Best Stalls Poems
'There is no silence in poetry.'
As I swing back and forth,
surrounded by an abundance of petals,
I still remember being a stranger,
in a foreign land.
Sun shone so strong that day,
as I traveled through the 'hustle and bustle,'
of pastry shops and fruit stalls,
until the path became narrow and dusty.
Soldiers stood guard in tall towers,
as pious ones prepared for prayers -
but my footsteps of fate,
were only devoted to you.
As I entered through an iron gate,
anxiously anticipating our first glance.
I admired fragrant blossoms -
until your scent drifted past,
like a sweet refreshing tepid breeze.
Innocence of your soul reflected,
through those almond brown eyes.
Shyness of your sleek smile,
created an angelic visage -
pious ones supplicated in service,
but it felt like I was the one in heaven.
So many poetic thoughts came to mind,
yet I could not find a metaphor to justify it -
yet poetry can never remain silent.
As your eyes told me a story,
that has yet to be told -
I saw you hiding in trenches,
dug deep into your heart -
so I spoke to you in a language,
only you would understand.
Promising to take you away,
from all the trials and tribulations,
plaguing your mind.
One day when our hands lock,
we will gaze towards horizon's hued tones,
lost in the delight of twilight's twinkling stars,
till sunrise illuminates through our eyes.
Together life will become beautiful,
as we venture from Giza's pyramid,
to the temple of Artemis.
Watch as our footsteps wash away,
along white sands of Boracay beach,
as we bathe in its calm 'crystal clear' sea.
Yet nothing will be as beautiful as you.
'Poets are patient, but their pens are not.'
Simple Musing
Silent One
25 May 2020
Categories:
stalls, love, poetry, romantic love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
It's a nightmare down on Elm Street. Satan's waiting here at home.
Where's that little Freddy Krueger with his nails of sharpened chrome?
And that dearest Michael Myers, as he's always sure to call?
Halloween won't be so keen without some slashers in the hall.
They're all meeting up with Jason and the other demon spawn
to pay Old Scratch a visit, so I'll leave the porch light on.
I'm your sugar devil daddy and I'll tempt you if I can,
so now open up those goody bags, cause I'm your candy man.
Welcome, all you little zombies. Here, I've got some flesh for you!
It's in a candy wrapper and so much easier to chew.
Just hold out your plastic treat bag, and hold off eating me.
The junk I'm gonna give you tastes much better than my knee.
It's so loaded up with sugar, you'll be bouncing off the walls.
So go ahead and gorge yourselves and fill the bathroom stalls.
Kneel before the porcelain god or use the toilet sink.
You can always use the practice now, for later when you drink.
You can't take a piece of healthy fruit or any home-made treat.
The media have made damn sure it's only junk food that you'll eat.
So celebrate my holiday and consume till it's obscene.
Welcome into my domain... and Happy Halloween!
October 15, 2014
Categories:
stalls, holiday, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
Closing the lamp as another year shuts off
I am between solitude and scream --
when dusk’s music aches like a groan
as brother's demise wraps veiled nights
in a requiem knighted by heaven.
It is so… I mean,
How unbearable the rake of longing
while the agony from riding this carriage
stalls to meet the unknown...
a finality abrupt, robbed by the coma
of time when his laughter suddenly breaks:
I offer my tears to a dimming moon
and hum myself to sleep.
Pre-written 3/2/2019
Applicable Not Applicable Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux Re-post 5/17/2019
-----------------
This poem expresses something terribly real
without being mundane. The subtlety of its tone
dramatizes the pain of death, hence, the reader
totally connects with the artist's deep emotions
in a gentle yet aching way.
