Best Tented Poems
The golden sun of yesterday
played out in fields of gold
inside the tarping memory of father, handling LIFE
the joyful whistles that he fluted pruned alongside vines
and mothers pumping heart of song lauding in
loud and STRONG
No treason yet no aging bridge no tented hope
just morning glories,
a baby breath away from here
and all the sunlight we'd afford
inside a little yard of sweet explore,
I see,
the lonely eyes of a young girl longing for a friend
a hand held jar for fireflies or butterflies in toe
Pebbles rolled beneath unpaved paths as
dear together raw as butterflies we scabbed our knees
with swivel, in the morning breeze
Like BUTTERFLIES preluding dawn with shiant colors bold,
the summer sun of yesterday played out in fields of gold;
Inside my hiding place a youthful carefree life
still lingers in my heart's enfold,
without the memory, of growing old.
Jan 19, 2019
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Contest: Free Verse Style Only
Bloodthirsty men in black
God is great they chant
As they discharge a barrage
Of bullets from a mounted mobile gun
This round they’ve won it seems
Another dad has died
Another mum has cried
Children leave their games to run for cover
In abandoned homes and holes in the ground
Bullets blast apart families who flee to tented towns
Far away war-mongering men in suits
Gather in their noble quest to start another war
Greedy for gain
Their efforts attain only hatred and revenge
They fight a distant war
Where talk is cheap
They’ll send a thousand jets a hundred times
To drop a million bombs
They’ll teach others the art of war
And drones will do their dirty work
The trail through the woods seemed all the heartening
as trees that tented crossed unto their side.
Their light seen glowing off them in an ora
to the life felt growing deepening inside.
For the trail went on as long into the hour
where the ground seemed lifting up unto the heart.
while it's fragrance was a stronger smell of flowers
and the air was all of pollen to the art.
When in place to feel belonging to it all
just ahead of and behind it in good time.
Where your comfort is less longing there to be
and your thoughts are moving all along in rhyme.
Underneath the light of the full moon, a she-creature
Prowls through the thickets wild.
Stalking quietly waiting for the canvas city to
Slumber into a lazy sleep, ever closer silent sleek black
Paws sneak forward ready to draw its vengeance.
She is the curse of the gypsies, made from the
Blood of a crimson star, which split apart and fell
To earth below.
Two small shards burnt through the forest canopy,
And cut deeply into the earth's soil itself.
Creations ground zero, for rebirth leaving behind
Two lunar figures, one of light, the other as
Dark as pitch, identical twins of a solar eclipse.
Spin did the wheels of the gypsy’s caravan, stopping nearby,
Finding these orphan’s of the skies, they became
Foundling's of the nomad’s tribe.
Oh beauty of the heavens did glow in the light
Of the bright child, as darkness’s black emptiness,
So burned within her ebony sister kindred.
These solar babies grew in power year by year,
Until thirteen summers and nights had passed by,
One day a great storm came to the tented world
Of the gypsies, flashing thunder and lightning,
Burned and tore at the traveling village.
The dark child crouched in shadows corner,
But the child of light emerged willing to sacrifice
Her life for those whom had saved hers.
Ascending upwards to appease the heavens
Itself the storm God, welcomed and excepted
This child of lights sacrifice.
But the child of darkness was angered, and
Took her revenge on the gypsies, vowing to
Leave none alive.
So she follows them, stalking where ever their
Wheels cut into the damp soil, this is the curse
Of the gypsies.
So these nomads must keep moving always,
But on this night many souls shall know pure
Terror.
For through the thickets under bush,
She waits for the canvas town to sleep, then
Will strike, to satisfy the aching within her blackened heart.
By tooth and claw strike, to be illuminated by
The beautiful face of her sister twin, whom
Weeps amongst the heavens above,
In sorrow for those she herself loved so
Much, are killed, by the darkness of her
Own sister kindred.,
Whom roars with fiendish delight, at her victims
Pain, the black jaguar a lost child of a fallen star.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The shifting of many corporeal hands move across this dead cell,
A vacuums vortex, a psychic sponge, charging this battery of
Energy called the spirit board.
