Best Queried Poems
Beckoned by love, allured by memories,
Embracing missives of delightful dream
Engrossed in sphere of halo mesmerizing
Surrounding her aura in ornate gold ring,
She lifted-off gaily into ethereal, heavenly,
Way beyond reign of mortal melancholy
That gripped her soul in unbearable grief.
Enthralled she floated on feelings angelic
As she swirled, danced on magical wings,
Visiting lustrous nebulae hanging mirthfully
Amid magenta clouds’ resplendent motifs;
A kingdom of happiness, of eternal paradise,
An escape to wonderland fit for a child,
Just like her mother had once described
Where love always blossoms garden of joy.
Flexing exuberance, she queried the stars,
Until she came upon the brightest of all,
And recognized the most reassuring smile
Peering fondly into mother’s loving eyes
Nesting in her breasts, savoring her breath,
Longing every touch, reveling every pulse,
Blissful in endearment of realm sublime
Reconnecting enamored memories divine
Cradled in mother’s arms till end of time.
December 27, 2022
Poem of the day on December 28, 2022
Placed 5th: Beyond Reach Premium Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
queried, child, dream, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Verse
Remembering the days of yesteryear
when family ties were held most dear,
gas lamps flickered in the back street
while most of us danced a different beat.
Tragic alleyways of smog and smut
“Live over the brush”* branded a sl*t,
silhouettes infringe the darkest night
gullible back shift broke the morning light.
Adventurous nights at “Townhead Mill”
eight pints of beer the back porch thrill,
when no meant yes in rapturous skill
to fumigated music from “Nashville.”
Obnoxious libertine this bread man
bay curtain drawn delivery van,
the situation conspired indiscretion
clinical the world’s oldest profession.
Sporting gentlemen in summer bliss
caught first ball costly night on the piss,
pavilion home to moorside drover
many a chaste maiden bowled over.
Partial pilgrimage down “Bolton Road”
black and amber heroes round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout the room
manly skills embroider the village groom.
Cardinal days steeped in “Rock ‘n’ Roll”
sire in fear of them out of control,
a colossal wedge between cultures
in shadows of decency vile vultures.
Repetitious days of school yard might
the bullies reduced one’s life to plight,
parents queried yet misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the neighbourhood.
Lad and lasses lost in “Hide and seek”
games of “Stroke a back” every week,
by the old school grounds we all did laik**
now the street is naked for heaven sake.
Why on earth would a mind keep drifting back
this poetry constantly placing me on track,
when life was a role without fame or stars
only toil and trepidation and these scars?
© Harry J Horsman 2013
*Living in sin
** Play
Categories:
queried, life, nostalgia, school,
Form:
Rhyme
“Why do the Rams behave violently?”
The little boy queried of his father.
“They need all their might to fight the Jaguars,
But Jags are fast, don’t know why they bother.”
“And why do Broncos try to beat up on Colts?
Wouldn’t this be much like you hitting me?”
The unhappy father just shook his head
“It’s competition, son, you just don’t see.”
“Daddy, this is not what I hoped to find
At a zoo like other children describe.”
“The football zoo is better than others
Some animals here throw games for a bribe.”
“But you told Mom we would see a real zoo,”
The youngster groaned, sadly eying the field.”
“Please just tell Mom you saw animals play
If she learns where we went, my fate is sealed.”
* For Barbara Gorelick's "Zoo" competition
Categories:
queried, animals, funnymom, mom,
Form:
Rhyme
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place
In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss
Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree
It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years
In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed …
A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’
It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth
At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope
Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth
I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James
Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock
Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged
With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth
I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this
Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried
I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone
Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription
Carved in the decaying stone I read
Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33
Fell asleep with her tiny angel
Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping
Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard
Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose
For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed
Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings
Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
08~04~16
Categories:
queried, death, grave, loss, mother,
Form:
Free verse
Then I Opened That Door…
To The Question: “How was your Day?” came this response…
The other day I arrived at work and found my chair was gone. Oh the Horrors!
No way to rest at my desk. I looked and scurried all about for it.
Someone said to just grab another one. “Grab another one?” I queried?
I told them that this is no ordinary chair. It was special.
It was the legendary Chair that lays the Golden Eggs. And I did not stop there.
I had back and leg pain and someone named Billy Beanstalk found this chair for me.
He had gone thru his network of vines… I mean friends.
He talked to Penny Patty (middle name CowPie, but I digress).
And when she heard about my missing chair she had a cow.
No, really. She owned a real cow with farmland to spare.
Anyway, Billie had the beans to spread the word far and wide.
It caught the attention of Penny and the cow. The cow wasn’t talking. He was mooody.
Penny mentioned the penchant of Ogres with flagons from wagons,
Who lived in caves by the waves. (I am not making this up!)
They loved chairs by the pairs and tables with strange labels.
This story should not be confused with dragons with issues.
As I was saying, Billy and I were able to sneak into the Ogres Lair.
And inside I found my chair. How did I know it was my chair, you ask?
