Best Sonnet Poems
The Mother Tree
I am the mother tree that spawned the seeds of you.
My children, you've grown and branched away from me.
You've married, left home to start your life anew.
Where e'er you go remember you're my family.
My roots run very deep into the earthly soil.
My centered rings are many, you may not yet view.
They show the story of my years of work and toil
And of growth and wisdom I've tried to share with you.
As you branch out, your little seedlings too will grow.
You'll try to keep them safe under your canopy.
One day when they grow up and leave, you too will know
The painful pangs of missing branches on your tree.
As they return for advice from their mother tree
Remind them to honor God with humility.
6-13-20
~First Place~ Poem of the Day June 15, 2020~
Non Human Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
It's how the stars are lit at night
and how the dew drops glisten
How evening shadows mock the light
and it's how the silence listens
From the gentle sway of trees
that bid such fond adieu
Songs in a summer breeze
a voice so clear, so true
The glory of such symmetry
so more than fills the eye
To the beauty of such poetry
this hopeful heart draws nigh
In natural peace all love is born
To live and thrive each blessed morn
03/14/2017
Poem Of The Week of 3/19/2017
Best New Poem of the Month 4/01/2017
One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
Who but God could paint the evening sky
And use a brush that is a fiery torch?
Tonight, the garish sunset makes me high
In awe, I stand and watch it from my porch
Who but God could make the insects sing?
Cicadas droning on with their night song
Still better yet, to sing with legs and wings
Tonight, their cousin crickets sing along
Who but God could hang the moon and stars?
Each star a wish, the moon a silent friend
To light our nights as we live our memoirs
To pull the tides and push them back again
And yet, I understand, some don't believe
Who but God can grant them their reprieve?
July 19 2017
Religion or Philosophy
An untouched piano has no purpose,
like a lonely clown without a circus.
A boat has no destiny stuck at shore,
silent like a lion who's lost its roar.
Life is fragile like petals in puddles,
drowning from the adversity of struggles.
A perfect time for poetic lyrics.
The right response to silence critics.
Without poetry life lacks true meaning.
A suicide of speech when ink is screaming.
Scholars are wise, but their words lack beauty,
so rise like the sun, it's our moral duty.
Unleash the fountain of your artistic fire.
Poets are born to weave words which inspire!
They walk amongst us, but in silent ways,
spreading peace and love without any praise.
When thunder roars and lightning strikes in rain
they watch over us, healing bleeding pain.
Yet we do not see their celestial light,
nor do they shed feathers within our sight.
Happy to hide behind unknown faces,
empathy guides them to deprived places.
Heal and soothe, they prevent tears from flowing,
touch our hearts to leave our spirits glowing.
From Sydney to London, Rome to Bombay,
provide moments that take our breath away
Their acts of grace form a ripple effect,
kind gestures that help people to connect.
A Poet’s Abode
A poet’s peaceful abode surpasses bliss
Depicting imagery beheld by eyes.
Dreams revealed go beyond the great abyss
Of space with stars that fill our cobalt skies.
The elements alone express such truth
That sun needs balance of the rain to grow
Sprout varied seedlings that begin in youth
Then we reap our harvest by autumn’s glow.
The beauty of a rainbow through the rain,
The way the sunrise colors us in shades,
How beating hearts behold our joy or pain.
A poet captures hues as twilight fades.
When quill releases ink and does not miss
A poet’s peaceful abode surpasses bliss.
7-21-22
~Premiere Contest N/A~
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
5-28-22
~Poem of the Day May 30, 2022~
Thank you Poetry Soup Team
~Fifth Place Premiere Contest~
Orphan Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
A Brian Strand PREMIERE~N/A~
Contest Judged: 5/30/2022 9:54:00 PM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Orphan Sonnet
Created by: Dale Gregory Cozart with a rhyme scheme of Abab - cdcd - efef - aA, (I0 syllables per line) in three quatrains, and a final couplet with the last line repeating the opening line.
Used:
https://www.howmanysyllables.com/syllable_counter/
Photo by: https://houston.culturemap.com/news/city-life/06-21-16-have-you-got-a-favorite-poem-let-the-city-of-houston-know-right-now/
Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
(A Tribute)
Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed of vast and cold hard land
quick temper, power of a surging flood.
Seeker of life, its promised mysteries
rash gambler with all he would ever own.
Born on ship in high wind swept, roaring seas
toughest warrior his town had ever grown.
Met his fate by volley of red-hot lead
buried on ground scared and battle blasted.
Aye boys, fodder that machine guns were fed
fools marching to death, long as it lasted.
Now flowers cover up and Time denies
scenes of battle torn soil and blood-red skies.
R.J. Lindley
April 23rd, 1975
SONNET-(DEATH AND WAR'S FUTILITY)
Tribute to Courage of Youth-- Second Battle of Ypres, April 22nd 1915 .
