Best Reimbursed Poems
The give and take in love should reach a mean
whereby the two be equally disbursed,
so givers' hearts would never suffer lean,
cold hungry hours without love reimbursed.
And those who take would never reach the stage
of ravenous and selfish, one-way traits.
Such balance would create a better age,
if give and take maintained their equal weights.
But somehow this could never balance out,
for givers give beyond the gifts they bear;
in turn, must feed on crumbs, for without doubt;
the hungry takers take beyond their share.
While takers tip the scale with all they gain,
the givers, weak and thin, smile through their pain.
Sandra M. Haight
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Any HM Ever
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 01/22/2017
~ Honorable Mention~
Contest: Love Justice
Sponsor: Justin Bordner
Judged: 01/24/2015
My eyes have not grown too weak or dim
to ignore what they've long been seeing
pretenders who wear a mask of disguise
like a skier who's not proficient at skiing
Everyone who labels him/herself a 'poet'
thinks he's composed brilliant words, versed
but lacks ability, and some of us know it,
and receives high praise; payback reimbursed
Is it because some seek insincere empty words
to gain a like response as a misbegotten debt?
Could it be they want undeserved admiration
for posting things a serious poet would regret?
And what of time consuming contest entries
that tower in skilled verse above most of the rest,
only to see everyone received a first place finish
when theirs is ignored but clearly one of the best.
IT'S A SLAP IN THE FACE!!!
Let's not overlook when the final results are in
those who give nods to each other as number one
It's obvious they don't always deserve the win.
Doesn't that spoil both the challenge and the fun?
Go ahead and point out that I shouldn't complain
because I stopped entering contests months ago
and seldom post on a site where some would reign.
but I discover things that make me say, "WHOA!"
Not so many fake names appear by a cheating judge
and I thank all of those who plowed that farrow
There are times when we all need a bit of a nudge
to make sure the path we walk is straight and narrow
Now I've learned that the advertisement displays
are prohibiting Connie Wong from enjoying her part
in reading and commenting in her loveliest of ways.
Connie is a talented poet, with a pure, loving heart.
My premium membership is up at the end of May
by now you've gathered that I'll not be renewing
but I'll still occasionally post on any given day.
Thank you for reading what has long been brewing
Comments are welcome if you would like to share
your thoughts, agreeable and even if they're not
We all have opinions; a community should care
about problems...unless you just don't give a squat
and if that's the case, I totally understand that, too
Sometimes, I find myself on a battleground
in the present or in sieges from the distant past
It may be a war I've been waging within myself,
a thorn that needs plucking so that I might heal
I wear no crown, nor do I wish to be gowned
in regal robes and sit upon a throne looking down
on anyone. For me, those things hold no appeal
I am rebellious against the many wrongs I've seen
and if you think it's mean of me to feel that way—
You don't know me well enough to pass judgement
With regret, I've been the cause of an Angel's weeping
when down a misguided path I chose to walk
Mistakes? I've made my share of them, maybe more
but I've always tried to amend my faults in some way
Indemnity is not always reimbursed with coin
More often than not, my tears the price to pay
Sometimes, even I have not found the sentience of it—
things I do; emotions I feel. No reason as to why except
that I am compelled without restraint or prudence to try
I refute the need to live by the creed of the golden rule—
for only a fool would claim the world is a righteous place
where smug faces play fair in games of love and war
If I am defeated, I never hesitate to stand again
for I've always despised the thought of white flags
and retreating like a coward again and again, in sad refrain
I garner resilience and strength from every enemy I meet
and in defeat, my stratagem sharpens much keener
I am not a warrior; that's not the path I want to take
I've been storm tossed in seas of turbulent weather
When faced with animosity, I will not shiver and quake
Offered silk or suit of armor— I prefer a softer demeanor
Self-professed I am supple of breast
Heart not crafted from leather
From flesh, blood and bone
Of the gender called woman
I was not chiseled from stone
suffering by the sentence made,
the pain wave breaks the surface,
the whips cut and the slicing blade,
the masters bloody purpose....
to be owned by the master,
and treated like a curse,
resentment burns hereafter,
karma is ten times worse,
time repays the master,
the next life reimbursed,
not blest with this life with laughter,
so miserable so cursed
"Indentured Servant" thanks Antony Nutter
great poetry mate.....Don Johnson
The Giver's Heart
Give
and take
in love must
be dispersed so
givers' hearts do not
endure lean hours without
their need of love reimbursed.
Those who take must never reach a
shameful stage of one-way, selfish traits.
Sublime, when give and take are equal weights.
Sometimes this does not balance out because
givers give beyond the gifts they bear,
to feed on crumbs, for without doubt,
hungry takers take more than
their givers' offered share—
tip the scales with gain.
