Best Rhonda Poems
As I walked into the banquet hall of the
Goodman’s Inn, the first thing that stood
out to me were the eyes of the people. I
felt as though I could actually see hope. Eyes
seemed to sparkle and everyone in the hall
sat talking to the others sitting around them
as they waited for the main course of the evening.
To understand this report we need to go back just
over a year ago when Lindsey Long won the 50
million dollar lottery. Apparently the multimillionaire
booked the Goodman’s Inn for December 24th through
to January 2nd of this year solely to house the homeless
over the Christmas holidays. Miss Long walked through
the streets herself over the last week inviting the
unfortunate homeless to come to the motel for these
festivities. Lindsey Long has not only provided the rooms
for this week, she also has clothed them with new
wardrobes and warm winter clothing and accessories.
Now as the people sat around the table they were
told Miss Long had an announcement. We all waited
to hear what this amazing lady had to say
and excitement filled the room. When this
beautiful young woman began to talk there
wasn’t one dry eye in the building. She told them
how she was not going to just send them back
on the street next week but how she had
built a new centre that would have sleeping
facilities and showers to accommodate all
of them. This new facility will be serving
three meals a day which will be prepared solely
from themselves on a voluntary bases.
The feeling in the Inn that night was pure joy
and as the people realized the impact of this
wonderful news, they all broke out singing
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. This is
Rhonda Reeds reporting for
The Good Newspaper.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.12.2014
Sponsor Mystic Rose
The Good Newspaper
1st
..............I could write you
...................poetic images
...............that would make
............other women drool.
...............Speak of sunsets
...........wired, computerized
....................................to
.....................................P
...................................PU
..............................PULSE
............ ...to the rhythm of
.........your striking features
B............Build you a ladder
.............from light, that we
..............could climb to the
..............gates of euphoria.
..............Tell you that they
.............named it after you
E..........................Ecstasy.
............I could and I would
.........but I know you better
.......... ....than that. I know
.....................what you like.
.........................I can taste
..............it on my buds. You
....................want a man of
......................simple words
..................spun from truth.
A.........A man that will never
.........run out on you. A man
..............that when you hold
......................is steady and
.............rooted. I am steady
..............and rooted but also,
...........I am in love with you.
U............Not by the waterfall
.........or against the light of a
..........full moon. Not walking
...................along the beach
....................while the ocean
..............whispers in my ears.
............. I love you first thing
.......even on a dingy morning.
........................I love you on
...........evenings when it is so
.........cloudy there is not even
................one star in the sky.
........It is just dark. I love you
.........when we're on separate
.......couches reading different
.......books. When we're alone
...........or together in a crowd
.......I love you from the other
........side of the room. On the
.......first floor when you're on
....the twenty third. When you
.....have a cold and even more
........when you are sicker still.
T.....The simple truth is you're
.........stuck with me from now
.............to eternity........why?
Y.................because the best
............part about you is that
.........I know you love me too.
01~22~2015
Sponsor: Rhonda
Contest: Hidden Beauty
Photo by Rhonda Pearson Smith
Thickening fog hung beneath the willow tree
consumes dreams of your lost poetry.
From sandalwood-scented sleep,
I kiss you and weep.
Love songs will
keep,
lustrous still.
Silver lyrics creep
to gold dust dawn from the deep
creases of clouded sleep, where I free
thickening fog hung beneath the willow tree.
Written 7/13/20
Contest - Andaree - 11 Lines Poetry
Sponsor - Joseph May
I am here but only briefly,
a believer in today, tomorrow
and ever after. I am a blustery wind
shaking the foundation and a gentle
breeze rustling the leaves.
I am an observer of the beautiful,
graceful, awkward and absurd,
feeling like a spy amongst
voices and visions, kinetic energy,
filling the spaces between footsteps
and the void between us.
I am an over thinker, one woman,
always wondering, waiting
for the rain on a sunny day.
I often remind myself:
I am not the center of this world or any other.
Still, I must find my place even when
circumstances change. I do not like change.
Like a sturdy oak, I am rooted and earthy,
but sometimes…I want to spread my wings
and land on a rugged mountaintop.
I am a rock star yearning to ramble
from city to city, finding solace
in a sea of faces. Oh, to just get lost in the
music and crowds would be sublime!