I didn’t put the label on the table; it was on the chair with the hair,
On the flagons were dragons, where the brew was true.
Billy and I will have to tell Penny and the cow about this. The cow still isn’t talking.
We proceeded to sneak the chair by the Ogres who slept by the hour.
It wouldn’t be nice to bring the Ogres awake by the lake,
That’s why there were waves by the caves.
So that is how we were able to retrieve my Chair that lays the Golden Eggs,
And I can finally rest my back and legs.
Really now, I did not make this up. It really happened.
About the cow, I think the Ogres had one too,
After they found they didn’t have an even pair of chairs.
Written by Hubby at the encouragement of Dragon and Wuffie Poo
Written 6-25-2015
Categories:
queried, fantasy, fun, funny, happiness,
Form:
Light Verse
Disheveled hair, wiry and gray
an old lady hovered past my house each day.
I ignored her when she passed by
wondering what possessed her as I sighed
then in my own focused diligence
I slinked fast away, uncaring in my ignorance.
Wasn't sure where she lived but wondered
why in the world she seemed so encumbered.
Then one day when a little cold set in
I stepped outside my homey bin
and there lay bird wings on my mat
and slipped away some stray gray tabby cat.
Then as I queried in my beleaguered mind
that old lady waved, not surprised as to what I was to find.
There along the shade of the door's edge
just below the fully defined hedge
lay the gathering of leaves and papers torn
five kittens hiding unseen and newly born.
The old lady grinned, scooped them up and smiled
their mine she said as if they were her own child.
Categories:
queried, animal, cat,
Form:
Rhyme
Home is in the village then?
A stranger queried of when:
We met on a roadside bend.
Two men walking, who did tend,
To chance on becoming friends.
Visiting from the South you say?
Headed over yonder way?
Let me tell you of this place.
Over there lives Lady Grace.
We move on at quickened pace.
Hikers on a country road,
Seeking neither food nor gold.
This journeys wealth did unfold,
In the tales that we’ve since told.
Old friends who met on a road:
Categories:
queried, friend, friendship, hello, men,
Form:
Rhyme
I had barely escaped the cat’s enormous paws
When I found myself in fairyville Santa Claus
What is this place I ventured to ask?
The answer was a surprising gasp.
Are you new? The red robin queried with dismay.
Apparently I was to be someone else that day.
I am a sugar plum elf, newly-re-assigned, I said.
So he took me to a dorm where I went to bed.
Whirling dream faeries kept me up all night
Laughing and tittering, left and right.
I put the pillow all over myself,
Now sorry I was a sugar plum elf.
Real Santa Claus never came to this part of town.
But his wife Lou did, when she was not feeling down.
They showed me how to make fabulous wooden toys,
For the giant girls, and the really giant boys.
I stayed hidden as I ran between Santa’s workshops,
Not wanting to be captured by anything that hops.
The cat is stealthily, you will be eaten, they said.
But if that was true, I would already be dead.
Categories:
queried, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
I have a date;
with Destiny..
Feathered by fate;
and hipocracy...
Treading my fears...
Distancing my heart..
Screaming your name;
silenced from start...
Lost in the game...
Dead in my tracks..
Queried by love...
Stabbed in the back...
Taste of regret....
Following your lead...
Never to return...
Mentally freed....
Categories:
queried, life
Form:
Rhyme
WE . . . NOT FRUSTRATED
Those whose mouth speak and ooze
Only fire of a voluble vibrating vocabulary
Those whose sin is just speaking for others
In order for their other orders not to be ordered
Those whose lives were almost snuffed
Away by the ordered ultra-fascists gangsters
Those whose words sparkles only fire
To fire the unfired spirits into burn- fires
Those whose political jargons-renditions
Send thousands frenzy for action
Those whose offence is probing beyond
The nostril above their faces
Those who are ostracized for louding the truth
Above the speaker of the U and I garden
These
Are those my bird flock together with
During the day in search of the night
I among those given heavy knock on
The head for these inequities known only to them
I among those who are painted in stinker Toga
Of Miscreants, Disgruntled elements,…
I among those placed on a four season wheel-chair
With a gun powder explosion underneath
But
For them their son that strike the cheek of a Porter
More thunderous a slap to be queried nor be punished
For them their sons and daughters whose oblongata
Remains blank but full of giraffe and chips in the exams
For them their stooges that converse with guns and goons
For them that smile with axes, guns, daggers . . .
To strike, shoot and maim others
For them their anchors that knows nothing but something
For out of their nothing lies violence and blood
For they speaketh nor write
For them their boys they present a golden plate of honour
Found worthy in learning and character
Doomed to become menace to the society
For we . . . remain resolute
For we . . . not frustrated
For we . . . not cowed
For we . . . unperturbed
For we shall uphold the pillar of truth
Until our struggle shall beam light en route the tunnel
Alayande Stephen .T
12th February,2006
11.28am
Conceptualised after my four semester rustication
Verdict by Prof.Bamiro UI VC led SDC in
University of Ibadan on the 31st of January,2006.
A Promise to myself to refire the struggle not to retire.
