Best Skilfully Poems
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet?
Would you love me if I wasn’t a poet?
Writing between the rhymes
Building beautifully a wonder from words
Sculpting skilfully
What in you
A mesmerising mirth stirs..
Would you love me?
As I dip my whole
In the depth of the silence of words
And have you hover
In the width of my world
Impatiently, passionately
Pursuing the pounding of my heart..
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
The realm I reign
Rarely do I take reins
A time, attaining the zenith
Dazzled and dazed on cloud nine
One other time
Lost in the dark of my tower
Seeking sensibility in a hyper sensitivity
And once in a while
Daring dimensions
Deafening fright
Willing to sip
From the ocean of valiant hearts..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t own a magic wand
And the sacred power to wave on words
Weave a fairy tale
Of true love at first sight..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t master the mysteries of words
Compose a meaningful music
With every beat of the word
And paint portraits and landscapes
From the realms of fantasy..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t for you
Mount mountains
Dive seas
Dig caves
Plough lands
Plant trees
Wake the sun to stretch her rays
And brighten the chambers of your heart
And when you crave for a dream
I would for you
Draw a fascinating golden hour view
And choose a rainbow of colours
Just for you
To behold the glow of the twilight..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t erase “memory “ from my glossary
And have you the sole ubiquitous muse
Stop the flow of time
As I have you in my verse and rhymes
And reach for every single word
And turn it into a rare gem!
Just for you!
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Silent One
September 4th, 2023
Winter crept in secretly with a smile upon her face
Dressing my garden silently with a veil of gossamer lace
A snowflake falls onto my hand; I admire its exquisite form
Its beauty is momentary as it melts on my skin so warm
Small children have such fun as they frolic in the snow
I see them playing happily, their cheeks have a rosy glow
There are imprints of snow angels that the children love to make
Children run inside for hot drinks and warm cookies that I bake
Snowmen are built so skilfully - they seem to touch the sky
Sadly they melt when the thaw arrives, small children often cry
Trees shiver in the bitter winds; Jack Frost points his icy fingers
Icicles sparkle on the trees, Jack’s chilly artwork lingers
Snowdrops raise their sleepy heads and peer out from the snow
Spring will soon be on her way and daffodils will be on show
Couplet Time Contest Sponsored by Rick Parise
08~23~16
High
Where
Eagles
Dare to fly
The wind is howling
Heaving against the jagged rocks.
A climber relentlessly hangs on to endurance
Skilfully persevering till eventually the top is reached, the aim achieved.
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Contest: Fibonacci
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Placed: 6th
My lovely grandma taught me how to bake apple pie
I helped her in the kitchen from when I was knee high
Old family recipes were written down in a book
Cakes, cookies and pies were all so skilfully made
When grandma gave instructions I quickly obeyed
We’d pour over the pages deciding what we would cook
I recall those childhood days and I often look
At its stained pages and the knowledge she conveyed
Baking was such fun
Precious memories remain
I remember happy times
Every time I bake
I put on her blue apron
And teach my son how to cook
Fictional write - Sadly I didn't have a maternal or paternal grandmother and feel I missed out so much as a child
Contest Three Style II
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Rules
1. One couplet : A-A
2. One stanza with rhyme scheme: A-B-B-A-A-B
3. One sedoka: syllable count: 5-7-7-5-7-7 (Checked with how many syllables)
09~27~16
In neatly lined up pots in a row
Flaming red and purple balsams in clusters grow
A visual treat to adoring eyes
A haunt frequented by the bees
Do not need much care, but may fade
If not allowed a little shade
Flimsy they are of delicate stems
With light green leaves of serrated hems
Planted in my skilfully laid up yard
They invariably make me glad
Gleaming in the first rays of the sun
By their simple beauty, my heart they won
When the flowers wither, pods appear
In time, for self dissemination, they prepare
When fully ripe, the pods explode
And seeds fly as birdies from their nest to explore!
Thus Nature’s ways are so amazing
Even in plants is an inherent training,
For seeds to leave the comfort of their pods
And find their own space fighting all odds!