Note- added - 8-26-2017
Wiki-
The name Flanders Fields is particularly associated with battles that took place in the Ypres Salient, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Passchendaele. For most of the war, the front line ran continuously from south of Zeebrugge on the Belgian coast, across Flanders Fields into the centre of Northern France before moving eastwards — and it was known as the Western Front.
The phrase originates from a poem titled In Flanders Fields by Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, inspired by his service during the Second Battle of Ypres. The fields were not maintained for years before they were made into a memorial. Today Flanders Fields is home to thousands of poppies.
--------------------------------------
Found this while rummaging through some of my old poems. Decided not to edit it. Leave it as it was composed over 42 years ago..
Added the note for those not familiar with that battle and its horrific carnage, primarily from the insanity of large bodies of troops marching into direct machine gun fire.
*******************
Note:
This poem was selected and requested for teaching purposes at Cambridge University. Permission was granted for educational use.... RJL
I walk through the glistening virgin snow
That covers the sorrow of autumn’s death
Where I find on a bush a frozen rose
Its beauty held ageless in winter’s breath
How I long to touch those petals again
Those moist velvet lips that promise such bliss
Opened in passion whispering my name
As I drift in dreams of a breathless kiss
Oh! To pluck this rose from the winter snow
And hold it closely to my aching heart
And free it from that ice so bitter cold
That now my love keeps you and me apart
But if I were to pluck this winter rose
Would all its petals fall upon the snow?
Around my mom, I always felt my guilt
My conscience seem to always take her side
Some years ago, I gave her a new quilt
I still recall the tears of joy she cried
My gift of love to warm her nights with pride
It's hand sewn patches in a ring design
It showed up at my door after she died
Inside a plain brown box tied with used twine
And though there was no note, I read her mind
She knew the message sent would be received
A gift of love, to warm, when life's unkind
She once made quilts to give to those in need
Her gift of love with message plain to see
She knew the one in need, this time... was me.
by Daniel Turner
Winsome Wisteria Sonnet
Eden, open your ardent arms to grace
Wisteria's soft lilac petaled blooms
Draped stunningly about Spring’s sunny face
In softest shades of lavender like plumes.
Your aroma wafts heady in the breeze
When graceful racemes descend from above.
Divine as the frilling flowering trees
Your stunning sight captures my heart with love.
Goddess Venus must surely be aware
Of the glorious sight that you bestow
Like dainty dangling ringlets in Spring’s hair
As zephyrs sprinkle your petals below.
I am profoundly moved by your presence
And tranquilly transported with pleasance.
4-19-21
Poems of the Day April 21, 2021 ~Thank you Team Poetry Soup!
ALL YOURS (Apr 20)Contest -First Place
Sponsor Brian Strand
Your best sonnet this year so far Contest -Second Place
Sponsor John Hamilton
My thanks to this site for the photo of Wisteria:
https://target.scene7.com/is/image/Target/GUEST_5f778c57-02de-4839-9233-d70736dddd8d?fmt=pjpeg&wid=1400&qlt=80
Conducted by the Hands that gave them voice
Sweet songs of evening soothe my weary soul.
Oh, how I love to hear the birds rejoice
As frogs and insects hum adagio.
Each night I sit and watch the sun go down
Accompanied by song that has no score
Each night His orchestra holds me spellbound
That's why each night, I come right back for more.
Yet I am just a simple country boy
These nature songs were my first lullabies
E'en to this day they bring my heart such joy
And on occasion tear these simple eyes
When moon appears to watch the sun depart
My only thought, "My God, how great Thou art."
Daniel Turner
Floating down with grace and ease
Carried off by the Autumn breeze
Rich in hues of orange and red
Landing in the flower bed
What once was buzzing full of life
Now succumbs to the pruning knife
Staring up at the wilted rose
Another season comes to close
Looking for memories of this day
Not forgetting her fun filled stay
Lying amongst the rocks and sticks
I'm the one the little girl picks
Hurries home with the one she took
Placing it in her poetry book
8/05/2014
A sweep of milky waves flood onyx sands
converging under endless summer skies
of northern lights in iridescent bands
Icelandic talismans of tales sublime.
A glassy sea of crystalline degrees
sustain a mass of icebergs in its pews
that lift their icy eyes in melting pleas
to wrest the dying of their waning hues.
Aurora beams reflect unearthly lights
against tall umber cliffs that stand below
the vivid landscape raises to grand heights
a trippy, tie dyed phosphorescent show.
In seldom witnessed, lonely obscure lands
a sweep of milky waves flood onyx sands.
Written on 5/21/2019
Now walking through the autumn of my life
Where maple leaves have turned from green to gold
I watch them fall in breezes turning cold
In a whirl-wind of harmony and strife
And I ponder, on the fact that I might
In the light, as another day unfolds
Have, like these dying autumn leaves, grown old
Slow spiraling toward the pending night
Moss grows along the path where I now step
That rocky road now softened by the years
Seeing for the first time, so crystal clear
That I will leave this life with one regret
This vision, that these old eyes now behold
Those blazing flames, when autumn leaves let go.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada