Best Round Poems
One half is submerged in light,
the other in darkness.
Half says goodnight and the other
tugs the harness.
Kids climb backyard trees tinged
with school bus yellow.
As lovers play hide and seek
in the nighttime meadow.
Training wheels lay abandoned -
youthful eyes bear cornea confidence.
The silver spokes whistle through copper leaves -
once in a lifetime decadence.
August stars say their last farewell
in glorious beelines.
Whilst wrinkled fingers grasp the moon
in delicious daytime.
A woman dressed in white walks down the aisle -
her father proudly flaunts.
As a preacher recites Scripture at a funeral:
The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want...
A newborn's laugh lights the whole world up
with effortless ease.
Whilst a pair of liver-spotted legs
unbuckles its knees.
One takes the first step -
the other reaches the end of the line.
One is a wealth of wisdom -
and the other is a gift divine.
Tiny toes to caress the sand,
ashes to sprinkle in the sea -
as if Nature itself has read aloud
Ecclesiastes Three.
"Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us." - Hal Borland
Each year goes round, and so I must surmise
that even though four seasons make a year,
we cannot really say when one year dies
or when the brand new year has had its dawn!
At any spot upon this earthly sphere,
we, all of us, are going on and on.
There is no start, so there can be no end.
We try to gather wisdom from the old
to learn from it and then resolve to mend
our future ways, then pass it to our youth.
But wisdom must be valued more than gold
if love and peace on earth would be our truth.
Each year goes round, and so I must surmise
there is no start, so there can be no end!
(A Cornish Sonnet)
Mountains come alive;
deer, trout and conifers thrive. . . .
Springtime’s scenic drive.
As ridges grow dry -
climb the verdant trails toward sky. . . .
Hear the eagle’s cry.
Cooler, shorter days -
highland’s gold and crimson blaze. . . .
My nostalgic gaze.
Snow-capped giants loom.
At the peak of winter’s gloom. . . .
I await spring’s bloom
For the Mountains Poetry Contest of Julie Rodeheaver
You seduced, you stole, you exalted, you annihilated,
You elevated, you decimated, you connected, you sucked me dry,
You opened me up, you closed me down,
You delivered me to ecstasy, you devalued and discarded me,
You were sensual, you were sardonic,
You made my heart smile, you tore out my soul,
You put me on a marble pedestal, you stoned me with your vicious tongue,
You bathed my heart in liquid gold, you buried me in quick sand,
You crowned me as your princess, you burnt me at the stake,
You were my prophecy, you were my satan,
Your hands knew every inch of me,
You tore out my essence and trampled my boundaries,
You pledged unity only with me, you cheated,
You held me tightly in your arms, you suffocated the life out of me,
You cast, you hooked, you netted, you feasted,
You made every nerve ending shiver deliciously,
You became my nervous breakdown, you were my divine intervention,
You disconnected me from my higher power,
You were luminous, you illuminated, you are an illusion.
You loved and yet you didn't.
Because love is real. And you are not.
.
.At long.
Last we have suffi-
cient supply of these in-
Valuable items for you to have
one of your very own. Guard it
With your life. These tuits have
been hard to come by, especially the
round ones. This is an indispensable
item. It will help you to become a
more efficient worker. How many
Times have you had to say, “I’ll do
it as soon as I get a round tuit”?
Now that you have a round tuit
of your very own, many things
needing to be done will get
done properly>
For who is this poetry destroyer
A cop, but who else would employ her?
As she spies no end
No poet, she pretends
Vanilla ice in leopard skin fur.
You ask If I want mommies hug
wouldn’t that be nice, lovely and snug
You just want to hold me
Under that great oak tree
And kiss me on your picnic rug
You want the vultures to enjoy
My sweet flesh, is that your ploy?
Wanting to be them
Eyeing up my sweet gem
Tell the truth, you just want a toy boy
Well our future together would be bright
Injets, pens and cartridges in sight
You’d color me in
Goodness what a sin
As I would always do the best write
Hang up your gloves as your are weak
You are also classed as an antique
A low blow I know
Don’t cry, don’t go
You can come back with a new technique.