Paranormal phenomenon striking plate to enter realities plane
Of existence, for the ethereal challenged in crisis, seeking the
Threshold for spontaneous release, unto our spiritual realm.
Witchery’s board of trickery left in a polarized stance it
So entices the living with its tempting whispering of lies,
Incantations gate keepers wait on the other side of evils
Door way.
Memorizing the human sensory functions into a false
Sense of harmless mystery of the unexplained, it lures
These victims ever closer to weaving its spell of the demonic.
These capture being lost unto the hypnotic effects are
Transfixed unable to hit their override switch that controls
Their mental powers of persuasion, disabled is there strength
Of will power, they belong to the Ouija now.
Clasping do all for sides of the curtain of reality, times
Displacement begins in earnest, without hesitations
Momentary loll this dead cell bursts to life.
Black magic key has been inserted within the wooden
Door way’s heart and soul, a bizarre power bank draws
Forth the energy of the spiritual lost, swinging hells
Kept wide open.
The pancetta spins out of control, smashing against
The barriers of humanity, darkened ebony light shines
Through this doorway of evil and the flickering candle
Turns to a shades greenish blue wavering in the odious
Breeze.
The voice of a thousand screams echo in sheer delight,
We have been freed at last, broken is the trance, the boards
Hypnotic effects are dashed by the light of the dawn.
Dazed in bewilderment the voyeurs are chilled to their
Very inward bones, shaking, staring in awes amazement,
Wondering if these events really happened at all.
Then within these tented walls a voice responds to their
Questioning, laughing, as if a jackal at a fresh kill site!
Foolish mortals you know not what you have done, this
Night, but I promise thee this, laughing once again,
In a demonic under tone, none shall leave this domicile
Alive.
The entry doors lock without the human touch, the
Curtain windows pull closed, a momentary stilled
Scream, then all is silent, what remains is left up
To my readers to visualize, as the final candle
Blows out!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Five ducklings feeding
The back of the camper bus
proudly sported the family
seven yellow stickers ducks
five little ducklings in a line
feeding on life presented to
the world growth sustenance
nourishment and meaning
For every fellow traveller
to ponder smile anticipate
what little team was to alight
at temporary destinations
sheltered tented playgrounds
swings and roundabouts
cul-de-sacs and traffic lights
To get all ducks into a row
once they emerged enriched
our little feeding station
food bank vital well and
fields of plenty needed
diverse and un-divided
attention chaos letting go
Meal times at times with rubber
ducks in bathtubs burping
passing winds of change
incorporating kilojoules
compassion love and swirling
compromise uncertain certainty
floated in the ocean of life
yet to be swum and dived in
with the buoyancy of living
Little duckling was still small
and sat beside as older
sister eager helper supervisor
when our triplet power three
in one as courtesy of nature
and individual little mouths
to feed lay on their backs
on sleeping bags as wonderment
in waiting for the spoon with
apple mush and cinnamon
to take its turn to reach their gums
To complete the pentagon
of childish folly serious fun
and exploration another little duckling
observed from inside womb in
its fertile spring to yet conjoin the river
contemplated when and where
to splash out into beauty question marks
and tribulations sparkling brotherhood
and food for life and pleasure
whirlpools cascades and little ripples
The spoon went one to one
and to another next to here and
there forward backward and beyond
my wildest expectations of what food
and feeding holding precious gifts
in hand released from nature
into nature ingesting measured
unimaginable and definite provision
nurtures nourishes what was what is
The birds have flown the nest
they feed and feed me just the same
and it is not just those trivial stickers
sign posts on the buzling bus
and more than ever and for
every one who wants to see the
picture depiction metaphor
the unsurpassed experience
which reminds me of simplicity of
