Best Spectacle Poems
snowflakes nose diving
like petals of white blossoms
winter's confetti
Honored as POTD on Jan 18, 2022
16, Jan. 2022
Checked with Poetry Soups Syllable Counter
Winter Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Staying at the western brink of the sky
The Sun opens his fiery third eye
A red tint abruptly colours the sky
With chiffon clouds floating high
As bright dots in the blazing light,
Birds are seen on their return flight
Eager to be back in their nests to alight
Down they descend before the fall of night
Shining in the glimmering twilight
The Earth and the sky look a lovely sight
Raining down showers of delight
Our souls are buoyed up to a magic height
As God dips his brush in colours dazzling
Every sunset becomes a beautiful painting
This magic spectacle, we stand watching
Till the last streak of light begins waning!
Placed First
A strand(1067) Poetry Contest
There was an optician somewhat blind
Whose patients found him easy to malign.
So he gave rose-colored glasses
A move that calmed the masses.
Now his practice has become sublime.
Cassiopeia reclined on her cosmic beach,
Longing for Orion so out of reach.
He was showing off to the stars,
As he spiked the Moon over Mars,
Wondering what next Venus would teach.
S prawled beneath a line of stars, bright
P ulsating in varnished luster
E ndless jewels gleam, to ignite
C radled breaths as skylines flicker,
T eetering on mid evening’s hue...
A nd neon fireworks dash in a glide,
C lusters waltzing in blazed revue
U nmatched by shadows that divide;
L ight of moonglow, black of wind-streams
A s flashed novas explode up high,
R eeling on, till blinks fade..goodbye.
1/18/2016
Spectacular Acrostic
John Hamilton's Contest
I knew him before they shackled him to chair
I contend, none knew him better than I
He's tall, charming, quite an elegant air
An athlete lissom, a kite in the sky
What happened you asked, what so deformed him
Crippled his independence, left him ill?
The doctors said osteo-arthritis
But a disease is never its own cause.
I will tell you how he told me, listen
There is a madness meaningless in us.
The happy night I went to sleep, we lay
Like children in each other's arms, snoring
The cockcrow and bird call woke the new day
Fresh air and old love, and life adoring
Shall we breakfast with family today
Or to some lake, picnic paired, wander free
A vehement no, a tone for the fray
I rose for the bathroom, shocked at lost glee.
I would return in silence, let her speak
The calf gets more milk just by being meek.
One step from hallway and into the room
I felt a sharp pain announcing my doom
A shadow from behind a door, a groan
My loins exploded in my head, nothing more.
How long was it, I cannot tell, a moan
Of pity, a kinder hand to restore
Consciousness again. The back crumbled then
Degenerated more and more with time
Things smelling salts and linament can't mend
He functioned well in intervening years
Running, swimming, the ardent athlete
A few interruptions, grimace and tears
For wasted life and love and great defeat
You do not start from bottom starting new
Again, but from a deeper hole of doubt
A deeper fear. It crippled him he knew
Not how, nor how deep the scar remain. Out
Now, you must go; leave the great spectacle
The man who prayed without miracle
And yet still believe this end serves some cause
Some greater purpose than himself. I pause
To reflect, then limped away, the sick loin
Begins in the old sickness of the mind.
What could he not have done, the great lovers
He denied for honor, the high esteem
Of wealth and fickle praise, but love covers
More than faults in the mangling of the dream.
The scholar, the poet, the statesman too
Wears shackle invisible on the heart.
Love measures the height of what we may do
Yet men go all the way in, not in part.
See your great spectacle bound to a chair,
Crippled, defeated ... perhaps, something there
Strangely smiling, beyond the eyes of fear
He's tall, charming, quite an elegant air.
The second coming of Jesus coincided with the World Cup game,
But no one noticed him as he had no expensive merchandise bearing his name.
People were flocking en masse to the stadium, with it bright lights and
pyrotechnics galore,
And Jesus with his long hair and sandals, looked a little like a bum, So was quite
easy to ignore.
