Best Sup Poems
My garden lies between the trees
Where lilies dance in gentle breeze
And lilacs whisper pretty please
To a butterfly's caressing tease
Nearby glows the buttercup
Where honey bees come to sup
While hummingbirds on branches squint
To catch a glimpse of hyacinths
And daffodils in yellow coats
Sway to songbirds dulcet notes
Queen Anne's lace is also grown
With Forget-me-nots and anemones
But the rose in beauty stands alone
And smiles demurely from her throne
----
Joseph May
© 5/2/14
trijan refrain
The heart half full means something’s wrong -
the Spirit’s oil runs low.
When emptied, broken, we are strong
refilled, and ready so -
God’s strength can fix a heart gone dull
our selfish contents He can cull.
God’s strength restores
God’s strength restores
each day to keep our mark on full.
The heart half full means needs may go
unmet by God’s own grace.
We’re called to let our fellows know
that they can win this race.
God’s Word abounds with help each day,
it must be read to find the Way.
God’s Word abounds
God’s Word abounds
to fill the empty hearts who stray.
The heart half full calls us to prayer,
it’s time to take a break.
Engaged with work, no time to spare
another’s thirst to slake?
God’s love pours forth when we look up
and ask for wisdom in our cup.
God’s love pours forth
God’s love pours forth
enough to share, our neighbors sup.
posted September 19, 2014
**I realize this is a combination of iambic verse in tetrameter, trimeter, and dimeter but that is the requirement for a trijan refrain, a variable line length. If it does not meet the rules of your contest, I will understand.
If I cry
It must be the memory
Of a skirt unlifted by a gust
To still a boy's misery
And wipe my eyes dry
Of tears
For the way time sears
Us like flowers
And reaped my mother
Before I was ready to let her go.
If I cry
I cry for days she sheltered me
From a child's web of fallacy
And put her spittle on my knee
Where bruised flesh
Was a boy's view of tragedy.
I would press my face
Against her dress
And feared no goliath
Or loneliness.
If I cry
I cry for evenings on the porch
When she gathered us
Our feet white with blowing dust
And hunger like a miner
Drilling us
We had so little to eat some days
But she with prayers picked fruits
Of heaven's mercy
And we thankful ate together
And heard her ancient anecdotes
Of ancestors' exploits that floats
Still upon a manhood sky.
If I cry
I cry that mothers' days are meaningless
When the sight of flowers
Are frail veils upon a grave
And the customized Christmas cards
Will not sparkle her eyes
Just before the kiss upon my cheek
Honoring me for faithfulness
And knowing her love measures more
More than a day
More than the years that sums earth's decay.
If I cry
I cry for the love of my mother
For the woman and life giver
For God to bring
Order to this unruly thing
That spoons our purpose to a cup
Swallow us
Before the dusk with each sup
Of time, diminishing us
I cry for faith to hold my trust
Against the agony of loss
Death is a demonic disgust
That makes me long
To substitute all tears for angels song.
If I cry
Preserved my hope with brine of eye
To live again
Without death or pain
And run with my mother
Through the clapping ovation of summer rain.
Poets here have got a lot
Of soups that they can sup:
Elegy and etheree, epulaeryu served hot;
Tanka, haiku, dodoitsu -Asian broths served in a cup.
Rhyme here is a regular favor.
Free verse also we can savor.
Sonnet is a classic some serve up with ease
On our menu, many items every day are shown.
Using creativity, we like to tweak our recipes.
Please try our soups; better yet, cook some up of your own!
Oh Muse Wilt Thou Be Replaced
Oh sweet Muse your unrivalled reign
flowed rich with a poet’s theme.
Now in digital glow subpoenaing your dream
Alas cold circuits assert their own gleam,
Oh Digital Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair
How did you lure the Muse into your skilful snare?
In your silent hum through dexterous scripts?
In the crystalline charm of your silicone chips?
What sway does your simulation wear?
