Best Sere Poems
PINK TENNIS SHOES
I mother always pride galore
until the words from daughter abhor.
Her gentle heart and loving embrace
smashing to pieces. She fell from grace.
Her untied tenny shoe, wrapped and tight
around her bike, could free no might.
Mommy checking faithful each half hour
found her daughter helpless, no power.
Down the hill mommy went
no time was wasting nor was spent.
The wind passed threw my long hair locks
when shock took over from what I got.
Not what I thought from bike I bought
but cruelest words, my life distraught.
From those lips kissed each night to bed
not once, nor twice, but thrice to head.
“Hurry up old lady” from my daughter
how my heart bleed of tears and water.
For no words crueler ever sere spoke.
My shame, the horror on face neighborhood folk.
My tail between my legs indeed
got there, put there by my third bore seed.
And mothers day and birthday too
three days from now turn 45, BOO-HOO!
Never knew my aging beauty fade
would be this hard for the lies I’ve made.
Lies I’ve told to self each day
that children’s love fulfillment may.
So on this very special mothers day
this “old lady” family f--- off say.
Is this the world that was so young
and fresh and fair but yesterday?
From leafy bows the robin sung
Is this the world that was so young?
Wild bees upon the clover swung
And grove and field with bloom were gay
Is this the world that was so young
and fresh and fair but yesterday?
Is this the world that was so young
and fresh and fair but yesterday?
Sere leaves beneath our feet are flung
Is this the world that was so young?
As if wild hands spectre wrung
Hither and thither, sobbing, sway
Is this the world that was so young
and fresh and fair but yesterday?
+++
October 9, 2014
Form: Triolet (Iamb Tetrameter)
Dr. Ram Mehta
Second place win
Contest: Structured Forms Iamb Verse III by Giorgio V.
Start the day. In what way
was the cold spring, last wet summer a
global warning, indicator. Says
one commentator on the op-ed page, the
dislocations, wars, famines will tax humanity's
technology, philosophy, even religion's ability
to see past daily survival to
the music in the rock. I've doubted the taboos
one frog among many in the slow-heating beauty
of the world we knew. Aaron's coconut.
Peepers doing well in the heavy rains, wet
with joy. Hawks and crows thrive below the jet
stream, noise, perhaps our fears
are overdrawn, we'll get along, it'll all hold together 10,000 years more,
the Holocaust will never be repeated, lush mountain and sere
desert equally appreciated, baseball
lazily paced summer evenings, the harvest in the fall
a sure thing, and the dying back a blessing come to all.
Nunca antes le daras cavida
Entre manos el oro se hace sal y agua
Mientras una luna de bendiciones
Amanece el ser de maldicion
Quemando los poros de nuestras virtudes
Sera el final en llamas?
Que sera de nuestra proxima generacion de ereditarios
Ante una presencia que restricciones y modelos de destruccion
No es mi forma de ver la agonizacion de mis hermanos
Solo e visto la sangre que derramamos
Ante una bandera como cualquier otra
He visto de muerte a triunfos
No represento ante el mundo
Pero e sabido dar cara al futuro
Con enfermedades y pesadillas
Con orgullo y descaque
No es mi ser el que camina ante la arrogancia ofrecida
Pero aun e dado mis manos al futuro
No es destino el que dejo mis alma
De ser un dios ante un mundo
Menos se de que es vivir con fortuna
Desde joven conozco trabajo, sudor y agonia
Amor muerto ante la duda
Como enterrado ante el destino
Quien sere en un futuro?
Muchas cosas quedan en mi por descubrir
Le pederia a mi propia bandera
Represantame sin sangre y hazme orgulloso
Pero en la ironia que yo debo hacer mi bandera radiante
Quebranto mi deseo ante la duda de poder moverme
No es orgullo en muchos casos
Menos tentacion al fracaso
Tal vez solo pierdo poco de mi ser
Ante mi caida en el pasado
Sin ojos puedo dar de comer
Sin manos doy de mi ser
Sin dios quebranto mi ser
Ante el futuro
Que solo tu y yo tenemos en manos.
I cradle and rock him,
He's so fragile a thing in my arms,
So perfect, so innocent,
So unlike his mother.
His mother was broken and wicked,
A being rotten from within,
But I had loved her still.
It was foolish, I know,
But is that not what love entails,
Accepting someone for who they are?
She likened herself to a grey petaled rose once,
Sere and dying.
He'd likened her to a little candle,
Hidden beneath a bushel.
She called her life a colorless canvassed painting,
With him only as red.
When she saw only lifeless skies and muted chaos,
And her sanity danced away;
To some silent unheard rock music,
He fastened to her hand and danced with her,
Till the music turned gentle,
And it's tempo slow.
I had known she wouldn't stay for me,
Believing otherwise would be naive.
