Best Tempering Poems
I have lived a thousand lives, died a thousand deaths.
I have loved women unbounded and fathered an army of children.
I have killed and healed, stolen and blessed, fought and fled.
Jew, Christian, Muslim I have been-- Buddhist, Hindu and Jain, too.
I worshiped the sun and Thor, pagan gods galore....
I was atheist, agnostic, Marxist, and often, just indifferent.
I was cruel, I was kind, I was hateful, I was forgiving.
I laid waste to cities and wrote operas and symphonies
and little songs to dance around forever in your head....
I was poet and philanderer, philosopher and philanthropist,
theologian and scientist-- also guard and prisoner, and
many, many times, false lover or the one betrayed....
All my lives were dreams, each slipping away to be forgotten
early in dawn of the next life, none to be recalled until I awaken
in the time beyond time....
"Life offers divine moments that can only be shared with an angel."
~ by poet
Softly, she swaddled me within the warmth of welcoming wings
I shared my shadowed secrets, then she spoke in subdued voice
'Do not dwell in darkness and despair for your sweet soul sings
of sorrow for your sins. Repentance gives you reason to rejoice'
'From the courage of confessing comes clemency of concession
You have found favor with God and garnered His good graces
He has heard your heartfelt words, and my own in intercession
Our Father forgives you, and with empathy, eagerly embraces'
Tenderly, she touched me, tempering the torrent of my tears
Held me close, calmly confiding, 'Your bane of burdens I bear'
When her weeping wet my cheeks, faith freed me from fears
My adoring angel sighed, 'Persevere by praising God in prayer'
Then her golden gossamer wings fluttered their fragile feathers
Graciously given to me was a glorious gift. Solace cut the strings
that kept my suffering soul trussed in tenterhooks and tethers,
for I'd been safely swaddled within an angel's welcoming wings.
December 11, 2021
"A" Forms Contest sponsored by Constance La France
Ah, Wind, we've known each other so long.
While creatures run quickly from your side,
I've tried to find kindness in your song
but your howls become hard to abide.
You loudly roar blowing doors ajar,
trees bent weary by ceaseless pummel.
I hear your rumble, beginning far
announcing yourself, never humble.
Beneath blue skies, a rustle of leaves,
a gentle breeze stirring grains of sand.
Clever Wind sending Zephyr to tease
but we now know the tricks in your hand.
You can charm dust into whirling dance
spinning her round as dust devils fly.
Then do your best to spoil a romance
with your chuckle as they reach the sky.
Unmentionable tantrums and blows,
your foot stamping when you are annoyed.
Leveling towns, do you regret those
heartbreaks caused as you merrily toyed?
Sometimes forlorn, or is that a guise,
when quickly you stop, tempering voice?
is that sadness I see in your eyes?
With flashes of scorn, you make your choice.
April 23, 2023
for "Word Challenge--W Words" poetry contest
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables=9
For you and only you, my love, I’ll wait.
I’ll wait through evening’s dusk to early dawn.
On corners or at stations; by my gate
I’ve waited - and at night with curtains drawn.
The hands of time keep moving, stroke by stroke.
My calendar I’ve marked and then remarked.
What muse of tempering may I invoke
to cool these everlasting flames you’ve sparked?
Please come to me, unholy knight of love!
I cling to threadbare promises you made.
My tarrying I've grown so weary of
while off again you go on some crusade.
Fine gallant you are not, but - oh, perverse!
A heart grown fonder lingering is my curse.
(What I should have written to an old crush of mine
whose modern day crusades consumed his life!)
A small patch of flowers, a mountain top glade
slapped into twirls of magenta by cold rain~
voiceless but pleading for the purity of truth
to be taken by {a} tender into the beating of dawn
In sundream they'll play,black butterly and fawnheart
tempering time untill dusk makes the crows bark,
cackling where was the {us} when living turned to blood
drowned the frolick of every prayer for tomorrow-
was it a chain of slanted decisions,that minced the light
bad luck (as when a dime slides from the ritze to the grate...
maybe we met long ago, when we crawled from the sea
took different directions by the will of a rogue breeze
maybe we had parallel lives?
made from the bones of wild planets of fire
what happens when magenta meets black and blue
[this is a good time to dust of the pallet-start mixing the hues],
what colors do a rabid cyclone leave behind
the texture of twisted stars,
to be swallowed by the devil of devine?
young butterfly remembers the innocense of light,
when moonglow made love to the black lips of night.
'till a pack of knives slashed at its wings
(ta hell with the good fight).
