Best Stoutest Poems
Again, death swirls its black finger
around the aura of pristine ponds.
Now sprouting the stoutest weeds...
where sleepy lilies and emerald songs used to breathe.
Where souls once rested so naturally.
Again, death swirls its black finger.
Leaving me slightly paler than a happy life.
I'm never quite as fleet as death,
(a party balloon popped by a dying cigarette...
the darkest swayback horse at best).
There will come times
of unimaginable events
Times in one’s life
unforeseen and inexplicable
Times that will test
The mettle of the best
Times that will evoke grief so great
that the stoutest heart will shrivel
Times of bliss and happiness such
That one seems to float in air
Times of stress and dire duress
That seem to rend and tear
Times that try one’s heart
That seem to tear your world apart
There will come times
of blessings and perdition
Their name my friend
Is as it’s always been
...It’s name is ‘the human condition’...`
There passed amid the crowded fair a lady
All clad in stately gown of em'rald green
With golden trim and diamonds all a-sparkle
It was, I say in truth, a comely scene
Her hair was walnut brown and deftly braided
Her eyes the bluest June I e'er ha' seen
Her face was white as ever summer daisy
As she walked amid the fair in em'rald green
I wended to the lady through the milling
And sought if I might carry of her gage
She chained me with ther fiery diamond necklace
And sought a worthy foe upon the stage
Her eyes passed o'er the sport with sharp disdaining
Said she, These roughened fellows all are mean
I seek a fitted match against my diamonds
To win a crown of honour for the green
At length, she spied the master of the quarter
The stoutest wight of Herefordshire, I ween
And though I had no hope against this venture
I'd do it for the woman clad in green
His quarterstaff was sure and fairly whistled
His arms were strong, as well his eyes were keen
Yet still I kept my feet upon the platform
And prayed them still remain for fair Athene
This lusty fight went on for half the hour
A goodly crowd collected for the see'n'
Then stepped the pretty damsel to the staff-ring
And saith, You fairly won the lass in green
Eminent Doctors and professors
Did meet, at a prominent place
For their prominent feats
After much preamble; they sat down
Face to face; their table was long, a
Shiny space.
Their gizmos and gadgets the very best
They spoke on many topics from health
To outer space; even vests.
Rarified though not verified; their thesis’s
Verged on stultified
Unabashed they all rumbled along; it caused pain in the ears as it
Lingered long!
And so their attention arrived at God
His attributes they sifted with grimace
And nods.
Then came; the summing up to wit’
Now I’ll disclose it bit by bit
He never lies, or brags Himself; yet holds
Position on the highest shelf.
A stage that none could ever attain,
No matter how worthy or how they trained!
He always had an answer ready, He made
The stoutest men unsteady
He always did just what he said. And He
Claimed He would judge the quick and
The dead!
He had that Son of great repute, yet who kept gutter company all
This is forsooth
Such discrepancies and such power and
Pride I felt their indignance; and chagrin inside!
There we have it; 70 voices intoned' as each came to the table
Each placed a stone
He has no intelligence; in unison they all groaned, it’s extreme
Autism. He’s as dumb
As these stones!
©Joe Maverick 6-12-2021
Bitter sweet is the song of love
a quivering leaf in the wind floating
twisting turning in blazing hues of red
spiralling down kissing the earth a promise sent
to the heart that loves.
As the violin bow against its strings enthralls
melting the stoutest heart stirring emotions buried deep
inside the nightingale sings its final song softly sweetly
into the heart that loves.
Cupid's bow straight and sure does not the heart impale
touching only the outer wall while love encompasses all
No splinters here of hate or envy no evil seed shall grow
only caring buds blossom here
deep in the heart that loves.
A Soul's Fight
The soul faces what the stoutest heart dares not to speak
dark spirits that make our knees wobble and voices squeak
Battering rams plunging in rhythm against castle's gate
shadow voices accusing and promising such a ghastly fate!
As the last rays of Sun's golden light creeps slowly away
the invisible servants of the Dark Lord rise up to play
With each darkening hour so very much stronger they grow
sharpening claws, teeth and screeching everywhere they go!
When the sound of the house clock striking at midnight
serves to cheer them on to ever greater songs of fright
Draw your courage blade and cut deeply into that horde
make them feel the pain and slash of truth's best sword!
Cut out the great fear they carry around to use to seed
the horrors and scary thoughts sent to make you plead
Loudly announce as you send thier defeated asses to hell
that it is courage and truth ringing freedom's liberty bell!
Robert J. Lindley 07-13-2014
Inspired by a haunting dream I had last night. Fast asleep my soul fought a
valiant fight! The battle's ending I may write soon ...... as part two...
A Soul's Fight the Battle Ends.....................
I’d set upon a long, uncertain voyage.
Twas one to test the pilot’s skeely art
Of navigating perils yet uncharted
While facing fears to daunt the stoutest heart.
I’d drop the lead to sound the straight and narrow,
Then trim the sail to cross the deep and wide.
I tacked between those vices best avoided
And inconvenient virtues cast aside.
With heavy swells my fortunes shifted likewise;
Grim hazards port and starboard lay abeam,
The heavens raining curses on intentions,
The bilges churning nightmares out of dreams.
I reckoned what the profit be, all told,
With contraband sole cargo in the hold.
The winds demanded clarity of purpose.
The waves enforced agility of stance.
Such times as I did lack a moral compass,
I’d trust my lucky star to lead the dance.
I’d journeyed far and found a sheltered harbor.
Dropped anchor and saw everything secured.
I took up pen to document my actions,
Then signed the log attesting to my word.
The voyage may have satisfied investors
Who only had in mind a single goal.
But was the profit garnered in the questing
Worth the price of forfeiting one’s soul?
A businessman may draft a bill of sale;
A captain guides his treasure through the gale.
