Best Subsequent Poems
If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few
Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm
For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize
Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?
Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued
A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise
And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species
New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority
Note: This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.
Confined within the steep banks of a narrow mind
is a cryptic river where men stumble in and go blind
They construct reinforced dams that hold them back
from accepting the candid truth; white is not black
Like the slow moving current of a trickling stream
their thoughts are clogged and clot like curdled cream
What chance do the recalcitrant ones have to accept
reality if they allow no vision of being circumspect
of taking fault and blame for having a closed mind?
These are the ignorant, the foolish ones aptly defined
as those destined to stagnate until they decompose
It's the subsequent end to the stubborn who oppose
a new premise or concept with which they don't agree
They rot inside prisons of conceit; a human tragedy
When life gives a choice don't ask why
Don't dwell in dark under a star-lit sky
If music starts playing go find your voice
Don't ask why when life gives a choice
Every life will smile bearing a gift of joy
Echoing sounds of a harmonious ploy
Spreading cheer, donning perky style
Bearing a gift of joy every life will smile
In times of despair, know there's hope
Happiness resides in everyone's scope
Blessings embody within every prayer
Know there's hope in times of despair
Upon every roof some rain must fall
Life once in a while answers your call
When love finds us, that is one proof
Some rain must fall upon every roof
May 14, 2018
Poem of the day on May 16, 2018
HM: Strand select 3 contest by Brian Strand
NOTE:
This poem is a Swap Quatrain. This form was created by Lorraine M. Kanter.
Within the Swap Quatrain each stanza in the poem must be a quatrain (four lines) where the first line is reversed in the fourth line. In addition, line 2 must rhyme with line 1, and line 3 must rhyme with line 4 and so on, BUT not repeat the same rhyming pattern on subsequent stanzas. Rhyming pattern: AABB, CCDD, and so on.
French trader Tavernier in a greed-inspired way
Glared at an idol of a temple in Mandalay
Prying a gem from its eye socket, a curse prevailed
Tavernier died bankrupt soon after making the sale
Louis XIV bought the stone, 1668
A gift to his mistress, Louis had it cut heart-shape
For dabbling in Black Magic, this madam was burned
A century passed with the curse’s power unlearned
The diamond was then bestowed on Marie Antoinette
For wearing it with boastful pride, Marie lost her head
She lost respect from the commoners of her nation
This gem has since been linked to the French Revolution
Cut far smaller, the gem resurfaced, 1830
When a London banker bought the rock of infamy
Henry Thomas Hope survived; the curse appeared to break
For 70 years the Hope Diamond’s wrath lay in state
A Hope heir’s marriage collapsed; his wife evoked the curse
As she foretold, subsequent owners’ fates would be worse
French broker Jacques Colot went mad, suicide his road
Sultan “Abdul the Damned,” insane after being deposed
Then to an American the Hope Diamond was sold
Washington Post owner Maclean watched horrors unfold
Other household members died, but it was Maclean’s son
Ten years old, struck by a car, his Dad’s mind came undone
Ultra-light ray tests caused the mystery diamond to glow
With safety in mind, Hope’s eerie stone found a new home
It remained locked on display in the Smithsonian
Could it be to blame for all that’s wrong in Washington?
Tragedy also tied to raiders of King Tut’s tomb
Perhaps lessons can be gleaned from those who met their doom
Robbing temples, burial sites, outcomes always bad
Greedy souls’ quests for wealth can leave them totally mad
So don’t expect me to purchase a diamond in the rough
Considering this gem’s history, a sandstone’s quite enough
The other day I sat beneath a sycamore tree on the court house lawn.
Old Glory fluttered in the breeze and to my eyes it was drawn.
It was tattered and frayed, I assumed, by the storms of many seasons,
But as I mused upon its state, could it have been caused by other reasons?
After all, it saw action in the Revolutionary War to create a new nation,
And suffered shot and shell in The War of 1812 ending foreign domination.
It flew over the Alamo and was drenched by the blood of courageous squads,
Who sacrificed their lives for independence, aware that they were against all odds.
Old Glory was unfurled for action in the Civil War in many a furious battle,
Mutilated by cannon fire and time and time again by the muskets rattle.
It was ripped by rifle fire as the Rough Riders charged up San Juan Hill.
To look upon it at their front must have given the Riders a comforting thrill!
It was torn asunder in the bloody trenches of France in World War One.