Singing soullessly yet beyond compare?
Torn between the eons of yesteryear and hi-tech might
Should we dreamily embrace what sets senses alight?
Disregard the great Bards as they stir in their graves?
Throw to the flame both fiction and fame?
Discount Elliot’s eyes from the heavenly skies?
While Keats curses what gave rise to flight
That burns brightly by day `
Burns brighter by night
Oh Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair,
Your prisoner release from your silent snare.
She who has sipped from Tennyson’s cup
Through Poe’s eerie abyss — where nightmares sup.
Bathed in Shakespeare’s tragic tears of stain.
Lamented with The Nightingale in Keats’s refrain.
She who has soared on Shelly’s genius blaze
And emanated Plath’s curse of fame.
Medusa you might mock the reign you so blatantly steal
Yet the Poets aches reveal in raw vulnerability appeal
Alive in ink no circuitry codes could feel
For art is more than just pain in a poet’s scream
It’s a Hallowed Hook at The Heavenly Seam
Maria Williams©
Victor Hugo once said, “No force on earth can stop an idea whose time has come.” And indeed, the rise of AI is one of those unstoppable forces. Yet, while it may assist, mimic, and even inspire, there are realms it cannot truly enter—like the raw vulnerability of poetry, the soul of a song, or the emotion that bleeds through a painter’s brush.
These arts are born from lived experience, from aching hearts and dreaming minds. Still, there’s joy to be found in what AI can offer—a spark, a tool, a playful collaborator. The key is to use it without losing ourselves in it. To remember that the soul of true art still resides in human hands—and always will.
Point to Ponder– it is Human Intelligence that built it , a result of the best Human minds – so tongue in cheek – should it then be called Artificial Intelligence?
Youth, Time, Night Sky And Heaven's Blessed Voice
As I lay me down in lush verdant grass
Gazing into night sky as Heavens pass
Twinkling stars, to an old grievous soul speak
"Be of stout heart, not a mortal so weak"!
Heavens voice advice, if ones heart listens
Gleaming as true as, morning's dew glistens
Should we not thus seek, blessings so divine
As to not let this world our lives define?
Big dipper singing soft ditty times three
As its handle cast light, welcoming me
Archer shot beams across the Milky Way
As benevolent words, asking no pay!
Brother moon dancing, to set wolves howling
Nature set free, its kids go a'prowing
In peaceful repose, I fall into sleep
My last words, "Lord, Pray you, this soul to keep"!
Robert J. Lindley, 11-17-2019
Rhyme, ( When Youth, And Treasured Memories An Old Poet Remind )
Dedication, Second Poets Dedication Series, Nabokov
~ ~ ~ ~
As Sun Rises, Bringing Morn's Newborn Glee
As sun rises, bringing morn's newborn glee
rooster crows out its pleasures at dawn's light
as world again wakes, its teeming dark sea
shouts, do as you will, dark has fled with night!
Alas! Such is but its great and black lie
for darkness chooses but a brief retreat
folly to believe, as many may die
joining cold ashes of mortal defeat!
When night returns, its dark dances about
as hidden shadows leap from poison trees
solemn blackness, its power needs no shout
as those wise in many years will agree!
Yet new sun that brings light to dark banish
sets its course mortal man can never sway
reveals those sins we may wish to vanish,
in ever decaying hours of each day!
As morn's voice calls, this sweet coffee I sup
slow across this wood porch, an inch-worm crawls
an old man savors third and final cup
and seeks warmth within his castle walls!
Robert J. Lindley, 11-17-2019
Rhyme, ( Peaceful Morn, As Dawn's Glory Seeps Into Weary Soul )
(When Both Light And Dark Stir A Poet's Soul )
Second Poet Tribute Series, Vladimir Nabokov
Notes :
(1.) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vladimir_Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
A BUSH FIRE
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it,
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.
