Best Return Poems
A charlatan returns despite his earlier defeat.
After two years gone, he claims he owns a seat
But there is no throne for the jester who bears
His recycled words without sparks or flares
A costume he wears, but many of us can see
he's a mean little boy who always turns beastly
He talks of being nicer, but his words aren’t divine
He's still a bully who flees. He doesn't have a spine
He called on one he wronged to ignite an old flame
But that man will not return, and he is to blame
Scripture from his mouth is spewed from a bad seed
His ego's hungry for attention. On innocence he'll feed
Nasty comments he'll make and then he will delete
He's no sugar daddy cuz nothing about him is sweet
He'll fool some, but not those who know the score
When he preaches from his pulpit, he's a total bore
He owes apologies to many who dealt with his spite
Poets, be forewarned that he is not a white knight
Sarcasm is his game, and that deserves no respect
Grow up, boy! You always alienate and disaffect
Disaffect = to cause hostility where there had been none
The air is thick with memory -
A fog of reminiscence.
Or is it simply mist
Rolling through the window?
I feel the wind and taste the salt,
Hear the distant pulse of waves
Keeping time, skipping beats
With my haunted heart.
The wind chimes sway and croon
From their place above the sill,
Where sand dollars still form a row
Among crumbs of sand.
And there, on the bedside table -
Speckled stones arranged just so.
And if I lift them, I know
I'll find dustless circles,
Halos from the past.
My vision blurs.
Then I see her in the doorway -
The ghost of childhood,
Twirling in a cloud of skirts,
Strings of seashells draped like gems
Around her fragile neck.
I blink -
And she's gone.
But through the mist I hear
The patter of bare feet
Down the empty hallway.
By Heather Ober
Submitted to Nette's "Mixed Senses" contest
*This is an old poem I wrote on March 7, 2012
Swept away
the last colour
of sunset,
Ocean in his eyes,
winds and waves
the sea-man loved.
Forever gone
the late-song
of night birds,
crushed corals,
sand and rocks
the sea-man loved.
Blown afar
the harvest seeds,
Flowers in his heart,
Petals in bloom,
Pale-pink blossoms
the sea-man loved.
Found and lost
the light of stars,
Alone He sailed
through narrow paths,
to mountain'shadows
the sea-man loved.
In hope to smell
the scent of her hair,
In hope to wipe
rain off her lips,
In hope to taste
her roasting- chestnuts,
to mend regrets
with just one kiss.
*Note: A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday
ended in January 2010. Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped. On many occasions people kept
vigils near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his
grave. Poe is considered the father of the American short story and
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.
Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door
Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”
Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator
Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor
And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before \/ \/ \/
Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave \/ \/ \/ \/
For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word
By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling
Poet ~
Full moon ... or nearly ...
I sit on the pier as it groans with swells,
Dangling my nostalgic heart in the freezing Atlantic,
Forty-plus years gaze back at me, frowning.
(Is it my heart that speaks my name?)
Then - my girlfriend and best friend, also a girl,
Three mad musketeers on a runaway train of endorphins,
Lost in a chaotic swirl of confused emotional surges ...
Freedom, hormones, a van. the warm summer evenings.
(Is it my heart that fans the flame?)
I'd sneak in the sliding glass doors at six every morning,
Sleep a couple of hours, work in the family store from ten-to-six,
Drive the forty-five minutes to pick up the girls,
Then off ... the islands, the beaches, the city, the lake ...
(Is it my heart that seeks to blame?)
Craziness and music and all things that teenage kids shouldn't do -
Repeat the process the entire summer ... yeah, entire ...
How did we survive? How did we live on just three hours sleep?
Why is my soul the only one drowned in this bay?
(Is it my heart that feels the same?)
Why is mine the only forlorn spirit that wanders back, sullen?
The god on a cloud tossing pixie dust -
Watching it sink to the cold depths ...
With those damned, hopelessly hopeful dreams.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Brian's Choice S, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
My muse is a poetic flower garden,
blooming lilacs in barren meadows,
but I still remember
how I heeded haunting heartbeats
in paradise, whilst praying
for your lustrous light,
to descend onto my hazy horizons.
Your eyes like captivating sunsets,
made me dream away,
recalling shells lost in a forgotten
coral reef, castaway upon
an elusive island,
where the paths have no name,
but the oceanic breeze
calls yours so softly.
I was killing time,
scribbling elegies
on distant musical shores,
where spotted eagle rays
and flying fish were my only mentors.
Nocturnal reef sharks unfolded tales
beneath lonesome skies,
illustrating a secretive stairway
that would lead me
to the scintillating stars.
Deep within my heart,
I knew in the darkest
night you are the light
that would illuminate
my breathless sighs
with blazing ballads
rewriting my fate,
reawakening my
need to thrive through these
endless melancholic monsoons;
surfing through vast oceans.
