Best Spurred Poems
Images of children dwelling in developing world
In plight of poverty~~ some two billion strong,
Fly a flag of existence, waving distress unfurled,
Crooning mournful song: is this where we belong?
Struggling in parched lands of bared dreary sights
World they live in is the world they have known,
Where days of emptiness cede to dreary nights
Churning nightmares as dreams vacant bemoan.
Wishing upon an angel~ I would endeavor to plead
For turning places despaired into domains of hope,
For means to educate, learn skills, write and read,
For rewriting will of destiny, while striving to cope.
If I could bend sorrow and the fate of tomorrow
Seeds of knowledge I’ll sow in the dreaded woe
Marveling the fields of wisdom sprout and grow
As minds edified glow, defying misery’s shadow.
My wish for peace echoes benevolence spurred
As hymns of unity in the temple of goodwill toll
And calls of equity from endearing hearts heard
Reverberate harmony in euphony of sublime soul.
I wish upon a candle, for world to join a sing-along
Lauding pledges of love to spur the youth on and on
Cheering to acclaim: this is where the kids belong~
In benevolence of hearts, over seven billion strong.
June 13, 2022
Placed 1st: If Only My Wish Would Come True Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
The cold hand of Winter swiftly approaches
Its breath etches frost on my windowpanes
Nearer my threshold, Death now encroaches
Blood is slowly chilling inside my frail veins
Reaper's wild winds pelts hail on my roof
His breath etches frost on my windowpanes
Snowdrifts climb higher on the sills in reproof
Huddled in a corner, my fear is spurred
Reaper's wild winds pelts hail on my roof
This room is the chamber where I'll be interred
On the threshold of madness, I'm losing grip
Huddled in a corner, my fear is spurred
Winter's hand has caused a temperature dip
I flinch at the sound of a knock on my door
On the threshold of madness, I'm losing grip
Terror incites me to curse what I abhor
The cold hand of Winter swiftly approaches
I flinch at the sound of a knock on my door
Nearer my threshold, Death now encroaches
August 17, 2017
Biting winds and swirling flakes of snow had finally abated
We surveyed the deep drifts, which lay on the fields
The silvery moon peeped through the clouds and lit our way
It was bitterly cold, but the pitiful sound of bleating spurred us on
Some friends and neighbours had joined us – we had no time to lose!
Grabbing our spades we worked tirelessly throughout the night
Digging out the sheep and tiny lambs one by one
Their fleeces were matted with tiny icicles
As dawn broke we had rescued all but one of our precious flock
Suddenly our trusty sheepdog Shep started barking
We trudged to where he was frantically pawing at the snow
Our hearts lifted as we pulled the final sheep out alive
At last it was time for us to return to the farmhouse
In the distance I could see gold and silver lights sparkling
and scintillating on the Douglas fir tree in church in the village.
I raised my eyes to heaven and gave thanks.
A Winter Poem
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Required words
silver, gold, sparkling, flakes, icicles, drifts and spades
12~02~16
Withered meadows of yesteryears ache, recalling memories forlorn,
As discords of then mourn, assailing vibes of now, emotions torn;
Yet I believe, love would have still vouched~ together we belong,
If only you knew, how to strum, sensuous rhythms of our love-song.
Gracing my embrace, lovingly you caress, my jilted sleepless night,
And on every dawning horizon, you still are, the halo of my delight;
As I believe, episode of love, would always write a lovesome theme,
If only you knew, you have long been, epitome of my romantic dream.
You bedazzle my memory, beaming grin of an enamored glance,
Being my Cinderella, avowing to rekindle fairy-tale of romance;
As I believe, you would still be the music, pulses-cadent impart,
If only you knew, you are the seductress, plucking strings of my heart.
In realms of desires, chasing bliss of your love, my passions call-out,
When you are in amorous cuddle, hypnotized by grip of fervent clout;
As earnestly I believe, you would love me still, even from miles afar,
If only you knew, you have been my aura, my fulgent northern-star.
Birds that always sung for you, serenade you, lauding your name,
Spurred by fond recollections, applauding memoirs of love’s acclaim;
And I believe, words unsaid would not be uttering, a sigh of regret,
If only you knew, love we shared, pledges eternal shall never forget.