___________________________________
June.2.2022
~Placed First~
Purple Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
??Wisdom of Solomon 13:11 KJVAAE??
[11] Now a carpenter that felleth timber, after he hath sawn down a tree meet for the purpose, and taken off all the bark skilfully round about, and hath wrought it handsomely, and made a vessel thereof fit for the service of man's life;
??Ecclesiasticus 38:27 KJVAAE??
[27] So every carpenter and workmaster, that laboreth night and day: and they that cut and grave seals, and are diligent to make great variety, and give themselves to counterfeit imagery, and watch to finish a work:
??Isaiah 41:7 KJVAAE??
[7] So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, saying, It is ready for the soldering: and he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
??Isaiah 44:13 KJVAAE??
[13] The carpenter stretcheth out his rule; he marketh it out with a line; he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh it out with the compass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, according to the beauty of a man; that it may remain in the house.
??Matthew 13:55 KJVAAE??
[55] Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?
??Colossians 2:14-15 KJVAAE??
[14] blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; [15] and having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it.
The Fisher.
A flash of iridescent turquoise
Captured by rays of awakening sun
As a new day born has begun
Among the thickets and leafy sprawling trees
Weeds and reeds
Kissed by morning dew
Wildflowers proliferate with a pleasing hue
Thereby a sparkling trickling
Silver ribboned stream
Reflecting fragmented images of evergreen
Within the stillness and quiet site
A small darting bird takes flight
Following the streams perpetual flow
As swift and as straight as an arrow
The feathered jewel takes a rest
On a overhanging branch
Displaying it’s striking orange breast
The little fisherman
Waits patiently
For a careless little fish to swim by
And kiss the sky
Down the fisher plunges
Within a blink of an eye
Skilfully it captures
It’s silver treat
Dangling from it’s pointed beak
And swallows in a gulp
A jewel to behold in natures treasure chest
A Juvenile
From a sandy bank cosy nest
A joy and pleasure to behold.
Peter Dome©2019.
fingers skilfully skimming
over the piano keys
akin to bliss magnetism
renewing rapture with ease
betrothed to God, love distils
vibrations unbecoming
succumb to slow seduction
bliss strobes in our heart drumming
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands e.e. cummings
~
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" LV means Love"
contrasting winds which carried particles
of who we used to be
circled and settled. to fold into one
...becoming us...
that you are me...and i am you..
two hearts, one sun, one moon, that built a love
where twists and bends, would melt into one,
where eyes can't see where threads connect;
a solid rock, yet soft as feathers
where I can come to lay my head
and cast away the darkest day, the cruelest night
never will we understand
the shifts and strains of wayward winds
that whirl, and pound on fate's own door
the knowing why is not what counts, what matters deeply more...
is when I reach my hand to touch
this vaporous thing...impossible to define
where mortal words can not explain
nothing to see, nothing to touch,
just the faint breath of us
a dream, not myth....that final sleep cannot erase....
so sure this breath of life we share
is reason enough, that we are here
..............................................................................................................
For Joann's Contest "Copy Cat" My poem inspired by e.e. cummings poem LVII
Vembadi, my Alma Mater
On day one, I stepped into school tearfully,
In school uniform, clutching my bag nervously.
Miss Barker appeared! I gazed at her fearfully,
Her foreign face scared the native lass tremendously!
Miss Barker, the disciplinarian, and her walk daily
From Lower to Upper School, we’ll never forget.
The great lady, with her methodical ways,
Our last foreign head, guided our school skilfully!
We learnt to read, write and count effortlessly,
But faced tests and exams anxiously.
We took part in sports and games snappily;
At break times I ran out with friends happily!
Miss Mabel Thambiah, our first national Principal,
Succeeded Miss Barker calmly and unflappably.
She steered the school at all times marvellously,
Specially in the turbulent takeover years!
Our teachers worked so painstakingly!
With improved knowledge and manners, we prayed daily.
The years flew by, our schooling ended quietly,
And I stepped out, at seventeen, gallantly!
