Best Quelling Poems
Antares' red glow bears firmly down
upon plush, chartreuse carpet
lying prone against the obsidian expanse,
blanketing sections of a remote
blue sphere, purling,
spinning helplessly
through distant time and space;
slave to routine and rotation,
never daring to break free;
to reach out.
Scorpius sprawls low
across the Autumn void;
a celestial corpse
twinkling, twitching;
inexplicably still breathing,
expelling the last
of her precious plexine light
in a final, desperate act
to awake inspiration, stir passion,
proffer wholeness and healing
to an infirmed, ungrateful planet,
for her end-of-reign recession.
Projecting dreams; visions
like swirling Akashic holograms
leaping forth from ancient pages
of ethereal records,
all but lost to time and apathy.
Twisting snakelike through the cosmos,
her broody gaze steeling
in every direction;
fierce energy bombarding;
burning across the universe.
Intense joules bursting forth;
reaching out to nurture
willing universal souls;
scorching those who reject her,
turning them to table fodder
at a divine banquet
for dark gods.
Sagittarius flickers jovially behind
as if breathless with laughter;
taunting, frustrating,
staying just out of reach
of her vengeful tail.
The rule of Scorpio wanes
upon Orion's horizontal breach
extinguishing the sting-ed cluster;
quelling her tumultuous surge
until late-spring pains
rebirth her fires,
igniting them, emerging again
from the icy chasm
of black oblivion.
Another layer of lavender scented lotion
Rubbed in vehement laughter
A quelling of sadness
Covered up in mascara insanity
Livid strokes of feathered paintbrushes
Hoping to see the big picture
She cried like oil paintings without a purpose.
A treasure hunter searching for rubbery remedies
Without heart’s sanctified atrium
To light the way
She bled from carnivorous pores
Bites against feeding palms
Struggling licks upon pacifier wounds
Mouth
Shut
Stone’s lonely lyric
Thrown against fragile lighthouses
Beaming through unacceptable horizons
Investigation of deity’s hidden agenda,
She questions validation’s esophagus
Its vocal chords
Torn
Another squeeze from lavender bottle
Empty
Its exhales shedding infantile whisper
…
A bounced reality check
Declaring that it wasn’t a disease
That afflicted her bones
©Drake J. Eszes
You asked me for a dance one night, ’twas late one New Year’s Eve,
and as I held you in my arms, your shape did wend and weave;
a sudden kiss as midnight struck (I thought it make believe) -
for stars and kismet ruled with zeal our lives would interleave.
I give to you the morning sun to dance within your smile
a flower wild amongst the stones upon a rocky isle
with hidden paths in ancient woods where we can walk awhile.
You lead me by the hand through nights into the waking days,
through swinging gates in mirrored walls and through the midnight haze,
through castles built in sandbox realms in children’s yesterdays.
I give to you a ragged doll, a puppet on a string,
a ride upon a rocking horse, a swallow on the wing,
a ribbon trailing from your hair, a red or scarlet thing.
You whisk me from a valley deep wherein a black wind blows,
and tracks upon the empty trails are hidden by the snows,
to share with me your secret thoughts and steal away my woes.
I give to you a silver flute, a whistle on a chain,
a drummer boy with dancing feet, a sugar candy cane,
a window flushed with foolish tears mid pitter-patter rain.
You lead me from entangled streets inside a circus town,
subduing smoky memories that haunt this wistful clown
by quelling plaintive melodies and sorrows that they sound.
I give to you a penny plain to cast upon a dream,
a streaking star inside the sky, a bridge across a stream,
a teddy bear with tattered ears and berries dipped in cream.
You show me how a rainbow lightens distant liquid lands,
where dew drops paint the purple leaves deserted on the sands
on roads of simple wonderment within your slender hands.
I give to you in winter’s chill my ragged scarf of thread,
a dripping ball of candle wax on fire blazing red,
and offer you this smitten rhymer’s loving arms in bed.