..now it no longer searches for mountain top flowers,
or dreams in pools of magenta-
it lies in the mud juggling broken eggs
upon a pile of old dung-
how in the hell can such a thing... love
again.
but their is a softness buried deep
in this blaze of a runaway train
hop on board if you will
follow the reflection of manogre...
to be cont.
Seeping through families of oaks,
Surrounded by pines, laurels and all…
Gentle leaves, so alive – yes, they breathe,
Silent like the peace I find here,
Enclosed in their embrace,
Soft music of dove and robin, praising,
Ever praising with their easy tweet,
Tempering the woods with their melodies,
So old, yes, so old…
Breathlessly praising,
Stirring the wonder often lying,
Secreted beside cool streams,
Abandoned by moss-grown stones,
Laughing, gurgling, gushing…
With liquid wonder, blessing spirits,
Risking their most intimate beauties,
Lingering in amused giggles,
Calm as the silent grace…
Gentling the wind, the wind’s faint
Struggle to bring with it,
A sense of God’s music, His mystery,
Hesitating to break through,
Intensity, powerful as the cloudless skies,
Yes, those cloudless skies…
Escaping the darkness of a lazy afternoon,
Screaming a warning, rumbles of thunder,
Defeated by the flashes of lightening,
Blazing across the silk sky,
Glancing over the aching trails,
Strewn with dried leaves, maples,
Poplars and oaks, pine needles,
Moments expressed…
Soundless colors, shimmering
On the edge of a prayer,
Mostly peaceful, but ever aware…
God is there – oh, yes, He is there.
Like the wildflowers,
Scattered on the distant dreams,
Unfolding blossoms for the soul,
Flourishing buds,
Crimson and soft, buttery blond,
Violets, wild and willful,
Pondering the sense of joy,
Magnificent…
Breaking through the seas,
Seas of laughing scenes, lonely –
Never lonely in the forest,
Where I go for the stillness, the calm,
The lingering touch of silence,
Blessings from One who knows me,
Knows just what my soul needs…
These forest walks with Him,
Who gives me a reason to believe,
Believe that I can find solace,
In the music of this melodious forest!
youth, where imperfections trip upon each other
and opportunistic peers joyfully celebrate the folly
- glass tree houses be damned...
and - a spun bottle breaks blood brotherhoods
where fragile crevices expose truths and
welcome untested kinships to fill the void.
the leftover baggage - will it be burden or buoyant?
like Scrooge's chains, worked upon - idyllic dreams
dragged into reality.
we're told to pull ourselves together -
while drowning in emotional incontinence
like this stumbling poem, trying to balance
reason ... and sanity
then - tossed to time's tumult,
life's bitter tempering, yet -
gold in our veins
a vessel that can hold
all that is ladled in...
I remember when windchimes nestled in the heart
rainbows soothed the tainted cay of innocents
a golden candle tempering the fang of dark
I prayed, good spirits would always reign.
I remember the day when blackbirds came
in their fiery beaks was an icy-icy rain
smashing every bluebird into bits of clay.
Silence and green-eyed things dominated the days
three decades of moths, chewed the good dream away.
Until I prayed no more.
The epiphanies then came in waves:
That windchimes only spoke
when the wind opened their cage-
Nobody paid attention to the candle
until dusk awakened to swallow the day-
The bluebird isn't really acknowledged
until his omega refrain is taken away-
Though the hands are now bent
the days are often spent,
sifting amidst broken pieces of blue clay.
Nighttime arrives with chilling cries
as the teary-eyed mime tries in vain
to knead the blackbirds into flame.
All poets start somewhere...
good ones never finish –
all poems subject to theme,
mapped or an impulse just to
travel~ wherever...I think we
met somewhere in the
Wherever, years of treasure
found with fond entry and
regress, the tempering of
loving hearts –
best poems nourished by each
ensuing reading, strengthened
by shared affection – freed to
a sea of greater consciousness,
where all verses end up, to float
or sink – a writer's journey of buoyancy and
beached whales –
so, here is another of mine, I turn
loose with sails. May those often tempestuous
winds blow kinder – Asking for graceful gales,
from nets this work remain un-snared –
from shores countless sands, unnamed, by gentle
eddy~ be thou spared!
