Best Thereby Poems
A poet enters a private sanctuary,
A sacred place where the imagination
Dwells with a mélange of emotions
Conceived by aesthetic beauty,
Often divine and esoteric in nature;
That comprehensive longing to
Express through common language
That which is so vitally uncommon.
Words that seek to form a bridge
Between intellectual abstract thought
And the world of the inarticulate.
A way to express the depth of sorrow
While having it become a cathartic
Release, thereby relating to others
In commiseration and heartfelt empathy.
Poetry has the ability to help, to heal.
To reach souls enduring that same pain
May be a blessed gift poetry genuinely
Offers in a nonintrusive manner, helping
Lonely souls know they are not alone.
No-one escapes the loving light poetry sheds.
It dwells inside each of us, realized or not.
It teaches with simplicity, expands the mind,
Ingratiates itself without any effort when
Expressed with forethought and integrity.
It may stir emotions from the most stoic.
Speech itself, lives and breathes, and is poetic.
Acquiesce to that silent voice inside which
prevails upon the heart to be released in verse.
Poetry may elevate our spirit with such intensity
To generate a feeling akin to euphoric bliss.
Poets, honored in past glory with the status of Kings,
Now dwell in a world often misunderstood by the
Masses too busy to take the time to regard its worth.
How fortunate for the insightful who appreciate and
Embrace the ageless, immortal soul poetry provides.
They are blessed and will give birth to future poets.
© Connie Marcum Wong
You who throw stones
Held so tightly in your hand
Like it is your all
Your pride
Your hands are bloody
Because you are a sinner
You are a sinner, and you throw the first stones
Stones that come in words and pain
Whether you were the ones who shouted total trans death
Or the ones who wish pain
Or the ones who support a militia divided
You thereby mind me as level with the pigs
And it is sad
I pray for you
For my God said love thy neighbor
To you who hate so many minorities
A sad message I unfold
For those who wish to make decisions for my very own body
And those who are so bold
Racists or prejudice, those guilty of misogyny
You yourselves
Are the faulty minority
SONNET FOR THE LITTLE GIRL WITH NO DOLL
Above the brook blue Damsels flit in dance
And bring to mind that little girl who’d pass
Long solitary hours with spellbound glance
Such simple joys gave solace, filled her glass
No doll for her, the solitude to fill
But she saw silken wings above the stream
That dart and flicker round each shining rill
And all alone gazed at the passing scene
Could you and I regain that fresh clean sight
And find contented bliss within the trice
Would we thereby accept and find delight
In life, perceive its gift beyond all price
Perhaps one of life’s secrets in this rhyme
Is: look, and live always in present time
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
Alluring elegance of Simla, the queen of hills,
Morning pleasant breeze, at night gives chills !
Snow clad mountains, silvery charming shine,
Tall Deodar trees , dense forest , also few Pine,
Aromatic flowers garnish nature's platter, vividly grow,
Rivers run smooth , at times exhibit a turbulent flow !
Soulful scenic marvel, must artistry come alive,
No artist or poet here can ever fail to thrive,
Green valley on one side, hilly serpentine road,
As summer sun peaks, it is my heavenly abode !
Written on 13/6/14
Contest- Hills are alive with poetry
Sponsor- Scott thirty seven
* Simla is the capital of state Himachal Pradesh ( Devbhumi Himachal meaning thereby Land of Gods ) in India.
Ranked 5th
Now for Andrea's contest- let's get technical
Awarded HM
Why Poets Are An Illumination In This Dark World
Gifting poetic words, let the flow be of friendly act
and not darker falsehoods that so many fear to retract,
if honor and truth's justice abides to steel your bold charge
know that such aid is rewarded, with blessings small and large!
Wherein earthen rulers crack cruel whips and thus command
ill-gained fruits from miserable poor that hard work the land,
poets live to pontificate and Light's truth thus extol
dire penalties for evil, burning fires of Sheol!
Why write if not to deliver Love's magnificent heart
sacrifice gems of soul seeking grace and thereby impart,
life's lessons, to benefit this darken world's fallen blind
walk lit path, see goodness manifold, returned in kind.
Allow poets this noble quest to create gifts that may heal
Follow sage wisdom, send heart's purest joy to seal the deal.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-11-2018
Sonnet, (Inspired by Ngoc Nguyen's fantastic sonnet , titled- (Sonnet-"Poetic Justice")- As dedicated as a tribute to the fine poet that inspired this new creation..