One brave man spoke, and I thought he had something to say,
But all he said to Jesus was 'Hey man, you're going the wrong way! '
So I asked Jesus, if anything it was he had to say,
He shrugged his shoulders and said 'It doesn't really matter, I'm an atheist
anyway.'
'All this Son of God !@#$, I don't really understand,
I'm just a dissident carpenter, an ordinary man.'
As for me, I'm a Pantheist, I see heaven in the trees.
You wont catch me kissing the cross down upon my knees.
So I'd best shut up 'fore I get myself in trouble,
With all of the people out there who live inside a bubble.
Statues orate
snow white odes
Lilies loquate
lavender soliloquies
Alyssum applauds
with purple passion
in summer's soft breeze
Aquamarine asps
slither
on a swimming pool
beside bougainvillea
reaching
over ivory urns
to toss
fuchsia coins.
2nd Place
Mid June Premier Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
6/13/17
Deep ocean darkness
lucid stars as small fireflies
splendor of midnight
Entered in Brian Strand's Poetry Of The Noun contest
Copyright 210 by Andrew Crisci
mind boggling event
monster trucks growling noises
head spinning wildly
written May 4, 2022
When they seek out God, they open a book.
There is no further that they need to look.
By the contradictions they are not vexed.
They meet in groups to memorize the text.
Discrepancies don’t enter their held minds.
They don’t look deeply enough for new finds.
They think that they are friends of the divine,
while, with doctrine and dogma, they confine
their deity like sycophantic fans
who swarm backstage for laying on of hands.
They hope to touch their god, not understand --
just feel connected, hanging with the band.
They reckon, through their blind adulation,
they’ll receive special manifestation.
My green autumn, you goaded me to write.
I love the way you sparkle, shake, and hurl.
Conquering my mind day and by the night,
Always musing about the shorn kiss curl.
Let me approach you with a square crowbar.
You are more snowy, magnetic, and bright.
Light storms whisk the twiglets of October.
And autumntime has a quiescent sight.
How do I love you? Let me deem the ways.
I love your brickle birds, kindling, and leaves.
Thinking of your fine brushwood fills my days.
My zeal for you is that upbeat reeves.
Now I must away with a frozen heart.
Memorize my posh terms whilst we're apart.
Written: October 17, 2022
All Hallows' Evening Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Just had my tea
Turned off the Christmas Tree
It is sad to see it go
Back to storage I know
But there is a three-day weekend break
And two Championship meetings at stake
American National Conferences will pick their reps
For the Big Game in Miami and we will answer with all our bets
Opinions will start
While NFL merchandise will be added to the Internet cart
Will it be close, will be a blow out?
When some will ask what is all this about?
Chiefs, Titans Packers and Niners are the final four
With two on Sunday being shown the door.
But will the Christmas spirit still be here
As we sip the unwrap Christmas Day Cheer
Or will the next holiday be a day off
Where we nurse a wintry cough?
It is for a man named King
And we should still sing
The message of peace
And war and hate to cease
With two more games on the table
While relaxed think about the disabled
As each injury time out is taking
A message should be in the making
The players are only hurt
With no need to dig up the cemetery dirt.
We are now in winter when its dark
And we really need to spark
That peaceful communication is important
And should be exported.
League sports do work
Especially if it soothes someone ready to blow their cork
Let the cities compete with fans celebrating in the street
It is a sporting spectacle that we need
To keep that Christmas spirit going indeed
If you give points or receive them on Championship Decision Day
Keep in mind the creative angle will pay
Since even the losing wager will stimulate emotion
That is healthier than that colorful cocktail potion
In closing our Sunday ritual will come to an end
And the word draft will be spoken without any worry’s civilians will have to mend
One should keep a stiff upper lip
Knowing peaceful warfare on an athletic field should be hip.
Specks on the window look like seagulls.
Almost as though flying eagles.
You tainted glass and filthy smut
Why is it that you're in this rut?
You write and write and still don't improve
So why do you say, "I'm a writer, it's true!"
I spit at your feet for this pitiful prose
You're a no good imbecile, and everyone knows
A disgrace and a fraud, that's who you are
Just shut up 'till death, and then you'll go far
I'm finished with you, now get out of my sight
I'll just find a better man who can actually write