Best Roiled Poems
When she walked by my side on a lonely road
And took me to the other side, much more verdant,
Through the barren lands of scorched desert,
Clueless I was about the paradigm of love.
If only had I asked, she would’ve taken me there
Into the sunshine from darkened shadows,
From the juncture of fears and saddened tears.
But I remained silent when it was time to speak
Choosing to not tell her how much I loved her
As I held the distance between bliss and sorrow,
When impulsively I veered in the wrong direction.
And I never saw the pastures beyond the hills
Or beauty of the terrain past the river bend.
Going where feckless ages have gone before
Embarking upon a path well-traveled
Ignoring pretty flowers in unkempt meadows.
Yet, she came to rescue at the edge of my angst
From caveats of today, cautions of tomorrow,
Standing with me in the midst of winter-storm
Promising spring flowers in colors of fall.
I saw the blossoms that were about to bloom
And blush on horizon hinting of the rising sun
And I heard the tempo of a concert on piano,
While roiled in turmoil of the unsaid, the unwritten,
Hidden within the depths of my vacant soul;
Incapable of voicing what the silence evoked.
September 18, 2019
Placed 1st: Crossroads poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Placed 1st: Strand contest #710 by Brian Strand
Life once was a journey through springs
And vistas of autumns in colors bold,
In splendor of morn rising on arc
And motifs on horizon sprinkled in gold;
But seasons soon imposed a heavy toll
Ravaging visions of emerald meadows
When echoes of nights roiled in turbulence
And days encountered darkened shadows.
Glad we soon defied the travails of yore
Turning focus to goodwill of tomorrow
As you stood there like a lighthouse of hope
When my heart was weak and full of sorrow.
And now I feel zest in breath of the winds
And pitter-patter of exuberant rain showers,
And now there's whiff of sweet fragrance
In budding new blossoms of April flowers.
No longer in our eyes there is hint of fear,
Neither are there tears of saddened years
For in your embrace wallows forever love
And in my heart dwells revelry of cheers.
September 15, 2019
Poem of the week..beginning on 9/22/2019
HM: Strand Special 4 by Brian Strand
“Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Bruised in shades lavender and forest green
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain”
While dreary dawn, dazed, awakens in pain
Trapping blushed morning in languid ravine
Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Darkened is design sketched on golden plane
Shadowed is rosy grin of once pristine scene
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain
While crystal skyline drenches in cloudy reign
Blurring scarlet arc decaying in fading sheen
Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Stellar stage is roiled in motifs of graying stain
Splintered are dim-beams upon ashen sateen
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain
Though hope gleams as winds start to wane
Lifting purpled amethyst zeal, as yet unseen,
Within the fog the distant mountains strain
Each angle decomposing ~ ~ ~ in the rain
May 6, 2021
Placed 1st: Choose your form poetry contest
Stanza chosen : option 1
Sponsor: Joseph May
They`re heart`s like an egg forever hardboiled,
friends that betrayed, dreams that were foiled.
Protecting it`s shell and those whom were loyal,
toys of their youth, their health, all now spoiled spoiled.
They`re heart`s like an egg forever hardboiled.
Decisions, regrets, a life of turmoil,
choices, bad bets, and days of hard toil,
they fall to their beds, body in coil.
They`re heart`s like an egg, forever hardboiled.
Doing their best only turning up roiled.
Controversial at best, always embroiled,
and they no longer fear, being planted in soil.
At the center of my orbit,
You were Jupiter, huge, remote,
Surface roiled by raging storms.
I was a dim, distant moon --
A tiny ice-bound clod
Eternally held at bay --
Still, snared inescapably
By your awful gravity.
Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
Meet me back on those effervescent days;
Let’s swing on shafts of their lingering light,
Like our childhood hero in vine-borne flight,
Till we’re again in that sun-swaddled place,
Where once we were colts free to roam and race,
On meadows with dews of innocence bright,
And friendship’s rainbow arching every sight,
Before we were called to the adults’ maze.
Let us leap across the years, my dear friend;
Though our bodies may balk, our minds are lithe.
On the playground of our youth we shall land,
Where birds still kiss the sky, stingless bees hive,
And our mischief roiled through a drowsy glen
Whose slumber still our laughing echoes rive.
A body of translucent blue spreads before him,
reflecting heavens of stark purity.
He flicks his shiny offering towards depths unknown,
and cranks the oiled reel.
Time pours slowly,
as the reflective lure moves through crystal waters.
Again the motions transfix thought,
cast, retrieve, move, repeat.
Until abruptly, something strikes the silver flasher,
now the dance is on.
The light weight pole bends to unspoiled water,
as the luminescent trout hurls its body above the water’s surface.