Syllables Per Line: 14 14 14 14 14 14 14 14 14 14 14 14 0 14 14
Total # Syllables: 196
Total # Words: 136
In this field of plantation;
Where I walk and plant various
parts of myself around this
world;
I sometimes look back and notice
the trail;
I recognize the lettuce of charity
I’ve grown constantly through the
years,
the tomatoes of kindness which
resonates red to the world,
For as the blood flows within my
temple,
Kindness will always be found
here;
Also my celery of respect remains
long,
And continues growing as much as I
do;
And yet for all these positive elements
I’ve learned to express to my
environment;
Occasionally I plant a bad seed which
poison’s the essence of my entire
being;
And for that, I apologize.
Although a perfectionist in small doses I
am not perfect,
And as a result my garden of Eden
contains more infamous fruit then I
would want,
Stemming from lack of growth in my
maturity plant;
While a few of any negative offspring
have cultivated,
None have been more consistent in growth
than my deception seed.
Unfortunately as I’ve grown into
adulthood,
So has my subconscious lying,
Sadly after a while you don’t even
realize that it still sleeps in your
field,
And as a human constantly harvesting
you learn to accept it;
However evolution never grows
old,
And even a perfect saint contains a
lifetime of imperfect downfalls,
So while I’m familiar with deception,
It is those virtuous seeds that grow
within me,
That are parallel with my height
and with that, I’m content.
God never asked for our field to be
perfect,
But to show progression,
So that it could display many of lives
lessons,
And as my life continues adding up,
I can promise the world that my
dark seeds subtract simultaneously;
But yet I understand we’re all human,
And we must reap what we
sow,
Therefore I’m hoping that my seeds of
empowerment in the form of black eyed
peas, fall into my neighbors field,
Thereby enriching their lives for yet another
season.
I feel that some
people have a hard
time
with the truths
around us,
not only the sexual
abuse by priests,
but all the bad
things
I call it chosen
ignorance
Ignorance is found
in people who,
if confronted with
certain truths,
realize that they
have to accept them
and thereby
acknowledge evil
and that frightens
them
It is too hard,
period.
Yesterday sent its regards in a farewell
letter,
A gesture of fate intact, sealed for the
departed,
Or better yet, the progressive harmonies
of God, such as we are.
It was perhaps the plot of the universe,
When we slept in yesterday’s hands,
And I asked you the question of
continuation,
In hopes of fading away mutually, after one
last bloom.
Heaven must have spied on my everlasting
request,
Because with your pearl vision directed
towards me,
And your soft veil of ebony near me,
You agreed, with no hold of hesitation.
So under the chapel’s protection is where
we coast now,
And a road less traveled is scattered with
our footprints;
While I did lead with company, along this aisle
of anticipation,
The stares of 1000 miles did not present themselves,
Until your walk was introduced, thereby polishing
this floor into glory.
As I stood in the patience of joy, a distance was
illustrated between us,
You pressed forward and this negative space lost
its existence;
As you approached with the tranquil touch of
summer,
My nerves fell sober, and I knew that which was
parallel before me was art,
The speechless beauty, I favored in sight.
The preacher spoke a traditional verse, as our
eyes locked in perfect reflection;
Declared through spoken word, was the
confirmation of our ribbon in the sky,
Crowned upon your precious finger was the
weight of symbolism,
Silently glowing through the everglades;
With no restriction, we explored the middle
ground in unison.
We exited through the heart of the sun, cherishing
the unfamiliar heat;
It appears that life’s divine notary has signed off
on the greatest equation ever solved,
May our souls forever write in this blessed ink.
How rare, how innate this journey
manifests to be, the foreshadowing
of a loners blessing.
That intuitive thought to travel
with when my third eye seems blemished.
A mannequin of myself hidden in
longevity, that has yet to spoil.
I sometimes allow thoughts to slip
away from this safe haven,
thereby welcoming consequences,
consequences only an amateur
would allow.
In this game of similar links,
I’m quickly reminded of a presence
bestowed upon me.
Those allies illustrated for battle.
Only a true soldier could retrace these
portraits, heavy pages of uncertainty that we failed
to erase. I’m grateful however, of the genuine flame it
ignited.
We defeated the irrelevant
hazing, and found the blueprint for
camaraderie.
A groundwork for future war scars discovered
in our spirit. Overtime we prayed, and
received that undaunted
scent.
Still, perhaps in this physical scene,
There lies too much symmetry for this
parallel vision.
Some fade away as a result,
anticipating a reunion in higher
dimensions.
But as this masterpiece continues to illuminate,
I praise God for this muse called friendship.
A sprinkle of sage enhances the flavour of rice
A sage enhances the flavour of life.
. ~~~~~~~~~~
A Tribute to Brian Strand
Written: December 30, 2009
An Emily:is a 2(or sometimes 3) line paradox form of poetry created by Brian Strand
(labelled thus, inspired by Emily Dickinson poem 1732).It may or may not have a title,uses a
word with separate meanings,(or one that sounds the same,with a different spelling) with the
intention to mean several things; thereby, to enhance the thought's ambiguity/enigma.