Reverence heard, a compassionate sound of solemn word,
Resounds mercy of utmost goodwill, aura-divine spurred,
Performing deeds of beneficence, defying malevolence;
An epistle of angels on earth conferring gift of benevolence.
Such holy angels dwelling among us, are gems quite rare,
Purity of their actions proclaim~ how genuinely they care,
For the destitute, the hapless, caught in throes of despair,
Proffering words of prayer, pleading for hope and welfare.
Messengers of peace, hallowed in zeal of virtuous intention,
Supernal is their magnificence, never yearning attention,
Humble in service to others, dedicated to their missions,
Guiding through life’s hurdles, fulfilling human ambitions.
Inner harmony echoes from voice of their altruistic soul,
Righteous are such missives, sentiments endearing cajole,
Rejecting pessimism of fate in bold pursuit of virtuous goal,
Of kindness, of amity and love, teachings spiritual extol.
Featherless angels, mortals alike us, yet they live on and on,
Worshipped for their pious acts, long after they are gone,
For legacies of ideals devout, profound passions of heart,
For reassurance, inspiration of life, memories now impart.
If food for finer thoughts we did not crave,
If sense of purpose we did not apply,
If we did not critique how we behave,
If dormant laid Alert Judgmental Eye…
If float and breed were our exclusive wish,
If instincts solely spurred us to survive,
We might as well be just a school of fish -
Not learning about deep currents of Life.
If we ran loose, not playing by the rules,
If years weren’t measured by the days we seize,
We might as well be just a pack of wolves -
With hungry jaws and reflex to appease.
If loyalty and trust weren’t our guide,
If fam’ly failed to withstand the Time,
We might as well be lions, without pride -
Where govern male rivalry and crime.
If we ignored the term - Personal Growth,
Meandering complacently in awe,
We might as well be just a slack of sloth -
With sluggish status quo, seeking no more.
If benefits of thought we didn’t reap,
If mindful property we didn’t hold dear,
We might as well be just a herd of sheep -
That sacrificed their free will out of fear.
Brushing aside the Kingdom of the Wild,
Place on a pedestal a Human Mind.
With love and progress equally aligned
Let’s be the best we can, one of a Kind.
As to Judgmental Eye, its primal goal -
To keep our planet safe and civil,
By virtue of Grey Matter, above all -
To distinguish between good and evil.
January 20, 2021
Cheerily blew ocean breeze in beach-park
Till fiery tides climbed bouncing giant rock
Spurred on by the churning clouds hosting dark
As hazy winds ravaged paths on your walk
Rattling lashing gust where fishing boats dock.
Stranger were we, till blinding storm hit blast
Pouring pelting rain on our budding talk,
Waddling needlessly in each other's past--
Alas, like summer rain, our amour faded fast!
Yet I stayed, wooed by nascent azure sky
Charmed anew by rising violet hue
Dispersing vestiges of storm gone by
Enchanting crowds in periwinkle view
As you returned bearing secret you knew
Ready for the prize with smile in your eyes
Admiring beauty in portrait I drew
Starring just you beneath amorous skies
Depicted by my hands sporting romantic highs.
June 28, 2018
Blacked Heart
Within the blackness blissed lies the love that has been missed
For within the miasma mist a darkish deprived heart does resist
Of the silenced sounds heard escapes a lonely wounded word
Of the slumbered souls spurred amidst the dormant eyes blurred
Amongst the burials buried blind my lamenting love is left behind
In a clustered cave confined echoes of a manqué mind maligned
For in a cathedral chastised chant my thoughts in a ravaging rant
In a primal punitive pant bled emotions erected in a penile implant
Where my apocalyptic asylum stands ruling tyrant of sin commands
And demons dream of wastelands I parochially pray with idle hands
My heart a deeper dark by the hour is left in a storm a fragile flower
Upon this shattering shower ardently abandoned with a dying dour.