The aquatic life’s attempt to dislodge the three pronged hook fails.
But fish and man have met stares.
The dance intensifies,
a run is made,
line is peeled from spool.
Deeper the fish plunges through roiled waters.
But he will tire,
and face his likely death.
He ceases his desperate struggle.
The distance between predator and prey withers.
The angler now reaches for his worthy prize.
He captures the weighty fish through jaw and gill,
and lifts his prey from liquid home.
He has acquired what he sought,
but he knows that he must not devour this mountain rarity.
Gently, the fish is revived in the cool water.
He is released, and the two part, not as enemies,
but as two strangers,
who met in the fading twilight of the evening rise.
"'Twas a dark and stormy night," begins many intriguing tales,
But it WAS a dark and stormy night along the craggy coast of Wales!
Along its rugged shores, mighty gale-swept waves roiled and crashed.
Adding to the fury of the night, thunder roared and lightning flashed!
Out in Cardigan Bay the schooner Orion struggled to keep afloat.
Her rigging was torn asunder as her valiant crew strove to save the boat!
Salvation seemed beyond reach for those struggling, desperate souls,
As the raging storm shoved her nearer to those impregnable shoals!
With the captain at the helm and when rescue was within their reach,
The schooner Orion foundered when just a few yards from the beach!
Her oaken hull was shattered and her crew was never found.
Alas, the shoals of Cardigan Bay became their burial ground.
According to local lore, ghastly screams can be heard to this very day,
When the roaring gales sweep across venerable Cardigan Bay!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
When angst and hate my rancor stirred
Fuming indignation, reddening my face,
Emotions choked as muscles tightened,
Slurring my speech, abandoning grace;
And rational discourse then disappeared
Vowing vengeance to correct a wrong,
Dissonance hollered, yet no one listened,
Donning grimace that discords prolong.
Denouncing voice of the unjust, unfair,
I brewed in anger, drowning in malaise,
Despising disgust that misdeeds convey
Engrossed in egoistic, despicable ways.
When pettiness of feud conscious decried
Longing for peace soon buried my pride,
Conjuring sensibilities of forgiveness divine,
Rejecting impulses cordiality was denied.
As laments mellowed calming ego’s demands,
Mending misunderstandings sanity won
And dialogue sought armistice of win, win
When penitence rued things said and done.
Embracing silence, we hugged in remorse
Vowing to reconcile that which roiled us;
We understood, accepted, found balance,
Questing for benevolence~ loath to fuss.
July 1, 2022
Placed 2nd: Forgiveness Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
The Second Wife
Making its round in the ever pervasive What's app world...
Is a creative and amusing anecdote to raise a smile of mirth... ...
A stressed wife, harried as always from the endless house chores....
Receives a disturbing call from her husband on the way back from work....
The loving husband, wanted to give his wife a surprise......
There was a new eatery in town, so he thought a take away dinner would be nice ...
Would be a nice treat for his lovely wife, a respite from all that daily cooking....
So he called up his wife, told her he'll bring home a dinner for that evening...
Now, that new eatery in town, it has a unique name which was catchy all the same.....
The Second Wife, emblazoned big and bold over its welcoming entrance....
In his call, said the husband, I'll bring dinner tonight from The Second Wife...
Take a break, no need to cook this evening, he said to his wife...
After the husband's surprising call about a dinner from the second wife....
The wife, she brooded and bristled at the thought of a dinner from the 2nd wife....
The wife was sorely hurt and became increasingly incensed....
Righteous anger in her being broiled and roiled inside...
How did her loving husband dare keep another woman on the side...
How can he be so insensitive as to spring this on her....
Hell hath no fury to rival the wrath of wife wronged like her...
In the intervening minutes waiting for her husband to reach her...
The furious woman plotted murder and planned vengeance to hurt...
When the hour approaches, she reached for her chosen weapon...
She strode ominously to the door, stood behind it, the rolling pin firmly gripped ...
Murderous rage in her heart, maximum damage in her mind....
Woe to the husband as he arrived, dinner in hand, relaxed evening in mind.... ....
The husband, he opened the door, packed dinner in his hand.....
He knew not what happened next, the poor man....
When the door opened, it seemed the world collapsed on the man.....
The hubby, now he is laid up in hospital, all bandaged up and clueless what happened....
Hohoho...
Today
the hands of time wound
back the clocks to
morning,
mourning-mired, clocked at
forty-six past eight
exactly
when wanton wings wrought
terror's shocking stat:
two
thousand forty nine! All ground
to zero with the towers twin
turned
dust-cloaked debris choking
in a cloud of acrid smoke
and
all shed tears are gathered
now in limpid pool of
pained
reflection roiled by roses with
their thorns, in silence
piercing
hearts again, their old wounds
yet unhealed by salving
hands
of
time.
