Best Symbolism Poems
A diamond in the Frost ... I am Emily, gazing through the years,
Like Poe from rancid taste and dark smoke shadows
Florescent waste escaping a decrepit yet dulcet wilderness
Backward capabilities frontal verse, I am her the almighty universe
Ascending from yesterday's fall, literally and visibly
Swore to be everything you loathe most - a felicity of illusions
You will dream of me, a parasite you can't get rid of
Ripped open by paper and pen, rising to a new destination
A Destroyer begging to be free in search of a tender rhapsody
Blind by mediocre poets who tend a false nebulous star
No longer, will I impart into defeat - give in to trophy trust
The time of age, my allies whom I call my friends
You are more than words on any God-Given-Day
To those unworthy of me, can march away from my parade
Crying wolves, backstabbing clones, long gone stones
Each file is forgiven & forgotten, however, still trespassing
Under a microscope, some remain to be a decade of lost words
Grazing a forest-grown for old news dripping water on my belly
No matter, after starvation, I found my way back to the same horizon
Finding time and space among a new docile nation
A buried treasure finding face among a fresh myriad generation
With anchors up, I'm headed full force, against every secret endorsed
I am the one you should not fear, I relish this wonderful community
I am she mounted above all years worn rising like a newborn sword
Forged by the earth summon by the pirate's moon political creed
Ascending to a sweet ascension with the best kind of immunity
With paper and pen, I sit to please and prosper my poetry need
To you I leave --- Echoes of snow, numbing you with a poetic soul
Love The Poet Destroyer
The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost
Soldiers come in a little close
Crawling, missing limbs,
Twisted nightmare with no ending
Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky
Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face
Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation,
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!
By: PD
O, weeping willow shed your sorrow
on whispering breeze to soothe your grief
within whose breath's a healing yarrow
to whisk away tears upon your leaf.
Sweet rustling zephyr embraced in sway
as misty-eyes sigh mournful wind-song,
a wistful heart in bosom ballet
with shadows dancing as currents throng.
Weep not, soulful shimmer 'neath sun’s gold
for chartreuse vines fly the west wind's bend,
enlightenment seeps in roots to hold
as yarrow's pink kisses blown to mend.
Susan Ashley
August 13, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 1
Sponsor: Mark Toney
from beyond his
vibrant palette
that bore all his
lifelong scars
is what I see
beneath his sky
and myriad
of stars
a scene of shades
and silhouettes
formed by the
yellow light
that hints at
The Last Supper
at that café
in the night?
RETREAT TO HEED OUR HONEST DEEDS
Two old oak trees weathered by winds and rain
with fallen leaves, branches and toughened bark
to shield a core of grandeur, and sustain
the wisdom borne to see the light from dark.
Two noble men aware of twilight time
both face evil world with courage and grace
Love and Nature gifts each, a life sublime
all standing with courage none can erase.
Each rooted within mother earth's great fold
weathering this world's darkest raging storms
images show lives lived regally and bold
tho' existing in weakened earthen forms.
With words of wisdom written in our seeds
we seek retreat to heed our honest deeds.
22nd June, 2018
T.J Grén & Robert Lindley
The Voice…
On a dark night that was darker than my pain,
nothing was there for me except to complain.
I hid myself in the emptiness of bed.
Nothing was there except loneliness instead.
I heard a sound that was not like any sound.
Joyously called my name, sought me, and then found.
He told me to get up, wake up look at dawn.
The darkness of the night soon will be all gone.
The voice told me that morning dawn, full of light;
has the power to wash darkness from its night.
The voice asked me about the days of my youth.
That I am old and grey, with forgotten truth.
I asked him that who are you, and what are you?
I don't know you, didn’t see you passing through.
Who are you that suddenly came to my room?
Aren’t you God, and I am, meeting my doom?
I called your name many times when I was young.
I prayed your name day and night with broken tongue.
Now, you are calling my name in this day and age;
not worth talking to you; anger creates rage.
