Best Stows Poems
WINNING THE WAR
In tough action of war crawls the soldier
across the thorny ground riddled with mine,
charges with loaded gun on the shoulder,
revenge and rage in mind sorely combine.
Facing risk of dying any instant
flash of the face of his little daughter
he sees smile in his emotion dormant,
he stows for his mission is to slaughter.
His task is to kill enemy at sight
with hands that fondly caressed the daughter.
Fear of death is killed by the spur to fight,
to live for her, it’s not time to falter.
Become a bold soldier, fight without fear
you’ll live for the loved ones winning the war.
January 8, 2019.
Syllable count : 10 each line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
She was the embodiment of beauty
The manifestation of goodness
Everything she did was
Lovely
Graceful
Flawless
People would call he an angel
But no one saw the devil buried inside
Setting up camp in her heart
Breaking it and turning it dark
No one knew the darkness that followed her
The black cloud
Harboring a storm
Waiting to unleash a hurricane
Whip up the waves again
To pull her under
No matter how hard she tries to stay above the water
There is no flotation device to keep you
Above the flood of addiction
You see that she's drowning
But how can you save someone
From the tide
When you don't know how to swim
When you have no idea there to find a life preserver
You feel helpless
As you watch her be consumed
Her own body swallowing her whole
There are no amount of self-help groups
To stop the relapse
The monster has captured her
She sold her soul
The day she sold her body
She does this to keep her supply
As they always demand
People try to help
But they don't understand
How will she tell people she's lost
When she has no sense of direction anyway
Also they wouldn't believe her
She looks at herself
And starts to cry
Her reflection looking back is broken
Like the mirror she is staring into
Soon she doesn't recognize the person no, creature
In the glass
She stows away in her room and goes into hiding
As she adds just one last skeleton to her closet
Bundled in a horse-drawn sleigh
warm and snug on Thanksgiving Day
the children restless, we went on our way
as the shedding forest began to sway
and the gusts of wind set astray
the vestiges of autumn's display
that unveiled the cabins along the bay
Past weathered barns fraught with snow
and over covered bridges would we go
through the misty river's chill
turning toward the cider mill
its churning paddles frozen still
past the farmsteads and withered fields
the ghosts of bounty that harvest yields
caught in a breeze of burning leaves
and all the reveries the season weaves
We arrived on main street after sundown
gliding through the charming town
toward the chiming white church steeple
past the storefronts curbed with people
in the wake of the gingerbread float
at the stern of the Pilgrim's boat
behind fairy tales and candy lands
as the revelers sang with clapping hands
to the music of the marching bands
From the celebration would we emerge
from the flowery, spangled surge
to behold a wondrous sight
as geese took flight into the night
over the sea where moonlight sought
to quell the hues that twilight wrought
Frosted lamp posts lit our course
and into a trot sprang our horse
his hooves and harness jingling bells
as if to the tunes of sweet noels
while from the shops whose cozy glow
projected windows on the snow
there flashed the goods someone will leave
under a tree late Christmas Eve
the toys and clothes wrapped in bows
and all the gifts that a stocking stows
Now past chimney smoke and picket fences
nostalgic aspects that stir the senses
where old Victorian silhouettes are found
and gestures of goodwill abound
toward the sound of waves we wound
as our lanterns flickered on the ground
the atmosphere around us festive
while within full and restive
or nestled by the fireplace
or with their heads bowed in grace
folks enjoyed a simple pace
while outside others strolled about
amid the maize and wreaths throughout
absorbed in a twinkling universe
of colors snow-clad and diverse
To our delight there soon arose
a savory ambience for the nose
adrift from tables set with care
with a redolence that met the air
as we hailed the last of passersby
and climbed the road into a sky
whose stars adorned the snowy limbs
to a house on the coast, flowing with hymns
I live in a house where
all the doors are closed
they hide away the secrets
that can’t ever be told.
I live behind these doors
hidden away, no one knows
what goes on within my head;
or the monsters the closet stows.
One by one, the lights go out,
but the darkness cannot hide
I walk past closed doors
that monsters hide behind.