A lonely life it’s not easy being a fisher’s wife
but loneliness can be a compassionate companion
unbridled spite of bucking boss-mare-waves followed you ashore
her turmoil roiled the blood in your veins
and no amount of vodka
could flatline her seething heartbeat inside you
I saw her in your storm-full eyes eyes the color of stormy seas
you wore your hair in dark waves like hers a windblown tangle
I saw her in your storm-full eyes spindrift and steel blue —
rage of the Bering Sea against a canvas-sky the portrait of your eyes
your tongue-shard slashed at me like a broken bottle in hand
word-squalls blew and fist-storms
flew like splintered glass
piercing me to my marrow till I glistened
but… I could never glisten like her unblemished face at dawn
years of boss-mare-waves ground you down – razor edges worn smooth
your storm-tossed-heart now floats.. a lost raft on a tamed tsunami
your flat-sea-eyes the ancient blue of glacier ice
frosted over dull yet with a faint glow of stories you can’t tell
as you search a cognitive wasteland for words as harmless as sea glass
In this plush modern world of convenience
where everything you could want can be sent
to your house with just a single mouse-click,
it’s no wonder men feel depressed and sick.
A sex evolved for hard peril and work,
now just sits around, unchallenged, inert.
More and more I think ol’ Teddy was right,
we have got to choose the strenuous life.
It seems harder to do that now-a-days,
the rough jobs of old have all gone away,
the modern jobs just make your soul scream,
tapping away at keys, staring at screens,
never seeing what comes of your toil
can get a man all anxious and roiled,
what we do for family, and for our wives,
makes it hard to embrace strenuous life.
But in our free time the choice does remain:
Push for you limits, or more of the same.
See this awesome world filtered on the net,
or explore it in person, much better yet.
'Cause no Jpeg made can capture the feel
of a rocky mountain or fast four wheel,
no video made captures country nights,
that’s only found in the strenuous life.
Get out on a weekend to mountain trails,
find a place to rides horses, but watch the tail!
Put a canoe or kayak in a fast stream,
then come back later for some fly fishing
come Fall go out and take part in the hunt,
lay in a garden to soak up the sun,
better still bring along the kids and wife,
give them a taste of the strenuous life.
Try building that deck, don’t hire it out,
harvest your firewood, cut that tree down,
repair you own car, learn it as you go,
read ’till your mind is always in the know,
something impressive once a year do learn,
fill time full of life, you have none to burn,
be something impressive in your kid’s sight,
teach by example the strenuous life.
And though it may seem a challenge at first,
you’ll soon find fulfillment in what you’ve earned,
that you’ve lived a real life, conquered the wilds,
not just spent your time with keyboards and dials,
true achievement fires imagination,
more than mere electronic imitations.
Too much comfort will dull a man’s sharp knife,
give it a keen edge with the strenuous life.
His net was dry and become brittle
Anyone could see it hadn’t been cast
In many months
The foaming sea roiled on the breaking waves
Outside his hut, the baking sun burned the pebbles on the beach
The old man lay in his bed covered in sweat
A memory stash of years had passed
Since he felt well enough to cast a net
But a man must eat
He had made one last effort to get up
To go outside, pickup the net, put it on the boat
And cast off
His heart was willing,
But his body weakened with exhaustion
Deterred him from even trying
He fell back in bed
Such was the end of an old man
Who fished to put food on the table,
But now in his time of need
His government turned its back on him
Where was his social security
His pension, his medical aid?
He lay awake in pain
Sobbing
Some would say he hadn’t worked long enough
To earn help from the government,
But he had worked all his life
Doesn’t that count for something?
Others would say he hadn’t done anything for his fellowman,
But did they not remember that one winter, when he had fed the whole village
Singlehandedly, had they forgotten that?
Or the time he took severely ill children across the bay to see the doctor
And the children survived,
But this time, no help came to the old man on this sweltering hot day,
He lay in his bed of snarled sheets sopping with sweat
This is how my life ends, he sobbed,
Nobody to care if I die or help from nobody
What’s a life for, if not to help care for his fellowman
Simply a little sympathy, compassion, or love
Is that too much to ask?
I am a man! Am I a human being?
Don’t I deserve some concern?
Lord, don’t desert me now!
I stand alone as the day I was born sans mother
But then, maybe that’s why people need each other
Alone, no person stands
everyone needs some one there at the inevitable end
to feel their hand and sense the final warmth
to say the last goodbye as your soul departs.