Best Tallied Poems
The wind is in the west
and the moon large and low,
the tapered horizon aglow
with the recesses of a withered day;
How symphonic a minstrel display,
tallied up like gathered notes to eve's call,
and the swooning lake ----
How the waves chase the eastern fringes of the bay,
they ask not why they go this way
(or that)
yet merely harken God's call
as they persist their way,
fain without promise.....
And cresting my observations,
as if in some pantomime-movie play ----
I mused:
Where is the Projector?
The white horse has been put out to pasture
The shining armor rusts on the cellar floor
You take off your dress; say you’re a damsel in distress.
You’re a little late babe, I don’t slay dragons anymore.
Yeah I can still swing my sword as good as ever
But, the fighting and the knighting became such a bore
Every princess that I find keeps changing her fickle mind
So I quit the rescue business; slaying dragon's not my chore.
Many a young maiden I have saved in bygone days
Waged battles that left me bruised and battered and sore
To watch them slither like a lizard into the arms of another evil wizard
Seems the ogres, trolls and goblins won when I tallied the final score.
So save the pensive cries for help, they only fall upon deaf ears
The promises of rich and lush rewards, I don’t listen to like I did before
You may find this news alarming but, I ain’t no dang Prince Charming
Find some other sucker to save you ‘cause I don’t slay dragons anymore.
How easy it is to get wrapped up
In our own little universe
The cocoon of the daily grind
Of going about our business
Trying to protect our turf
‘Cause we’re more fragile than we let on
We live in fear that aggressors surround us
Propelling us to not forget and not forgive
Yet when we step back and
Focus on the meaning of our life
On the direction we want to take
And the legacy we’ll leave behind
We do want to be kinder and
Contribute to a better world
Not just for us but for mankind
In the end we’ll face our Maker
Standing alone solely accountable
For our deeds and misdeeds
Responsible for our own journey
For how we cultivated our heart
And the goodwill we did impart
When tallied will we have done enough
Or will we be asking for forgiveness
For barely meeting a passing grade
With this in mind and while it’s not too late
Let’s all take stock of what’s in our heart
All start practicing forgiveness
And letting go of the past as we realize
To forgive is to set ourselves free
AP: 2nd place 2026, 3rd place 2025
Submitted on November 3, 2018 for contest SOMEONE FORGIVEN YOU: WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU'VE FORGIVEN DRAMATIC VERSE sponsored by JAMES EDWARD LEE SR - RANKED 4TH
In 2028, the votes were tallied
and the winner announced.
The loser had been trounced
by a good woman of the people.
Soon, epaulets came into her office
and other shiny suits so fine
as the new President's eyes did shine
in warm greeting.
These men quickly cut her smile
telling her how the world was to be
for the power was not hers, you see.
She was their marionette.
They would pull the strings
as they had for many, many years
manipulating human fears
throughout the world.
Many more were hidden
never in the public view
in fact, the President never knew
the extent of their realm.
So she sat at her desk
highly crowned and ordained
never showing the disdain
she felt from her lofty precipice.
the heart is always right
unless this time it’s wrong
and this time is not like all the others
this game he must not lose
too much at risk
no room for error
is it worth the risk
has he hit the point of no return
is it really worth the venture
if it’s a go
execution must be meticulous
indeed the stakes are high
this gamble must be calculated
pros and cons be tallied
well thought through in every detail
arsenal of charm and tactics
gone out on a limb
a joyride down a slippery slope
jeopardizing the crown
winner take all
in pursuit of the gauntlet
ripple effect of a backlash
a chain reaction
hanging in the balance
this sort of entanglement
not for the foolhardy
it’s no sitcom for buffoons
at the slightest hiccup
fallout could be disastrous
will he roll the dice
at what point does
temptation become obsession
and seriously cloud all judgment
precarious and unpredictable
impetuous and highly flammable
the repercussions for frivolity
the high cost of capricious reverie
its longterm aftermath
risky business
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~CITYLIGHTS~ 2021
Read on air by invitation ~ August 13, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on August 2, 2021 for A BRIAN STRAND YOUR CHOICE POETRY contest sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
down the path of broken promises
up the stream’s misguided dreams
shoulders burdened crushed and rounded
by all accounts tallied and squared off
countless breaths and tears held back
while chilling fears explode unhinged
tossed plans and schemes to wispy clouds
deep in marshlands of futility hope lies
armsful of useless forgotten treasure
fistsful of dust cast out to all four winds
tomorrow’s sunrise stretching
over stray clearings of blue skies
but tonight under the canopy of stars
love no longer will be denied
Read on air by invitation ~ April 9, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 2nd place 2021
POTD - March 30, 2021
Submitted on March 28, 2021 for contest PHOENIX RISING sponsored by UNSEEKING SEEKER - RANKED 4TH
He's our savior
a man of utmost principals
He stands up against the deep state
and speaks his mind concisely
But he has faltered
and hoarded sensitive information
Now silver bars may bind his home
for several years to come
What can we do to help
how can we save the man we love
There may be no protection against his crimes
he tallied them up so much
All we can do is watch
Watch as a giant falls
Sitting next to me, you turn pages of our album
Unfolding sweet memories, treasured longingly,
Revealing verses of love in ballad of setting sun
Glittering autumn’s twilight on golden foothills
As blazing meadows inflame yearnings of visions
Beckoning us to horizon’s gamboge ebullience.
You remind me how we snuggled in its essence
When evening enchanted moonlit mountains
Stealing zealous glance of seductive passions
As tenor of desires rustled in crimson vistas
And smitten eyes gleamed in ruby winds of fall
Beneath millions of stars glinting heavens above.