Categories:
stalls, death, how i feel,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
It’s getting late, she stalls for time
Wrapped in the warmth of my embrace
She clings to me, our heartbeats rhyme
It’s getting late, she stalls for time
The moon will soon begin to climb
And light the contours of her face
It’s getting late, she stalls for time
Wrapped in the warmth of my embrace.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Triolet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Placed 1st
© 23rd August 2022
Categories:
stalls, love, time,
Form:
Triolet
~ANGELS~
Within the abusive abyssal air, I greet you with a prayer
Within weathered winded wear, I defend in your despair
Thru calamitous city crumble I find you in your stumble
Thru mankind’s malignant mumble I bow to your humble
In the frightened fermenting fog I cleanse you in your clog
In the seducing smothering smog I seek of your demagogue
Lowered by love’s lamenting lust I return to heal and readjust
Lost in love’s layered crust I’ve come to rattle the restless rust
Of valleys low and mountain peaks I hear as the silence speaks
Of cinematic curving creeks, I glide in grace with solace sweeps
With the cascading canonized rain, I’ve come to break the chain
In pulsating punitive pain I’ve come to retire the ravaging reign
Hiding in hellion halls sinners scatter as Satin sovereignly stalls
With lasting Love and fireballs waiting upon the Masters' calls
Hovering over horrific hells I flap my wings to reflect the spells
Detaining evil in dormant dwells releasing love in wishing wells.
~~~
Sept.04.2017
ANGELS
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose
Categories:
stalls, angel, beauty,
Form:
Rhyme
We’re monopolized by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
absorbed by the clutter of the food tray.
Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom, uncomfortably numb.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls, few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting small bottles of vin de table,
butter buns.
As the aircraft plummets
and drops like a stone to certain death
we’ll still be struggling with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers, with small, molded cruets
oblivious now to anything less important.
Categories:
stalls, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Written: December 19, 2023
"His style has the desperate jauntiness of an orchestra fiddling away for dear life on a sinking ship. Edmund Wilson"
____________________________________________
With each fresh day, leaves on trees grew dry.
Stream flow had ceased in the vast waterway.
Enormous boulders collapsed to dust!
Perched on lonesome island of my life fust
I tasted the bitterness of shattered dreams.
Walls stood in my path, hindering laud gleams.
Depart from my delicate and feeble universe!
My nightmares shattered all hope, into a curse.
Departing with daunting sadness and failure.
Wallowing in self-pity, longing for a torn sailor.
I am seriously suffering through my fate!
I was startled when I heard a faint whisper sate.
Optimism is a belief that can lead to success.
Even if roses are cut, spring will still progress.
Shift focus toward kindness, not dwell on pain.
Twiddle to the glorious sky to rise once again.
There are no desperate situations, they say.
Only desperate people endure; they convey.
In the pits of anguish, hope might dwindle.
We mimic inner force to rise without a swindle.
There, within the deepest recesses of our minds.
In a land where shadows hover and dismay binds.
A faint glimmer of light starts to flicker.
We will strive for perseverance and vigor.
Who are these people, you might ask?
Ones who will fit any extent for their task.
They are those who are eager for success.
Steadfast in their quest, they never digress.
They are the skeptics, rebels, and bold.
Who is loath to be tethered by societal mold?
They overstep limits and breach walls.
Unabatedly, their tenacity never stalls.
Ready to accomplish a wide range of things.
They have no fear of spreading their wings.
No snag is too vast, or argue that is too tough.
They are keen on any cost, even if it is rough.
Grace flows, twists, turns, renewing spun gold.
Heaven's enduring doors continue to enfold.
Wistful soul is overtaken by delight scope.
Phoenix emerges from the ashes of lost hope.
Categories:
stalls, analogy, angst, character, deep,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm searching for a new man.
(My lemon quit on me.)
I'm a discerning seeker.
(The smallest dent, I'll see!)
I want a younger fellow;
(Low mileage is a must.)
Required is great get-up-and-go
(an engine with no rust).
He should desire me in his lap.
(Seat warmers feel so good.)
He's gotta be in tiptop shape.
(I'll know what's under the hood!)
Low-maintenance, I value.
(oil changes quarterly)
He must look good and make me proud.
(Buffed shine, I love to see.)
Trustworthiness, I so desire.
(Don't like those tow truck calls!)
He must always keep pace with me.
(Don't want a thing that stalls.)
April 1, 2017--entered in Brian Strand's April 2017 Premier Contest
Categories:
stalls, humor, relationship,
Form:
Quatrain
My abiding memory of 2015 is of events that are so sad
With my father’s death, it’s the worst year I’ve ever had
It has been the most challenging year for me
But with amazing support I remain pretty happy
I don’t want to dwell on events that have past
My memories of the year 2015 will always last
I want to leave the year on a humourous note
With a true tale of a gift that didn’t get my vote!
