Best Rhodes Poems
A light under a bucket, yes..I've hidden there
been the squeaky wheel that got the oil
acted uncaring, had my ups and had my downs
lifted folks on my shoulders
acted the sage, acted the clown
hope to fill a stage before I'm over...
from between closed lids
iris's roll as day breaks pane
lashes move aside
Questioned the right, questioned the wrong
been a sanctuary to many..
straddled Goliath like the colossus of Rhodes
there's an owl-handled knife near my bed.
seeing halfway round
trust in your ability to turn
who are you
Fall into me now, soft and warm,
come into my light for you know, I've some of yin
I've some of yang and light peeps out you know.
You new born chicks who strobe in the light
remember, the dark can not hide you..
Your soul your chi, the light of God will
aid and let ALL find you.
*Free Verse and senryu
Figures of immense reputation and popularity they were
Attracting public attention and admiration in the pursuit of their great works
Leaving behind them a legacy of some kind
But going with them their unique characters.
Wasn’t the explosion of Christianity the work of Jesus of Nazareth?
And the burst of Islam not the work of Muhammed of Mecca?
Neither will the admirable leadership of Julius Caesar;
Nor the conquests of the unlearned Charlemane,
And the military successes of Alexander the great,
Be forgotten in History.
If the British can forget Napoleon’s continental system
Jews then, would forget Hitler’s concentration camps
And history would entirely cease recalling his mentor Mussolini.
What if Carl Marx did not propound radical socialism?
Lenin then, would not have smashed the bourgeoisie and ruled Russia
Neither would the principles of Marxism-Leninism be sustained by Stalin
Nor would Churchill seal the border between the East and the West with an iron curtain.
A grave mistake it would be to forget Martin Luther King Jr.
For if he be forgotten, Mahatma Ghandi then would also be
And the entire movement of nonviolence
Will stop covering many pages of modern history books.
Had it not for Kwame Nkruma and Hastings Banda to cut the rope of colonialism
The ambitious Cecil Rhodes then,
Would have drained the whole continent of all its economic wealth.
The ascendancy of Nelson Mandela from the horizon of apartheid
Was not the beginning of Maximillien Robespierre’s reign of terror;
Characterized by avenges and reprisals
But the emergence of Abraham Lincoln’s true democracy.
What if Caesar were not butchered?
William Shakespeare then, would not have been the greatest playwright
Causing Charles Dickens and Chinua Achebe not to appear.
For the existence of a Jewish state, David Ben Gulion fought
But for the reemergence of a Palestinian state, Yasser Arafat strives.
That Hammond B3 can spit and growl,
Any other organ will throw in the towel...
Add a nice Rhodes piano to the mix,
And you have a sound that you'll never need to fix
Ah, a chance at a pipe organ would be ecstasy,
And likely the highlight of my life,
But a hot jam with good musicians,
Is more orgasmic than the most beautiful a wife.
I want to travel to far away lands.
To see the 7 wonders that people speak of.
The Great Pyramid at Giza in Egypt would be a treat.
to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in Iraq.
The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus in Turkey was once a market place.
The Statue of Zues in Greece, I have been told is a sight to view.
There is the Tomb of Maussollos at Halicarnassus in Turkey,
people come from all around to see the kings new home,
to Colossus at Rhodes where a statue once sat, but was destroyed by an earth quake.
The Lighthouse of Alexandria in Egypt stood 450 feet tall, and is where a night fire burned.
These great places hold so much history, that one day I will see.
Pd's contest old or new featured poem
Sophisticated city full of blitzkrieg, I am just a visitor interested in your history.
To travel so far, I must enjoy the sights I see.
Riding via the scenic view to capture some photography,
Easy to relax and just be me.
Elfie and excited, I am pulsated by such beauty.
Living just for the moments of captivity, I send a shout out.
Ialysus is a place to drive.
Got the streetlights in my eyes, relishing the peace inside.
Heights I never figure I would reach.
This came from living right, I guess.
Shimmering sparkles of cava I will drink at my penthouse that sits in view of the
Aegean Sea.
___________________________________________|
VERLENA S. WALKER
Scrambled Letters: T A R N D A I
FOR FIND THE PUZZLE Contest!
PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 29, 2014!
First Frost of the Season
By Reg Rhodes
September 1st; the first frost of the season.
The coolness in the air inspires my imagination.
What new adventures will the Rocky Mountain winter bring?
How much snow will fall before spring?
350 inches of snow, or more?
I'm so happy to once again live my life the way it was before!
