Best Stem The Tide Poems
* For Mary Kathleen Lessard Caithness *
~
cast tie-lines to shadowy depths above
meteors to plunge the ocean of suns
kick off - tally-ho! from the pier of known
a scoundrel's nod to the skull and bone
vast skies uncharted now beckon ahead
a dusk of dreams splashed yellow and red
naught but astounding, the adventures be
an endless sojourn 'cross a sparkling sea
the sky-palette waits for a score of tales
come a warm solar wind to puff the sails
all worries and why's now, abaft the beam!
set our course due for a foolish dream!
a celestial tempest to bend the jack
to his tasking a-hold the kicking strap
stem the tide, aye, mind the moonbeam drift
spread her wings wide and give her lift
the sextant's now set to the Milky Way
(we'll grave her clean on a windless day)
to port side, a wink from the Seven Sisters
off starboard, the gleam of nebulous vistas
we sunder the clouds with our wake of mist
now dark matter deep and heaven-kissed
tossed by the waves through a sea of night
we gasp for the void, yet we drown in light
our spirits denuded and paean-versed
we dare constellations to do their worst
for now we all pull to the labor at hand
to chart the expanse of this boundless land
at the bidding and mercy of a rapturous breeze
three prayers for fair winds and following seas
'til our hearts are sated and our marrow torn
and we drop our anchor there, worry-worn …
on the sands of time, we'll commend our dance
and return our dust ... to the great expanse.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sky" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Best Rhyming Poem 2018" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor.
~ Poem of the Day ~ at Poetry Soup.com, awarded February 1, 2018.
...oooOOO Tears of Gold OOOooo...
Prickling hot glistening tears from the eyes above
Fall in little rivulets round the nose out of pain, thoughts or love
Hot tears roll down the cheeks cooling as they fall
Salty on the lips they pass they don’t stall.
Tears of pain, tears for the dead, tears for the dying
Tears for the newborns the weddings and tears for the sighing.
Tears that roll onto the bared chest with arms open wide
Giving comfort and strength as they try to stem the tide
Tears for the fears unrealised but real
Tears for those lost or that’s how they feel
Tears that flow for those we have not met
They need our tears but they will not know it and yet
They may feel our tears shed for them all
Tears shed out of pity or love they can fall
Tears for the free who think they are not worth it
Tears for the captives that do not deserve it
My tears are falling without knowing why
But the tears that are golden never run dry
They run for the love of all human kind
Wishing and hoping the deserving will find
Some one to bare their chest for them all
And comfort them as their own tears do fall.
The once was a Native American Navajo
Who served his country and to war did go.
He wrote codes by the score
Which helped end the war
But came home to no fame, “Oh, no.”
The World War II ends in ‘45
Choctaw and Comanche side by side
Broke the back of the Fuhrer
Our messages got through sure!
With out their gift we’d not stem the tide!
It took fifty five years and more
For the US to give medals they wore
Many went to their graves
Still feeling enslaved
But, Congressional Gold the corpse bore.
When times make me wary, where do I seek strength to carry
me through? I pray the chaos, loss, and grief won’t tarry
till all are bereft, with nothing of our “normal” left.
God of Grace, please let not our rock of hope be cleft.
When typical closeness isn’t safe, I know loud verboseness
against restrictions won’t banish the moroseness
or ease the burden many experience worldwide.
God’s Word says “PRAY.” I do, each day, that He’ll stem the tide.
When life becomes surreal, what, besides prayer, helps me feel
peaceful—when the world is not on an even keel?
loved--when I can’t be with friends and family?
free—when my tiny corner of the world is all I see?
wind chime music, stately trees, a southerly breeze;
frequent newsy phone chats and drive-by waves that appease;
knowing He’ll “never leave me,”* though pestilence may rage.
assurance that someday His healing hand will turn this page
Deuteronomy 31:8 The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you;
he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."
Date posted: April 23, 2020
Grace and Solitude Poetry Contest placed 4th
Sponsor: John Hamilton
A dream that passes once is not much worthy of the pen,
but I've seen you so much more; tonight I will again.
I want to try and trust you, though I pause and hesitate,
even in my slumber, I still tremble at the gate.
You are so fair and wonderful, and what am I to you?
Surely just amusement! A trap for my heart is due.
But haven't I resisted long enough to stem the tide?
Still, you seem to care for me. O curse me and my pride!
I love the dreams that find us both together; I would stay,
but this ignores the fearsome truth—reality—the day.
And is it not the duty for the ones who fall in love,
to express what they are feeling, even to the skies above?
