Best Stead Poems
An ember sparked will softly glow,
and fed by fuel, will grow and grow.
I once was cinder, sparked by you,
first timid. . . till the flames then grew.
And so our start was touch of dawn,
with amber hue, for I was drawn
to eyes so welcoming and warm
I never guessed you’d do me harm.
Like morning glory, love in June
the rapture of mid-afternoon,
romance of which the ancients wrote,
our passion had no antidote.
And with the dusk, though scarlet tinged,
our love began to come unhinged,
for clouds arrived, which filled your eyes,
extinguishing bright twilight skies.
With cold of night came shadows’ pall,
and I could not tear down your wall.
By midnight’s hour, the fire was dead.
Mere ashes smoldered in its stead.
You left, and should you reappear,
I’ve vowed to shun you. Now I fear
the very thing for which I yearn -
one touch. . . and then again - to burn.
Lyrics start 0.05 - timed to the music
Pack your bags dear, there’s a Croc near
And he’s creeping, through the night
With his eye on - on our old stead dear
And it appears - we’re within his sight
You know when that Croc smiles - shows his teeth dear
Concrete jungles start to spread
Whips the grass from right under their feet dear
Scams now filling, each word he’s said
What no scruples you ask, well he ain’t got’em you should know
Seeks locations both, far and wide
Look he’s sneaking - sneaking down the alley
Is there no - place - left to hide
Another Archway, off the highway down the road
Golden handshakes, don’t go the mile
Men in black suits they make it all happen dear
Sanguine red soon, turns into bile
With our kids dear – it’s the buzz 'we gotta go'
Family meeting place, just come on down
Try these milk shakes - they're just like the real thing
And these burgers, the best in town
Bet you a fiver - oh that bun is barely fresh
Kids now falling sick - while their doctors frown
Green backs talking – they don’t give a nickel
Have our bags packed
‘Cause the Croc is
Look out Sneaky Croc is
Sneaky Croc’s back
Back in town
EPILOGUE
Oh these outlets they keep spreading far and wide
In a hurry, they just can’t wait
Food so tasty, don’t you wonder ‘bout it all
No time to ponder it’ll make you late
Good old family name – so familiar dear
Look out folks for, deceit and lies
Another archway - around the corner
Now that Croc is stopping by
Look out OLD Croc is back
Footnote:
On our recent visit to Japan I noticed the proliferation of Fast Food outlets. It is such a pity to see a country that was once so fastidious with their traditionally healthy diets and that of their kids, changing their lifestyle and falling prey to corporate fast food giants. Even the kids are now embracing this way of life.
It’s sad to see traditional food outlets also losing their livelihood as the trend takes over.
Acknowledgement:
My deepest appreciation to Chris Green on agreeing to spare some of his wonderful talent and collaborating with me to bring you this arrangement.
Thank you so much Chris.
Copyright © Maria Williams & Chris Green | 3 June 2017
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
T he God of our Fathers, sole author of all life
H e, by decree placed man above the rest
A nd all other creations in his charge for keeping
N ow and forever, let your truths be written in our hearts
K eeping man forever mindful of this high place
S o with gratitude this special day is planned
G iving thanks and praise to the one true King
I n you alone our faith and trust will lie
V alidate our hearts we do implore
I nundate our lives with grace of light
N ever turn away from our humble plea
G ive us eyes to see and the ears to hear
D ying, freely, you gave us life; by rising you gave us hope
A ll your words and actions teach the ultimate truth
Y our love alone holds our world in stead
Out of hell’s breath the Devil’s Coachman comes and turns