gratitude and feeling warm inside
24th May 2016
The Evangelist
There comes a man, more cursed than not
Spiritually guided, or so he must be
To remind the children of things they forgot
Of the price of salvation and eternity
With the staff of moses he prods their coals
Embers of a fire that’s grown cold
A raging flame that had filled their souls
Like sheep scattered, gone from the fold
Through the dark with a light so bright
He seeks these lambs that lose their way
To his tented shelter, out of the night
They come together to kneel and pray
As some stand back, others draw near
With respect for the feeling about to come
To some it’s love, but to others it’s fear
For they all know where it’s from
Softly at first it starts to move
From person to person it begins to flow
With a shout or cry, tongues do prove
That a heavenly presence runs the show
As stiffened necks begin to bow
As stony hearts start to crumble
The spirit teaches, for it knows how
That when at first we learn to be humble
When the chains of pride are broken
And the yoke of bondage cast away
A comforting spirit of tongues is spoken
With unknown words you will say
For those that are standing near and about
For them that must have their sign
For those that are weak or of doubt
An unexcelled joy they will find
When on this narrow path they go
Hand in hand with the holy one
With the sword of truth to slay our foe
Power given through gods only son
These gifts of the spirit are very real
Tools from the carpenter that he gave
A mystery to most, but he does reveal
There every use for this world to save
So comes this man of no special breed
Chosen of god to spread his flame
A gift to his children to fill a need
For after the fire……nothings the same
MOMBASA
Full moon uneasiness
Veranda dining, seven course style,
One day after my thirty sixth birthday,
I dine alone, in a poem.
Waiting for the Moon to pass to wane
and contemplate for Zanzibar, in vain. . .
MARATHON
Leawa Downs Marathon
Elevation 6000ft.
Elephants graze in the foreground
Campers camp, Samburu chant
Hyena’s WHoop Whoop whoop
5 A.M. Army alarm wake-up
The brown dust rises
and runners move in
Fluid motion
In the African Day
Building a Country Together
Blowing in the wind . . .
MASI MARA
Descending into the Rift Valley
Baby nephew Dylan sings along
to the Beatles. Masi heard their cattle in
Red blankets and colored beads.
Sitting under the tree of knowledge,
Different universes under one sky.
MASI RAIN
The pounding rain of the Mara
Post safari, I sit in my tented camp
Five Star style and naked.
Rain Dancing on canvas:
Rain Song of Hyena Laughing,
Hippo bellowing,
The baritone of the Wildebeest,
The tree Frogs low hiccup.
I will shower in the hot rainwater
for eternity
Sit on the Queen bed of honeymooners
And wish you were here.
Whoever you are. . .
Reborn, a Christian fallacy
dreams that have haunted me
left handed, what a shame
someone has to bear the blame
a teddy bear that never speaks
guards the child from attic squeaks
goulish figures of a mothers glow
a fallen angel I never did know
applesauce and mustard bread
free cheese, the government said
mice dined, making it swiss
tasty morsels of sweet bliss
the susquehanna, we dove in
reliving Huckleberry Finn
pirates of pennies, poor as hell
rich in imagination, an everflowing well
milk crated wagons, with skate wheels
coats of reds, and hubbed teals
discarded paint, the color of choice
a smooth ride with a rugged voice
raiding gardens, tomato fights
the guilty exposed, under the lights
pasted innocent faces shook with fear
only to plot again the following year
camping trips in mountains so vast
became tented bedrooms shadows cast
but the stories told, will remain history
because for many of us, that was family
and those were the days...............
Zoom meetings can be educational
giving you the chance to
meet people with exceptional
verses like you
Each person takes their time to read aloud
words written from their heart
enraptured in a tented shroud
steeped in the art
The poetics of your soul soon take aim
and give the reader joy
it may not bring you sudden fame
but you'll enjoy
the company of those who love like you
the gentle words that cling
like vines upon your soul's sinew
you link, they bring....
Sponsor Constance La France
Contest Name Writing Challenge -
December 28, 2022.