You spin me tales of laughter, yes, of laughter on a spree,
of laughter restless in the sky, of laughter running free,
of laughter dancing, skipping wildly far beyond the sea.
I give to you these careless words, arrayed in broken lines,
adorned, my love, with tempest winds and teardrop salty brine,
in cups of youthful passion steeped in desolation wine,
and promise I’m forever yours... if only you’ll be mine.
An end-of-August day, the air is crisp--
the only hint that fall is on its way.
And we’ve gone to the park to share this bliss,
for school will soon cut short his time for play.
The wide, paved paths meander round a pond,
'neath walnut-laden trees, and over creeks.
Bike freed from training wheels takes him beyond
my grasp, and off he rides with ruddy cheeks.
But soon he takes a spill and grabs his knee.
His little chin aquiver but no tears.
A kiss and Batman band-aid remedy.
“All better?” He nods bravely, quelling fears.
He scrambles to his bike and rides away.
I wish that time could slow and summer, stay.
5/1/2019
May 1, 2019
Specificity in Poetry
Sheri Fresonke Harper, Sponsor
~3rd Place
POTD 5/3/2019
Favorite Poem from May 2019
Julia Ward, Sponsor
~2nd Place
I question Adam’s hymn, O’ Holy Night,
while I retreat upstairs on Christmas Eve
comparing his to mine to fill the night:
His was a quill that spilled of quelling leaves,
of grace contrived to save the petty thieves
once hung from twigs composed of disbelief
condemned to hell for causing others grief.
His notes were angels on a snowy plain.
His words were lowing, pure, and eloquent.
His song, when sung, reminds of cleansing rain;
a prayer of praise for God’s embodiment:
For unto us, a Son, the Father sent,
whose death would cleanse the hearts of guilty men
whose path through life was one composed of sin.
And now I question: What’s defined as sin?
Is it to squeeze a heart that’s mostly innocent
and quell the rhythmic joy that beats within?
To steal my child, so pure and eloquent
and lock away my love’s embodiment?
A midnight hurr’cane sent to swell my pain
that leads to mourning Christmas once again?
Mine’s not a song it’s a SCREAM drenched in grief!
Where is MY daughter, god? Why did she leave?
My knees won’t budge for no more than a thief
who threatens damnation unless we believe!
But, there’s a calmness felt on Christmas Eve.
And when I’m back downstairs, it’s by His light
I pen this poem that I need to write.
Date: 11/24/2018
Contest: CHRISTMAS MOURNING
Sponsor: PS Awtry
If a goodbye echoes when you say hello
And tears concealed admonish your smile
As life abandons you without hinting why,
Did you miss the sound of her silent cries?
If you need to ask how long does love last
You haven't heard the moan of her heart
Where quietly she hides grief of her wants
And quelling her passion, embraces doubts.
Her sadden vibes don't well-up your eyes
And the sound of her hurt just passes you by
As contemptuous voice ridicules her plight,
What it wouldn't say, you certainly have.
March 22, 2019
HM: Strand select 5 contest by Brian Strand
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I succumb
Ceding my stuff blindly, toward oblivion and none
Unwilling to persevere, without a modicum of fun
Listing in perpetual stasis, til the spasm’s undone
And yet a god may save me, or a talisman of love
Some prophet of euphoria, quelling ennui thereof
Placing good tidings, into a universal equation
Edifying eternity…..revealing its exact duration…..