Music by Enigma - 'Amen'
June.26.2018
Abandon 2
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
Winter Wildflower
A billion snowflakes do collect upon a wasteland of neglect
The sky frigid no sun to reflect appears a dot lonely specked
A tear does fall melting snow as the speck staggers to grow
A wildflower starts to sough as the winter winds seek to blow
***
Amidst frozen fields lost in time, a wildflower begins her climb
Awaking beauty stretches sublime with petals strutting chime
Behold the wonder you see displaying love near a wounded tree
No one bothers with her plea standing around the white debris
***
Courage keeps her alive with recluse radiant colors to survive
With a calming chill, she will thrive awaiting the storms to arrive
And dreams now blurred that the fallacious frost has spurred
Her silent screams are heard carried by the malign mockingbird
***
Standing still before the dawn alone a wildflower winging spawn
Within her will, she must go on before slumbers of her next yawn
Secluded in her salient solitude she eagerly embarks to be renewed
Now a wildflower subdued all she wishes is to be virtuously viewed.
...dedicated to my Mom, May.16.1941~Oct.24.2017...and to all the Wildflowers here at the SoupBowl...they know who they are...
Oct.22.2018
SEASONAL OR UNSEASONAL Poetry
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
N/A for contest
Inspiration, A Gift From Sweet Emily's Hands
(A Tribute To Emily Dickinson)
Sweet Emily, you inspired me
to paint scenes of life's epic seas,
in dreams soar to paradise fields
rise up to love, lower my shields.
Inking rhyming verses to please
you sat so perfectly at ease,
your poems marvels to behold
you wrote of love and life so bold.
True beauty splashed out in black ink
gifting words that cause us to think,
good and bad in equal measures
life sad, yet seeking not treasures.
Compelling to the reader's mind
free, seeking no return in kind,
your golden pen, your mighty brush
brilliant art painted, without rush.
Sweet Emily, you inspired me
to paint scenes of life's epic seas,
in dreams soar to paradise fields
rise up to love, lower my shields.
Your loving heart, broken too oft
tho' your words were spoken so soft,
loss and pain you had to endure
yet your poetry, sweet and pure.
Now your soul reveals from the past
to show depths of kindness that last,
to show passions in this dark world
this pit, we find we have been hurled.
Writing you words in loving praise
you from darkness, this soul did raise
to see dawn cast breath in the morn
to find truth, in my being born.
Sweet Emily, you inspired me
to paint scenes of life's epic seas,
in dreams soar to paradise fields
rise up to love, lower my shields.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-12-2018
Rhyme- ( A Tribute To Emily Dickinson)
Note- At an early age (14, ) I was given a book of poems to read and in it were several poems written by Emily Dickinson. Her poem, "I Died For Beauty, But Was Scarce"- its depths and though provoking all , lit something in my soul.That and my next discovery of Byron, spurred me to consider writing poetry.
Once I started there was no going back. Call it a blessing or a curse, oft it seems to be one or the other to me......
A poet I became and a poet I shall surely die.*
In between, I write to love and write to cry.*
Swam in magical oceans, wrote many sad goodbyes*
Ink pumps in my poet heart and glows in my poet eyes*
Vision, a window divine, open wide to aspirations of heart,
A lens paramount, for perusing aesthetics of beauty and art;
A sight beaming imagination, on ambitions of curious soul,
A focus coherent, shaping impulses, passions studious cajole.
A medium of communication, an engaging lure of romance,
An infatuated response, a jubilant hint of enamored glance,
Blossoming in language of love, without utterance of word,
Extolling meaning amorous, that desires romantic spurred.
Perceptive of worldview, on mission to observe and learn,
A journey into the unknown, yearning curiously to discern,
Vision quests for knowledge, aiming to be literate, well read,
Vision peers into future, navigating life’s road maps ahead.
It thrills watching a baby smile, elates in celebration of life,
Saddens when mind summons anguish of grief and strife;
Dejecting violent places, thoughts kindred deeply deplore,
Preferring banks of avid shores, dreams endearing implore.
Vision captures images of life, ruminating in joys and sighs,
Rejoicing in blissful memories, or tearing-up its forlorn eyes;
Reveling in exuberant prairies, vying for flowering springs,
Or shuddering amid barren trees, bearing angst winter brings.