My snowmachine still waits in summer hibernation.
The sight of it makes me giddy with anticipation.
Soon, I will be rushing down high mountain chutes, overwhelmed with exhilaration.
The smell of snowmobile exhaust Invokes reflections of fresh powder flowing over the top of my sleds hood.
Floating through the mountain powder makes me feel so incredibly good!
What snowy treasures hidden in the backcountry, will we find?
When we explore the endless acres of immense forest pine.
The trees will beckon to me; and I'll leave my worries behind.
It is in the deep snows and thick pines; where I find my solace and inner peace.
The sight of snow capped mountain tops provides me with a wonderful spiritual release!
The early fall frosts reward me with immense inspiration;
to once again embrace life, and the unique winter season!
Grab your rhodes, your lines, your reels.
Grab your hooks, your swivels, your sinkers.
Grab your power bait, your worms, your stinkers.
Grab your tackle box, your cooler, your beer.
Pick a spot, cast your line, enjoy your friends, and have a good time.
The Colossus of Rhodes stood erect,
commanding much awe and respect.
But his rather small shorts
held his assets - of sorts.
Perhaps, not a lot - I suspect!
~
For the '7 Wonders of the Ancient World' Contest.
Number of Man
(Webster’s Ninth)
Money trail reveals factor
To assemble humans follow layout
Swat down charges with linguistic racket
Sticks more effective than carrot dangle
Arguments sustained by pundits' jangle
Beached on shallow force Fed truths we paddle
Pedantic pets get paddle
First world states where offspring are a factor
Searching for meaning results in jangle
Pogroms programmed in digital layout
Preach peace while children from clotheslines dangle
Dichotomy the full courtpress racket
Tax credit skin trade racket
Birth control for those learning to paddle
Tout facts as contexts, like syntax, dangle
Infrastructure to control the factor
Roman Rhodes lead all through latent layout
Deaf ears strain to hear warning bell’s jangle
Legalized fictions jangle
Integration catalyzed by racket
A body of work produced for layout
Leaves us without proverbial paddle
Multiply the lie to find the factor
What tales are told from the yardarm dangle
Join the police state dangle
Riot inciting projection jangle
Plausibility denying factor
The legislative extortion racket
Brings independence beneath the paddle
All contingencies covered by layout
Camp Kapos marked for layout
Every scapegoat has his day to dangle
No room for slaves who refuse to paddle
Loose lips fill shipping lanes by their jangle
Synthetic avatars fuel our racket
Never ask what long term effects factor
Layout a dialectic to jangle
Dangle clues via distracting racket
Paddle but fail to account for the Factor
© L.K. Hobbs 2018
At the valley
Of butterflies
In Rhodes, Greece
I encountered
Nature's love affair
Feisty flowers
Rainbow colors
Flying gorgeously everywhere
Beyond anybody's reach
Fluttering here and there
Once the caterpillars
Magically turned into animated fairies
Gently hugging the trees
With their soft and fragile wings
Their inexplicable performance
Has fully mesmerized
Thousands of travelers
Enjoying the splendors
Of this world
And to be one of them
I am so gratified
Flight of the Ptarmigan
By Reg Rhodes
The Ptarmigan emerges from his snow nest; and takes flight.
It's wings quietly fluttering; carrying him into the silent night.
He carries his message of inner peace on his angelic wings; shrouded in white.
Illuminated by the full moon; his flying form shines bright.
Only those who can relate to his plight;
will observe this awe inspiring sight.
I watched him appear from deep within the snow;
and followed the flight of the Ptarmigan; pondering where he would go.
Far, far from his mountain home he flew.
Only to seek answers to the questions that he already knew.
He couldn't adapt to the warm weather, noise or people; like the flatland brown Grouse.
Upon his return, he discovered that another white winged bird had come and stolen his snow covered house.
He took flight once more, to a different side of the mountain; to build a new and better high elevation nest.
Once again, comfortable in his familiar surroundings; the Ptarmigan was rewarded with a much needed rest.
The flight of the ptarmigan ended where it began;
and he returned back to his high alpine home, once again.
Where God intended him to be.
Where he can once again live happy, and be free.
Oh, beautiful ptarmigan; take me away.
And show me yet another wonderful day;
but, please never let me forget to seek Gods guidance whenever I pray.
Thankfully, my trip has ended; right where it began.
Like the Ptarmigan; I have returned home once again.
.
I'm back up in the mountains; where God intended for me to be.
Home; where my soul is complete, and once again free.
