Best Returned Poems
The ruination of the mighty earth
Was started when explosions rocked the sky.
Ten years of darkness followed. . . then a heat,
And that is when the world began to fry!
Soon the oceans crept upon the coastlines.
Stubble lay in fields and great trees died.
No more was there order to the seasons.
Hopelessness prevailed. All nature cried.
But two superior (when darkness reigned)
Were born, a legacy to wizardry,
And 50 years kept hidden from Earth’s blight,
They’d grown alone contained beneath the sea.
Their under-water habitat released
And floated to the surface. What was seen
When they emerged and stepped onto dry land:
Were luscious fruits among lush splendid green!
With altered genes, they’d live perhaps forever.
But not in sin, for they could not perceive
A right from wrong. The garden’s jaded snake
Was stupefied to see Beth-Ann with Eve!
you’ll never be lost
just follow the glow you gave...
i am your lighthouse.
© Harry J Horsman 2013
With sound of laughter in the breeze
I knew it was spring's voice I heard
Though years have folded crease by crease
My heart remembers every word
The springtime blooms with fragrance sweet
As if all yesterdays are stirred
The song of robins in the trees
I knew it was spring's voice I heard
As rainwashed skies look down on earth
Now waking from her winter's sleep
And joy, the greatest gift, assured
As if all yesterdays were stirred
With sound of laughter in the breeze
I prepare myself for a deep relaxing bath
but that dratted spider was out to have a laugh
As I pour scented bubble bath into the water
Spidey climbs the wall - he’d also bought his daughter*!
He raises a spindly leg as if to wave hello
that pesky crawling spider really needs to go
It's a living a nightmare, it isn’t a dream
So I emit a very loud ear piercing scream
My heroic hubby dashes to my aid
as my distress was clearly displayed
Whilst I stand their screaming like a stupid bimbo
hubby tosses the weeny spider out the bathroom window
Alas the daddy spider he has other plans
and wriggles his way out of hubby’s hands
Hubby drops the creepy critter onto the floor
spidey plans his escape, he's heading for the door
Hubby pounces on him at breakneck speed
and squashes him flat ... he’s dead indeed*
*A great deal of poetic licence – thankfully there was only one spider and he was tossed out of the Window* I think the warm weather is bringing these pesky spider’s out from hiding:-(
Follow up poem to www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_confessed_to_a_cold_blooded_murder_1029155
6/9/18
An angel returned to heaven today
deployed to erase gluttonous hate
from envy's grasp love is pulled away
To bring order to disarray
supplying hope while replacing sloth
An angel returned to heaven today
Armed with beauty, charm and compassion
pride is now faced with a trained assassin
whether with song, a smile, a shoulder or ear
greed, anger and lust is sent running in fear
An angel returned to heaven today
after years of service in the field
from the mission never did she stray
In our hearts she will forever stay
so, let us remember, let us rejoice
cause our angel returned to heaven on this day
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning light finds the cracks first~
those rivers mapped by laughter,
by squinting at horizons now behind me.
My knees complain like rusty hinges,
but they still bend.
My hands, spotted with time,
still remember how to write shorthand,
how to cradle a newborn’s head.
I collect aches like souvenirs,
each one a receipt for living~
the hip that remembers the fall,
the shoulder that recalls the weight
of carrying someone else.
The young sprint past me,
their bodies loud with urgency.
I linger by the lilacs,
learning the art of standing still,
the slow art of gathering shadows,
and knowing which ones to lean into,
which ones to outrun.
Aging is marvelous.
Aging is strange.
Aging is wearing a coat
that can’t be returned.
Like many merchant vessels
That sailed from our Mersey shore
This sturdy piece of timber
Can hold its own in tales of yore
A dried up piece of flotsam
Washed up on Wirral banks
Was dutifully cleaned and dressed
And a verse written on its shank
Amid the other bits of timber
That made up the Black Pearl
This poem had taken its place
With the many flags unfurled
Everything in Pearl had stories
Of pirates tales galore
Made up, true or invented
No one really knows for sure
But each made up this pirate ship
That was not built in any dock
Neither wind nor tide could shake her
Sturdy on her rock
And then one day a storm rolled in
December Twenty thirteen
Unleashed torrential fury
That until then none had seen
Tempest battered Black Pearls flanks
Steadfast in the wind she’d sway
Ripped viciously at her robust planks
Sadly some things were washed away
One of these was this poem
That a little boy had wrote
Whose parents could not see the ship
Now at sea awash did float
Although lost in the Mersey’s waters
Both brown as murky tea
This poem on wood was never lost
Nor did she sail back to sea
Instead with the tides it ebbed and flowed
Liverpool’s docks had called it there
From where it may have started
No one knew or even cared
And then one day some months ahead
Lewis Baigent found sure fame
For bobbing in dock waters
He found the very same
Words still clear upon the wood
Not a letter out of place
The chain and rope still part of it
And the skull and crossbones face
The word got round to Black Pearl’s crew
The booty was held and fast
They sent a party to redeem her
To be returned again at last
To take its place once again
Upon famed Black Pearl’s hull
And stories, myths and legends
Will abound ‘til we are full
Of yarns and tales and stories rich
One greater than the other
Dredged from imaginations
And narrated without any bother
So gather round my children
Mums and dads and more
Dogs and cats and grown ups
And you loiterers on the shore
For what I have to tell you
Is not all just hearsay
This poem has ventured near and far
But has been returned this day
(Revised)
He returned home from the war, but he did not stay,
For he returns to the war that he must fight every day;
He keeps in silence the torments that rage inside
As they are tethered to the horrors that he must hide.