Written: January 03, 2024
_____________________________________
Wrenching writhing
of capacious weeping willows
In a dubious dream vault
I felt spurred to seek safety
from scorching sun
subsequently, in confusion,
I broke into a wide smile
that reverberated within
an inane, jumbled heartbeat,
venous thrombosis.
Imbue a pulse to svelte vessels
I didn't realize when it started
lacking friends and love
shattered heart, rotting core
halcyon recalls vanished
just dying is the goal
It's exhausting to suffer and cry.
Every sound in your name
whispered in the breeze
strengthened our bond
going toward dreams
amid fluttering twigs
I discovered serenity and solace
weeping willow's embrace
wind rustled its twigs as music
quiet fears of long-lost hopes
seeking refuge from the hot sun
I discovered this secret treasure
a vault for memories and dreams
It's a long way to hell alone
life isn't awful, but no one phones
I can stay here until earth scorns
stay with my weeping willow.
Joan of Arc – For God and Country
On the feast of the Three Kings was born,
a baby girl, in 1412, under the sign of Capricorn.
Destined to accomplish great deeds and achieve fame,
Joan d’Arc was her auspicious name.
A religious and political scapegoat,
her short life to God and country she did devote.
Fervently spurred by heavenly voices,
Joan’s fate was guided by singular choices.
She avidly believed in her mystical visions,
and was obsessed to fulfill her divine mission.
Each night she prayed, “Oh God, save France,”
until at last she was granted the perfect chance.
Leaving her family and the village of Domremy,
she pursued her destiny to defeat France’s enemy.
The “Maid of Orleans” with religious fervor and zeal
took a vow of chastity and her fate was solidly seal.
During the Hundred Years’ War, she took up sword and banner;
mounted on a white horse, arrayed in a white suit of armor.
Leading the French army to a momentous victory,
her rousing battle cry was, “For God and country.”
Abandoned by King Charles the VII and betrayed in the end,
she was burnt at the stake by French collaborators and English men.
Accusing her of witchcraft, heresy, and for dressing like a man,
at age 19, her life was all over according to their devious plan.
But even though her light was snuffed out by hatred and bigotry,
her exemplary courage and strength helped to unify her country.
Joan of Arc, a simple peasant girl, became a woman warrior,
and to the world a symbol of conviction, fortitude, and true valor.
Canonized a saint by Pope Benedict XV 500 years later,
Joan was named Patron Saint of France, rape victims, prisoners, and martyrs.
08-28-2015
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Placement: 2nd
Whispered Words
Whispered words waft through the shadows,
spoken low by luscious lips;
tempting teases to the senses
spurred by Steele’s most steamy scripts.
Whispered words ‘neath weeping willows,
meekly veiled by midnight’s mist;
mentions of those magic moments,
luscious lips so lightly kissed.
Whispered words weave hearts with wonder
melding moments lush with love;
binding bodies soft in shadows
‘neath the mystic moon above.
May 16, 2024
Daggled and bloodied, the young man lay upon the ground where he’d been
left.. .left by vile men who, spurred by senseless hate and ravenous for a taste of
violence, had lured him with false fellowship and brought him to this secluded spot
by veil of darkened day. At first, they bound his arms, rendering him defenseless to
what was to ensue. After dragging him a small way from the back seat of their van,
they proceeded to pummel his stomach and his face, breaking his nose almost
instantly. When he stumbled to the ground, he received the heels of their boots as
they kicked at his extremities and then again, he received their cruel blows to his
stomach and face. When certain they had done enough damage so he would not
last a night in the cold, they spat on him and drove away.
As his attackers sat far away in a bar, drunk and boasting how they’d “done the
world a favor,” he’d already passed the stage of vomiting and gasping for his
breath. And though his brain was writhing with awful pain, with knowledge of his
sure obliteration, his chilled and broken body stayed inert. Reposed as if inside the
womb, he felt the ache receding, and before night’s shadows passed into the dawn,
his blood had stanched.
Now as flesh turns into carrion lying undiscovered in the dust, his spirit… never
quashed. . .cries out for justice.