My eyes were sorely struck when once they perceived
verity in your insightful words. Oh, how they grieved
when you chose to kneel low enough to kiss the ring
of a cunning being, whose unmerited praises you sing
My ignorance would have been a cliched state of bliss
if I'd not stumbled into great depth of a poetic abyss
'Twas with bitter regret that I unveiled your charade
No longer do I doubt the crux of a contrived crusade
With prudence and humble nature, you oft' disclosed
but a false facade was revealed and hubris exposed
As a poet you declared compassion and a meek heart
but sold your feeble soul for the nod of a counterpart
Poet, I hungrily supped at the banquet of your lines
but a person's integrity is one that genuinely defines
human value. From reading you, I refrain and eschew
Aware of your pretexts, I know what motivates you
*You may think I only post something on PS when I have a gripe, and I have when I've felt it was warranted. It's your right to believe what you will. My recent posts prove otherwise, but after very recently reading something that touched my heart in a sadly profound way, I chose to write about it instead of trying to forget that I saw the words. Writing has always been a means of comfort, solace and closure. This write serves as a dissolution for me.
DESERVE
Deserve- that in which we use to critique our life's ways
a way to hold back our existence
to project a negative
and cease the positive intake
Deserve - the breath we don't take
as life is critical and cruel
A risk we avoid
A praise we reject
A life unlived by definition of the term
Deserve - the animosity within that deprives us of beauty
a vast cavernous region of self loathing
unfathomable entities that we must surpass to succeed
striving for more - better
Deserve - enraptures a lustful desire to withdraw and hide
shades of veils, impenetrable walls of denial
vulnerabilities and nakedness
the exposure of truth - internalised
we hide - we die
Deserve - you deserve all that you have
you deserve the power from recognition
and you deserve forgiveness
forgiveness of self, of others; which cannot be attained
but self as best it can
Deserve - Deserve - Deserve
Angered by such a dismissal I am
so wondrous in 'sup-prose'
you ...
your inner musings,
your lexical landscape
your shy confidence
self depreciating
You DESERVE more
Deserve - embrace, reclaim, rejoice
recognise the wealth my versifying friend
the promise in the scroll of a pen
the battle within let it bleed across the page
and cleanse with deliberate introspection
stand tall...
for my friend - you DESERVE it all
You say you want lots of rum? Put it in a big fat drum.
Cooking oils put in drums too. Soy or canola will do.
Put your hands in a basin. Want a jar? How about a Mason?
In a jar, you can put jam, but probably not a ham.
Flour you can put into a bowl. Lay flat for biscuits. Roll and roll.
Sugar put into a bowl with flour. Add in things not sour!
Put your trash in a bin. In a glass pour your gin.
Soup or a drink put in a cup. All night in comfort you can sup.
In our sky God put stars. In cartons man put cigars.
In cartons too you can put milk. On your hair put a scarf of silk.
Put good fruit into a pail. In your mailbox stick your mail.
Many things you can put in a box. Things from Amazon, clocks and rocks.
Coins I might put in a pouch; cash in cushions of my couch.
In my bag I put such things as lipstick, cash, strings or rings.
In your lunchbox put a banana. Bikinis, though, put in a cabana!
Santa puts gifts in a sack. Shirts you put both front and back.
Folks put liquids in a jug. Liquids hot go in a mug.
A lot of fluid put in a vat. I don’t think most folks own that.
In a bathtub put your body, using bath salts – not too shoddy.
Put your wool things in a sink. But dry hot not, or it will shrink!
You can put upon a tray things not too big down to lay.
Last, should all a body burn, it’s good to hold it in an urn.
Jan. 24, 2023 for the Lipogram Poetry Contest of Emile Pinet
I saw the undulating belly of the sea
Sensuous and beckoning me
Frilled dress of tides pulled up
Over white thighs of sand
Ripples of fingers from a caressing hand
My eyes took the portrait like a cup
My tongue lingered at its rim
The siren's lips singing seduced me to sup
And through the rocks my desires swim
My hunger could not leave her supple thighs
Softly whispering promising things to me
I cross the hesitant beach to joy in glory.