Alas he speaks in riddles, and treads a mobius strip
Each cycle forming a twist, convoluting his trip
Determined I follow, my awareness in collapse
Narrow-mindedly stumbling into mortality traps
Now I sense the endgame, but decline to exalt
Its a distortion, an abortion, a cataclysmic fault
Chance meeting with a nihilist, yields positive results
Unable to see past zero, he reveals nothing but cults
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I begun
A contorted brain-f*ck, had no choice but to come
A demon of clarity, with an open ended measure
One who gives to please, but prefers taking pleasure
To believe for one moment, I’d live off a dying spark
Only denies potential, when again life goes dark
With more light to come, my sunglasses prepared
Eternity’s not polarised, just infinitely layered
If a blind man articulates, I’ve seen all this before
Screaming and convinced “I’m a seer at my core”
Could be he’s mistaken, or deluded with Déjà vu
Begs his final question, “do I have a point of view”?
New never is...
(Charles Wood)
We are but voyeurs,
peering through the iris
of the painter’s eye’s recording
details of a scene
not meant for sharing,
when wealth and power
are kith and kin
of the common man,
and rank hath neither
meaning nor memory
or power over
the passions,
the needs of youth,
the sway of love,
the slip of flesh on flesh,
the scent of earth,
the consequence.
Do you not feel the crackle of
fear and violence,
smell as I do
shame and desperation,
comprehend the role of
each of the players
by the masks they wear?
Imagine if you will
the hours sure to follow:
the actions dictated by convention;
the disregarded pleas;
the assignment of blame;
the mean whispers;
the banishment;
the unchangeable fortunes.
If only it were true
that love will triumph
instead of being mere
frayed threads of duty.
At last the artist looks away
from the unfortunate scene,
quelling memories
far too close for comfort.
For Isaiah Zerbst’s contest.
Fall's colorful leaves are most appealing to me,
Gilding the hillsides with gold, touching every tree.
Hay rides on a wagon bed add to Halloween fun,
Impossible not to enjoy the painted setting sun.
Jack O' Lanterns carved from pumpkins collected.
Kinships are kindled by new friendships connected.
Leaves keep drifting down in a soft familiar way.
Memories flood back in sweet years of yesterday.
Neighbors sipping cider with the affection of friends
Offering to help each other before the season ends.
Prayers said together keep those tornadoes at bay
Quelling any fears that severe weather storms will stay.
Rain adds a heavenly petrichor refreshment to the fall
Sustaining earth to give rebirth, reviving one and all.
Trees greet autumn sun as they kiss leaves goodbye
Until cold north winds usher snowflakes from the sky.
Veils of frost begin to turn the landscape snowy white.
Winter waves her magic wand bringing dazzling delight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
9-5-16
Alphabet Soup Poetry Contest
Sponsor Kim Merryman
I
am a
candle
made of
wax. I may
appear to be
soft and fragile.
My body shaped
so perfectly with a
sheen on my skin.
But believe me, I
have much more
to offer. No less
than a knight,
an intense
warrior
by
!
..heart..
~I have a~
fiery spirit that
spreads the light of joy.
I can kindle hope into....
fearful hearts by quelling
the horrors of darkness.
No matter how strong is
the winds of misery that
....tries to fade me away.
I flicker high with all my
flaming strength. More I
keep emitting my soulful
light, my body melts into
a pool of nothingness....
drop by drop. But I don't
care, because I'm born to
fight for the right till I die.
Light against darkness is
....the battle, I strive for.
So be the glorious death
of martyrdom, I wish for.
Color, shape, size and my
brand does not makes me
worthy for this world....
but what I do, I stand for
makes me worthy enough.
I burn and burn and burn.
Passionately burning with
....compassion for others
to serve my only purpose.
And when I 'm done, there will be
others in my place to keep the mission
going on. Victory of light against darkness.
Date : 12/27/2016
Note : For the contest (Concrete Crush) by FJ Thomas.
*Placed Fifth*
A black cloud envelops my sky
Threatening to rain down a torrent of pain
Oceans of commotion swirl in my brain
And I try to bandage the wounds in vain
I see only the receding vistas of light
And night prowling like a stealthy thief
The past chills the mind like hanging icicles
And I feel so heavy with frozen grief
I inch my way up like an ugly snail
My life is riddled with contradictions
Oh, I am waylaid, lost and beaten
From every corner, I meet only oppositions
Yet dreams break forth in my heart
Amidst darkness shines a light
A call to spirit to seek the gift of recovery
Transforming pain into strength and delight
I must break loose of all the tethers
Let my soul embrace all that is dear
From this cage, I must fly out
The sky beyond me lies blue and clear!