They shriek at the door,
it shakes in the frame
fumbling with the handle
wondering how they became
the ghost that moans
and the monster that leers,
trapped behind the doors
to cover up our fears.
Their hands reach out
in that space underneath
clawed hands, fumbling,
hear them gnash their teeth.
I look down in the dark
the closed doors line the hall
wonder how we’ve become
the secrets, the lies, the fall.
And these day dreams fill my head
though the hour reads late
I walk light so no one awakes
Aeolus knocks at the gate.
But, others hear what they wish
so even if I were to scream
they’d only hear everything else
thinking it a bad dream.
For we are masters of pretending
spending our lives shutting doors
hiding away our secrets too big
to fit in dresser drawers.
I can’t sleep with all their howling
so I’m left to wander alone the hallway
and pray I do not fall victim.
But old locks and frames so easily betray
me to the monster who is persistent
and the doors they all crumble.
Unleashed I must face what lies beyond
the madness that they mumble.
I cannot hide from their truths
the grotesque and the beauty.
We’ve made monsters of our secrets
and they hold us to this cruelty.
Forced to hide behind locks
I live in this house suppressed by sadness
victim to their bite, I suffer secret’s sorrow
only to end up contemplating madness.
Deer Colette,
Thank u four the sweater. Eye did knot no it wood cost that much. It was hire than eye thought. Eye love it! U or such a suite heart.
All sew, thank u four the pitchers u cent. Eye can knot bee leave how big you’re brother Johnny has groan. Pour Johnny, he used two wine a lot as a kid with his snotty knows, lol. Girl, eye steel remember how much Kim used two teas him, an that thyme he fell off his bike. Man, that brews was bad, but it heeled pretty fast.
Win he was younger he wanted two bee a male man, is that steel sew?
Buy the weigh, how or u? Eye mist seeing u four you’re birthday, sew eye am souper egg cited an looking four wood two hour family reunion this weak inn. Eye herd the whether will bee cold, sew eye no u or glad yall or flying this thyme. The plain is much quicker, eye like flying. Eye flu two Knew Orleans, Atlanta and Lost Vegas. Each thyme the whether was just write. The sky was blew with beautiful, wite puffy clouds.
Anyway, Uncle Gem, Ant Lisa an the kids or driving down two day. He tolled me it takes ate ours, but heel bee hear inn fore. He said he was filling week a few days ago, but knot anymore. He’s much better, sew that’s good two here.
Wee wheel meat them at the maul later. Eye do knot have thyme two waist. Can u bee leave inn a few daze it wheel bee Christmas? Eye knead two get sum shopping dun an out the weigh two day. The stows better have sum good sails, bee cause eye want two bye my gifts an rap them up quickly without any won seeing, witch wood bee impossible two dew bee cause nosey Lilly is coming with us.
Win u get hear, u gotta get inn that kitchen an cook. Yeah, eye steel remember u maid that apple pi. O, it was sew good. Eye took the biggest peace. Eye wood have eight the hole thing if it wasn’t for Johnny, lol.
Colette, eye was thinking, next year eye want two take a crews. Eye want two travel the whirl. Eye all wazes say it, but never due it. Eye scene a grate deel on this web sight. U no sum web sights lye, sew eye hope the price is what it says. Eye wood love four u two come with me. Let me no what u think.
Well cousin, its knight thyme inn eye have two get up early, have a safe flight. Aisle sea u soon.
Love u four ever,
Emily
It's the wind that scuttle
Had it not left me troubled?
Bewildered and peculiar am I
The strange looks of the sky
Rains by as the day sleeps the night
And welkin seems
It broke down a frail sigh
Thus, emitted a shrill cry
Shuns the daylight as clouds gather
Entwined with poetic strife
As lovely clouds converge to safeguard
I have thought...
When the wind come hitherto from afar
Only shall it present
...more mellow mars
Suddenly fallen have I
...the prolific wind scuttles
It's the wind that scuttle
Had it, left me yet troubled?
Bewildered and peculiar am I...
Nevertheless...