If I don’t hear from the poetry cop
I will know I have come out on top
Good bye little girl
Give us one more twirl
Now, this should be the final full stop (.)!
P.D, this is the first one ive done. Took me a while. Very good fun though. I kind of limit’s
the write.
When Octopus came round for tea,
it was a tricky time for me.
Not knowing what he’d like to eat.
I wondered... savoury or sweet?
I borrowed spoons from Mrs Deggs
next door, for each of his eight legs.
I ‘d heard, if cross, black ink he’d squirt.
I worried... main course or dessert?
I know you’re thinking ‘do the two’
but he doesn’t eat like me and you,
his tummy’s really very small,
he can’t eat very much at all.
I fast flicked through my cooking books
and gave the clock face frequent looks,
but soon the door bell went ‘terrrinnggg’
Oh gosh! Hot pie or cold pudding?
‘Terrrinnggg, terrrinnggg’. Eight times it rang
and then he used each leg to bang
eight times upon my door. I rushed
to open it, and past he pushed.
“Please hurry up and let me in”
he squealed, and I thought, through the din,
‘He must be hungry for his food,
that’s why his manners are so rude’
But still I didn’t have clue
(a secret between me and you)
what I should feed the octopus.
I wished he ate like one of us.
I closed my eyes and made a wish,
Into my thoughts popped ‘Jelly fish!’
It sounded like the perfect meal,
much tastier than jellied eel.
Ooh, seafood with a fruity taste
and wobbly too. I cooked with haste,
and while I wondered what he’d think
I gave him sea water to drink.
He drank it through a straw, with ice.
He smiled and said “That’s rather nice,
but now I really need my dinner
before my legs get any thinner”
The Jelly Fish I boiled and froze
and put some parsley up its nose.
It was neither jelly nor a fish
but I served it on a silver dish
and asked before it passed his lips
“Do you want it with ice-cream or chips?”
He chose to have a bit of each,
both garnished with a slice of peach.
It all went down with one loud SLUURRRPPP
close followed by a great big BUUUURRRRPP
When the fall came we knew everything had changed. Whispers through the Aspens became a shrill voice of winters warning. He was changing like the seasons. They didn’t understand it at first but it became more apparent as time went on. The old man was tied to a cycle and that cycle was the changing of the seasons. In the fall he was anticipatory and melancholy. Sometimes irritable and other times reflective of his life. He had lived here for 20 years. Twenty years in a nursing home…who would do that to a man? But he took it all in and lived on despite the wrongs done to him. He was usually a gentlemen but he had his temper and God hope you weren’t working that shift. Christ. But as time went along he came and went and we all got used to the cycle. And he didn’t seem to notice. He had cancer and it was going to kill him. Sooner or later. He was working on later.
He used to say, “There is a spring that flows eternal, and I am swimming in that spring." He told us he would out live all of us and see us in that spring if we were good people. I’m not sure how good or bad I am but I would like to see him in that spring, if only for moment in time.
I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go and see the old man. He's almost gone and I don’t know what say to him. Brown tobacco stains run down his chin and he’s all dressed up on like them old people. It hurts me. It really hurts me. He is my future and my end and my beginning. It’s a cycle that was invented by a sadist. But he lives on. And I think of that spring and wonder when I will be swimming in it one day. Will I see him and all my children? Will I be able to locate my dogs? I hope so. For living on earth is heaven but crossing the river and getting to the other side in one whole piece must be paradise. I pray for those around me. And I hope that I have not done too much wrong that will keep me in this dark place I loath.
James Gareth is what you call me Destroyer
No charge but released by a good lawyer
A technicality as my names Gareth James!
That’s Gareth first, now I’ve shot you down in flames!
Oh, and my H.C. Hammers, did you want them back?
They may need a wash as they’ve been half way up my crack.
I know they are your favourite undercover police clothes
The cap that came with it, you want that back I suppose?
