, nonsense, and
utter debauchery.
What’s at stake you might ask? Think of the implications
of the negative actions proffered and foisted upon all
innocent people worldwide. Think about all the progress
mankind has achieved over the centuries while having to
confront and to defeat the uncanny forces of deception,
darkness, and true evil.
Beware of the Sweet Talkers of the Devil!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 1, 2021 (Narrative)
The wound inflicted, you will never see,
for it lies in the recess of my mind
Internal is the bleeding; let it be!
You try, but peace of mind you can not find
Who is the God you worship? Speak His name!
I want to know; does he condone this pain?
Is He the one who let you maim and shame,
and will he bless you for your proffered bane?
I wonder how you can to slumber yield
Does not your deed weigh heavy on your heart?
The things you've said and done are not concealed
Your conscience surely pleads amends to start
The wound inflicted you will never see
But there is One who sees inside of me
Eileen Manassian
"We are stardust
we are golden
and we've got to get ourselves
back to the garden" - Joni Mitchell
In hallowed halls the ancients spun their tales
on how it was existence came to be
each version proffered as the holy grail
but in the end just vain philosophies
For though their quest was noble in its cause
the evidence presented often lacked
in verity, it gives the thinker pause-
true faith is based on certitude and fact
the poet sang of stardust and it's true
as all of God's creation shares a past
the elements within provide a clue
to miracles that stand as unsurpassed
in Eden mankind's story has its start-
where simple dust became the human heart
She was always there
with her big green eyes
Looking up at me
and into the skies.
Her dreams were of birds
and of prowling about.
I tried keeping her in
but she always got out.
She would hide on the roof
to hunt unwary prey
then gift them to me
in her honoring way.
Sometimes I screamed loudly
at the gifts that she offered
centipedes, roaches and mice
were some things she proffered.
Praises were always followed
by special kitty treats.
While I pleaded with her
to make no repeats.
She always stood guard
as if to give me protection
and would curl up close to me
to offer her affection.
Oh Lilly, sweet Lilly
please continue to purr
and I will continue
to stroke your soft fir.
As her song would begin
well, it made me cry.
I’ll miss her every day
until the day that I die.
November 24, 2014
She's bound by chains too hard for her to break
Alive and yet she tastes a living death
Morality and ethics round her neck
And so she plans to rob her soul of breath
The flames of hell are licking at her feet
In torture is her soul in need of love
A proffered gift of passion undenied
Would bring upon her wrath from God above
To convent in the hills she must escape
Confession make and plead for mercy there
Or else her heart and soul to crucify
And end the call of pleasure, beauteous fair
Betwixt morality and passion lies
The sweet seduction in a lover’s eyes
Jade Celeste
O love, my love…where in this lonesome hour
Can my heart with sweet abandon find you there?
If chance upon the wind, you do float as lotus flower
Would on my earthen bed you gladly fare?
I am your silent lover…though cloaked in gentile guise
With lips, mine own affection would I treat you
And in the twilight’s gloaming your embrace there would I prize
If fate would look away while there I greet you.
O suitors, I commend thy will to win her proffered hand
While exile finds me close enough to see
Yet mark this, would be lovers, her hand there you may find
But her gentle heart was offered first to me.
~Christopher Thor Britt
The Strength of Truly Gentle Men
Who wouldst decry such chivalry
deny the outspread cloak, the proffered hand,
plod through puddled mud, drag silken train,
in smug reproach of such a gentle man.
Hast all the glow been scrubbed from humankind
till every gesture – weighed - is found to lack
the power to deflect cold sightless eyes
from barren search o’erlooking all but self.
Should we, in vain reproach withdraw the cloak,
splash also in the muddled, mindless muck
that passes as the futures promised hope -
wash - Pilate-like - the stain from outstretched hands
Lest the cloak be tainted by history’s tarnished brush
and denied the strength of truly gentle men.
John G. Lawless
11/30/2014
Preposterous and illogical things
proffered as fact. Unwilling to be fought,
politely we nod. In time the lie clings.
Why hold to reason when we can be taught?
It’s fashion to question the foundation.
Even the small things we once thought were sure,
now discarded without hesitation.
Our observations aren’t trusted as pure.
So, we take our pills or drink our best wine.
Eventually the angst rolls away.
Relieved what we’ve witnessed was not a sign,
we can embrace a more "enlightened" day.
Make way for the new, let all else be tossed!
Reason suspended, how much could it cost?