Fastidious gildings must dot your mien:
Sizzling lips that ooze unbridled charm,
And a neck sleekest with angelic luster
To daze the eye and sun a smitten arm.
Still deeper graces beyond corporeal eye
Shall your gold’s stoutest bulwarks prove:
A mind pliable into another’s loftier ideal,
A heart malleable to wit’s forging groove.
A full stock of sly eccentricities to baulk
Pert overstepping darts round the clock;
And a placating vocular chime that tells
Time’s tick better than poor-piping bells.
A hope that dares azure's illest signs;
Turning gaffes into leaps onto higher
Insights purer than filtered science,
Dwarfing Fate and her fiendish fire.
And shall all these bejeweled traits
Sure lie within one maiden’s tastes,
And finally match the magic gleams
Of that fairy gal I see in my dreams?
Stephanus Marcus Book 1
Canto 6
Verses 4 and 5
Now herald monarch's late arrival nigh.
From east his royal standard shows design.
A lion bold displays from pennant high -
courageous beast, a brave and noble sign.
King's escort knights are seen a riding line,
protective shield defending great their Sire.
Soon castle makes a feast of meat and wine,
Duke Morley's servants whole will never tire.
To please his Sovereign great is Morley's main desire.
Buffoons and jugglers, tumblers, actors make
King Richard’s stay that night a pleasant time.
Then day's new light brings jousting games that take
the stoutest knights that need must be in prime.
On mule clown rides, the winning knight doth mime,
and archer's contest made concludes the day.
A lutist plays a sweet song's tune of rhyme.
Soon priest chants prayer, an eve's melodic lay.
Forsooth, another night king's knights and he will stay
Within the weighty door, weary souls went;
as did I as a child of eight, to the silent sentience within…
Upon the stoutest oak they sat, worrying beads.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,”
The penitants, the prayerfull, the pitiful, rock.
The innocent observations of childhood.
Inward stares, upcaste eyes, open hearts, rock.
“Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”
Beside masterpieces of goldleaf raised plaster pain,
they walk, worrying, burnished beads;
mindful of His journey “…Jesus.”
Each has a path they walk, weighted weary souls.
Yet, they remember in their hearts
His path and it’s toll.
The child in me remembers this in wonder.
Besceeching Mother Mary
to lift their weight, their toll. The Child in me
knows Mary.
All dressed in purple like a king,
The man was spat at, flogged and mocked,
And forced to carry his own cross,
As witnessed by the crowds that flocked.
I listened to their hateful words,
And wondered what his crime had been,
I felt compassion for the man:
The stoutest victim I had seen.
I offered wine, which he refused -
But gratitude was on his face -
I muttered, ‘Sorry I’ll be quick,’
And sadly nailed him into place.
His cross was raised at nine o’clock.
He suffered much; his mother cried.
I prayed to my gods for the end.
At three o’clock the brave man died.
Tell the Moms it didn't happen
Tell the Dads it isn't so
Pretty little roses blooming
In the garden – row on row –
Pretty little blossoms folding
Petals falling to the floor
Falling into angels rising
Sprouting wings on which to soar
Smite the gunman at the trigger!
Seize the madman at the gun!
Little voices in the hallway
Little faces in the sun
Little feet upon the heavens
With the morning just begun –
Strike the harp, and hold the fiddle
Let the bells peal out the tune
Mournful as the lonely shepherd
'Ere the clock is noon
Mourning for his little flock
Going home too soon
– And when the news had broken
And gotten all abroad
The stoutest of the stoutest hearts
Could only weep aloud
For here the pact was broken
For here the seal was lost
For here the children were not spared
The devil's holocaust
And startled in his earthly robes
His heart gone sudden cold
Himself a witness to the siege
Even God arose
And with a savage grace
That moved without a sound
Turned the barrel on itself
And with the final round
Emptied out the chamber
And smote the demon down –
Mightier than fibs and sharp swords,
Manacled truth will with time prevail
Against high peak and gigantic vale,
And glossed lips' deodorized words.
Sharper than lucre's nectared studs
Stabs tested truth's right-driven nail;
Till all wrong-worn tongues wax frail,
And fain betray old veneered guards.
Unfettered truth predates olden floods.
Earlier than Noah's Ark and hasty hail
Unbowed stood her long-tenured trail,
Defanging vibes of fact-twisting nerds.
Unbent still won truth's candid cards,
Outlasting every knavish fibbing tale;
And justice bespectacled favored jail,
Where oft cool heels of reptiled duds.
Why not tell it to blank wingless birds:
If stoutest truth's tempest-tossed sail
Long neutered was by wealthier gale,
Over gold's Monsoon-storming girds?
~~~Magna est veritas et praevalebit~~~.
The forest is my loyal friend A Delphic shrine to me.-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
The tow’ring trees with their branches widespread
Sift light which falls like a golden shower
(As when Zeus to Danaë’s chamber came)
Reaching the moist earth joyful to receive
The warmth that causes all flora to breathe--
From the stoutest bough to the smallest leaf.
This place is where once Artemis had played,
That shielded her form from unworthy eyes;
And Narcissus--that handsomest of men--
Unfortunately met his tragic end.
The forest tells stories to willing ears;
I find it to be a most loyal friend.
So I come to this most sacred of ground
Where voices from the past can still be heard
From the crisp rustling of the fallen leaves
To soft breeze blowing through the foliage,
Or from water dripping from moss to moss,
To echoes like sighs from a bygone age.
I come to this place to communicate
My joy, my sorrow, my triumph, my pain;
And always the forest listens to me,
And judges not my many flaws and faults:
A small part of me the forest contains,
While a big part of it in me remains.
May 5, 2024
Among 2nd Place
Delphic, Delusion, Disaster, Dauntless Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet