Best Sturdily Poems
Obsidian oscillated into lava
slid across syntactic streams
tumbled thick greenwood thickets
impenetrability an illusion wicked
shatter splinter sassy sinkers
Lord Ashtar himself lifted gnarled garbage
two big broken black bags to Source
split seconds of screaming searing sores
baby posture soak singular satin
Prophet Daniel’s prison-free prediction
Coloured lava languid loosen
yin-yang of yesteryear’s yarrows
as Watchfulness wed yearnings
no black bumblebees boomerang bombs
rainbow hands bell belly beckoning
Solar flares ignite twin hearts atoning
corona emissions spill splashing space
sodalite sprinkle sundrenched shores
kaleidoscope pupils please pulsing fate
Hearts purely placed on golden plate
Four eyes fathomed Guy Fawkes fickle
feuding onto a fervid foolproof floor
Stonehenge now sturdily steadily stood
sedating simple silent sleep suavely
accede alchemical ascensions
Missions matched mottoed moulded mountains
timelines merge in moss musical movement
Justice jump Jungian jurisdiction
Presence posy a present perfection
Dreams deliver dictums to Duet
Delicious domed desserts diffusing !
Written: Mars 1st, 2024
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Spring sonata serenades a zest of love bloom
Daffodils dance, tulips swing, birds sing and fly
Azure sky, brilliant sun, and young leaves sway
Love serenade, rising sonata, flower dance
Beauty blooms as birds sing a harmonious song
Spring sonata, heavenly bequest, a gift of love.
Solo sings soulfully, squandering souls sturdily
Sweet sparrows swing the spring stratum
Spirits swagger solemnly, satiated, and stiff
Sleepy seraphic spirits seek a simulacrum
Sumptuous sequential slim spending spree.
Relaxing on emerald grass in comely spring sun
Her soul felt fluid and fastidious as a feather
Fantastic "Feel finical to thaw me in your hand!"
It's tough to tackle thorny tremors in the chest
Luscious peaks can be a day impetus sonata.
Relax, holding my hand to my bosom
Quixotic susurrus rises akin to breeze
Oh, idyllic souls, still replete with enthusiasm!
From hilltop, sky, and earth, sojourn equidistant
Glance into my eyes to witness ambrosian bliss.
Stay silent—your heartbeat discourse to mine
Recall our zealous fantasy vista from this peak
Our quest blesses us with a stupendous soul leap
Your doe eyes shatter, while we're placid
As mortals, pain is a mongrel, eternal mate.
Let's linger till the sun auric dust felicitously flecks
Stories of orbs vanishing and raw ones emerge
As placebo silence decays, a peace aura arises
Night's envious gaze descry us from distance
Back, we'll transcend limits and obscurity.
Embrace the waltz of my Moonlight Sonata
Follow to fancy a whimsical odyssey!
Nodding off with drowsy eyelids
I collocate my corpulent core with you
My moonlight sonata, you induce anguish in my soul.
A donkey carried Mary and her unborn child to Bethlehem
Joseph sturdily led the way on foot it has been penned
The donkey proved a faithful friend to Joseph and Mary
It got them to where they had to be on time and safely
The Democratic Party’s donkey logo was picked to demonstrate
How staunch democratic members normally operate
Taking deliberate moves on behalf of its constituency
Sacrificing speed for cautious concern and dependability
Donkeys are known to be stubborn and may refuse to budge
Like indecisive Democrats inclined to delay and misjudge
I applaud the Democratic Party’s’ efforts to serve so diligently
Its donkey logo fits their political and historical identity
After all, if the donkey was good enough for Joseph and Mary
How can I disagree, a Democratic sinner who prays infrequently?
Dies Irae, Dies Illa:
Day of wrath and day of doom.
So begins the chorus
Of Verdi’s Requiem Mass.
Taut vibrations of the violins
As drums roll in a crescendo of sadness.
It had to be so unfortunately,
For we must all eventually die.
A tear falls down my craggy cheek,
I still remember the sadness of her demise.
Despite that she was riddled with disease.
Such is the finality of this wretched life.
Now Lilian is at peace.
Not I though.
My yearning for her love
Hurts the very essence of my being.
I look at her photo.
So many memories for she was my rudder,
Steering me sturdily through perilous paths
That were straight though narrow.
Five years passed and how I long
To join her in her Heavenly bliss.
God’s infinite mercy is boundless.
Still I learn that life is not in my hands:
All with ups and downs,
I can still picture her laughter, falling,
Dancing, loving, cherishing.
And then her own painful death.
Patiently I wait
Alone,
Until one day
My lovely Lilian and I will be joined again in happiness.
Forests, meadows, and brooks evoke feeling.
They dwell in isolation and therefore live eternally.
It conveys delight to those whose words cannot be reaching.
They aren't dead, but they are all in mortify sturdily.
Is the evolution of green life destined for poor performance?
And return in a floral arrangement that has been rejuvenated.
It's been there for millennia, and it's in the lap of grace.
