Best Seventeenth Poems
Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances
A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke
Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun
Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land
Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell
“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger
So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing
Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces
Satin shoes, for years,
I wore upon my feet;
Bound around my
Ankles with
Expectations
I could never meet,
On bloodied toes
That languished
In a pirouette
Of self-defeat;
Wearing slippers
That tried in vain
To polonaise
Your dreams.
~~~~~~
Written: Jan 24, 2011
Author’s note: In the story of Swan Lake, it is told
that the lake was formed from tears.
Definition of ballet terms:
Pirouette: whirl or spin - a complete turn of the body on one foot,
on point or demy Pointe.
Polonaise: Processional dance in 3/4 time with which the court ballets
of the seventeenth century were opened and can be seen
today in Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty
On March Seventeenth, let’s be clear
You sin if you don’t drink green beer
But Tim won’t partake
He must stay awake
When Erin goes Bragh-less this year
Seems Erin likes putting on shows
And she has no use for bandeaus
She swings wild and free
And yells, “Look at me!”
As double-Ds bounce off her toes
*February 26, 2021
For Tania’s double limerick contest
Howmanysyllables.com: 88558, 88558
Seventeenth of March is St Patrick’s Day
Great day for the Irish I can honestly say
Paddies' the world over will want to be seen
Wearing Leprechaun hats and a sprig of green.
Loud colourful parades up and down the lands
Drums, tin whistles and the skirl of pipe bands
Sample some Guinness or a glass of potcheen
Be the best street party you've ever seen.
But if you're not Irish still join in the fun
St Patrick’s day parades are for everyone
But make sure you go, you'll enjoy the craic
And I guarantee that next year you'll be back
It happens once a year so come and have a ball
A very happy St Patrick's day to one and all.
Written 16/02/2019.
Poitin anglicized as Potcheen
( Irish moonshine )
~
Sprig of green is the shamrock associated
With St Patrick who used it to explain the blessed trinity, God the father, son and holy spirit.
~
The craic is news, gossip, enjoyable conversation and having fun.
Let us celebrate
a green day on seventeenth
holiday of march
wearing of the green
eating green and feeling green
dance with green concert
St. Patrick's dress
green delicious cooking tastes
green's cream of the cream
Contest sponsored by: PD
Leprechauns climbing in my chimney
Peeking at me with their red beards, waving.
Rainbow magic, sparkling my kitchen.
Making me hungry for all that I'm craving.
Shamrocks alive in my glorious pasture.
Running toward my house, none of them faster.
I roll around in my clover, loving March so.
The Seventeenth is always a tremendous show.
There is so much to finish, so much to do!
I am expecting company, sixteen, or maybe twenty-two.
The parades, the excitement, the ales, the green beer.
It is a fantastic time, when St Patty's Day finally gets here!
R-ight path to salvation
I-s waiting to be found;
N-ever ever stop searching,
A-s the deceivers roam around.
V-icious lies of the devil
E-manate from the false faith;
R-eal road to eternal life
G-ives peace true and great.
A-s you await the world's end,
R-esearch more seventeenth of June;
A-im at the only way, the right path to salvation.
May show us how beautiful you are
A Spirea blooms like a beautiful and white cloud in the garden
Beautiful spring bride
Dressed with creation she herself had designed
A golden ring of eternal happiness
The veil thin and beautiful like cobwebs kisses her cheek
May is the month with wonderful contrasts
As sure as the sun rises each morning
When I turn my face toward the warm sun
I feel it gives me new energy
Seventeenth of May is Norway's National Day
We lift up the flag in red, white and blue
Freedom
The sky is blue, as far as the eye can see
A celebration of sun, spring, life and eternal love
01.05.2016
- Sun :) - Anne-Lise Andresen -
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Why I care, but pretend I don’t.
First, screw you.
Second, I’m sorry.
Third, it’s not you it’s me.
Fourth, sometimes I hear things that aren’t there.
Fifth, why is everyone looking at me?
Sixth, do I walk weird?
Seventh, why do I do sports?
Eighth, cause I’m being forced to.
Ninth, maybe people will like me if I do this?
Tenth, never do that again.
Eleventh, sorry mom I just didn’t think.
Twelfth, why will no one date me?
Thirteenth, stop looking at me!
Fourteenth, no one likes a crybaby.
Fifteenth, what is wrong with me?
Sixteenth, “stop being such a nerd.”
Seventeenth, was that a joke?
Eighteenth, am I stupid?
Nineteenth, how come no one else looks like me?
Twentieth, sometimes I hear things that aren’t there.
The Student
As I strolled upon the green
and take in the breathtaking view of the front lawn
the onrush of winter geese take on the horizon,
waking me to my senses.
The silent roar of two lions guard the entrance
the entrance that now greets me from the summer sun as I
and my companion visit the house.
Beneath the opening arch,
the European marble beckons like wishing wells
In an open spring off in the distant countryside somewhere
and I am swaying to and fro in the
summer wind.
The sheer scale of the voyeur overwhelms the senses,
our eyes filled with sixteenth century tapestries and
seventeenth century bronze sculptures
paralleling Rome, Italy, and France.
At my right, the chess set of an imperial Frenchmen lay,
the pawns standing defiant for battle,
yet, unmoved they remain as I pass this way.