around the tale to woe twists as the world creeps backwards
underneath the clay slithering sacrificial savagery begins
Ghastly ghostly spectres watch on with soulless glee
under laid this icy moon the toxic evil venom spews
within hideous precision it claw’s innocent victims prey
Fiercely gnashing jaws instinctively in this fiendish predator of night shades
dark striking off balance this stead of hell delivers his deadliest of blows
disturbingly the pungent smell permeates this surrounding sphere
Paralyzing unwary sufferers arching like a scorpion ready to strike
acrimony spreads stealthily through the shadowy invasion within the beast’s bite
suffering of hades destructive force inflicts a prelude to the apparitions
Awakening within this lair of madness an unsuspecting sacrifice
blinding under tombstones creeping slowly chill’s out
through one veil of darkened soil a nocturnal predator comes to feed
Liquefying resistant victim within the glaze of ebony eyes
mystic powers claiming to be magic crushing the core of Eve’s apple
emerging covered with its sclerotized plates the Coachman devours
Repast of putrid skin the last victim lies rotten
one captured soul sinks into the river of Acheron
final reward for the unwitting wounded prey
Begins eternal downward descent
drawn up and treasured by this hungry decedent of a Rove
carried away into hidden hollows of the dead roaring
Fiercely jealous of it’s captive trophy
sector’s remain vigilant to guard such treasured stored
this Coachman’s rightly domain claims a legion to an underworld
The deepest and darkest secrets expelled unrighteous
this scarabaeus reaper as black inside with a rapier blade and sickle
condemned are the two faced between thee jaws of this deadly fiend locked on
A co-written piece by Liam Mcdaid & Donna Loughman
An Empty Kingdom
The news did spread, a kingdom’s will
For sorrow placed its shadowed hand
‘Pon castle steps the crowd did fill
As heart break took a firm command
The skies, a darkened clouded stain
As children wept in mother’s fold
Now lost amidst a dismal rain
This hour of sadness frigid cold
How could it be, their precious queen
Had fallen to a woeful stead
A tethered seed, nightmarish deem
Her majesty this day is dead
The knight, of shining armor might
Her lifeless body cradled deep
Staring straight to heaven’s light
Then bowed his head, began to weep
He raised her body ever strong
Carried her through chambered door
An empty hallway wide as long
Depleted by this mournful chore
The villagers of forlorn feel
Gathered in the dampened street
The plight of loss in full reveal
Disconsolate of death’s defeat
When then upon horizon’s glare
A silhouette of staggered steed
Towards the kingdoms stricken stare
In slow methodic steps proceed
This figure slumped of saddle ride
And weary strains of wistful yearns
Through gates of iron, wandered stride
A shout rings out, “Our king returns”
The truth can’t be seen through blinders.
Eyes and ears covered with hatred.
The tongue’s ready-lash sidewinders,
twisting and spinning what’s sacred.
The truth, the fact, reality
masked - the masses bobble their heads.
The illusion of blasphemy
here, when the scripture’s left unread.
No need for truth, when it’s made up.
“What is truth,” plank’s in Pilate’s eye.
Pilate knows - the charges trumped-up.
Wolfish masses prefer a lie.
How often the accusation,
front page news, folks - everyone’s riled.
The leak, having no foundation,
reneged where no one looks - exiled.
But still the crowd cheers old nick.
The stage decked out in crimson fire.
A civil war waged with a Bic.
No matter the damage - it’s dire!
The law, “Love others as yourself,”
truculent in divisive ways -
‘stead hate and pride speech off-the-shelf.
Lollygagging verses… no one prays…
Spend time in the prayer closet.
It’s worth every cent! Spare time!
Hear God - work up the composite.
Don’t listen to the world. PEACE TIME!