Known they are as the Lisbon Lions
But of the West of Scotland were they scions.
Etched in history is their name
Because of that 1967 game.
Immortality upon them is endowed
As they made their fans so proud.
But as the years do move on
So are we left with fewer sons.
One such by the name of McBride
Recently passed to the other side.
A centreforward of great repute
He could score with head or either foot.
Such a joy was he to watch
It made you so proud to be Scotch.
Yet all his roots dated back to Eire
Than which land none is fairer.
As a boy he grew up in Govan
Where the once proud Rangers' writ did run
However,because of their sectarian divide
He could not be signed by his local side.
He plied his trade skilfully and well
As every team he played for can proudly tell
He showed goalscoring was his great art
And his teamwork played a major part
When he finally joined them in the East End
He was destined to become a true legend
His goals set him in a world apart
And he played for Celtic with all his heart.
Although he played not in the European final
His contribution till Christmas that season was vital
With goals galore and impressive teamwork
He was a model player who would never shirk.
And so the crowning glory of his team
Without his contribution would not have been
As a man who never lost the common touch
He remains in our memories loved so much.
Every day just this time
I wait for you with full zeal
From my window to look you,
To watch you.
Because your presence
Helps to make a radical change
Within a few minutes in our
Sultry environment,
The fair beauty.
I became impatient to look you
And you came.
You came like a tuber rose,
Just unfolding her petals.
Your dazzling white teeth
Helps to make much attractive
Your famous bit of smile.
The vernal breeze often
Try to remove the scurf skilfully
From your prominent bosom
And you often try to fix it.
A premature tinny boy
Trying to attract your attention,
See your reddish eyes, seems
You want to stroke his head-quarters.
Uncle John has a peculiar habit
Embrace an young girl.
Your quick depart proves
He is near-by.
We are living in a world where many have lost touch within their primary senses
denying the truth where hell is skilfully cruel judging and condemning righteousness
It presents itself as the conflict fighting against sacred rights
primitive by nature its intentions towards reasoning is diabolical
when life began we started of perfectly innocent
Influenced by others the world began spinning around morals
temptations began to get a grip naked hiding behind sin
it all began to form through dishonesty forming this blindness
Caves of a beggar always telling lies hiding in darkness
the general rule in line with conduct lowered by these standards
shows how false science can clearly leave its mark deeply rooted
Just because you have a p,h,d when promoting evil makes you stupid
wisdom has a way of educating those willing to learn right from wrong
I DON’T SUPPORT RAINBOWS
lightning planets
falling down
faking tears
from my eyes
and to my
lips touching
then melting
flesh
stupidly happy
skilfully sad
indifferent
as the
mercury
drops
and I
fall
© Kim van Breda—5 November 2105
Chained to these walls of despair
I was condemned by a Judas race.
Assassins’ wait on every corner
hiding in the lights of man
looking for my face.
To be last of your species is a lonely place
in loneliness everyone’s your enemy,
my existence violates this earth.
I am demonised by children not yet born
for I am Auschwitz I am war,
I am the monster behind your door.
Cremation is ordained upon my soul
the future dies when cities burn.
Life gives way to extinction
but the last rights give way to destiny
for the dragon has one last legacy.
Lead me to your abattoir
and take my dignity.
My scales will provide a heroes shield
this blood will give you courage.
Take these eyes made of jade
but do not look too close
for I may possess you.
Artisans take my teeth
record my sins in scrimshaw
for I have flown amongst you.
Memories laid down in human bone
for the samurai has felt my breath
and his god has knelt before me.
Immortality now gives way to fairy tales
Dragons used to frighten children
for it is all you have,
to protect them from reality.
Though some will grow
to envy me.
The truth of mankind
lies on the artists brush
Skilfully mixing your colours of deceit.
Dragons are not your heroes
your excuse, you were following orders.
The dragon is the darkest secret of mankind,
in your actions I became the executioner
and you a plague of demons
that washed my soul away.
But always remember,
when you look into the fire
there will always be a dragon
looking back at you.
Waiting to reclaim his throne
from the demons that exist in you.