At my left, a library waits, and I--a deliberate reader--
stand in stupor at the sheer size of the Vanderbilt library
--my hands, restrained holding back, to read
every book the family ever read.
I am fascinated at the four-acre facade of American wealth, yet.
I can say not a word at this engaging portrait of nineteenth century life that now lays before
me.
But gone are the days
when you could sit and read all day
--as in the nineteenth century voyeur or library,
they say.
Gone are the days
when the outdoors beckoned the silent look
of two players at a game of chess.
Only the memory stands ready, as a friend,
just as the knight's of Vanderbilt's castle stand guard
at the foot of his staircase I climb
now trembling for words.
Only it can retrieve these lost fragments
of a poet's fragile mind, these books,
as I sit on a visit of its estate
composing a few lines.
Birthday comes once in a year
It comes every year of your life
A reminder of the day you came to be
A day you truly know nothing about
But a day you are truly celebrated.
My birthday comes on the seventeenth
I was seventeen on the seventeenth
The day was unique because of the numbers
Got a unique birthday gift from my Dad
My birthday gift a special birthday suit.
On my special suit on my special day
I looked pleasant and radiant
My friends all complimenting my suit
As the birthday boy I reveled in encomiums
I exude the aura of a royal prince.
My friends in their exuberance popped drinks
I was bathed in drinks of different tastes
My birthday suit did come to ruins
My birthday suit just for my birthday
Truly a special gift for a special birthday.
I'm nursing a headache the size of Corfu
my stomach is tied up in knots,
it's the seventeenth time that I've been to the loo
feeling sick with a dose of the trots.
My memory's blank as to how I behaved
but from texts on my phone I can see
that Doreen who I met said 'yes' when I proposed
(she's retired now, and seventy three).
I lie on the bed still in suit and loud tie
no effort to climb in the bedding,
my backache tells me as the evening went by
I danced like Grandads at a wedding.
A bad move to mix all those drinks, that's for sure,
I think I may have crossed the line,
there's a photocopy on the floor by the door
and I'd swear that those buttocks are mine.
War after war in the name of his sovereign king
A seventeenth century fury, devoid of all shame
Through pistol, cutlass and rapier, the world knew his name
So too does the Reaper, and beckons to Solomon Kane
.
A time to fight evil with evil, purge wickedness far from the land
Anger, murder and hatred, the cost of the toll
On the brink of destruction he falters, unsure of his stand
No riches, nor rapture enough to replenish his soul
.
A scream from the Devils Reaper
Cuts deep through the ice in your soul
“I have come for you, Solomon Kane”
“To claim back the Time, that you stole”
.
You wake from your world of dreams
The dreams that do haunt you, still
Renounced your evil ways, it seems
No - more you will live, to Kill
.
In penance here, behind these walls of virtue
“Oh! Father, do not make me beg, I pray
Cast from Heavens favour, crowned unholy
Let loose the Devils Children, for to play
.
The corpses piling high, upon the pyre
His bounty just a book and some stale bread
From regal and the noblest of beginnings
Alone there on the road, he’s left for dead
.
Dispense now with the boy you gutter demon
The daggers kiss then stole his life away
“If I kill you, demon, then I am bound for Hell”
“But that’s a price, that I will gladly pay”
.
Adorned by a broad-rimmed hat and a flowing cape
His journey’s long, his homeland’s where he’ll start
His task laid out before him, Merediths escape
No love, nor needless pity, in his heart
.
The preachers flock have changed now for the worse
They clamber for to tear the flesh, from bone
As MalachI bestowed on each, his curse
The Chapel cellar walls, their only home
.
The fate of defiance is fixing
The Hapless aloft, on the cross
Rain softens a cruel crucifixion
Sweet Meredith’s … not yet lost
.
A Priest sold his soul, to the Devil
At the castle, of Solomons birth
Welcome home, Solomon Kane
His friends, cut to bits in the dirt
.
“Forsake me not, Heavenly Father”
“Do I call on your Mercy, in vain”
Redemption lies there, at Your Alter
“RETURN TO ME” ….. Solomon Kane
.
There once was a time, full of burden
A time without hope, for a Saviour
When no-one would stand against Evil
“THAT TIME, MY LORD.... NOW IT IS OVER”
Lost in love’s valley
Like fragrance of a rose
In the morning breeze
I’ll not be I then
I’ll then be you.
(Inspired by the seventeenth century mystic poet
of Sindh Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai’s poetry)
Sintra, Portugal 25/01/15
trilonnet
Two thousand seven was the first
of "seventeenth" phone calls he's made.
"Hello, what cha doing?" his line.
Each month our computers coerce
with rapt attention we persuade
our faces and minds to entwine.
The conversation unrehearsed
we Skype as two friends on crusade
to prove that our thoughts still align.
As the day approaches, I thirst
for updates on his escapades.
The seventeenth is by design.
March seventeenth is our birthday -
Pat, my twin, lives in Paraguay.
written 28 March, 2016
A trilonnet is a form of poetry, created by Shelley A. Cephas. A type of sonnet it is a 14-line poem divided into four tercets followed by a couplet. The tercets are unrhymed but the couplet is rhymed. The tercets use a linked rhyme scheme, rather than rhyming within themselves. Two patterns of linking rhyme are suggested: Form 1: ABC ABC ABC ABC DD or Form 2: ABC CBA ABC CBA DD. Iambic tetrameter or iambic pentameter is suggested.