Mum and I went out to a local church fete
It’s very well attended and the raffle is great
We perused all the stalls and brought a few things
I got some lemon cake and some brand new earrings
The raffle stall bulged with wonderful prizes
With boxes that ranged in all shapes and sizes
One pretty white gift box really caught my eye
Four ‘Dior’ perfume miniatures for a lady to try
We brought some tickets then sat and drank tea
I said to mum, I’ve seen just the prize for me
The raffle got drawn and mum’s ticket was pulled out
I collected the prize of Dior perfume without a doubt
Mum told me I could have it as a Christmas gift
I was overjoyed and it gave my heart a huge lift
The gift box was placed under our little tree
Its pretty gold ribbon was there for all to see
I didn’t open the box on Christmas Day
Until Boxing Day the pretty box did stay
We were going out to friends later that night
I thought my new perfume would be just right
Taking the pretty white box from under the tree
I pondered which scent would be perfect for me
Upon lifting the lid of the perfume box
I returned to the school of hard knocks
To my consternation and my deep chagrin
There was a void where the perfume once had been
An empty box was my only present from my mum
My gift is that I still have mum, so my poem is done.
This is a true story - someone had put an empty box as a raffle prize!
Contest: My abiding Memory
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
9th January 2016
Categories:
stalls, christmas, giving, humorous, memory,
Form:
Couplet
Sunlight scampers between,
the twigs of naked trees.
And a web of shadows,
dance with each feisty breeze.
A silver sky shimmers,
like cheap carnival glass.
And yet, this fickle Sun's
too weak for blades of grass.
Snow accumulates on
branches that bend and break.
And bow low to the ground
with the weight of each flake.
Sugar maple sap stalls,
not even one sweet drip.
And snowmen aren't melting,
frozen in Winter's grip.
Spring's not on stage quite yet,
She's waiting in the wings.
And I can almost smell
the wildflowers She brings.
Categories:
stalls, february, imagery, nature, spring,
Form:
Quatrain
Let’s fly to the celestial fiesta of the cherry blossom,
In the North Eastern Region of Shillong, named, “The Scotland of the East,
The abode of the cloud,” in the lush mesa of the magnetic Meghalaya!
The wheezing Pine forest of the whispering waterfalls in the Khasi hills,
is bustling with the nature’s fairytale of pink, white and ivory!
As far as the eyes can see, the rolling tableland is ringing, ridden by the radiant petals of cherries!
Neither Japan, nor Paris, a mere remote region of Indian plateau,
Glowing in nature’s sublime glory of pellucid picturesque pinks!
Nicknamed, Prunus Cerasoides, the cherry blossoms,
a delightful boon of Himalayas,
are blooming profusely in the magical
verdant highland of the East Khasi hills!
The November is rippling with
moonlit music, plethora of flamboyant folk dances,
pageants, stalls to cater to the globetrotters’ penchant for the ethnicity
of the fur-flung region’s tribes’ cuisines, wine, arts and cryptic crafts!
Such bedazzling is the serenity of the panaromic platonic plateau,
As folks of the vicinity, are traversing despite the rampant pandemic,
to glimpse the shangri la of the richest biome of the floral magical lane!
The resonating frolic of the chirping and twittering from the cheerful cherry bushes
are teeming with the twirling bliss, intoning,
in winters whistling whiff!
A nature’s bounty, a pamphlet of picturesque hamlets’ terrains of aromatic sensuous purity!
Blessed are they, who have witnessed the once in a lifetime scene of crystal clean roaring rivulets, murmuring brooks, the ravishing orchids, quirky root bridges, aesthetic lakes and rills, scented wild flowers, encompassing the enigmatic cherry blooms of the mystic land of the majestic mountains!
An euphoria to have a ride amidst the clouds of the misty moorlands,
gliding languidly to take the signature of the mementos of the moments;
to kiss the plateau of wild orchids, flowering Cherries and sacred woodlands of those Khasi hills,
crackling with the sprouting, cherry blossom festival of the far East!
Categories:
stalls, celebration, nature, paradise, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
There was an elusive little guy often espied during World War Two,
And who he was and whence he came no one ever really knew!
He was a bald headed little feller with a very prominent nose,
And he always left the message "Kilroy Was Here" in very stilted prose!
You seldom saw his eyes and his hands were clinging to a wall.