I am too old, and I had too many sins,
Living is the only game that nobody wins.
Go and bother another soul beside me,
I am tired of you; you shall never be.
The voice told me that I was out of my mind.
And I have been beguiled, as though I am blind.
He told me that he was with me the whole time.
He let me to fly in this paradigm.
He told me that he is the end of a start.
He is the love that cries from an aching heart.
He told me that he is water in the spring.
He is those nightingales who so blithely sing.
He told me that he is bottom, and he’s up.
He is grapes, and he is wine in the same cup.
He told me that he gave feathers for a flight.
He made it so the sun shall set within night.
I asked him if I could see him with my eyes,
I will be like the moon, lighting up the skies.
That I looked for any sign to believe him,
with just all promises, dreams maybe all grim.
He told me to wake up, open up my eyes,
and see what is to see, a blessing in disguise.
I did open my eyes saw a glowing bright,
like a drifting shadow, in an ocean of light.
I saw my son saying, "Wake up! Wake up! dad",
What’s the matter with you? Are you going mad?
5/14/16 Haloo
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
where a heart is free and the sky is wide
where time is slow like a rivers flow
and the crow that flies is your only guide
In orchards wild and row upon row
the pomegranates grow in the countryside.
Such dreams of peace relieve the crush
And guide the sweep of the painter's brush.
Outside the city where the four winds blow
Prolific with seeds the pomegranates grow
And when in winter all covered in snow
the promise of spring and summer bestow
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow
I wait with the wisdom inside that I know
That seasons may come, or seasons may go
And the winds of change may toss us and blow
But in our hearts is a place we may go
Outside the city where pomegranates grow
First Line Prompt
Julia Ward
N/ A’d
The hat hangs on the wall,
not as a relic,
but as a witness—
to mornings that began before the sun
had made up its mind,
to arguments with weather
and the quiet pacts signed in sweat.
Below, the boots—
faded, cracked, obedient,
still loyal to the shape of a man
who walked with purpose,
even when purpose was
just getting through the day.
They are not symbols,
though we make them so.
They are not sacred,
though we treat them gently,
as if disturbing them
might sever the bond
that holds the past
to the present.
And yet—
the window is open.
The light is not wistful,
but new.
The boots do not mourn.
The hat does not sag.
They wait,
as all things wait
for the next hand,
the next step,
the next story
to begin.
Breaking Bad
Criminals
dance with slum lords
they shed fake tears
victims they shout
from Ivory towers
Mock and attack
they of dark cloth and deceit
possesses no real God
they whoreship only their prey
living by night not day
Some even screech praise untowards
sick is the mind who follows
dead morals and upended graves
they really are the bully's slaves
Yet their churches pew is full
Criminals all
singing love songs
sewing fear and anger
no wonder God got fed up
evicting them one and all
He used to be three dimensional
and then he became two
I know it seems far fetched
But I’m telling you it’s true
In two dimensions
he could still depict three
If people didn’t look to closely
They’d believe what they’d see
His paper thin personality
once colourful and cool
Gradually became faded
no longer able to fool
Winds of change kept blowing
Two dimensions turned into one
Without any depth there
one was destined to be none
Not a soul remembers him
He simply faded away
A whisper from yesterday
Who had nothing real to say
Just An Old Poet, Holding On Until I Die
I write verse, live in the moment and score the past
oft revealing naked truths that set some aghast,
yet with rhyme and reason, I ink stain each white page,
some even tried to knock me off the poet's stage.
Tho' pen, paper and I felt no panicking fear
my course was set, but it was not always so clear,
wrote furiously for a time, to make my mark,
world brutally beat me, prospects were very stark.
As time flowed on by, and with wisdom slowly gained
inking pages, I saw they were not so badly stained,
life had given perspective and a renewed lease
although not Jason, I had found my golden fleece.
Just an old poet, holding on until I die
poetry is my treasure, do not ask me why!