I am passionate on the inside,
reserved on the outside –
complex in all my contradictions -
a broken child with shattered dreams
yet I still find hope in each sunrise and
peace with each sunset.
I am always searching for more time,
just one stolen moment to take a deep breath.
I am forgiving and want to be forgiven.
I am a nurturing mother.
My sons are my reason to get out of bed
when I’d rather hideaway.
My sons are my joy (both scream
for me right now).
I am a juggler, trying to keep
all my balls in the air, and also
absentminded for obvious reasons.
I am a woman who loves to be loved –
complex in all my contradictions.
I am not that different than you.
We all just want to feel connected.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Frank Herrera’s I Am Contest, 11/5/14
Beatlemania (The Fab Four As Lovers)
Once a choir boy, John turned to romance,
Fell for Yoko almost at first glance.
In full public view
In bed with her too -
Showed the world how to “give peace a chance.”
Quiet George played much more than guitar.
Lost his wife to another rock star.
Layla left him because
Of how hung up he was
On the music he made with his sitar!
Ringo acted in “Caveman” and met
His wife Barb (once a Bond girl) on set.
Though the film of this drummer
Was dumber than dumber,
Wise in love, he’s not left his Barb yet!
A heart breaker, Paul left Wife "One"
For Linda, and made her a vegan!
On their farm smoking pot,
They made money (a LOT)!
He’s a genius whose life sure seems fun!
written Oct. 13, 2013 for the BeatleMania Contest of
Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Where settlers came in search of gold,
they found instead a golden grove.
Trees burst with fruit, for sun is bold
where settlers came in search of gold.
No precious ore, but wealth untold;
rich landscape is the treasure trove!
Where settlers came in search of gold,
they found instead a golden grove.
Inspired by Robert Butler's "Golden Grove"
Written March 5, 2015, for the Florida Nature Contest of Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
A garden presents a most beautiful sight
When seen from afar in a much broader light,
For there in a setting with all that surrounds,
Its total of beauty and color abounds.
To observe much too closely, study and dwell,
Inspect every flower and leaf very well,
Will quickly cancel the powerful presence
Of unified form with divergent essence.
Then we are bound to observe those objections—
The scattered, meaningless small imperfections
Of petals and blossoms and leaves not so fair;
Lose sight of the wonderful whole that they share.
We can also apply this to those we love,
And sometimes must separate, step back enough,
To view the grand total of gifts which combine
To create an image of balanced design,
And appreciate well those colors which are
A bit subtle up close but strong from afar.
So trite imperfections get lost in the ray
Of the aura of wholeness seen from away.
And so like the grand garden’s totality,
When we stand back to thoroughly look and see,
We will vision with awe a marvelous view…
Total beauty and depth now perceived anew.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Hidden Beauty
Sponsor: Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Judged: 02/04/2015
Quote: Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Every particular in nature, a leaf, a drop,
a crystal, a moment of time is related to the whole,
and partakes of the perfection of the whole.”
Refrain of dreams, I gift to you.
My hum lulls in rhythms deep;
Night chant lifts to heavenly heights
coupled with starry sky’s plume.
My faithful promise kept from sight
'til fall of moon's sleepy eyes.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 1/15/15
for Nette's Night Creatures Contest,
(Cricket #6)
P D, Paula and Phyllis: each have "P" in their name.
O' s , though, I see none of! Now isn't that a shame?
Emilia, sweetie, gets third spot for her "E."
T im, Thvia, Tirzah, & Timothy (where the heck IS he?)
R ueben, Ravindra, Rhonda, Robert. . . R has a LOT!
Y OU who are reading this, I give you THIS spot!
S ara, two Sharons, great "S" ladies those!
O odles of names, but where are the O's?
U again. Yes, double mention to U !!
P remium poets sure spice up the SOUP.
Originally For Adeleke's Acrostic Contest: Poetic Picture of Poetry Soup
Now for PD's Any Poem #37 Poetry Contest
Note: Just see how things have changed in a matter of at least three years or more. A review of "how it used to be" but a few of these names are still going strong today!!
Lips dance,
flirt together -
romance.
Sweet breath -
language of love
‘til death.
Hearts flared -
poetic words
declared!
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 11/25/14,
for Nette Onclaud's Whispers of a Muse - Poetry Contest
Dawn's new light
bursts forth from pillowed dreams
in bubbling chatter of birds and bees
breezing by morning glories in praise of first sky.