Then givers, weak
and thin, smile
thru their
pain.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Unrequited Love
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 11/30/2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: Lessons Learnt In Life
Lesson #4: The heart will always make you look like a fool
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 10/08/2015
The Electoral College
By Franklin Price
9/17/2017
The Electoral College is outdated they say
Should never have been, and is not for today
They say that the people are not having their way
That the College votes wrong, for the right kind of pay
Do those people who say that, understand why it's there?
Do they know what would happen, or do they even care?
Is the majority vote, always something that's fair?
Keep your mind open, as you read this, I dare.
We are a republic, not a democracy
Government is by the people in this land of the free
But there are fifty states, in this country you see
All have an interest, not only just three
Each state independent and each has its rights
If you think that's not true, think of Civil War fights
The people, of all states, must each have a say
If the College was gone that would not be the way.
The Federal based government does not give a damn
About ones in Alaska, might as well be Siam
Not enough people to get their flim flam
Or add to their power and get them more ham
We're in need of less power in that Washington place
Each state should have rights, and their spot in the race
Isn't it time for less egg on our face?
To govern this country with style and with grace
To do away with the College would make matters worse
Larger states would have deeper hands in our purse
More budget to them would cause small states to curse
Already pay taxes that are not reimbursed
You can see less have more in this land of the rich
They need not pay taxes, trickle down is their pitch
Taxes come from the middle and there life's a *****
If the college was gone, it would add to the glitch
The College should stay, if we really care
For each of the states and the residents there
If we really are interested and want to be fair
Make the Feds less controlling of the laws in their lair
Life means I can talk to my friends and others,
When the untravelled sea fills with brothers,
Pleasure rushes the uninhabited areas we just don't sail,
And when we semiotically emit our meaning, we will prevail;
Freedom rings with resonance resounding and pervasive,
No need for more traditional others to be abrasive,
No bears or wolves, no chides, jibes, and no probes obtrusive,
Your identity is your construct, your speech is conclusive.
And my books! Alas my books. They proffer so such contentment,
A breadth of knowledge with no suggestions delinquent,
Nor are there any accusers to accost,
My mind and spirit which upon some can be lost,
Possibilities endless, bringing depth of character,
They glint and glide, swimming in grammar;
Multiple amounts of information councel my hesitation,
Brimming particulars restrain inhibition.
But oh my computer: How elegant is she!
Believing in my easy registrations as well as my errors to be;
Such possibilities, moulded so neatly into my space,
Without the communal glare of uniformity’s trace;
Personalised desktop, memory and input method,
It accepts me unquestioned with no staff or flogging rod;
I program to set the user interface alight,
With the functionality and procedures of the user’s plight.
However, I can also give myself my own system,
Personal software from my own inclination;
Knowing some designers do not have in hand,
The shortcuts that only I seem to understand;
A software engineer’s god complex should not surface,
The digital space is a privilege to influence, place;
I love determining the screen and its sounds,
Where freedom of knowledge and data abound.
But the gift of poetry delights and ignites,
Hurtful regressions lull in its sight;
Its credibility only ever stoops to concede,
That only your introversion may expression impede;
Language caressed, dignity nursed,
You never need to be at all reimbursed;
Its haters are silent for fear of rebuke,
As truth, imagination and love are its hook.
As my soul nears it's journeyed winter resting place
memories of past seasons are thoughtfully traced
footpaths that were traveled which gladdened my heart
grateful of the spring which gave me my start
Honeyed by the bee's attracted too sweet nectar
strengthened by the breeze of Nature's mentor
sweet song of birds adjoining trickling brook
was an opening to me of an Earthly book
Scripted purpose...symbolic in every sign
my soul's perseverance willingly resigns
to the ebb 'n flow of universal currents
energizing forces resolutely meant
Joyful guidance toward long awaited embrace
opportunity beckons,Heaven's consoling face
as our Earth...the nursery of the soul,
proper attention paid,then reimbursed with gold
Summer's sun producing autumn fruit
bountifully doled from beginning roots
gestures solemnizing eventual union
Spirits agape fulfilling another aeon....
When I was a young'un on old Mother Earth
Believe me, this tale was surely an absolute first
She send me an old bag
Whose boobies did sag
Methinks this dude should've been totally reimbursed
© Jack Ellison 2015
Would the Universe permit a small
Discretion... as I lie here cold and grey?
Knowing it be well within its powers...
To grant me one more day.
What would I do with such a boon
To make an Angel beam with pride?
Would I manage some small triumph
Before I finally up and die?
Would I take time to smell the flowers
With one last stroll on Nature's ground?
Would I search the majestic valley
Where the tree of life is found?
Would I avoid the petty narcissism
Threatening to lead my soul astray?