When I was only just school age,
My dad became very serious once,
As he was a fundamentalist Christian,
And wanted to know how I was forming my words.
When he asked how I felt about roads,
I knew exactly what he was talking about,
He was taking the phonetic sound,
And asking about my subjectivity for my shout.
But I was glad secretly to myself,
That my first name was a positivity,
That it spoke outrightly of a journey,
And that it was after the Island of Rhodes most definitely.
I knew what my dad was up to,
He was subliminally asking if I believed in god,
‘Cos he’d insisted that Rhoda in the Bible,
Was the only derivation of that name somewhat odd.
So, yet again, I evaded the question,
And used my disability to claim lack of knowledge,
But since I couldn’t fake a speech problem the whole time,
Concluded with an admission of liking Rhodes carriageways!
But seriously, Rhoda is after the island Rhodes,
And Monihan reminds me of monkeys,
‘Han’ is for hands which state activity,
In evolution’s process of family trees.
‘I’ is for me, which emphasises that I matter,
To the whole scale of things, the entire picture,
That evolution made me and I that affect it,
And that I can be met by other people or organisms of different structure.
I think my name is just fine, and it has done me well,
Given me strength when I had none,
Directed when I needed suggestion and focus,
And commended me for what I have done.
Its the last minute of the 11th hour
I have seen a demon wondering searching for a soul
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Convince people you have a speed dial to God's Kingdom
And they will take any theological theories given to them
They worship sophisticated stone deities.
Emmanuel TV, electromagnetic Gods in static images
Composers of the reverse version of the Holy grail
Cursing God, misquoting scriptures and reversing verses
Misleading women like Hershey's Kisses and forbidden pleasures
The fabric of our species is a loose canon
The revelations post-predicted by the real Mayans
The apocalypse.
Its the last minute of the 11th hour
This poem is not against the church
It speaks for Rhodes, Selassie and Robert Moffat
New disciples that walked the deserts of Africa
The founders and architects of God's synagogues
Scribers that wrote covenants in caves at Timbuktu
Puthadikobo, Livingstone, and Thabanchu
Monasteries with no Automated Teller Machices on their walls
This poem is not against Anglicans, Catholics or Apostles
Its an allegory against those that spit on the chapel alters
The bishops and priests with their filthy urethrae
Their genitalia submerged in the oral cavities of alter boys
Seeking head in return for blessings, deliverance and confessions
Fake Joshuas who plant placebo demons and exorcise them for fame
The same devils that preach at the podium of cathedral portals
Dangerous men, listened and worshiped by millions
I m not against the church.
I believe in Muhammad and Jesus all the same
And the sacred message they bring supreme
From Judah through Jordan and the rivers of Ethiopia
I stand firm against Lucifer's devices.
In the face of damnation an entire nation has succumbed
The devil puts in more work than Jehovah's witnesses
Such a beautiful genus undone at the seams by its own beliefs
Victims of natural selection and ever-upgrading IQs
Each generation figures they can be better than their creator
Separationists led by confused evangelists
I m not against the church. I m against religion
I have seen a demon at church searching for lost ones
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Its the last seconds of revelation's last moments.
The skull had been opened as you would a coconut
To sip the sweet sap. Tsal's blood skips with his fear
At the thoughts hitting his head, but his fears are proven fact
When he sees a silver spoon in the head, spoon branded "Pierre".
Further down the seabed, lies another identical but intact specimen
With a matching fork he'd attempted to stick into another bone,
Before his last mitochondrion, like its peers, gave up on the machine,
Surrendering to fatigue, thirst, and probably a grave wound as shown by marks on the foot bones.
Tsal turns to Pezal to share the shock on both their faces
It was university all over again, trying to understand this:
There was water, there were plants, fertile land in most places,
And yet cannibalism was the last act of this great species.
Despair from hunger, intoxication, thirst which dominated
A race which once ordered water about with pumps and dams,
Told the wind where to blow, had command over all ever created,
But chose to destroy and not rebuild in their crazy advance.
There are many more heads half buried by the mocking wind,
Complete with scarred arms and legs, with once plastic clothes
Ripped and singed in the hot abrasive vengeful wind,
The wind which once was a gentle breeze in which bathed the olives of Rhodes.
(c) Nyonglema
Take me to Crete,
or take me to Rhodes
Please Mediterranean
me in my soul
Salt me in waters
which lapped at the feet
of every sentinel
army's defeat
Blue me in atmospheres
sun up my core
Forgetting me there
makes me just want it more
Take me to Rhodes,
or take me to Crete
Please Mediterranean
me to complete...