Erratically comes humming dragonfly white-faced.
the sun and moon will continue to exist in perpetuity
Innocence prevails under the surface when there is a mismatch
It was spring since I first hear the crow's lullaby.
Occasionally, squirrels raid my broccoli patch.
After that, the acute working bees act to work buzzing.
Gardening gives you peace and feeds you from lonesome feeling.
First place contest winner
Written: July 29, 2021
A Brian Strand Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Ages ago bygone childhood delighted
especially Florida (sunkist) grandpa
Harris (Aaron) indulged jais nais sais quois
kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,
rendering slender tanned
under venerated wristwatch (analog),
x2c yielded zealousness.
thee paternal grandfather
oft times visited our rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
(originally called Glen Elm) wildlife crowed
within the plush wooded tract (slated, parceled,
and mapped) to explode
with cookie cutter lookalike slap dashed,
shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber virgin woods,
perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable (once abandoned)
nature relished reversed grape seeded tracery igloed
yet 'pon reflection, I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
when decision via wealthy Leipers,
(wealthy owners of The Bell and Clapper)
unanimously crafted mode
das operandi to build stately sturdily summer country villa,
(circa early 1900's)
which residence whittled down to 324 Level Road -
demesne comprising about a half dozen acres
eventually acquired by Boyce Harris
February 28th 1968 - mort aged toad
a near singlehanded undertaking to create thee abode
whence majority of thine lviii years spent,
now crafted in poetic code
Fashion shoe treads imprinted on the bisque beach
global longtitude/latitude design airborne print in flight
Honeycomb print slowly pacing synchronising footsteps
Concentric wave prints grouping Fine detail pattern soul
beside clearly printed diamond fishbone sports design
Heavily studded trail souls tread along large paw prints
Simply dotted aerobic shoeprint next to little dog paws
A new soft pink fluffy seaweed floats in lacy ocean foam
Large horseshoe prints clomp digging deeply in the sand
Smaller horseshoes gather meeting near a water trough
Fresh green seagrass clumped like freshly cut long lawn
cradles long ball strands of yellow ochre squirting beads
Bare feet touching soft sticky sand immersed wet in water
Naked footprints side by side breathing beach vibrations
Two lovehearts drawn in the light brown sand interlocked.
Sandcastles decorated with shells sit sturdily on the shore.
Today and always, only you made me gay
Eye-to-eye we collide at the quay
On one blessed moment of spring May
Today and always, you have a way
My heartbeats you made 'em sway
Sweet lovely bard I want to play
Today and always, passion you display
All by my side you sturdily stay
Affection rays, dime you didn't like me pay
Today and always, allow me to say
We have been touched flexible like clay
Forevermore attunes beginning that day
by
Olive_eloisa
4:05 pm
May 05,2014
THE INNER VOICE OF MARK BIRROS II
From world war two in the Atlantic
I hear the drowning cries of men,
climbing out as in spirit from waters
that lap the steps of the harbour wall ;
time erodes as the sea -
washing up these thoughts that linger
here and on many beaches,
thoughts that stick and have the stench
of used oil around them,
the name on a memorial
does not reflect the horror ;
the surf rejects such cogitation ;
for a moment, ' try again '
the gulls seemed to say,
' let go ' said the movement of the ocean,
but I cannot, I simply cannot
for what transcends these waves
and breathes out the universe
is love, the love of a father.... ... ...
The old clock ticks away the day
that haemorrhages the evening,
and like a night- nurse at the bed
as growing lesions slowly spread,
the crescent moon would nothing say
to see the patient pass away ;
the stars call out but they are late -
what metaphysics spring from that
while in my soul eternity
is smiling like the Cheshire cat !...
A presence haunts me as that touch -
that hugs the heels in failing light,
with eyes that peer through space and time
and follow me into the night.... ...
The pine wood has its secrets -
I am one of them now,
like the columns of an ancient temple,
straight and upright
where no priest intercedes -
I trust it with my life,
I am theirs and they are mine,
growing inside me, sturdily and strong,
transcending their roots with my secrets
to their archetypal heaven... ... ...
As if a change of consciousness was meant,
against the pull of ego, the body
inwardly swept up in spiral ascent,
spirited away from me
from all the world below,
from all that I would ever be
that anyone might know ;
raised the cloaked arm
of my archetype
to draw the void across my eyes,
and I did rise to heights of bliss
to see the world from this -
dancing in vortices, tiptoeing on pools
as through a mesh, devoid of flesh ;
our world is an illusion -
a carousel to light,
as in the midst of heaven
we ghost on through the night... ...
Voltaire just Kant angle cut it
Beauvoir broad side view
abut the narrow Rousseau
gender Thoreau thought causeway
As Sarte Marx the entrance unlit —
Avicena chapiters atop da Vinci pillars,
Stuart Mill sturdily sit
Arendt spiral steps turn Spinoza
down to the Alighieri depths
Socrates ambience got a Dewey dungeon
decimal Fodio gradient affectation
Awolowo still wanna Sodipo cubit cut it,
but some Augustinus genius
won’t even Nyerere beveling make
the reed Descartes arch decision
Wollstonecraft overlaid on contoured Witt
Piper leveled with Gargi precision ...