Categories:
queried, devotion, faith, inspirational, peoplefire,
Form:
Mekhela chador
I was too hurry and overwhelmed
To embrace the attire
"mur maa rr mekhela chador" ( - "my mater's Indigenous Traditional Assamese Dress")...
The days in kindergarten,
I cherish the attire, in her wardrobe enhanced and ironed
The dining hours,
I often queried her, to own the attire
And in festive tyrant,
She dressed herself in the silken weaving attire
The onset of puberty;
My body and soul celebrated draping of the attire
From my breast to my waist to my ankle
For the first time, I engulfed the feeling of being a woman (and beautiful)
All coyness and tenderness are ornate as my fragrance
The attire was made of silk in creamy white and cherry thread
Like droplets of cherry-red blood unfurling the snowy linen
And the ears heard joyously whispering me
"mur maa rr mekhela chador" ( - "my mater's Indigenous Traditional Assamese Dress")...
Categories:
queried, 12th grade, age, beautiful,
Form:
Epic
The hour of night unfolds before me like an origami shadow
and suddenly the stars outsource their light, the moon her glow
That dark and endless sky before my eyes is holding me in silence
sheltering my quietude with queried thought I ask, who are you ?
Dark shadows moving with paranormal photo lights
every planet in the sky including Mars ignites
Saturnian golden shades of amber filament bright
the hour of night unfolds giving me wish bullions of gold.
Far beyond reach the innocent child of wander that I once was
has left her stationary world of earth, her Alcatraz
that jet black place of deep that knows no boundaries calls
to me, you are who you say you are !
Luminescent angels of beauty and grace they hold the golden cup
belonging to Pharaohs of yesterday, Divine intermediaries
who brush through my soul like the breeze, airflow from heaven
an existential curiosity arises once more, where are we ?
December 29, 2022
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Contest Name This or That, Vol 15 |
Categories:
queried, appreciation, beauty, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
What does autumn sunshine gloriously reveal?
When the sun sets too swiftly in the west keel
When a breeze said, "Sweetheart, I admire you."
Now moan the dying chords of the gloomy view?
The cold that begets each blurred leaf moans,
It clangs inside the veins and blisters the bones.
I loathe the mellowed tones of the clock thrum,
The hallway of time strikes a brilliant hoodlum.
I'm ridden that the fig's fallen leaves can't be undone,
I queried, yet has been unfit to mend the core bone.
Those dreary addenda appear to float on the vein,
And reflect my adamant dismay to me within.
He was fraught before dying startlingly,
A load of the burden of debt is crushing loosely.
Then, he learned a lot from this position,
Judge people who have plaid in fiscal coercion.
Hide behind the fig leaf, in the shadow,
Hide behind it your heart's calm to follow.
Never trust that fig leaf; it has a bark
Snack and taste from my oozy limp mark.
It's the fabled stint to delve into the spurts of life,
Lacking a fig leaf, you might swap bare in strife.
None left after the last leaf fell on the ground,
Also, each one saw it clearly, but no sound.
Written: March 28, 2022
1ST Place Contest Winner
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Categories:
queried, analogy, appreciation, bereavement, character,
Form:
Rhyme
He, a seeker after Truth, set out
on an audacious journey
to see his old master
with a handful of blooms
he paused before the open door.
from deep meditation
the squatted figure, looked up.
in a trance, he saw the silhouette of a man.
on gazing intent, emerged distinct
his former disciple, left long ago
seeing his hands laden with flowers,
the master smiled a recognizing smile.
in close surveillance, the penetrating eyes
gauged him through and through.
the master’s pursed lips opened ajar.
from him, arose a single word-
‘’ Drop”
gentle but firm was its timbre.
he dropped the flowers, one by one.
in sterner voice, the master said,
‘’ Drop”
all at once, he let the remaining blooms
go off his clasp
and down they fell around his feet.
folding empty hands, he stood,
waiting for the master’s behest
after an eerie silence,
once more came the hefty command--
‘’ Drop”
stupified, the disciple queried-
‘’ what more should I drop? “
eyes emitted sparks!
‘’ not the flowers, but your ego”-
instant was his reply.
a spear stuck deep into his self.
as by a whirl wind, his body tottered.
he felt a deep twirl inside.
unfastening the hinges
of the imperious shutters,
a boulder rolled down,
dropping to the ground with a thud.
back home, the disciple gleefully walked,
the clogged fog clearing from his head
ego shorn, here now reborn
in a state of divine transcendence
feeling as weightless as a feather
~Placed First~
8. Jan. 2022
This or That.Vol.9. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
~Placed Fifth~
In 'Ego Shorn, Here Now Reborn' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by-Unseeking Seeker
Categories:
queried, blessing, devotion, giving, mentor,
Form:
Free verse
Beard or bard? queried chief counsel, The Spit.
Bared wit: "alike drunkn greif".
Berkspeller loose in the fief!
Beware, none sings from his lIEf...
Categories:
queried, humorous, language, perspective, poets,
Form:
Englyn