Poetry,they will dissect you
ignoring poet's bleeding heart,
a judgement today for you too,
poetry, they will dissect you!
So many knives to cut you through
a bleeding heart will fall apart.
Poetry they will dissect you
ignoring poet's bleeding heart!
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Contest-TRIOLET
Form-TRIOLET : A French verse form. Its rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB and all lines are in iambic tetrameter; the first, fourth and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines, thereby making the initial and final couplets identical as well. The features of the Triolet are: 8 lines. Two rhymes. 5 of the 8 lines are repeated or refrain lines. First line repeats at the 4th and 7th lines. Second line repeats at the 8th line. Rhyme scheme (where an upper-case letter indicates the appearance of an identical line, while a lower-case letter indicates a rhyme with each line designated by the same lower-case or upper-case letter)
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I took a brand new girlfriend to see ''The taming of the shrew''
She was a little apprehensive as we joined the queue
but I sensed that her humour, If anything was dry
and very soon her laughter, brought tears to her eyes.
If I be waspish, Best beware my sting
There's small choice in rotten apples, Were just her sort of thing
I'll not budge an inch and thereby hangs a tale
The bitter tongue of Katherine, How could such humour fail?
Petruchio I thank you, I whisper as we left the stalls
Escorting my date to the bathroom, To answer natures call.
Delighted when my date told me, Tonight had been a huge success
A useful thing for a man to know, When he's trying to impress.
Now its time for dinner, She is fancying Chinese
So I find that fancy restaurant , A gentleman trying to please
Then outside to the dance floor, Where we share the slowest dance
I hold her close as we move in tune, This is a fine night for romance .
The silver moon is shining accompanied by shimmering stars
We shared a kiss so tender in the front seat of my car .
I walked her to her front door and bade her a sweet goodnight
Being the perfect gentleman, Well mannered and polite .
She is now married to a friend of mine, They are happy and content
but she still remembers Shakespeare and the magic night we spent
So if you are looking for inspiration, Why not try a Shakespeare play
and like couples through the ages, You'll find he's just as magical today.
I took a casual stroll through the local cemetery the other day,
Looking for interesting epitaphs and to pay my respects along the way.
Many stones were simply etched with names and dates of death and birth.
Others contained tales of sad demise, yet others of perky mirth.
"Here lies Clyde now expired,
Another man's wife Clyde desired.
The man pierced Clyde's ticker with a knife,
Thereby making a widow of Clyde's wife!"
"I now own this little plot of land,
And as such I make this firm demand:
As nigh my hallowed grave you pass,
Please keep off the cotton pickin' grass!"
"Scuba diver Marty came to grief,
As he was tooling 'round a Bermuda reef.
He was having himself a carefree lark,
'Til he encountered a ravenous shark!"
"Here sleeps Sergeant Major Cooper,
A brave Fifth Cavalry trooper.
It was just his bad luck,
That when arrows flew he failed to duck!"
"Herein lies trucker Don who failed to swerve,
Speeding 'round a mountain curve.
His semi sailed o'er the precipitous edge,
Landing at the foot of a thousand foot ledge!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
I came upon a tribe one day
in a land not far away
where everyone gets what they need
from juices of an orange seed
Some who drank the juice had died
and so the tribe felt satisfied
that they had weeded out the weak
with the help of orange seed
Some fell asleep the whole day long
for orange juice was very strong
and never felt an ounce of pain
with not a care to cross the brain
But others would feel more awake
with every little drop they’d take
They’d run and dance and twitch and shake
and never need to take a break
Still others would get sick and green
like a flu they’d never seen
The only really certain cure
was “Never touch the juice no more”
For some, the drug would change their mood
to dumb and brutal, cruel and rude
But even those would find their use
in the tribe of orange juice
Of course, a few got very wise
had visions right before their eyes
Surely, God chose them to lead
with blessings from the orange seed
So anyone made dull and tired
were rounded up and all required
to work all day or face the noose
and never touch the orange juice
But those the seed would energize
were thereby made to supervise
the work so tedious and tough
while sipping on the orange stuff
And those for whom the seed caused harm,
were duly trained to run the farm
All day to sneeze and cough non-stop
yet trusted with the precious crop
And anyone turned cruel, it’s true
got plenty of the orange brew
you could guess what jobs they do
and who they really answer to
Not leaders who hallucinate
that everything is going great
nor all the rest who get their dose
(except the ones that need it most)
Not any man or myth or god
nor any beast of sea or sod
but just a noxious little weed
with a toxic little orange seed
There may be some as I suspect
for whom the seed has no effect
I doubt that they’re allowed to stay
they wouldn’t want to anyway