Eyes of tomorrow shall come to pass
And mind of sorrow fall short at last
I want to make much...of my soul
However...the wind which tarry hitherto stows me much troubles
In which I composed a frail sigh from
And even I...I emit a shrill cry, with a voice, saying...
"Goodbye. That I may change direction from mellow mars."
And now...brother and sisters. Behold...now I am free.
I've many times wished to see into the souls of an LA swat team.
When trigger after trigger spells the end of mother's nurse dreams.
And lives of light scatter.
I too have wished to see the inner spirits of such soldiers that could kill their
mirror likeness for a South African Banker.
That could kiss the face of Jeus for thirty pieces of God.
That could sit on the supreme court of this United States, look God right in the
eye, and vote against a brother gettin' a chance.
That could take a woman by the hair, rip off her pants, and prove his slave
owning manhood through the savage theft of innocence.
See, I've many times wished to see into the souls of an LA swat team that can
look growing hopes in the face and squeeze them life less.
I've stared, horrified, into my own cowardice and insecurity.
I can empathize with the souls of gangsters, I see what demons bask in the glory
of brethren.
What security is payment enough to suck freedom so far from the reach of God's
children.
People always talk about bleeding hearts.
But I wish that maybe instead of having revivals with step-stows that Christain
ministries would go to LAS put the cross in front of a Swat Team and ask them
why?
Do you take such pleasure in clasping shackles on your brethren.
And when the guns dropped, tears began to flow, and numbed spirits began to
sing their sorrows of blind obedience.
We could once again lock hands and tell whatever thief sits behind the 35 story
buildings, the world-wide financial network, virtual emotion a,d Fox Television to
go back to hell, cause we ain't buyin it!!
Why hurling above the wall,
In front of window,
Hits Missouri's cold air -
with hands, not by wings?
Walking on two legs
Like the blade between
The skin and the aorta
Then in a plastic bag stows
Sands of questions,
Polishing it by fire' lashes!
Why after all times and seasons
Flowing now, like a river of candy,
Behind the reflections of mirrors,
Then fades away and slip?
Sitting like a cat, looking
Toward the dark corners,
Yowling, as if jailed in
A coffin of candles pain
Why yowling now and again,
Above the wall, in front of that window,
Hits Missouri's cold air -
Without wings, my heart!
Written by © Fatima Nusairat
"Alms, alms, alms...
spare me a piece of bread..
spare me your mercy..."
Wandering solely, all alone
Along the streets, everyone knows
Cartoons and tabloids, he stows
Lights with so little glow
He stood ready to go...
Roaming around from trash bin to bins
Searching, looking for something hot to eat
His eyes fixed and excited
For at last!
He has something to feast: a leftover burger
At once! he took hold; walking happily ahead
Heading to his favorite place: the seaside
There, he sits and quietly eat
Time to time he looks up (innocent eyes)
Beholding, the sun rising in the east
As he remembers how life has been
Three years past when still he has his mom
By his side, hugging him so tight
They had been two helping one other
From first hour of the day 'til night
Poorest of the poor they had been
Yet, so rich with the love and care they have
Until one quiet evening...
A mob came to their place
Taking all what they have
Even her mama's breath of life
He was barely seven then
No father since birth
No found relatives to be with
Now, no mom even to hug and kiss
And his life became a day to day struggle
On his own
All by his own
All by his own to survive
As he finished his breakfast
He went near the sea
Taking some water on his hand
Splashing, cleansing his face
From his plastic taking a pair of worn out clothes
With a smile, he stood ready to face the day
To the mountains of bread and butter, he went
Picking up, cans and plastics to sell
Under the prickly heat of the sun
Amorous smell all around...
He did not care
As he picked up and select
Picked up and select
Picked up and select
Fast as he can
Before others,
Come to pick and select as well
When his sack is filled
Confident enough
He went walking away to sell
Frantic at that day!
He run and run
Then before he knew...
A rushing car hit him hard
Throwing his filth body like a teddy toy
Blood oozing fast from his head
Lying half dead on the street
He heard sirens from somewhere
Voices of persons he did never know...
"Alms, alms, alms..
Spare me a piece of bread...