Very well then, know I'm laughing at my own peculiar rhyme,
but you and I together is just a function of good time.
1 March 2017
Happiness
By Franklin Price
4/7/2015
inspired by June Baker
Happiness how to define
Is your happiness the same as mine
Having things for which hell bent
Or is it just to be content
Keeping up with Alias Jones
Expensive cars and camera phones
Yachts and mansions first class cruisers
If you don't have them are you losers
Do you eat and have your fill
Not be in doubt of your next meal
When it rains be dry inside
Make enough to stem the tide
Wealth is not about the cash
To have it all a frantic dash
To strive for things that mean so little
Above contentment all's a piddle
What does it take to be content
Find happiness at least a glint
Dwell on the basics and you will find
Happiness and peace of mind
Self is first of all the most
To love yourself but not to boast
Then treat all others as if were you
Contentment comes as if on cue
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXVII
IF ever I had a country proud of its wall-less porous boundary
And if ever by no mistake of the Supreme High Command of the International Militaro-Business Conspiracy I were appointed the CHIEF TARIFF IMPOSER and Eminence Grise of and on all the self-righteous realms rocambolesque republics and renegade run-of-the-mill rotten rotting rostrum-raving riven ribald rascally rickety refugee-raised democracies
Mark my words I’ll put an end to the raping of my dearly-beloved national integrity by
One, importing all available rutting Queen Bees of the "Killer African Bees" and have them breed with local wasps of high pedigree in the front-line of battle along the Southern Border under every tree where I’d let Red Ant-Hills multiply free
Two, import Myanmar Pythons with a taste for digesting young fresh human flesh, mixed with the local brand of Everglades alligators, down the Mississippi and the Colorado River sprinkled liberally with the Grand Canyon brand of the Rattle-Snake with their tell-tale warning-rattle nipped off, together with the silent army of Black Widows clad in their enticing mantilla webs, as a second-line of defense against the illegal refugee
Next, if they still keep coming I’d roundup all the lazy good-for-nothing thick-maned Bisons of the prairies and have them lined up for a Charge-of-the- Heavy-Brigade stampede by whipping their asses to the sound of the Land of the Free
And if this doesn’t stem the tide of illegal immigrants, drug dealers and tourists with empty pockets, I’d call on the faithful Black and White striped Tribe of Appalachian SKUNKS with my tonitruant bugle, line them up so that their posteriors faced Tierra del Fuego and let them squirt to their hind-hearts’ desire even at the risk of driving the entire population out of the country
Yes Siree, this’s what I’d do as the Eminence Grise and Chief Imposer of Tariffs of My Beloved Contree
And this even if I never ever had no country worth saving for the ennui of a penny
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 11, 2019
The ill-equipped revolutionaries fought and died to set this nation free.
Against all odds they triumphed sending George's troops back across the sea!
The precious freedoms we cherish today were won due to their staying power.
It can truly be said of those courageous men that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Men in Yankee blue held the line at Gettysburg with unwavering resolve.
Mr. Lincoln steered a steady course that a united nation might again evolve.
Alas, it took a fearful toll and bled the nation of its youthful flower.
Valiant men died to make others free - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
In June of Forty-four, brave men stormed Normandy's shore to force a breach.
Heroic American soldiers forfeited life and limb upon that crimson beach.
They took a noble stance in order to knock the tyrannical Axis out of power.
History books will record forevermore that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
During the tense decades of the Cold War, dauntless warriors were on alert,
To protect and defend our priceless liberties that others sought to subvert.
Like a sturdy oak they didn't bend nor did they deign to cower!
A grateful nation will ever proclaim that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Valorous American troopers yet today strive to uphold freedom's cause,
To stem the tide of terrorism that seeks to impose its despotic laws,
To bring peace to embattled peoples and install just leaders to power.
'Twill be told in generations to come that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Monstrous Loonies in the air;
Monstrous Loonies everywhere,
Monstrous Loonies without a care;
That's our politicians!
Monstrous Loonies worldwide,
Monstrous Loonies, nowhere to hide!
Monstrous Loonies, let's stem the tide;
Of useless politicians.
Monstrous Loonies, a set of dopes,
Monstrous Loonies, how can we cope?
Monstrous Loonies, we need some hope!
But not through politicians!
Monstrous Loonies running wild,
Monstrous loonies not so mild!
Monstrous Loonies get us riled;
These painful politicians!
Monstrous Loonies, sanction that;
Monstrous Loonies, drive us 'bats';
Monstrous Loonies squabble like cats:
Our illustrious politicians, or a set of clowns!!!!