Even at moments when we feel,
God has forsaken us, time assures;
However bad things are, recovery is possible,
When God is there quelling all our fears.
Now I am on a journey of redemption
I tell myself- “Come out from this hell
Just start anew, nothing is beyond recovery
The dawn is near and all shall be well”
THE FIRES OF HELL
The fire of hell which warm the devils dwelling
Now the Land of Oz are quelling
They rage and burn, galloping on
Taking life and homes, leaving none
The path they raze blows with the wind
The devil strolls through, but no one sinned
He strikes with abandon and takes at random
How to return him down below
Quell the fiery winds which blow
Ease the pain of those surviving
Pray for the people the land reviving
Homes and lives dashed
Dreams and peace crashed
Pray for rain to quell the flame
Make the devil return and no more claim
© Mandy Tams 2020
I ride the waves of innocence
on the ocean of The Now.
From the depths of dank
a demon stalks my bow.
On deck afraid, alone I stood
quelling fear the best I could.
Furled the jib and reefed the main
what you do when the wind's insane.
Then rising atop a stormy swell
the giant beast straight from hell.
Peering so deep in its deathly eyes
I could hear a thousand sailors' cries.
The chilling truth that I could see
was the evil thing in fact was me.
I flip the history of Bojangles
On a cool Sunday evening
Los Angeles coming down
A flow of oboes breathing
Through the lung of the street
The hobo not stopping for air
Fingers moving in a dance
Across the strings of consciousness
Milking the music of his brain
Onto a breast
Of dilated ears.
Mr. Lopez, unsettled from his comfortable chair
Searching for something to tell
Against the neon of despair
Heard the dulcimer quelling hell
And saw himself standing bare
To the sheetless eyes
Of a man serenading Beethoven
Deaf as a statue
In the city's superfluous air.
Here is where humanity
Sings hope amidst the garden
Of hopelessness
That make direlict dreams
Tugging our divinity
Down to rags of nothingness.
Mr. Ayers, a quaver away
Juliard school in love aspiring
Suddenly there fallen
Amidst the glitter and glamor
Of non-existence
Peace, a basoon
Seducing a Los Angeles moon
Coy as a lover
In the tangle of wine memory
He plays against
The unkown sorrow of the world.
And here dedication
Drives us to distraction
Soon or late
Decomposing our minds
Into shards of glistening memories.
Discovery, today beholding yesterday
A bride for the first time
Amidst the silence of flowers
Cradling weeds and seeds of tomorrow.
Love without purpose
Can change the course
Of splintering history.
He plays, harmony
In where the traffic blares
Yellow light onto his gray matter
Splitting airs with sharp sounds
They echo
Not the common pit, nor
To a single Maestro blending
The mind's kaleidoscope
Before the other's saner wit
Along highways and wind tunnels
He brings to a sombre note
To ode all joys
Strugling repressed under
Human ambition
Ayers is my minstrel
Jarred by a nerve
Not wired for sleep.
Fortune smiles
From the frontier of friendhsips
Fondled by the music
Of love unfranchised
Awakes the lyre
To sing in the resurrection of desire.
Friendship is a sheltering tree
From life's base tragedies.
Corroded clouds exude narcotic, honeyed sap,
Quelling ancient mayhem in a digital trap.
A quiet ritual, a ballet of bone and steel,
As the mind succumbs to a whispered, lucid deal.
Relics hum in the hollow of the throne,
Nerves collapse in a drug's strange, echoed tone.
A gilded cage, its promises now dust,
I grow my paper-cut wings, born of fragile trust.