A Solomon blueprint found in a keen closet
I sing to you, my dear
This song so sweet it must be sorrow
This sorrow, too sweet to be so?
Do I even know
When sorrow hides behind the sweet
Hidden too, am I
Do I try?
Or do I put an effort
Just to feel alright
But how can sweet be sorrowful?
How can sharp be dull
How can light be dark
How do I part these feelings from each other?
Can I part these feelings from my mind?
Maybe they hold me secure
I love you, and that I’m sure
This sureness is what I crave
But how can sure be sure
If what taken can easily be gave?
What security do I want
What bond do I need
Do I see the sorrow?
Or do I need the sweet?
This I have
But can I keep?
Are you mine
Or am I yours
Where lies the floor, I cannot see
This love will never leave
Though like a lid upon a jar
The contents, might it pour?
Or sturdy does the table stay
Sturdily can I say
Do you love me too?
You know I’ll never leave you
I know you won’t leave me
But happy, can I be?
When still I cannot tell
The sorrow from the sweet.
It brings me back around
Down the stairs and on the ground
I have the question
It will stay
Any day, will I know?
What is it that I’m feeling
Do I need you so
Or do I love being with you?
Know you’ll never go
Is this the sweet I’m looking for?
The security I hold?
Or is this feeling stronger
Not of pleased, but need
Do I want, or love to keep?
These thoughts will linger on
I’ll never know what’s wrong
Or what is right
Are these thoughts of sorrow?
Wanting more
Or are these thoughts of sweetness
Having what I adore
But do I have you?
Or you have me?
Still can’t tell sorrow from sweet.
I’ll have to move on
The cycle stays
Every day I’m spinning
Thinking, to myself
Am I wanting Heaven?
Or do I run from Hell?
Sugar and spice
Sorrow and love
Which lies in front of me?
Which can I keep?
Though I love you so deeply
I’ll sing on, this lullaby
Sing my dear to sleep
Still cycling are these thoughts
Is it sorrow
Or is it sweet?
As you slumber on, my love
This love and thought, I still will keep.
But are these thoughts sorrow or sweet?
Why Crippled America?
Any presidential nominee thus far,
Anyone ever in long history’s past,
Could’ve called America crippled,
A high look upon disability to cast.
Disability is now curable sometimes,
And healthcare stands sturdily tall,
As a nation’s proudest profession,
As our greatest step and tribal call.
So the analogy to disability power,
The relationship of doctor/patient,
Could be used by any great politician,
To explain his policies and argument.
But I believe that any candidate knows,
To deliberately dismiss this slogan,
To in determination bypass disability,
As a succinct method of explanation.
It’s what goes to make a man great,
A politician tick and get it right,
A women see the good and justice,
Of the Syrian migrant’s plight.
So Trump should be sued, slammed,
By disabled people in a law court case,
For debasing their physiognomy,
For knifing their contributive face.
He does not pertain to disabled people,
Now, after all of that in any way,
And if you are aware of disability,
Then don’t give him the time or day.
Weave my blanket snug,
With the fleeciest, graded wool,
Matted thicker than a rug,
Use the finest wooden hand loom,
On a shuttle winded with double woof,
To keep the closely knitted warp strong,
Interlocked, sturdily along the weft.
Use no materials synthetic,
To spoil the woven yarn,
Or mar my dreams with static.
Let the weavers wool be of quality skein,
With no loose or fluffy stuff,
When I with my dreams ascend
In bliss, and kept warm enough,
As I with the night-time, blend.
So bless me with snuggles snore,
and dreaming, snoozes galore.
I trail along behind the morning chirpy magpie
to liberate from the materialistic vice,
sturdily race up the alley of rocky green hills
horses galloping on bright yellow daffodils,
i earnestly climb up to the hill prime
i embrace the nature vigorously with a warm smile,
i stop and admire the glorious countryside
while the fresh morning breeze runs down my spine,
cotton candy clouds floating high up in the sky
butterflies and bees tireslessly rises up high,
i watch the sun wakes from the distant misty horizen
capturing every exhilarating moments,
releasing lifes turbulance,grief and torments
while witnessing gods most amazing attainments,
around me tranquillity and calm,everything at peace
listening to birds singing,with such ease,
bluebells and dandelions majestically hovering care-free
the earths countryside musk,purifies me,
i notice the morning star gradually fades
while the rays of the sun exhaling,canopys the earth shades.
Beaming with radiant triumphant bliss
cheerful flower* greets delightfully
wafting birthday wishes of good health
blended with jasmine scent
accentuated by scarlet velvet ribbon
of blessed journey prayers
gripped by the Lord’s grace and mercy…
Now swaying midst dripping petals, once fresh
plastic sunflower sturdily stands
along my birthday bouquet
displayed upon my vase
reminding me life’s worth:
though short, its God-propped impact
to others steadfastly lingers.
March 14, 2021
“For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.” 1Peter 1:24 of the King James Bible
1st place, "ALL YOURS (Mar 17)" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 3/17/2021.