Your cosmic radiance pulled
this chocolate mermaid,
from the bioluminescent
ripples of sorrow,
empathising with
endless streams from
my volcanic mind
and harmonious heart,
which was in dire
need of healing,
from draconian depleted
ideologies imprinted within
a labyrinth of
narcissistic daffodils,
emanating deceptive fragrances
resembling the devil's disciple,
claiming me as nothing,
but a mere self
confessed queen
on a conquest to conquer
the uncontrollable calling
to a land of virtual hypocrisy.
If only they knew
I no longer desired
to rule a kingdom of
tumultuous pretense.
I was waiting for the
return of the butterflies,
tearing apart the fragile
walls of its cocoon.
I knew if Romeo did not die,
I would be living Juliet's desires.
I was a poetess
searching for
a purpose, with no sense
to shelter, watching the
last icicle
of winter melt away.
Truth deserves a narrative
that has no ending,
though I question the universe.
Where do the
lost poets reside?
Is it where the
moon chooses to hide,
disguising dreariness
within dazzling blankets
of dancing moonscapes,
or will this be how
this sleepless soul
seizes its faultless lunar tide?
For my satire group, and for Will; a fairy tale
To a fanfare of horns
The young knight returned
With a tale of slain dragons to tell
The princesses blushed
And the old queen flushed
And the gay knights were happy as well
He had cast down his cross
From the height of his hoss
And left the thing there where it fell
For the great and the good
Were in need of the wood
To stoke up the fires of hell
He’d only been back for a moment before
He was begging a poke with a pardon
And a giggle, and “Push!”
From a quivering bush
Could be heard from the end of the garden
No need for a graven memorial stone
Or the ring of a funeral bell
The young knight was back
And well up for the crack
And all in the kingdom was well
© Gail Foster 2016
Written for the Winter Solstice sunrise at Avebury, Wiltshire, England
I have waited for you
Where no shadow seeps
Deep in the earth
Where the slow damp creeps
Under the stones
Where the sunlight sleeps
I have waited for you
I have listened for you
In the eaglet’s cry
In the echoes of rooks
In the empty sky
In a new born’s breath
And a dead man’s sigh
I have listened for you
I have looked for you
Where the elders grow
Followed your steps
Through the virgin snow
Through groves of yew
And mistletoe
Looking for you
I have watched for you
By the door and the gate
Risen up early
And lain down late
Doubted your love
And cursed my fate
Watching for you
You said you would come
You said that you will
Appear as the dawn
On the curve of the hill
I have waited for you
Through the dark, and the still
You said you would come
I lit you a fire
I kindled a flame
In the fear of the darkness
I called out your name
I thought I was dying
And then you came
You said you would come
And here you are
The promise of light
Sweetening silence
And softening night
And all shall be well
And be blesséd delight
You said you would come
© Gail Foster 21st December 2016
I swore that day, I'd never fall again
With tears of heartbreak dripping from my chin
A wall was built to keep intruders out
To insulate my heart in times of doubt
I thought the feeling died
Felt nothing deep inside
No one could hurt me, even if they tried
Buried in my heart beneath the pain
Beneath the bitterness, and loneliness, that remained
Slept a feeling that was buried long ago
Without the light of love for it to grow
I took it back from her
Forgot the way things were
But when I saw your smile, I felt it stir
The days went by, you put your smile on me
You scaled the wall, just wouldn't let me be
Then touched my heart with words tender and kind
And soon I saw the beauty of your mind
You came to me in dreams
Convinced it was a scheme
I tried to push you out of every scene
But while my eyes were closed, I saw your face
Two lovers in a passionate embrace
That feeling left for dead grew like a fire
My heart was racing, fueled by my desire
Baby you make me burn
My heart will never learn
I've drifted past the point of no return
Daniel Turner
Grace had floated royal
among the sweet summered months,
and not a moment had passed
without the nectar of love;
Three feathered lords so fledgling
white-black,
sleeping white at noon,
'neath arbors brawn....
where the nestles are soft with love,
and dream to host all the world watching;
from horizon's scarlet painting pink
the billowed white hues ---
and black-purple from the Lord's smile
What crimson disguise five plumed hearts
beating as one,
return again o'er Swan Lake,
or with eternal love thy cherubin ponds;
with fountains swooning infinite grace
then they are gone.....
to privy their existence made,
sleeping black at night
('neath the gaze of tomorrow's moon)
the future brim with wind....
elder wings at dawn,
unto valor in evening's song,
fain to life again....
(flight of thy Royal Swan)
***Dedicated to the black swan and Queen's royal
swans of Ottawa***
It was nearly two years ago, that I left the PS site
Bidding my friends fond 'farewell,' I took flight
If the door is ajar, I think I'll enter once more
Hoping things are better than they were before
My muse was confused, but wanted to return
So here we are ~ Your amity we hope to earn
We've written of fireflies and fragrant perfume
among flowering gardens in the height of bloom
Perhaps we'll pen with a new spark of creativity
for we've not lost the love for the art of poetry
It's a bond we share; a little nature, some romance,
If you like our music, kick off your shoes and dance
We've skipped over brooks and sat upon lawns
waiting for the sun to wake at the hour of dawn
Tucked topaz gems in petals of Spring's daffodils
hung diamonds on snow flakes in Winter chills
and pearls were strung across white lotus flowers
In honor of nature, we've been penning for hours
I am not Robert Frost, but the road back I'm taking
Nor am I Poe, whose dark poems leave you shaking,
but perhaps you might discover an emerald or two
in a love sonnet I write, or in silly limericks or Haiku
Let's share gifts that come from the heart and mind
of our muses who can be both stubborn and kind
Robert L. Stevenson wrote, "One line or letter bright"
in light that this is where my written verses alight.