Sonnet: 6-14-2018
To live forever like the phoenix;
To re-taste the process of birth;
From the cleansing flames, to rise
Knowing death is no end;
An eternal soul
On a journey
May just find
Supreme
Bliss.
Caustic memories dissolve on my tongue
Lingering tastes of battery acid and nicotine
Cause me to choke on putrid saliva.
Staring at melting walls, clocks tick in unison.
Distorted birdsong hums outside of jagged windows
Under the warped sun, an unrepentant landscape blurs.
Freshly budding peonies liquefy;
Veils thin, evaporating the delusion of reality.
Why must I mould to the edges at your bidding,
Contort to the point of my own dysfunction?
For such fleeting worship, this devastation lingers -
Devours and disconnects my inner workings.
I lie highlighted in shadow, a beacon of quiet distress;
A dislodged scapula desperate to be labelled angelic.
Grounded, wingless, and forever out of time -
Wearing the last face you cared for as a comforter.
Neon venom warming twisted arteries,
Sinister patches stitched upon a breaking back.
A narcissist's crown digging into my head
Like rusted nails plunged into worm-infested wood—
Permanent disconnection, frayed cerebral cortex.
Blurred vision obscures insidious figures hiding in hushed corners,
Whispering in Babylonian tongue. Hallucinatory illusions haunt
What was a once-pristine sanctuary,
Now morphing into a surrealistic asylum.
Revelation exists above shadow in temporal machination,
I'm consciousness not yet swept up with sand;
Closed eyes cleanse my corneas - I rest in a balm of clarity.
Your power superficial, a cankerous cataract peeled clean off.
It is you who is bereft, washed up with the shell you created.
All the walls of your empty room fallen flat,
As I unfurl in the mirror beyond the shoreline,
I realise - it was never me you couldn't stomach.
Sipping the
Poisoned, dark
Inky medicine..
I am Remiscent of a
strange Alchemy
silently lulLing the
unsuspecting Lovers
surreptitiously Into the twisty,
snakey, turNy underworld of
Gnarly trees and
rootS that writhe to
triP the unwary heart.
a pastIche of memory that
Reminds of
Alluring all
the Lost souls
sLowly
Into the
Nocturnal
Gaze of the
omniScient
ever Present,
ever lovIng
fatheR and creator
of All things;
indeLible,
everLasting,
consIstently
eNgaged for
Goodness
Amid the white patches of that mauve gracious dusk,
I bask in an awaited dawn since I found myself from a lost world
to win over my innermost conflicts at last,
I remember the spirit that rejoiced my tattered hopes...
~~~~~~My Phoenix spirit guides me in~~~~~
That mighty river~~
which flowed through rapids and ravines and
streams that mingled into it or crossed a path just once,
I remember the light which kept me sane...
The incessant cycle~~
of nights and days,
inconspicuous, anticipated, enchanting
I remember hushed whispers transforming into soothing lullabies..
That steady rock~~
which stands for ages facing all the odds
to wait for a pleasant morning,
I remember how it revived the withering moss...
That drop of rain~~
which poured to rejuvenate life in grief,
I remember how it soaked parched Earth in colors...
That winter breeze~~
accompanied by frost, undesired yet gleaming with delight,
I remember the wings that made it soar in the sky..
That lost alley in the woods~~
which guided voyagers even when nobody liked to walk upon it,
I remember the fire that guided a laid path...
That oak tree~~
which grew from a sapling when storms tried to uproot it,
I remember the courage that kept it upright...
The warrior who never gave up~~
despite the battles lost in the journey,
I remember the ashes that built her again...
The woman who found a life~~
growing from a naive girl who learnt from her mistakes,
I remember the dreams that revealed the mystery of love....
A light of faith, a ray of hope,
A drop of elixir, a soothing breeze
The fire that builds from ashes to rebirth
over lands to fly upon and rise
It guides me, lights me, loves me
While I rise to revive my hopes
I see a Phoenix engulfing my spirit.
May 26, 2020
Spirit Animal Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance(Dear Heart)
Winner: First Place