That must be the cap you was on about?
You shot me! Zap, Zap zigidy Zap
Is that all you could come up with? Put on your thinking cap!
Back to the drawing board, you must go
Find some words, none of yours offend me so!
I called you hot, I remember, for that I know
I meant the humid heat coming from your big toe!
My words of yesterday may rot like you said
Mother nature and I, we share the same bed ;-)
I’m surprised you know what a Haiku is?
Maybe you should hang in your gloves, and try a kids quiz?
I think you need to chose a brand new name
Your reputation now, has been shot down in a flame
Destroyed my poetry, for you have not
Your name again, remind me, for I have forgot?
(I said it would take me a while PD!!! Good fun to write though!!)
For poets seeing this for the first time, it is fun autherised fun between the poets involved!
No new blogs needed!!!
Tanka, didn’t work for me you see.
Sorry for the wait, I’ve been as busy as a bee.
I see PD is getting a lot of praise
I’m confident, PD, it is not just a phase!
I had to wait to view some of your writes
I had little information, but I let you out of my sights
PD, I have recaptured my Soul today
Shoot me down if you want and have your say
I read your Haiku and it would be easy to hurt
But my friend, that time has gone, no more dirt.
I open my arms to embrace you true
Change of direction, writing about the colour blue
Blue is the colour of protection and the spirit
I give it to you, you can walk forever with it.
Poetry Destroyer IS the wrong name
Poetry Supporter is the correct term, but what a shame.
I wish you luck on you future hits
The day will come you will enter the grand old Ritz
So, the offer is there stands there my dear PD
Hit me hard, knock me out, send me to sea.
Is this the white flag, you tell me?
May be it is, lets wait and see.
Send me to the stocks or chain me up
Poetry police, long term i'll never give-up
There’s a rumor going ‘round it’s my birthday today;
they say that I’m seventy years old..…no way.
too many candles to light,
it would take into the night.
When did I suddenly turn old and grey.
Some say I’m an old man and not too smart,
but I say don’t put the horse behind the cart;
‘cause age is just a number
not something to encumber,
and this old man is still young at heart.
December 7, 2017
Putting my kisses all around your neck,
Obligates you to do the same to me.
Electrify my soul and I will be
The one whose knees will quickly hit the deck.
Destroyer, I am now a nervous wreck,
Expected to pay the ultimate fee,
Selling my soul so I can set your free
To bounce, as if you had been a bad check.
Restitution will have to be paid back,
Or I may never pleasure you again.
You can take my payments off of your rack,
Extending the time to pay for a sin.
Royalties will always be in the sack,
So that I can always secure a win.
Put your heart in my hand and just trust me,
Or you do not have to give me your trust.
Eventually, you will find the lust
That I have for you was easy to see.
Dakarai Cobb is who I must be
Each day until I return to the dust.
So, being honest with me is a must,
Trusting that my pen will always flow free.
Read me and my words like an open book,
Only to find out that I am a flirt.
You may want to keep an eye on this crook,
Even if he does not remove your shirt.
Remember, I want your engine to cook,
So when I start driving, it will not hurt.
King Arthur had the right design
For when ideas abound
Discussion goes much smoother
At a table that is round.
When more than four sit down to talk
At tables long or square
The conversation’s aimed at who
Sits in the closest chair.
So little groups will splinter off
And miss the latest news
Of those down at the other end,
Affecting points of views.
But when the table’s round, all those
Participate as one
And everyone’s caught up before
The meal is even done.
Promise me that I can not offend you,
Or confuse you with my innuendo.
Every time I look in your window,
There is always something lovely to view.
Destroyer, I want to give you a clue!
Experience my touch when you then show
Sixty-nine things to do when you sin, though
Tonight I will let you do what you do.
Rely on me to satisfy your needs,
Or at least allow me to get you wet.
You can have all the rhymes that you can read,
Even the ones that I have not done yet.
Right now, I am trying to plant the seed,
So lets see how much moisture it will get.