Into the forest I go
To cut myself some wood;
A cabin I’ll build,
A shelter from the cold.
I’ll build a firm foundation
Burrowed deep within the land,
I’ll place upon its surface
The rock I hewed by hand.
I’ll carve each log smooth,
I’ll notch them till they fit;
I’ll build the walls around me,
Firm and strong they’ll sit.
Each window will open to the sunlight,
And close each night with prayer,
Songs from birds will echo through the rafters,
Then settle gently through the air.
Nail by nail I’ll attach the planks
Upon the rafters they will go,
Enough to stem the tide of winter,
And springs tempestuous squall.
My hopes are vast,
And I dream them still,
But for now can you
My help fulfill?
Trapped beneath a tree,
I here lay
Awaiting someone
To roll it away.
They keep telling me time is on my side.
But I'm not sure that time can stem the tide.
When things begin to go down south.
And life leaves you down in the mouth.
All I know is to run and hide.
And with the passing of the days.
Life can change so many ways.
And youth will go by in a blink.
Leaving no more time to think.
And there you stand left in a daze.
Love and money disappear spent without a care.
Then you wake up all alone with nobody there.
Flat broke busted, riding on the spare.
Not a dime to give away to appease dispair.
Time's not coming to someone that's not there.
Down on my knee's and begging please.
For God to blow a gentle breeze.
To take away all of the dust.
Of all the years I did not trust.
But still it's still up in the trees.
Emotions get the best of me
at times. I’ve felt betrayal’s bite;
the pain runs circles in my mind
and owns me. I’m too weak to fight.
When into this unhealthy mix
comes anger, I try mightily
to stem the tide. I say, “Enough!
Now of this torture, I’ll break free!”
Then long-past sins that God forgave
come taunting, robbing me of peace.
It will not come when, on my own,
I foolishly bid hauntings cease.
Attempts are ineffectual.
I can’t accomplish mind control.
The more I try, the worse I get.
I can’t fulfill the Father’s role!
True peace is found in Him alone,*
the kind that lasts. He’ll give me rest
and peaceful sleep if I but ask,
believing I’ll be truly blessed.
*Psalm 4:8 “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, LORD, make me dwell in safety.”
January 31, 2023
entered in the Finding Peace Poetry Contest placed 10th
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
April 14, 2023
entered in the Brian Strand Premiere Contest 1208
I don’t want to hate…but when I hear hate spewing from other people’s mouths…when I see the way certain people are treated for being who they are…when I see Ukrainians on the run…
I don’t want to hate…is easier said…than done.
But that’s what hate is counting on in its never-ending attack…
Hate feeds upon itself…and grows larger every moment we hate back.
After reading the news this morning…which was not a good way to start…
I began my walk angry…with hate filling up my heart…
Until, that is, I heard the unmistakable singing of the morning dove…
she made me smile as she reminded me of all the things in life there are to love.
It’s something I struggle to do when hate attacks…
when I’m trying to weather her endless storms…
I try to think of love…in all her different sizes… shapes and forms.
Because love will also feed itself…and if nurtured will never end…
So I think about the love I have for my family…and my friends.
I think of how I love sunrises and sunsets…the way the clouds float on the breeze…
how I love the birds that fly, the mountains high…the flowers and the trees.
I think of how I love ice cream and chocolate…riding in a car…p
The smell in the air after a rain…rainbows…peanut butter in a jar.
I think of how I love my morning walks…sharing it with the possums and raccoons…
trying to find the big dipper…watching the phases of the moon.
When the waters of hate come flooding in from the ground or raining from the sky above
I do my best to stem the tide…by filling my sandbags with love.
The higher the flood waters of hate rise…the more sandbags of love I need…
my goal is to keep is to keep from drowning…until the waters of hate recede.
The bottles of gin are all empty,
The pipes have long since been lit:
Where is the Lethean water that can truly make me forget?
Where is the perfect opiate that can stem the tide of regret?
You were the colour in autumn,
You were the light in the lamp-
Your caravan moves on without me, taking the goods from the camp.
Now I am left here, forgotten: a gypsy, a wretch, a tramp.
Upper management market rushed decision:
Cold rational cost/risk measurement —
Downsizing is the capital flow chart right way to go
Middle management under extreme personnel loss liquidity:
Short wigs facing contraction strategy harassment,
skirt the raised profit projected pressure of the actuary table
Lower management stem the tide of the pink-slip discharge:
HR higher productivity quarterly report assessment ...
makes promotion portfolio much more dividend valuable