Best Strand Poems
Marquees are bright with neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
Holding hands, we're in 'The Strand'. The velvet carpet guides us in
Popcorn smokes, .. we're drinking cokes,... and cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along with more sarongs,... , her luscious lips, and cigarettes,
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips
'Movietone' intrudes with news, and soon we're in somber mood
Third-Reich goosesteps march again, ... an evil presence in the wind...
Cary Grant , (a news reporter), loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy. But Cary loves this ditzy lady....
William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold. The mystery is clearly solved.-- A crimson sun, is rising cold!
Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die
Another night, suspense on chart. 'Correspondent' , Joel McCrea.
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day. BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way
Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked
----
It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
Allied troops are moving tanks. I wait for you..God give me strength
I'm in the Strand, within the dark, there's no one here to hold my hand
I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio
_____________________________________
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
11/23/14
A sprinkle of sage enhances the flavour of rice
A sage enhances the flavour of life.
. ~~~~~~~~~~
A Tribute to Brian Strand
Written: December 30, 2009
An Emily:is a 2(or sometimes 3) line paradox form of poetry created by Brian Strand
(labelled thus, inspired by Emily Dickinson poem 1732).It may or may not have a title,uses a
word with separate meanings,(or one that sounds the same,with a different spelling) with the
intention to mean several things; thereby, to enhance the thought's ambiguity/enigma.
Today there are no rubber ducks, no flawless hues,
To hide behind, as we once did.
This day is dark, and gray and dreary,
Air thick with the scent of decay and mold,
Dull light filters in through the window,
Casting a somber tone across everything.
Even the freesia suds have gone bad,
The water in the tub is murky, opaque and grim,
Waves unseparated as the day that holds them.
When we were good kids, peering out,
From behind our good mother,
We got good glimpses, sucked on butterscotch chips,
The new neighbor, the smell of fresh sunflowers; it was fun.
But the old neighbor, who finally stopped coming around,
He was not good,
Over steeped dandelion tea, a benign-sounding thing,
Bitter and dry, sometimes salty; it was not fun.
As gray as this day, as this water, when I knew him,
He knew me, too.
I sink deeper into the swirling, whirling, and I think of things,
Dirty-water cyclone, the brightness of our childhood,
Harder to recall, I still remember the rubber ducks though.
Splashing them about, their cheerful colors and silly grins,
We knew joy,
But that bright spot is fading, and soon it too will disappear,
Down the drain, with this gray water and my leftover filth.
Mixing it all together,
In the stillness of the moment, I am struck,
The heavy inevitability of happiness; the transience of loss.
As bad as this day, that man, with his dreary gray hues,
I hang my head back and give a loud, guttural laugh at it now,
The memory of those yellow, plastic birds.
Especially since today there are no rubber ducks, no flawless hues,
To hide behind, as we once did.
This expanse of land has seen things.
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.
This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand.
It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon.
This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.
T.K
I Don't Want To Read Your Blog Brian Strand.
I just want to write a poem.
I'm done with instructions.
I'm done with obedience.
I'm done with the topsy.
Just give me the turvy.
Turvy, turvy, turvy all the time.
I'm done with repetition.
I'm done with repeating myself.
Give me two minutes and I'll make you a paper airplane.
Give me four minutes and I'll make your 2 paper airplane.
Our mouth is the hangar for all ideation sounds.
Then you have these vagabond words,
Escaping without an open hole,
Utilizing these stringy little fingers,
Doing some sort of Fred Astaire number.
Someone call the word plumber.
This be clogged.
She paints a perfect picture
As she trawls the rocky strand
A muscle here a barnacle there
Enough to fill both hands
.
Two odd socks for one at least
will decorate her cast
Her hair tied up as best dad can
Which probably won't last
.
Bent double as she picks seashells
Her pants tag proudly showing
Her bag of shells light up her face
And leave her innocence glowing
.
She takes a moment to herself
To fix her favourite pose
She sips her drinka frown-filled thought
Her poem to compose
.
She spies a group of ducklings
Braving every wave
Excitement flairs as help she does
Each little one to save
.