Would some glory be reimbursed in song
To make bold that extra day?
But my universal wish is rather simple
As frivolous needs are born away.
Just return my Earthly Mother...
So we may be together one more day.
The End
The sun was newly risen above the Earth
His golden smile warmed amber desert sands
The grand landscape resembled barren lands
as sepia grains were slathered in rippling waves
That's what I saw through blurred vision
the hallucination of turquoise rivers in a mirage
This sea of sand was the color of maple honey
but bore no trace of footprints, boat nor oar
It held no countable fathoms of unknown depth
to serve sailors as their watery graves
Its swells were not waves washing to the shore
nor slithering sea snakes, worse by far
No lush oasis to be found as an illusion to my eyes,
nor cool stream to quench a weary traveler's thirst
This Eastern dune held no date palms for a feast
nor shade from which life could be reimbursed
Here, the moon does not control ebb and flow
There are no tides except for those guided by Mariah
Her harsh winds blow without a wit of warning
and scorpions have no fear of drowning in undertow
In the vast hummocks of gold glimmering sand
I found myself living life sorrowfully chagrinned
lost and confused while the sun blistered my skin
I circled the shores of this scorched desert sea
until parched, death took its final payment from me
A Statue... Man with umbrella
It was May in Lisbon had been walking long sat down on a bench
near a statue of a great Portuguese navigator, resting sore feet.
I had earlier that day bought an umbrella, it broke in high wind
so I put it beside on the bench. A child came sat on my lap and his
mother took a photo, apparently they thought I was a statue too.
A man who was showing tourists around said I was a figure made
by the famous Gabriel Bard. I said nothing since I had lost ability
to speak. In the morning cleaners came hosed me and the other
statue down so we looked spotless and presentable for tourists.
After a month I took the night train home in the knowledge that
my picture was taken a thousand times. In the news, next day
a story of a disappeared statue, the police was on the case.
Gabriel Bard was interviewed, poor man he was almost in tears
and demanded to be generously reimbursed for his great work.
Was the sculptor is a charlatan cashing in on my fame?
lender lends by
expecting return
That is purely a
debt owed by the
other
if reimbursed left
nothing behind
no future dues is
there
If without expecting
anything one helps
Monetary debt may be
repaid back
But of love and kind
that can’t be
except returning
love and respect in
future
The sun was newly risen above the Earth
his heated smile warmed amber desert sands.
The grand landscape resembled barren lands
as sepia grains were slathered by rippling waves
That's what I would see through blurred vision,
the hallucination of turquoise rivers in a mirage
The Sea of Dunes was tinted in maple honey tones
but bore no trace of boat, of oar, nor whale bones
It held no aqua fathoms of unmeasurable depth
and its ripples were not waves washing to the shore
Not one leviathan leapt at me from pages of lore
No lush oasis to be found in illusion before my eyes,
nor cool stream to quench my weary traveler's thirst
These Eastern dunes held no date palms for a feast
nor shade from which my life could be reimbursed
or gulls seeking herring, for I heard no hungry cries
Here, the moon did not control the ebb and flow
No tides except those guided by Mariah's breath
Her harsh winds blow without a wit of warning,
and scorpions do not fear drowning in an undertow
No sailor's widow need weep in weeds of mourning
In vast hummocks of golden glimmering sand
would I find myself living sorrowfully chagrinned
Lost and confused while the sun burned my skin
Circling the shores of this scorched desert sea
Parched, 'til death chooses to steal life from me
EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED FROM HEMINGWAY
“Man is not made for defeat.
A man can be destroyed but not defeated”
These words from Papa Hank are true as can be
And so to myself must often be repeated.
No man ever spoke truer words, to my heart
My life lived by what his yet represents
Should I wish to meddle in the affairs of others;
“All things truly wicked start from an innocence.”
“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”
Reminds me that caring and loving mean taking the step first.
There is no crime in being proved wrong
But judging rightly is the heart’s boon reimbursed.
Of his prose – books have been written, enough has been said,
While most of the world forgets his gift of verse sublime
His maxim I’ve taken as my own – “All my life I’ve looked at words
As though I were seeing them for the first time.”
The parley between author and reader akin
To carefully negotiated transaction
But engagement is primary, exposition a crime,
“Never mistake motion for action.”
“I have learned a great deal from listening carefully.
Most people never listen.” Oh, but I do,
I stilled my wild soul, held my breathe until cold
As my writer’s heart listens to you.
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward,
Some are strong at the broken places.”
So I feel his strength in the frame of my life
As his philosophy my poet’s pen embraces
And there is my affinity, my ties to the quick
To the heart, soul and wit of the man
For “A writer’s job is not to judge,
But to seek to understand.”