Spare me your mercy..."
by
olive_eloi
12:41 pm
revised: 03/20/2014
CONTEST: LATEST POEM
SPONSOR: LEONORA GALINTA
2ND PLACE (TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY.. )
I am but dust, a man, haughty eyes will but do me in
And more when I gaze hours stark on my own work ‘pon fin’.
-Heights now I’ve reached, and skies I’ve seen- just a speck below.
He knows he’s peak’d past surprised feats when God him on low deck stows.
‘Tis not for man to reach such heights, and claim his own how-know!
Down goes the man past where he’s been until his pride’s pride goes.
And for all this- ‘tis still High’s right to make him. Even’s right to break ’im.
A journey taken
Paddle wielder, not so graceful a feather,
there is a delicate balance
one must observe in a canoe
having to switch sides and currents
trying to control, nearly
an impossible goal, she stows the tool
letting her finger tips skim the river
as it takes her and every fantasy
she has ever imagined.
Yes there are shrieks and frights
as the boat spins
too close to what she can't comprehend
and she closes her eyes
ending on a calm shoreline
pulling the vessel close,
kneeling down, she knew
she wasn't alone in that canoe.
While wearing the garb
Of a twenty year old
On a 50 something body
Her eyes rove hungrily,
Spotting her quarry
She pounces upon
The daily newspapers
Left by a prior denizen
Of the local coffee bar
Every word on every page
Is ravenously devoured
The lives of others
Happy or horrid
Fills her empty hours
Pouring over her soul
Like so many lattes
Prepared by bored baristas
When she's had her fill
She stows the carcasses
Under her cushions
Guarding them
For later gnawing
And when our eyes meet
She knows I lie in wait
For her to vacate the seat
So I can pick the bones clean
On crests of waves morning sun glows
To blue sky its arms the sea throws
Breakers spread wet touch on beach dry
In joy the sands dance and leap high
Roll on ripples that come in rows.
Wind from hazy horizon blows
The swell in rising water grows
Melting shadows of the clouds lie
On crests of waves.
From cloud’s edge gleam of full moon flows
Splinters of moon on sea it stows
In blue night’s shroud the jeweled sky
Descends to lovingly apply
Stardust in the rhyme of rondeau
On crests of waves.
October 31, 2017
Form : Rondeau. Syllable count : 8 (4 in last line of stanza 2,3)
Oh, poet, whose soft tones the oceans bless
With their sweet songs and stows the summer’s clime
With all unearthly sounds, I can’t express
How much of worth your verse has been through time!
No matter when or where I drink your words,
My spirit rises on fair freedom’s wings
For with a passion, sweet, no bard affords,
Your voice, your tender tone, compassioned, sings,
And shames the songs of swallows, flitting by
Or nightingales, soaring o’er spring’s bloom.
Fair poet, let not your sweet lullaby
Wane ever in the face of time’s black doom
For Wordsworth, I’ve read lots of poetry
But never have they as your voice, touched me!
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
Industrious buzz of solo bee search jackpots
Unashamedly trial diving in each lurid shell
Stickier with every trumpet he giddily accosts
Finds further stupor in fluted sweet compel
Ruffled taffeta petals burn, vibrant five
Three wiggle flame fingered fringe
Other two tatooed with burgundy stripes
From lettuce pincushion, stigma begins
Sunray stamen sprawl in honey encomber
Moonstone luminous stems prop soft discs
Trajectory of butterfly nimbly discovers
Floating foliage furtively stows gifts
Dragon green bud shyly pokes firey tongue
Slender tailed specimen, paisley tadpoles
Wrinkled brain seed pod trio, stem strung
drop to dappled damp below leaf parasols
Peppery nutrients for permaculture novice
Exolosion rockets across neglected plots
Blue hued leaves store vitamins various
Simmering subdues mustard sting hot
Cultivator pleased by brazen ease of transplant
Straight on dirt section masts round flags raised
Twine's gems invite insect activity, gaity radiant
Vein laced faces sway atop secret paper blaze
26th July 2020
Written for Contest: 'Petal, buds, blossomd, bees,
birds, butterflies!'
Sponsored by:
Silent One