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
Princes dart to take cups and cups run away very very fast. Fear not a well trodden cat and bear not a bead or a pillow when journeying across the lands. Knock at wooded glades. Taste the dew from a Moulton cup and throw two hundred buds into the sky. This will surely be worthy of classical clapping. Geese attend opera houses and listen very attentively to the performance of heifers and bulls who twirl with arias to thrill the crowds. Organising a creature is not clever. And dusting should only ever be carried out in a mile long queue. It gives great pleasure to greet distinguished guests at a banquet of vegetables. Unseen underneath undergrowth uniquely unified. Tailored not. Trained not. Tempering not. And noted are the teaspoons travelling like nomads over the bridges. Headstone head heading home. Radiantly watching a nine foot mineralised rugby ball smiling on a train. Hahahaha and now a dance for the floors and ceilings. Hahahaha rapidisation raiding radios racing. Hahahaha decentralization decorated dogs. Hexagonal oxen. Xx philosophically z
A slight pause is taken between a thought
and the words that I speak from my heart
for words often rendered in too much haste
are frowned upon with wary looks of distaste
I have to admit that it's a voluntary action
Once my words are out, there's no retraction
Much too easily thoughts flow from my mouth
Things go downhill from there, heading south
Sometimes I don't stop myself right away
then find I'm caught in the middle of a fray
Being brutally honest doesn't always work
when it causes people to think I'm a jerk.
Enlightenment on the issue, I should seek
before I extemporize an ineffectual critique
Tempering my tongue is a work in progress
It still gets me into trouble, I will confess.
I really shouldn't say what comes to my mind
without considering someone may be maligned.
I need to consider how others will be affected,
and that their feelings should be respected.
Poorly worded phrases can destroy one's esteem
and tear apart someone's long awaited dream
Never would I intentionally say something unkind
so, to pause before I speak, I have become resigned.
My thoughts are whispers, merely a breath away
from what I should or perhaps should never say
before my tongue takes wing like a bird in flight
releasing words that could cause grief and smite.
Reflecting before I speak my thoughts out loud
is what I must do. To this I've solemnly avowed.
I will try not to make another emotional outburst
of what I can't take back. I will think about it first.
November 23, 2022
Just before release Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Lessons From The Leaves and The Tree I
( Life's Journey)
Life was beautiful
for all the leaves in the tree
in spring and summer
They flourished and bloomed
under the warm summer sun
and sweetest spring rain
Their color brightened
to a lovely shade of green
that glowed with beauty
Flowering blossoms
from the buds of the fruit tree
brought joy and delight
Little birds would peck
as they sit on the branches
on the lush green leaves
It was the best time
of their lives atop the tree
filled with happiness
But life has seasons
that never stay all the time
they come and they go
Spring and summer passed
autumn came and its cold winds
changing all the leaves
Turning their color
from bright green to brown and red
yellow and orange
Their brightness faded
their loveliness spent and gone
making them pale and weak
How seasons changed them
tempering all their nature
through adversities
Winter will arrive soon
and do her task of sweeping
the bough of the tree
The faded leaves will go
and leave the tree to herself
to make room for spring
When new leaves will grow
to replace those that have gone
in the cold winter
In such a lifetime
they have gone through all seasons
in smooth and rough times
That is how life goes
for all the leaves in the trees
in the cycle of life
This one of fine blonde hair
Briskly passing through this life
A sibling, a daughter, a wonderful wife
Many a new road she would like to pave
Living at times on the crest of a wave
So many lives she would love to touch
Showing her character, caring too much
Tempering herself with neatness and order
But never afraid to cross over a border
The one in charge, the life of the party
Laughter so real, so full and so hearty
Loving her man, this house, that flowing river
She stands strong in the wind, a soul that won't quiver
Note: I wrote this poem back in 1998 to honor my wonderful sister Katherine,
it was #1 of over 6000 poems written written since then, I love you sis!
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
My life has travelled roads less taken,
a tumbleweed, east, west, north and south,
all around the world.
Sprouting, enticing horizons beckoned,
each just as fair, opened to discover
by youthful emancipation from entangled roots.
Never an answer to who my grown up would be,
endless opportunities, challenges and changes,
in effect, constrained ever looking back.
Well along nearly two score and ten later,
sunset in the dwindling distance, I take momentary pause
for a meditative gaze back along the ways.
Lennon said life happens, displaces other plans,
an evolution of maturation from hopes and expectations
to what has been, is, and what is yet to come.
In the distance, an inquisitive, self-assured youth,
unstoppable, for whom failure was alien,
que sera, sera in mien.
In between, the midlife self schooled in life’s reality,
nil tallies begetting pragmatism, tempering intrepidity,
with neither hope nor hopefulness suppressed or quelled.
Today, my senior citizen contemplates its
ageless twenty-something heart and mind,
with as many questions, but fewer answers than they had.
There is no sigh, no lamentation, no regret
as I turn to continue along the current byway,
trusting that I have somehow made a difference.
© Copyright J. Nicholas De Bonis, 2015. All rights reserved.