I had thought she would stay for him;
Our little boy,
Thought she could lock away those parts of herself,
That part of her mind that played terrible scenes;
Of still bloody rivers,
And terrific demons,
And scattered husks of men;
All in haunting recaps,
That compelled her to recreate such destruction.
She did not think she was worthy,
To look upon a thing so perfect and innocent,
And call her own.
She was broken and wicked,
And she was rotten from within,
But she knew in her black shriveled beating-box,
That he would take care of him,
Like he had done for her,
As her healer and her friend,
Though he was not his own.
So she'll close her eyes for just a little while,
For she believed all will be well,
And she hoped to go where there was silence,
Flawless emptiness.
It would be beautiful to her if death were like that.
She'll love them both still,
In that world of total blankness,
And isn't that what love is about,
Letting someone go when you know you're not right for them?
as I contemplate the creature from afar, beads of sweat from my forehead hissing as they strike the parched august soil below, the object of my gaze lazily lifts a hand upward, tilting it slightly in the air before resting it gracefully on the ledge before him, when, eyeing me, the alien fairly flows in my direction, his hand no longer opaque but shockingly transparent, mesmerizing me as it passes through the plane of my own hand unscathed.
sere hand … fingers mine ...
earth bakes ... skeletal wind whips ...
eerie … nothing there
June 11, 2018
Para Mi Familia Y Amistades
Si ustedes estan aqui sentados, escuchando estas Palabras
es porque yo ya no soy de este mundo. Yo todavia estoy aqui
pero ustedes no me pueden ver. A ustedes mis hijos - quiero
decirles que siempre los ame mucho con todo mi corazon.
Yo nunca tuve riquesas en este mundo. Mi mas grande Tesoro
fue haber los tenido a ustedes, fueron el Tesoro que Dios me
mando. Yo los cuide lo major que pude. Dejen que Dios conforte
sus almas y limpie sus lagrimas. Despuez sigan sus vidas y el
tiempo curara su dolor.
Ahora yo tengo que emprender una jornada, pero tengo que
hacerla sola/solo. Por favor no lloren por mi. No he muerto, estoy
empezando una vida nueva. Traten de vivir una vida recta y buena.
Mantenganse siempre cerca de Jesus y asi estaran cerca de Dios.
Pronto nos volveremos a ver. Cuando ustedes suban las escaleras
de oro - sere yo quien los encuentre alli.
A mi familia y amistades les quiero decir - gracias por los anos y
tiempos que pasamos juntos. Por los tiempos que reimos y los tiempos
que lloramos. Como ustedes saben - todo llega a su fin. Ahora yo les
dejo aqui mi ultimo adios. Desde Arriba yo le pedire a Jesus nuestro Senor
que los bendiga a todos y cada uno de ustede. Adios...
08/19/2014
By Lucilla M. Carrillo
Whose heart-strings are a lute
embalmed in their echoing songs!
When Nature sleeps and stars are mute
at midnight, in the month of June.
A mystery, and a dream,
perchance is woven in thy sleep;
for the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Again- again- again-
Know thou the secret of a spirit
its echo dwelleth and will dwell,
while the stars that oversprinkle
tempt the waters from their bed.
Deep in the heart whose hope has died--
the leaves- withering and sere;
the ancient dramatist of eminence,
the music of the spheres.
Admiring Nature's universal throne
banners yellow, glorious, golden.
The requiem for the loveliest dead
sanctified in their Elysian fire.
An Eternity should bring the morrow
an Eden of bland repose...
of beauty- chasms, and caves, and Titan woods.
I scarce know which to prize most high.
An ivory throne, at morn -
at noon - at twilight dim -
and Mid-time of night.
Divine- a talisman- an amulet-
the mystery which binds me still
hath left me broken-hearted.
A burning blush came o'er thee
beneath the tamarind tree.
All my nightly dreams-
-breathe-
and veil thine eyes;
are but a dream within a dream
into thine hour of secrecy.
All from the works of Edgar Allen Poe, pieced and patched together from many poems. I
have a list of the poems but there is not enough space to post them here. This type of poem
is created of clipped lines and phases from other poems and is called a Cento or Patchwork
Poem.
We long in the dark
Full of passion words of love
Fiftytwo years long.
So long time has passed
But love has never been sere.
Yet as the first time.
We are now aged,
The body youth has now gone.
But we still desire.
revisited to hold the 5-7-5 structure of HaiKu
Armed infantrymen cross alien dust
Braving perils posed in on the lands
Courageous hearts, for the sake of freedom
Defend our rights with preen and pain
Enduring duty tours after duty tours
Fight for the nation, never questioning
Grateful we are to all those brave-hearts
Humbly we thank what they deserve
In deference to sere self-sacrifice
Just cause resounds in their battle cries
Kneel we ought to say a prayer for them
Let love be conferred on them who are there
Miles and miles they march thro’ stride and strife
Never mind night or day, risking limb and life
Offer our thanks on this blessed day
Pray and bow down heads to God
Quietly render words of respect and reverence
Reveling in their daring deeds
See how snowflakes sit on the window sill
Twinkling stars dole out good grace
Unequaled peers, each of them
Venting emotions through cheers or tears
Wish we ought to, for these martyrs
Xenocrysts set and carved in stones
Yet their memories will return
Zeal echoes in each and every house.