He wrote, "glory in our patience," and "skim the pot"
so I'll take his words to heart, giving PS another shot.
I'm sure talented poets have since joined the soup
and I look forward to reading many of you in the group
The Return of the Dragon Lord
Heart twisting in winter wind,
tripping through a water-colored dreamscape,
as if bewitched, she listlessly paces
outside his dismal, dark cave.
Peering at the distant gray hilly horizon,
she anticipates her Dragon Lord’s return.
With his golden reptilian eyes flashing,
and his mighty wings stretching across the sky,
she knows he's making his way back home to her.
Chilled to the bone, without her beloved
to cloak her in his masterful embrace,
she yearns to feel the magical warmth
of his breath lingering on her lips,
permeating her body, awakening her senses.
Consumed by an intense inner hunger,
she has totally lost her mind;
and must be completely his once more,
to quench these tormenting flames of desire
that threaten to combust from deep within
her heart, body, and soul.
A prisoner of his magnetic charms,
she's captivated by his familiar musky scent,
forever a slave to his alien mystique.
Oh, to be one with him again, to let his blood
run through her veins, transforming her.
Heart over-flowing with love, she'll wander along
these cold shores waiting for that joyous day…
when her Dragon Lord returns.
10-22-2015
Contest: Dragons
Sponsor: Silent One
Placement: 4th
M. So Mike I hear you've been gone?
MH. Why yes I have!
M. Why the absence?
MH. I just needed some time to clear my head.
M. That should have taken no more than a couple minutes
MH. Ahhh...no, I was gone a couple weeks. I was going to stay out a month but this site is so addictive! I'm sure our listening audience can attest to that!
M. Audience? No ones listening to this...
MH. But you said...
M. Me?
MH. Yes you said when we were talking that I was going to be on the radio.
M. Dude your me...
MH. I know!
M. Your blowing my mind here...Can we just get on with this?
MH. Sure...What I was trying to do was really just find myself.
M. Find yourself...were your lost?
MH. No just needed to try and do away with some of the junk in my life.
M. I'm starting to wonder if I'm you then why is this the first time I'm hearing about it.
MH. That is odd isn't it..
M. Almost as odd as interviewing yourself.
MH. Almost
M. So any good poems written while you were gone?
MH. To tell the truth I couldn't stop writing...If they're any good only time will tell.
M. How do you think the interview is going so far? Am I doing alright? Asking the tough questions?
MH. I think your the best...That's why I only let me interview myself!
M. Speaking of interviews I've got another one scheduled I really need to run...
MH. Really? With who?
M. Oh it's you but you the World Famous Nuclear Physicist!
MH. But I'm not a...
M. Hey...It's what we call in journalism as a lead in...makes them want more.
MH. But I'm...
M. Don't worry, we'll make something up...
MH. We always do...
M. Ain't THAT the truth!
MH. Shall we do it over lunch?
M. Sounds good...you buying?
Form:
Heaven Sending Clear Signs Of Hope's Return
(Sweet Hope Returns)(Part Two)
Solitary ray of light breaks grey dawn's pain,
flowing smoothly with emerging cool breeze.
Am I dreaming or truly going insane?
Is this apparition just another tease?
Confidence grows as majestic sun breaks through,
heaven sending clear signs of Hope's return.
That precious moment dear, I thought only of you
and just how once fiercely our great love did burn!
Songbirds soon began chirping softest tunes.
Life danced gaily through broad swaying trees.
Then I pictured you dancing under glowing moons,
blessed answer to sincere, desperate pleas.
Time flew, I saw Hope had freed my aching heart.
Night came, you came, ending our sad months apart.
Robert J. Lindley, 5-06-2017
Sonnet( 11,10,12,11)
Syllables Per Line: 11 10 12 11 0 11 10 12 11 0 11 10 12 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Words: 106
Part two of -- Hope and its greatest treasures,,,,,
my brittle bones are like this fence, so built
on throes of horrors shrouded with the hilt
of war's inanely senseless blade, now dulled
by all the precious souls its edge has culled …
now ages gone, those boys amid their dreams
and yet the air still trembles with their screams
so daubed in bleeding sun, how death imparts
these fields of poppy roods and purple hearts.
~ For Lt Col John McCrae, and all life lost to war ~
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Purple 2" Poetry Contest, Kevin Shaw, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Contest 545 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
(In honor of the poem by Lt Col John McCrae, and all lives given to war).