9/3/2022
Out of hell’s breath the Devil’s Coachman comes and turns
around the tale to woe twists as the world creeps backwards
underneath the clay slithering sacrificial savagery begins
Ghastly ghostly spectres watch on with soulless glee
under laid this icy moon the toxic evil venom spews
within hideous precision it claw’s innocent victims prey
Fiercely gnashing jaws instinctively in this fiendish predator of night shades
dark striking off balance this stead of hell delivers his deadliest of blows
disturbingly the pungent smell permeates this surrounding sphere
Paralyzing unwary sufferers arching like a scorpion ready to strike
acrimony spreads stealthily through the shadowy invasion within the beast’s bite
suffering of hades destructive force inflicts a prelude to the apparitions
Awakening within this lair of madness an unsuspecting sacrifice
blinding under tombstones creeping slowly chill’s out
through one veil of darkened soil a nocturnal predator comes to feed
Liquefying resistant victim within the glaze of ebony eyes
mystic powers claiming to be magic crushing the core of Eve’s apple
emerging covered with its sclerotized plates the Coachman devours
Repast of putrid skin the last victim lies rotten
one captured soul sinks into the river of Acheron
final reward for the unwitting wounded prey
Begins eternal downward descent
drawn up and treasured by this hungry decedent of a Rove
carried away into hidden hollows of the dead roaring
Fiercely jealous of it’s captive trophy
sector’s remain vigilant to guard such treasured stored
this Coachman’s rightly domain claims a legion to an underworld
The deepest and darkest secrets expelled unrighteous
this scarabaeus reaper as black inside with a rapier blade and sickle
condemned are the two faced between thee jaws of this deadly fiend locked on
A co-written piece by Liam Mcdaid & Donna Loughman
A woman, or a girl,
hooded and hiding,
may pensively gaze down
at the sun, or a sinking stone.
Or a man, not a boy,
neither hooded nor hiding,
may, in her stead, gaze, ecstatic, upward
at the corner of the mystery.
A crawler on the oceans floor
may cling as an ocean crawler would,
sucking up whatever remains
from the feeding frenzy above.
Or a larger beast
may extend its armoured frame upward
and arch its back to swallow
the sun, or a sinking stone.
A jester, or provocateur, laughing quietly,
is surely nearby,
suspended upside down for now,
he, too, will change with the change.
Stones cast off, or scrupulously gathered,
and the bleeding edge of enigma,
may change or remain the same,
we won’t know until we turn.
17th April 2019
Would I be a desert flower
To beguile your wandering eye
Where you hesitate a moment
To peruse a flower such as I.
As you so lovingly marvel
At the fragrance of my bloom
And your gentle touch lays a shiver
To put a blush upon my plume.
Would I be a mighty oak tree
Stretching tall towards the sky
To fill your heart with wonder
As you're slowly passing by
And sit with me this summer day
to pass away the hours
While you slyly press against me so
To avoid a mid-day shower.
Would I be a double rainbow
To slake and take your breath away
With my colors drab and muted
Compared to the beauty you display.
But you see in me some worthiness
Causing your heart to skip a beat
As you leap and laugh through dappled grass
With a bounteous world beneath your feet.
Would I be the sun from high above
To warm you in your stead.
But I could never bear to leave you so
When twilight sends me to my bed.
I would then take hold of life's celestial keys
And send a baffled Nature to her room
So I could be the sun in the light of day
And at night I'd be the moon.
Could I be a rainbow, sun, tree or flower?
I will now answer brash and true.
I would be all these things and many more...
Just to love and honor you.
The End
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your Uncle.
I see you gazing east
chasing a nebulous dream,
forgetting it was a while ago
when morning sun
cheered your grin.
I, on the other hand,
cherish the west,
for it paints your lovely sunset
with bursts of orange and red,
as a silhouette longingly
meanders in your stead.
I'm willing to trade my spot
to see the other side of things.
Perhaps you will agree,
there is another point of view
just as lonely as you,
if you could just turn around
to embrace the moon.
November 15, 2017
Placed 2nd: Strand select T contest by Brian Strand
Rhyming Doubles On My Muse's Stern Command
He who Lives, to green woods explore
and bathe in glowing moonlit streams
shall find his Love, begging for more
than pale ghosts in late midnight dreams!
She who his hot passion bestirs
in its fires, warms her eager heart
asks not for gold, diamonds or furs
instead, he a sweeter path chart!
He that her hand truly adores
in her light and grace, truly shine
oft wades along paradise shores
where sincere poets oft opine!
She that in his stead, falls to pray
accepts life's wrath and its dread
as for his sins she must then pay
sorrows born, when to death he fled!
He who lives, to green woods explore
and bathe in glowing moonlit streams
shall find his love, begging for more
than pale ghosts in late midnight dreams!
Robert J. Lindley, 11/21/2019
Rhyming doubles, on my muse's stern command
~~ ~~ ~~
I Then In Silver Silence Fell
My muse cried in my night dream,
to you, I gift a lyric sweet
so your honor you may redeem
and thus your hide, I will not beat!