Many G.I.s saw him in latrine stalls and in their greasy dining hall!
His origin and parting message are debated to this very day,
And no one has ever nabbed the graffiti artists who always slunk away!
He was portrayed in cruisers, battleships and even on submarines!
Kilroy's portrait was tattooed on the chests of a few diehard Marines!
'Tis said Hitler saw "Kilroy Was Here" and wondered what it meant,
Thinking it a secret code when found on American accouterment!
Kilroy became as famous as the mysterious smile on the Mona Lisa.
(I even saw his mug when I climbed to the top of the Tower of Pisa!)
Rosie the Riveter may have been guilty, if the truth were told,
Of tracing Kilroy's image on bombers, including the bomb bay hold!
Well, 'tis for sure we couldn't have won the war without the little guy!
Kilroy's antics lifted morale at home and overseas, that you can't deny!
But you haven't seen the last of him, for he is forever etched in history,
On the World War Two Monument in DC - how he got there is a mystery!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
For those a tad younger who may have never heard of Kilroy, go to your search
and type in "Kilroy Was Here" and click the Wikipedia notation and you will learn
more than you ever wanted to know about him!
Categories:
stalls, funny, nostalgia, war, world,
Form:
Rhyme
The clouds have formed a mare’s tail in the sky,
a fitting image, for I’m being led
beneath them, where in eerie silence lie
abandoned stalls, untended land, a shed.
And on a gate, like some strange souvenir,
a halfway broken sign reads “Wagon Wheel.”
That horses once were bred and ridden here
both grime and span of time cannot conceal.
But farther down a lane, behind some trees,
(where happiness once lived!) awaits my spring -
a large house, shuttered, with its memories.
In front of it still hangs that wooden swing.
Above long grass and weeds it starts to sway.
The ghost of me has now returned to play.
For the Love and Loss Poetry Contest
Categories:
stalls, loss,
Form:
Sonnet
The sun emerge from its hide, smiling bright and it glide
Promising a fine stay, for those who toil by the day
Oaks surround the landscape, as ferns add in to the grandeur
A heron’s displaying majestic pose, the farmers toil with ardor
The placid stream that flow, bearing success into the future
A land that God has blessed, with serenity he suture
The grassland spreading far and wide, down the country line we trod
Wheels turning and a group so old, no place we haven’t rode
Of sunshine state I speak to thee, its heritage and splendor bold
As we turn a bend in road, of beauty that my eyes behold.
We arrive at the marketplace, with stalls lining the street
It’s the day of harvest, where a merry crowd will meet
The stalls full and brimming, with the fresh produce
Homemade things in display, of those the villagers use.
Cheese, honey and pastas, that makes our mouth water
Pickles, meats and soaps, are also things they cater.
At night the moon peeps out, of promised passion sought
And a few but lingers, to feel the cool breeze float
From the cottages flow the sound of mellow laughter
of happy wives and kids, who are well looked after.
Categories:
stalls, beautiful, blessing, farm, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
I look to the skies and I see you,
Your face smiling in the midday sun
The rainbow on a damp day
Reminds me of us having fun
Brings to mind the rides at a fairground
The stalls and the coconut shie
The ghost train, where we would steal a kiss
The hit the hammer stall,
which I knew you would try
The bell rings you've done it
Hit the Highest score
Chest thrust out in achievement
Brings a thought to keep for sure
Rain brings another story I think of us
Huddled up under a brolly to keep dry
The puddles we jumped together
Rain on our faces as though we had cried
Holding hands we didn't notice how wet we were
Sneezing and coughs starting the next day
Is this the price we have to pay
For memories that I hold dear.
Snow wow now these are mega thoughts
Snow ball fights are so much fun
Rolling you over in a snow drift
Putting snow down your neck and run
Then there is the snowman be built together
Carrot for a nose and stones for eyes
Scarf round his beck completes the picture
Tears when the sun shines, it slowly melts
bringing about the snowman's demise.
Autumn with its cold nights
A log fire has been lit
Romantic music playing
On the floor leaning against you
Is where I sit.
Now I sit alone looking into the fire so bright
Imagining I can see you smiling
Saying don't worry, all will be alright.
I think of you, I always think if you
Categories:
stalls, memory,
Form:
Rhyme