Her gentle hands embrace each one
The highlight of her day
Her wondrous sight at each ones plight
As she helps them on their way
A day at the strand with Aoibha ...oh and the Ducks
There's a reign of pain
Tormenting my worn out brain
Driving me insane
I just can't seem to maintain
Sometimes biting a bullet
Seems the most humane
You just never foresee
When rational thoughts flee
And your driven to your knees
Begging God please
Grant me a reprieve
But with all my begging for mercy
There's no guarantee
To be set free
So I fight this war
Behind locked doors
Curled up in fetal position
On the cold marble floor
Beads of sweat pouring out my pores
And the voice inside screams
I can't take any more
B elieving in a muse meant to amuse
R ecites his verses leaving clues
I mpetuous no time for schmooze
A ficionado of smooth rhythm and blues
N obody alive could fill Brian’s shoes
S avory contests are his prized specialty
T allies judging without awarding penalty
R hyme or free verse, sweet or salty
A bove all Brian will never tire
N o one more prolific proclaims the town crier
D rumroll please for the sire we most admire
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on January 6, 2021 for contest CAPTURE THE ESSENCE sponsored by MARGARITA LILLICO - RANKED 8TH
By design it was supposed to keep
couples together, threw prayer and
communication it was designed to
make everything better, but what
good are those vows if you're not
equally standing on that solid rock,
what good is a promise if one
person decided their belief in the
father should so suddenly stop, and
that ship that was once docked by
that everlasting covenant, that love
just sailed away slowly but surely all
of a sudden, whether single in Christ
or married to a wife, there is no
relaxation nobody has the right to
say What's right when you never
asked them what was wrong, call it
an assault charge not physically but
you did em emotional & spiritual
harm, I mean who gets married not
wanting that happily ever after,
which was once a best selling book
turns into a dreadful chapter or
should've and would've chalk it up
to regrets, or a list you should've
kept but there's no blueprint for this
no matter how much you follow
them steps, it's like a scary movie
now but don't look away on them
horror scenes that might just be
what'll save you change you, I been
there done it emotionally I been
maimed too but who's to blame
you? That's right when you don't
look to the father you suffer
misdirection and this is a life
changing decision America's view on
marriage is such a misconception,
it's actually a blessing when it's
done right and founded on hope,
turn that negative into a positive
hold on to that three strand rope.
A Strand of Aphoristic Brian
Brian Strand has no business, “knowing he”.
Writing Ekphrasis flowing poetry
His poetry is hypothetical
Professor of all things theatrical
Perfectionist, of succinct brevity
An archer with an eagle’s clarity
Economical adjectives spin, leaked
As he re-cycles gerunds as we speak.
Brian Strand is a living breathing abstract waiting to self express
We love you Brian!
I shoulda seen it comin’ my way -
The Judgment Day
Bears the brunt of judging as gold
Rakes piles of entries, old and new
Insists - "completely up to you"
As long as you do as you're told
Note, read the blog to make it through
Submissions, like lava, pour in
Tempting many soupers to win
Review as you give it a shot
Ace of Judges snubs dull and bland
No to acrostic, rhymed or not
Dare I disobey Brian Strand
Strand’s contests I deem Brian’s Blast -
Meaning high praise and no shade cast!
January 4, 2023
For the Poet Laurette contest by Brian Strand(this one was a real challenge)
Poetaster am I, award unworthy,
Gratitude given to the great state
Whose honor did bestow me
Acceptance gladly and thankfully recieved
Hail Georgia!
This is the Vignette form of narrative.
I watch you cast your line
into the silver sea,
Millions of sand grains
between you and me.
I hear the wispy reeds
dancing in the dunes
On Long Strand
on a sunny August afternoon.
I lie amongst the smooth stones
under the sky.
Where cotton-ball clouds
go sailing by.
I feel boats out at sea
washing waves towards me.
And you and I on Long Strand,
our hearts full of glee.
The yellow moonlight had gone out.
The moon beats quietly.
The stars have fallen on you.
arrived during the day.
The wind mumbled scattering the stars' dew.
Dust
The sky above is gleaming.
Desire is sent out, and love is infused with kindness.
The moon can make the night exciting, once more to you.
How cleverly the night is transformed into play.
Will you and I meet again?
Have you ever really, or is it just you?
The star sent out a message before falling
The beach is calling.
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