Slowly you uncover amour of lingering dreams
Recalling fondly when we planted our seedlings
Watching them grow into vibrant blossoming trees
As spring of our lives bloomed scented flowers
And burgeoning seasons tallied passage of time
Reminiscing nostalgically in allure of bygone era.
Faded are the photos we peruse through now,
Amid falling leaves drifting on wings of eventide;
Each floating leaf evokes moment from the past
Inscribing its imprints upon autumnal canvas
As resplendent panorama revels our happy hearts
Swaying rhythms of night in your romantic aura.
August 1, 2020
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 20 – Free Verse 3 – Poetry Contest
Title chosen: Amid Falling Leaves
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
As summer’s hope dreamt it had caught him,
days tallied boardwalk planks one by one.
Candles became golden skies burned dim
beyond evening’s watery sun.
How I tried to help you with my friend,
but she had built a sandcastle there.
Only time and advice left to lend
on a beach came that one morning’s glare.
Another wound to scar that bled youth,
ran over before it had begun.
By the grains of chance and a tanned truth,
tides washed another watery sun.
11.25.15
When all the smoke has cleared on battles either lost or won,
the downed and damned and damaged tallied in the aftermath,
as ever, Guilt turns to Remorse when all is said and done
and leaves Regret to walk alone down consequences path.
================
July 2015
Her return
Written: by Tom Wright
She was like "Ghost Smoke"
emerging from ashes past;
Today's inner likeness,
now sequestered,
from days remembered;
Absented days,
I tallied as grains of sand,
and earlier thoughts of her,
though too few to catalog,
I occasionally recall;
In my eyes,
her new inner beauty makes liars,
of those who proclaim that
"Beauty is only skin deep"
For God,
has shined His light into her heart,
and she is changed.
this epistle per mine choice of heir apparent presidential throne
composed from one liberal minded non-conformist rolling stone
prompted awareness that one voice can affect which contestant will win
and occupy the white house after the votes get tallied from political spin
aware thy missive from an anonymous fellow and a self anointed scribe
will be carefully screened no matter opinion already cast with nada bribe
personal opinion of this sole american male of two score and nine years
that barack obama possesses that je ne sais quois diplomatic state craft
despite disparaging broadside starring paris hilton plus britney spears
the land of lincoln candidate exemplifies (to myself) a charismatic charm
in tandem with a relaxed persona and gait akin per a commoner on a farm
that nonchalant easy going affinity speaks nonverbal volumes to this chap
cringes when espying or hearing from opposing challenger whose lips flap
meaning john mccain whose hidden motives and agenda include his trap
to plant seeds of doubt per un-decided electorate causing lead to get a zap
unknown how trials and tribulations rival democratic senator from Illinois
will weather local nor global challenges and said solution he might employ
i opt for said captain to steer ship of state and exclaim to drop anchor ahoy
if via cosmic divine intercession the galloping newcomer in this horse race
ushering biracial as nominal winner televisions would show a beaming face
the political ramifications analogous to betting square outcome on this ace
i gently beg, decry, fulminate counter attack advertisements fast and quick
against those subliminal sly messages that at first blush appear airily slick
and please reach deep in that magic bag resorting to retaliatory artful trick
lest burning from the madding crowd extinguished like jack’s candle wick!
The air on board was foul and putrid.
Chained together at the ankle in
coffles, evil dragged me and others
with scabbed lips on board.
Humiliated under the sun, we were
stripped naked and examined from
head to toe and put in quarters to
be raped.
My senses dulled from abuse, bouts
of hunger with nausea, constipation
and headaches made me sick.
The hallucinations from the forlorn
distance sent shivers down my spine
as lulling whispers of shackles
tormented me.
The anchor was set up, huge sails
caused the ship to fly amidst ominous
looming dark clouds.
Thunder rumbled like a hungry monster.
Cold breeze swept across the ship as i
lay numb from the pain for months.
Heavy cowhide descended on my
shrinking flesh and manacled limbs.
I grieved yesterday’s anguish as the
sacred zeal in my bosom glowed
preceding with my woes.
A raised wooden stage welcomed
me ashore.
Naked, exposed to the sun’s piercing
beam, bids were tallied carefully.
Negotiations were made, i now
belonged to “massa”.
Working the heat in the plantations
under harsh conditions, my back ached
and wounds from the whipping from the
overseer hurt – my fingers bled from
picking cotton.
Mentally subdued, i hid behind religion’s
soothing balm.
My mind was no longer my own, this body
belonged to “massa”.
I constantly pranced in the hallowed night,
lamenting a hopeless future for my child-
humming a languid song in hope that my
ancestors might hear my plight.
I raised my head to the sky, and envisioned
freedom’s caress under a constellation.
They
sat on the
back porch, in
crates, destined for
market. Grandmother
carefully hand-washed &
dried each egg. When she
had tallied several dozen,
they were taken to the store
in town, which also passed
as gas station & post office.
For her, it was a bit more
than a trip to sell eggs;
it was a time to visit,
gossip & perhaps
choose a new
broom.
Before love ever after never seemed to matter.
Lust followed by lust
secrets grew in the pasture.
The Fortnight turned into a month as days tallied to thirty.
A knight yearning and dreaming of the princess so worthy.
It seems the lost art of chivalry is lost within all of humanity.
Shall we take our two bodies and make an equation,
or engage in deep conversation, grow love and show patience.
Despite the constant vulgarity involved with the act of persuasion,
Sex may cover the wounds, but the heart remains vacant.