+++
August 18, 2014
Form Abecedarian
First Place Win
Contest: Abecedarian by Shadow
A lone cottonwood tree stands on the rolling Colorado plain.
A rippling stream flows nearby, its existence to sustain.
Its lofty branches reach for the pristine Colorado sky.
Tho' badly scarred, the ravages of time it continues to defy.
I tarry 'neath its welcoming shade to muse about its past.
For a century or more it has witnessed the passage of time so vast.
Why did this sturdy sentry survive when others fell away,
Yet, shedding a blizzard of cottony snow each ensuing May?
I wonder if it was a landmark beacon for hardy pioneers,
As they traveled e'er westward seeking new frontiers.
Perhaps a patrol of cavalry paused 'neath its welcome shadow,
To take respite from their weary trek across the sere plateau.
Scars remain where buffalo scratched their hides upon its bole.
I suspect that it was a sanctuary for graceful antelope on patrol.
I could imagine a majestic eagle perched atop its aerie,
Reposing from its search for prey across the endless prairie.
Rustling leaves startled me from my nostalgic reverie.
Were phantoms of the past gathering about this very special tree?
I felt as tho' God considered this solitary tree renowned.
I respectfully withdrew, sensing I'd intruded upon sacred ground!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Harsh sunlight beats upon the thirsty land
And glares upon the limestone cliffs and sand,
While waves of heat rise shimmering, above
The parched loam where the great saguaros stand.
And perched up high among the spines thereof
There broods in camouflage a mother dove,
Whose eggs lie hidden by her breast, her nest
A knitted niche of neatly-knotted love.
Along the desiccated ground, impressed
By tiny running feet, crisscrossing lest
A predator should see, a rodent’s track
Evinces its unending hungry quest.
Concealed among the stones of brown and black,
Its body hidden stretched along a crack
And waiting, watching for unwary prey,
There lurks a waiting, patient diamondback.
Ephedra, sage and creosote all stray
Along the rims of sere arroyos. They
Succeed in thriving: an exquisite feat
Amid the barren soil and rock-hard clay.
And seemingly unfazed by searing heat,
Up where the mescal trees and heaven meet,
Cicadas make the wasteland throb with sound,
Their many-years’ interment now complete.
The desert’s lush abundance will abound
With form and color rarely elsewhere found --
Throughout one sees the working of that hand
Whose word and wisdom nature will expound.
Autumn Love
I find autumn’s approach tinges the air:
Season to season, days faithfully flow,
My mirror, of late, reflecting gray hair
And my wife’s merry cheeks losing some glow
Though the glow of our love burns like June sun,
Its luminance brighter with ebbing time,
Our intertwined lives rife with elation
Since we embarked on this marriage sublime,
A day of grandeur when she marched the aisle
With flower bouquet, long withered and sere,
Yet, still she maintains a knack to beguile
So, as leaves flush to gold, I hold her dear.
October 14, 2016
A Poem Written in Iambic Pentameter
Janice Canerdy
Although I hardly gave it a thought
I didn't really doubt
our miniature juniper, a bonsai,
would survive our desert vacation.
It likes the dry
air of our home, needs water
once a week at most and seems
meditative and active, both. While away
I rediscovered my love of agaves -
sotol and century
plant - met Mortonia and became
reacquainted with squawbush, its citrus
drupe which makes traveling the long horizon
of the desert uplands endurable.
Live oaks - emory,
wavyleaf - dominant and regally spaced
giving ground to mesquite only on the sere
sand flats. I counted and drew inflorescenses,
spikelets, florets, awns but grasses
remain a mystery
their microscopic parts. This year
I'll study, give them serious thought before
our Spring starts. The cactus wren was the one
bird I could be certain about. Sunsets
made me sorry
the desert is not my home. But the ocotilloes
flowered before we left and that made up
for the vicious attack of a hedgehog cactus.
Impressive, ponderosa pine and Arizona cypress
the canyon canopy
watered with snowmelt and along the high cliffs
limestone formations predating our arrival by
ten million years of weather. Newspapers
kept us aware humanity had not accomplished yet
the end of history
and that was fair. The planes were full of citizens
who no longer applaud upon landing. Snow flew,
not a pinyon pine or manzanita within two moons
walking. On the dining room sideboard, waiting,
our miniature juniper.
The Lord above is righteous in his love,
he shines his light on the good, and
through his gate- they will walk.
_________________________
April 14, 2016
Kimo
For the contest, Sun Shines On The Righteous
sponsor, Sere Roberts
Did not place in contest.