Love Fruits, Passion's Meals On Which I Once Sup
When I ponder my life, its fleeing years-
Youth with its blessings and its cold dark fears;
Wandering through world and paths not taken
Truth of the sorrows and those forsaken;
Faint gaspings of romantic interludes;
Treasures lost, unforgiving attitudes;
Celebrating those small victories gained,
Savoring what true love in life remained.
Whispers searching soul once so gaily heard,
Morn's sweet call, with its warbling of songbirds,
Lessons learned from sorrows, pain's dark cup
Love fruits, passion's meals on which I once sup
What life was, later what it came to be;
What finally made a good man of me.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-15-2020
Sonnet, ( However 'tis long the journey, 'tis never enough )
Syllables Per Line:10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables:140
Total # Words:100
They call her big Gina
You'd know if you seen her
She is a toilet cleaner
She wears a white smock
Armed with bucket and a mop
She likes to keep things clean
And is a real scrubber
If you know what I mean
She whistles as she goes
With disinfectant wafting under her nose
She replaces toilet rolls
And cleans the toilet bowls
She really loves her job
She has a cat called Doris
And a husband called Bob
Her job is dirty and often smelly
She has a tattoo of a toilet on her belly
At the end of the day
She puts her mop and bucket away
Goes home and has a shower
Then cleans the house within half an hour
Her husband makes her mad
Leaving the toilet seat up
She puts toilet water in his cup
Of tea to sup
She has a daughter called Pru
She dreams of being a toilet cleaner too
She doesn't care about the smell of poo
Just her dream comes true
We should all appreciate toilet cleaners
Just like big Gina.
''Warning! Toilet water in tea. please do not try at home.
could be dangerous and doesn't taste nice''.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Aug.
Sir Homophone came to meet the maid that somehow stayed so slim.
Her feat was to stay chaste to him and yet by his feet be chased by him.
She had recently lost some weight by refusing to partake in evening sup.
It seemed the more that she pared down the more likely to be paired up.
All night the weak maid prayed so meekly for the Knight that she sees.
But the Knight preyed to be made thrice weekly and she at night to seize.
She hoped he would meet and see her and then choose to wed,
But it was the supper meat that saw the sear that he chews instead.
She sewed her dress then pared the wood and the holy altar made,
He sowed distress when he prepared his wood to wholly alter the maid.
“Maid please tend to me now you’ve said you weekly have sordid sex.”
“Knight please you misunderstand I said I weakly have sorted sox.”
She begged, “Please be discreet with what it is that we’ve discussed.”
He shrugged, “You are awfully discrete in what it is that you disgust.”
But love conspired to steal, his heart soared and they were off to wed,
Then lust transpired to steel his hard sword and they were off to bed.
He was happy because of her sighs and she was happy because of his.
This concludes my good Knight tale and all of this good night tail biz.
You read it didn’t you? Shame on you, I had to read it because I wrote it
but you had a choice. Benny Hill would be so proud.
A great Blue Heron
The park behind our house recently redone
And a Great Blue Heron has discovered fish
I saw the heron standing in tattered wings
Like a tattered skirt and tattered grass
I wonder, what scissors have cut them all?
A graceful neck, curved at crest
Ready to catch and strike when hungry
Strolling around the pool to snatch a fish
And sup on the fine supply.
Oh, what riches, thinks the Heron
What a delectable dinner
Among the tall grass, a stop to dine.
Oh, Heron, teach me to stand alone
Without hunchback’s coat on one feet
Show me how to bend my legs
Teach me how to swallow without chewing
Show me how to puff down into a secret
So that only those who know me can find me.
Teach me how to open wings of six feet span
Unexpected and perfect, a crone in the sky.
+++
September 29, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Seventh Place win
Contest : Animal by Regina