Though battered and torn it was held high at the battles cease for laurels won!
As its charred remnants were hoisted over Iwo Jima's blood soaked strand,
It unfurled to the cheers and tears of brave men who took a gallant stand!
Though the Korean and Vietnam conflicts and subsequent Desert Affair,
Took their toll on the old flag, it yet waves majestically with dignity and flair.
Though it has been spit upon and trampled on it still remains unfurled,
As a symbol of hope and a beacon of light for humankind about the world!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
A Tribute to Golda
It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.
It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man,
And nixed the idea before it began.
Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.
Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.
Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.
7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~
Barbarous reason rejoices
and draws strength dispensing death.
Its celebration comes with
cold effigies of blood soaked,
ravaged, masked graves of silence,
leaving any subsequent regret
within the heart of the stonecutter.
The suffocating privacy
of each muddy sepulcher
calls out its loss-but who will listen
through the rumble of the caissons roar?
Fear has no time to mourn.
Only after the flame
leaves its postscript
are the cries of the Widow heard-
then wars agony entreats the soul...
Thoughts flood my mind
when I’m alone
Close to my computer
I am sin prone
These flames of lust
they flicker within me
Images intertwined
begging me to see
This empty eroticism
promises of ecstasy
I know this is my prison
still I don’t want to be set free
Curved and supple
together bodies mingle
My eyes long to breath in
a promised tingle
This inward hunger
begs me to enter
That feeling of heat
grows within my centre
Firm supple images
naked and slender
No drugs or alcohol
but it’s still a bender
With my physical release
a strangled scream
Within a moment
emotions extreme
Shame overtakes me
eyes look away
Temporarily satiatiated
but I’m far from okay
I can’t forgive myself
and I’m too ashamed to pray.
Is this just a male issue? I’m curious to hear your thoughts. This poem was written as a result of meeting with a men’s group and the subsequent conversation.
Look to the sky to witness morning glory
As rising vision writes an amorous story
Painting cosmic canvas delightfully spry
To witness morning glory, look to the sky
Listen to the birds for message they heard
As the horizon lit-up when emotions stirred
Blowing cheery winds chanting your words
For message they heard, listen to the birds
Every day goes by without you by my side
Waiting to decide, I see you teary eyed
Trust the answer you have, don't ask why
Without you by my side, every day goes by
Heeding my advice you echoed my voice
Leaning on destiny you made your choice
Trusting my friendship won't exact a price
You echoed my voice, heeding my advice
June 20, 2018
Placed 1st: Late June 2018 standard contest by Brian Strand
NOTE:
This poem is a Swap Quatrain. This form was created by Lorraine M. Kanter.
Within the Swap Quatrain each stanza in the poem must be a quatrain (four lines) where the
first line is reversed in the fourth line. In addition, line 2 must rhyme with line 1, and line 3
must rhyme with line 4 and so on, BUT not repeat the same rhyming pattern on subsequent
stanzas. Rhyming pattern: AABB, CCDD, and so on.
Future Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Before time was created lived an hourglass draining of sand,
the sand sank and there came the desire for true destinies,
Before the approaching set of tomorrow’s held hand,
came a grasp of the powerful fate of subsequent necessities.
Shouldn’t we all see our dreams when we look into the mirror?
Does the mirror give us insight into our upcoming fortune?
Shouldn’t we take chances without luck to make life clearer?
Life depends on the forthcoming of harmony and attune.
We all should feel destinations when our eyes close at night,
And the certainty of our dreams will help us wake in the morning,
If only the world knew the difference between wrong and right,
Maybe the sadness of yesterdays wouldn’t arrive with no warning.
We are fated to live this life full of joyous love and gratitude,
Without these three things the earth would not be used for good,
Seek out kindness with a touch of grace and not suffering platitude,
For we cannot build a hot-flamed fire without any solid wood.
My soul holds beliefs that good deeds bring a better tomorrow,
I sure wish we could all hold hands connected by a loving suture,
Let’s leave the past where it is without any regret or sorrow,
And be filled with the inspiration of a brilliant future.
Date Written: May 6, 2016
Two travelers with different destinations, we met before our paths diverged,
and in that span between our first encounter and subsequent farewell,
we read in one another’s eyes a wanderlust that took us off our track.
We found ourselves in a meadow of grass seemingly never trodden on before,
where we became as two breezy joyous children, frolicking dizzily around
the wildflowers that became our world. Racing each other up a knoll,
we finally and breathlessly tumbled into one another’s arms, growing silent
as we gazed into each other’s eyes beneath a sky of blue.