As paling stars fall silent in sleep beyond a darkened moon,
I admire the miraculous birth of new day perfected by God's hands.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 12/17/14
for Nette Onclaud's Enchantment Through a Prism Contest,
Title #1
Can there be beauty in my toes,
Where stubbornly a fungus grows?
I never thought it could be true.
I try to hide it with my shoe.
Its purpose, not yet discovered—
I try hard to keep it covered.
From large toe to the next it spread,
And now I look at both with dread.
It wants to grow against the norm,
My toenail with misshapen form,
Knows the wild ways it wants to grow,
And now it has a mate in tow!
I’ve vowed to make a sacred oath
To kill this hated fungal growth,
But I now see the beauty of
My wayward toes denied of love
Are like the people we might hate
And I’ve learned to appreciate
Diversity against the norm,
Well taught to me through my toes’ form;
That each of us must be unique,
And there’s the beauty that I seek!
As my fungal toe and its mate,
Which I condemned as reprobate,
Conceals within their ugly form,
Their freedom’s right against the norm!
© 1-18-15 ~First Place~
For Hidden Beauty Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
*Meant as a metaphor for those who don't appear as normal looking!
You saw me from across the room
beside an open door.
Your smile erased all of my gloom
and touched me to the core.
The mistletoe tied in a bow,
your kiss that caused my cheeks to glow!
The mistletoe, the mistletoe,
sweet start of something soon to grow. . .
Then on a most romantic ride
as we sat hand in hand,
you asked me if I'd be your bride
in Winter's Wonderland.
The one-horse sleigh took us away
where snow swirled down, then gleaming lay.
The one-horse sleigh, the one-horse sleigh!
My fondest dream took hold that day.
We snuggle by a crackling fire
here at the winter's end.
No other lover could inspire
me more than my best friend.
The warm fireplace, your angel face
which softly now my fingers trace!
The warm fireplace, the warm fireplace
shows love aglow as we embrace.
*This is actually called a Trijan Refrain, but it's very similar to quatrains.
11/26/13 for Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Kiss Under the Mistletoe Poetry Contest.
Summer returns, reigning in glory
tempting my beanstalk to climb
and tiny fairies to faithfully fly,
laughing out loud all the while.
With lush trees twirling in full skirts,
and tulips trumpeting their joyful greetings,
sunrays parade in triumphant procession
of season’s enchanting magic.
I planted seeds of magic beans
in the garden and waited,
restless through spring’s fateful days
of warming soil and nurturing rain,
blushing with excitement in thoughts
of summer’s storybook adventures
vividly coming to life, hoping to wake
to the surprise of a beanstalk climbing miles high.
Then, May turned to June, June to a steamy
July, and I one morning dressed in the smiles
of a carefree little girl who could charm the bees
and listen closely to the melodies of songbirds,
knowing somehow this would be the day
to frolic free in the laughter of a forever sky
and bathe in my rippling mirage above
white, drifting clouds…where heavenly
breezes would cool my body and soul.
Summer magic created my climbing vine
while I slept dreamily through a stormy night,
cupping her hands to catch every drop of rain,
and she grew with the beanstalk from a lazy
day’s warm embrace to a magical kiss amongst
the brightest sun and sparkling stars. My fairytale
came to life until July turned to a feverish day
in August, and I, burning from within, woke to the end
of my storybook dream…
Then, as quickly as she came, summer’s magic was gone
with one strong gust of arctic air.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for PD's Magic Beans Contest, 1/5/15
A walk upon dark, icy ground
sends shivers down to bony spine;
spared from the choke of death thus bound,
breath comes whence love and hate entwine.
The count, their lord, doth rise at dusk
to terrorize blanched countryside
His steely eyes slice trembling husk
for drop of life, his brides abide.
The stench of corpse wafts from dead night
like sweet perfume on lover’s nape.
Enchanted by his starless flight,
he beckons with dark-wings of cape.
Then, like the moth to burning flame,
her fervor climbs for fangs drawn near.
a scarlet kiss to seize with shame,
Greed’s appetite expels stored fear.
In harsh rays of the waking dawn,
She curses beast, her longing’s doom.
With conscience breaking charm and brawn,
She lifts wood stake above his tomb.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 1/12/15
for Giorgio's Sketch a Fictitious Character II Contest
*iambic tetrameter