He returned home from the war, but still in his mind
Are the acts of destruction so vividly defined.
O’, there is no more reality, for hell has taken its toll
From the wages of a war that now burdens his soul!
He abandoned the war for a tranquil home,
But onto the battlefield he returns to roam;
And within his mind the fallen have come to retire
As languishing ghosts from the smoke and the fire.
He now suffers the despair that has come forth to define
The images of war that rage in his mind;
He hears the voices each night from the darkness inside
That resound from the horrors that he must hide.
He returned home from the war, but only to find,
The ghosts of a war that now lurk in his mind.
He does not speak of these things that haunt inside,
So he endures the anguish that he must hide.
He returned home from the war, but he cannot escape,
And he’s become an effigy with a monstrous shape,
O’ he hates the regrets; he hates what lingers inside
Where the torments of war shall forever reside!
Lightly may the raindrops fall,
And when there be enough.
Brings life and hope and food for all
And fills our pleasure cup.
As the rain comes gently down,
‘Twill wash and cleanse the land.
Then run into the creeks and down
The rivers to the sand.
Where it once again will be lifted high
From the blue green sea
And travel o’er the lonely sky,
‘Till it gently rains on me.
So now I shower my love on you
And know that as with rain
It’ll be returned clear and pure
To love you again and again.
Ithaca New York 1969 And all the leaves in all the trees along the gorge that led to Cornell had turned to gold Home from Viet Nam in 68 and my life was an oxymoron One day I cared about everything and the next day my head and heart were empty And who ever loved me then was as much a victim of the war as I was A cruel wind was blowing and when I spoke out against the war People who had never been there and some that had exploded with anger They didn't like the thought that I was useing the freedom of speech I fought for And I had a hard time being hit with garbage as the beat went on into madness Everyone was talking but no one was listening Children are not for burning Father Daniel Berrigan said as the carpet bombing continued The ends do not justify the means All those years ago and we charge into one war after another learning nothing as we go except that20%of today's casualty list is the result of suicide. And what amazes me is that America seems to be OK with that. The ends do not justify the means and who will be the hero who cries enough.
It would be nice if loving hearts
Were made of much stronger stuff,
With easier to replace parts,
When they have been treated rough.
I thought my cared for heart was tough
And that he would treat it nice.
Because he didn't care enough
My broken heart paid the price.
By: Joyce Johnson
For contest "Hutain This One" Won an 8th place
Pain and struggle sometimes do take hold
Alone, terrible thoughts can take flight
Isolation intensifies, I feel so cold
A never ending descent into the night.
When a gentle gloved hand takes mine
And my pain soon begins to subside
And the darkness begins to decline
As a chaplain sits quietly at my bedside.
Hearing my plea for courage to return
Opening my soul for Him to come in
With the chaplains’ words, my soul did turn
Rebuilding with hope, to let healing begin.
Determined then to rise beyond the pain
This man of God helped me live again.
12/15/2016
Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)
Autumn:
the leaves fell, as you left, a bleak chill wafting across the barren space within my being,
you left, taking your smile and mine,
my smile rests with you still, leaving a void impossible to fill.
Winter:
pangs of longing consumed me, my only company in the frigid nights,
my tears remain frozen, within,
unable to fall from my broken eyes, as I searched the depths of the cold, harsh skies.
Spring:
birds returned home, though you did not, and I felt soothing rebirth all around,
memories of you began blazing, their embers stoked,
and at last the tears rolled, like ink on this blank notebook, my whole being pined for you, my very self in anguish silently shook.
Summer:
alive I felt again, the promise of the coming cooling rain, easing the heat of desire,
yet the furnace slowly raged inside, your absence tearing into me, shattering my nights, my longing for you soaring unfettered across the skies,
dancing on clouds, blissfully free,
Monsoons:
heaven itself opened, the deluge an unending dream,
rain falling all around, mingling with my flowing tears,
and then I saw you, you returned, and I embraced you, never wishing to let you go,
and though I may wear the mask of the clown,
if you were to leave again,
my very soul, would quietly slip away, and in the monsoon rains, I would gratefully drown.
haibun
her heart's overwhelmed
as her Valentine returns
from Afghanistan
In cahoots with the local mailman, Airman Louis Patrillos hides out-of-sight as the postman returns the special valentine his wife had sent him. Then quickly Lou appears, announcing, "Honey, I'm Home!" just as she bursts into tears.
valiant token...
returning sons broken
orders were spoken
By Robb A. Kopp