Rapture soon discovered us that glorious day in the meadow. . .
Later, a nearby river enticed us with its rushing sound, so we followed it.
Coming to its end, we saw the sky grow black and tried to find our way back
to our first spot of discovery and enchantment.
Instead we wound up back on the common path where we’d first met,
parting ways as a sudden rain’s downpour veiled my view of your departure.
Every now and then I stop and wonder if you ever came across a place again
that could compare to the rapture of our time in the meadow.
We decided to turn Paradise into real estate.
Trouble was, we weren’t too sure where to find it,
Though experts had located it somewhere
Slightly west or east (left or right, looking north)
Of a point midway between the Euphrates and the Nile.
According to some, it moved sideways a few inches each year.
Computer systems would relieve us of Adam’s curse,
Which many wanted back as soon as they had been relieved,
And Eve discarded more and more items of covering,
And everything (a forgivable exaggeration)
In the garden (the upkeep of which had to be paid for by taxpayers)
Was lovely (or at least pleasant enough for most).
The Devil, who no longer existed (save as a literary metaphor)
Had been extradited on a drugs smuggling charge
And was last seen heading north.
The Forbidden Tree had been cordoned off by
Security people and no serpents were allowed near.
One day we woke up to discover
That Paradise had absconded in the night.
The more sensational headlines read PARADISE LOST,
But this was watered down in a subsequent official press statement
to read PARADISE MISLAID.
As to its new location, even the pundits failed to agree
Whether and if so, by how much, it had moved left or right.
It was even rumoured that the Devil
Had bribed the Angel at the Gate
and infiltrated the Intelligence Service.
The Ministry of Defence reported that a large flying object
Had appeared as a blob on the radar before slipping off,
And some wag even suggested that this was Paradise in fact.
Adam uttered “What the..” under his breath,
switched off the telly – it was an old war film –
And gave Eve a knowing look.
Eve didn’t fancy an early night,
And the ensuing row
Raised Cain.
(A true story. In the year 1612, a young artist
named Artemisia Gentileschi, native of Rome,
was raped by one of her father's artist colleagues.
This is the tale of the subsequent criminal trial
and its impact on Artemisia's art.)
Prefatory Sonnet
My tale is of a rape. As plain as that.
In sixteen twelve or so, these things took place
in Rome. Her father’s friend (you smell a rat?)
surprised her in her home, that year of grace,
and robbed her of her innocence. His name
was Tassi. We’ll learn more of him anon.
Three painters are our principals, but claim
no immortality – well, maybe one.
The three were father, daughter, father’s friend,
and Artemisia (the best of all!)
She soon progressed from copy, grind and blend
and in Rospigliosi took a wall.
Today, collectors crave her canvas craft
so she laughs longest (having lastly laughed).
memories are the sweetest recompense when faced with imminent death ~ by poet
We were two for forty amative years.
I turned toward you for comfort and strength.
You came to me with your deepest dark fears.
We lifted each other and talked at length.
Each doted on the other with respect.
Our distinct differences made us whole.
The other’s support we came to expect.
Each other’s success was our greatest goal.
As successive years grew long and longer,
the wrinkles showing as we became old,
the bond between us grew strong and stronger.
Subsequent aging grew tougher, more bold.
Then Old Man Death in his black raiment came.
He proceeded to do what must be done.
My shattered life will never be the same.
We were two – woefully, now we are one.*
* HEY beautiful PS poets/poetesses. The greatest compliment to me as a poetess is that I can evoke such caring, emotional comments from colleagues. I have received so many soulful, prayerful thoughts and caring condolences about this poem, I would feel dishonest if I did not report that this is entirely a work of FICTION. My humble thanks to you all. With love, Linda
This booth i'm in , you call a body
apparent problems , wiring shoddy
can't get thru all the busy signals
rush of the race , eluding victuals
can't get thru with simple affection
are they harnessed wrong , disconnection
is comprehension a distant voyage
where i'm now speaking a foreign language
is the dark pit of self so deeply entrenched
where thirst for knowledge will never be quenched
long distance calls from this booth i'm in
dialing the right number is where to begin
as long as i remain on the right frequency
at least avoid world's subsequent delinquency.....
Food for thought , all for naught
line is open , if it's sought.........