I wept, you are oft my sad woe
in humble pride, I write my tales
caring not which way each spell flows
thus with freedom, my true ship sails.
My muse, to this cry was bemused
but with anger great, she then rose
tis' I that you truly abused
after I your worthless hide chose!
I then in silver silence fell
and in my morrows, saw so true
I had her under my dark spell
and thus my freedom could renew!
My muse cried in my night dream,
to you, I gift a lyric sweet
so your honor you may redeem
and thus your hide, I will not beat!
Robert J. Lindley, 11/21/2019
Rhyming doubles, on my muse's stern command..
Note:
Sometimes you just gotta cut loose and let the
captive rhymes dance and outward flow....
as in verses from a past youth's meandering
and lighthearted compositions....
As in the in the dark abyss of *Dark verse* one can not be embrace its blackness for too long.
Thick, black clouds gathered overhead,
veiling the moonlight with guise dread.
Wind weaves with howls, and spies embed
a gaunt hollow man in its stead,
lifting his black mound shroud a ted,
refusing to release its dead.
Strain, he stands searchingly ahead;
pain screams rip from his throat and bled.
A stir in the air dares to sped
on as he falls to his knees unfed.
10/11/2017
Words For Those With No Voice
For every pair of shoes
All the burnt bones and woes
In the millions, in the mud
All died alone
Starving of food and having lost our souls
Our god abandoned us so
Mother father
Sister brother
Fuel for the Reich, we lay slaughtered
Some of us were saved
By those whose honor made them brave
We must salute them all, the bold and the dead
Even if we have only skeletons to mark their stead
Now that time has passed
There will be contests, it will be a blast
Who wins first? Who wins third?
The holocaust deserves no prize
Why must we die twice, this is absurd?
Honor me with a prayer
A poem
A moment of silence
A heart felt thought about humanity
Prose and verse, to remember the atrocities
This is the honor of men of a higher velocity
Never make a circus of the horrific gas chambers
A contest of who makes the horrors more real or titillating
Its not you the writer or the reader that feels
It’s us gassed and burned and buried with our id numbers
Asleep in the fields in slumber
Yellow stars fading away in silence, in tears
No grave markers to shout out of atrocious fears
The subtly of honor is lost on the crass
Maybe it’s them who should be buried under this grass
Notes:
I realize this is a delicate issue, I wrote this poem only because is of my opinion, that having a contest on such issues unless for specific venues, causes, etc. is somewhat tasteless. There is no right or wrong, this is simply by view or take on things and thus have expressed so via this poem. A contest implies a prize or reward even be it praise, and so to profit from so many peoples suffering, well I have explained why. However that being said, any expression or illustration dedicated to honoring and bringing to the light such atrocities, is a different issue.
That being said good intentions are just that, no matter how misguided they may be. We should be grateful we live where we are free to express our sentiments, feelings and beliefs, without fear of repercussion, and that by its very nature will mean many have diverse opinions and views on any issue.
Winds
raged as
fires glowed in
small frowzy shacks
that strange Georgia eve an angel was born.
The sky proclaimed that lives would re-arrange;
with Joy’s first cry,
the tempest
changed to
calm.
Warm
Zephyr -
spring magic -
arrived with Joy.
Her laughter was kindling for hearth and home.
No galas in her future ; she was poor.
Never frowning,
Joy would flash
diamond
smiles.
Her
Mama
sewed flounces
on hand-me-downs,
which Joy wore with glee, celebrating life.
As Papa played his guitar for them all,
Joy danced and twirled.
Humdrum fled
in her
stead.
Fair,
yellow-
haired; slender
like sassafras,
this sunny lass gladdened all of the town.
Humankind exists that we might have joy.
Those touched by that
sweet angel
all learned
this.
Joy
expelled
gloom, giving
her cheer to all.
Nevertheless, joy is often short-lived.
One strange spring day, a cold wind blew in. As
thunder quaked, warmth
waned, and Joy
was no
more.
For Chris D. Aechtner's
"Double the Fun ~ (Tetractys)"