I set out on a long journey by train
That spans from end to end
Out through the window flashed past
Assorted scenes one by one
Sky scrapers and mud hovels,
Steaming cities and peaceful hamlets,
Row upon row of maize and wheat,
Bent down under the weight of grain
Cars gliding along crowded streets,
Children school bound in crisp uniforms
Cattle grazing on distant hills,
Cadets on parade beside their tented camps
Smoke coiling up from tall chimneys,
Sizzling cascades from the heights
Swirling streams and glistening rivulets,
Silky meadows and tall mounts
Disposed not to enjoy the scenes,
My mind moored to the final halt
Saw nothing before, but the destination
My fellow travelers – a flaunting menagerie,
Communed with few, connected to none
At every halt, some exited out
And strangers came in to fill the space
But all to myself- my eyes far set
Damning the distance, I waited on and on-
A wretched lone traveler, like a sailor lost in the sea,
Restless I was to reach the shore,
My ears agog to shouts of welcome
My body eager for the warm embrace
I paced the aisles and counted the miles,
Impatient and irate, I grew
I dreamt, my life - a jig saw puzzle,
The pieces neatly fitting together
On arrival after a tedious trip
Once and for all, at my terminus
With my gaze fixed beyond the horizon,
Caring not to see what lies before
I continue to travel miles on end
To a place that outdistances me ever!
March.21. 2022
Form J- Just Write Me a New Poem
Sponsor- Constance La France
Pile drivers have replaced gandy dancers
And Mayflower trucks the circus, open-cage parades
Horse drawn down Main Street U.S.A.,
But overnight canvas bosses still command
Roust abouts to raise big top sails,
Over decks of prairie dogs and tumbleweeds.
There are gaudily painted juggernaut ride machines.
Smells of grease, heated white from oozing knuckle joints,
Calliopian music and rounds of happy screams.
A carney operator offers two a Scrambler car,
Teases riders with the tip of his bitten off cigar
A flick on your nose and ash that crashes to the circus grounds.
Jukebox music by Wurlitzer gets tinny with distance
On both sides of musty tented, kid show exhibitions
Mushrooming quiet translucent, sideshow shadow lands.
One sign says:
A WOMAN’S LIVING HEAD!
And inside there is a severed head up on a tabletop.
She answers questions easily, smiles and winks.
A kid shill says she’s doubled up
Inside a box affixed with mirrors.
Our cheeks redden more for her
Than the fact that we are led astray ourselves.
We leave to let more unenlightened in.
That day, I left forever past free throws
To win erstwhile girlfriends
By shooting hoops too narrow to be made. (4/4/21)
There’s no room for you here
Beneath my crisp white scallop shell.
Its cotton creases cling too close
And all the space is filled with me
My ballooning calves spread to the edges
And muffin tops warmly expanding to meet eternity
No, you can’t be here (Even if you wanted to be)
Even the space
Tented from my breasts to my waist
Is filled with softly groping shadows (Where you will never be)
Torrential rain
stabs at the ground as
I stand here still wearing shock
like a soldier in
war torn uniform
So recent was
the surgery that
removed
your lifeless body from mine
leaving me newly
without you
My wound fresh
my mind dazed
from blood soaking battle
I hear the Rabbi speaking
and see your
little
pine
coffin
as it is lowered
into the dirt
I know
so
well
your soul
that left
and
your
body
within it
wearing a tiny shirt
an embroidered teddy bear
sewn on the front
I dig the silver shovel
into the earth and lift
it toward
your resting place
I toss
the cold
damp
earth
gently
and as it lands
I lean forward
for a last
sight of you
though you can never again be seen
and suddenly my
words of my love of you
become louder than the
deafening rain,
my silence shattered
by my tormented
shout
beneath our
green tented covering
flapping in the wind
under the
sobbing skies
Nate; Poetry by
Susan M. Walker, 2014
Orange lines form on the plump pink structure
Creases start to form in-between breathes
Yellow surrounds the formation
Slight dark tented color, the trace of a mark
To where her tooth once lay
Garbage fills my nostrils, as the crusted image begins to open its cave
Her rusted lips, turn to dust
The ash falls to the floor, as the wind blows it towards the door
Hands over mouth, she must
Burning lips that have turned to crust then dust
With nowhere to look back
Screams fill the tortured atmosphere
Silent yells surround the tormented air out here
She runs out the door, looking for somewhere to turn
Deadly hollows beam through the woods, without a trace in the light
She's lost out of mind
She's out of sight