Best Thirteen Poems
Yes, they too believed in love,
Yet became victims of hate,
Men hungry for destruction,
And with vicious mindset,
Fired deadly bullets around,
Lifeless bodies fell on ground.
Pain touched every heart,
For some, life won't be same,
Laughter transformed to cries,
Happiness changed to grief,
Merciless sinners did it all,
At concert, café and football.
Flesh and blood piled on roads,
Obedient bodies stayed silent,
Many were counted dead,
Others were counted wounded,
And some waited for last breath,
Paris mourned the gruesome death.
written on 17 November, 2015.
Any Poem Meaningful To You - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
(Received FIRST PLACE in the above contest)
Contest Judged on: 20 April, 2016.
First Place Only - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
thunderclouds
shrouding the grave
my falling tears
03~30~16
13 syllables or less contest sponsored by Timothy Hicks
A,B,C alphabetic
1,2,3, arithmetic
Two eyes of academic
Alphabetic and arithmetic
What logic in alphabetic?
What Ethic in arithmetic?
No letter comes prosperous
No figure goes dangerous
No letter brings luckiness
No figure brings luckiness
God given the time
Don't blame,it's crime
No letter writes divine
No figure counts not divine
At seven counts of teen
Gate way is thirteen
A,B,C alphabetic
1,2,3 arithmetic
Two eyes of the academic
Arithmetic and alphabetic
"come fluttering words, come drifting words to me . . . a Rambling Poet."
The rising sun, shone into her room
takes a moment, to gather her thoughts
gowns her morning attire with pride
moves into her garden,astonishing nature
Song birds and Sky Larks, fill her ears with music
the morning air, so pure into her lungs
last nights proposal, from her childhood sweetheart
dwelling but, knowing what her answer will be
Life feeling exhilerating, future so bright
as the perfumed rose plant, poised on her sill
her futre holds happiness,children, how many ?
her husband to be, awaits her response.
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest What is she thinking . .
Wounds by wayside.
P. Beadnall... 16/7/11
It’s thirteen thousand miles from Boston to
San Diego around far Cape Horn’s way.
Ship needs to sail to that distant quay.
The Cape is a hard challenge for the crew
It’s where the Atlantic and Pacific
Oceans meet and the waves are horrific.
The number of ships lost are not a few.
With good sailing San Diego can be
reached in three months from Boston’s fine dock
in hope of returning with rancho stock.
Condition of hides rest upon the sea,
if hold remains ever dry and shipshape,
The wetting of hide they hope to escape.
No fear Brig Pilgrim’s hold is danger free.
Hide house at the Mexican harbor’s berth
cures hides vaqueros bring from distant field
hoping to gain a goodly peso yield.
Their agents bargain for true values worth
Profit will give major-domo much peace
He’ll thank the Virgin for worry’s surcease
At hacienda there will be much mirth.
When you stuck your paw out from that shelter cage,
Did you have any idea whose sleeve you clawed?
Did you see a heart you needed to engage?
Was there a sense that I’d see you and applaud?
Was it your intent other pets to upstage?
How could you know I’d love a critter so flawed?
Six toes on one paw, seven on another
For some reason you knew I’d be your mother
I was not searching for a small, gray tabby
But love springs forth when we least expect it to
Born in a barn, scruffy looking, so shabby
My ferile heart you were able to subdue
It mattered not that I was tired and crabby
My feigned, rough exterior you could see through
I wanted a guard dog, surely you knew that
But I ended up with a thirteen-toed cat
One who came to know my lap as her pillow
And oddly had discriminatory taste
I’d have had more use for an armadillo
Possums on a half shell of earthworms make waste
But Katy won my heart with a tail that billowed
While eying tuna with a smirk of distaste
A fur ball she was, but I’ll not forget her
I’ve never known a more devoted lover
*Ottava Rima for Jared's contest on "New Love"
When caught mid-flight
End to bloat against gravity
Thanks, rejection is not of the earth
My eyes are welling
I won’t hold back with shame
Even warriors often times loosen, weeping
A good mother’s breast thrust
Not in for the oldest trade
Gives the child, from infant, the best trust
The sexton is a pagan
Lushness of the hashish field
Makes his story from Canaan
Morals pillar nobility
But nature spares by –
Insofar as the choice is moderacy
Over me they seek to keep
They can shape me, me too a shaper
Just that I start a peep
A quest to solve the world
Challenged to fix my head
Get me defined – no word
Launch talks for luck
One screen sets parts
Grace, lone-stands, earns buck
Formless strife made me worry
An envoy made as of succubus
Made me awoke being sorry
He who sounded the gong
Has done it wrong
And rhythm’s lost in our song
The earth, about the Sun, rotates
Science, my house remains on its plot
Lies make the pupils dilate
Africa! Here some questions
Khartoum, Mogadishu, Malaria, HIV, Genocides . . . ?
Orients through Occident find me solutions
Muses – a kind that’s potent
Might make me hit the laureate’s podium
And be free of amateurish latent!
Through the trees, they saw a light
As a haze o’er the village ahead
And weary from walking many miles
Two travellers thought they may find a bed
As they made their way to the village
A mist descended, cold and damp
Hindering the traveller’s on their quest
Shrouding the light from both window and lamp
Cloaked in the mist, the village was still
With no sign of life to be seen
As the traveller’s made their way to an inn
Ahead in the distance, a clock struck thirteen
As the last chime rang, from beyond the grave
Ghosts of the dead filled the streets
The travellers were frozen, unable to move
Fear and dread chilling their bones, head to feet
The traveller’s looked for a haven
But no matter how hard they tried
There was nowhere, for them to run to
With all routes of possible escape denied
Surrounded by the walking dead
And powerless in their plight
They were quickly consumed by spectres,
Who carried their souls off into the night
Satiated, the dead, returned to their graves
The clock once again struck thirteen
And two piles of dust, were all that remained
On the spot where the traveller’s had been.
Janette Fisher
One and three are 4;
nothing is unlucky about the number 13.
three and one or one and three;
it adds up to 4,
when reduced to a singular digit.
Numerology reveals the truth about things
and four is a healthy number.
The mystery of 13, is that so much can be conjured,
in the human imagination.
four is power;
four corners of the Earth have four angels,
to watch over them.
Four leaf clovers are lucky;
the power of fortune,
is a strong faith that manifests.
four branches complete the circle of the celtic cross;
all crosses are four-limbed.
Four aspects, are the colors on the medicine wheel;
offering healing, to those who comprehend its gifts.
Four is wholeness;
one and three, three and one;
four is the offspring of the 13.
Divide it by twos and see the a duality of all revealed.
hungry birds in tree
took my
cherry pie
At noon time
two squirrels on lawn chair
awaiting lunch.
Sponsor: Tim Hicks
Contest Name: "Thirteen Syllables or Less"
Deadline: 4/29/16
~ Dreams And More ~
( Lucky Thirteen )
Dreams
And More
Just fly! Soar!
It's so nice to dream
That's the best way just to go
At times need to let dreams grow
It's so nice to dream
With God's help make dreams come true
So embrace them all ! Don't be blue!
It's so nice to dream
A great scheme
Don't cease!
Dream!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2018
November.13.2018
'Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.'
- Mark Twain
~Author's Notes:
The 'Lucky Thirteen' is a poetry form or style created on, June.20.2012 by Erich J. Goller .
My toes "taste so good"?
Careful with my casted leg!
Crutches keep me safe.
Dreams
remain unfulfilled
being too cautious
we will not achieve
Success
I was 13
When a boy first told me I was ugly
I was 13
When I started lingering in the makeup section at Target
I was 13
When I began to dislike what the mirror showed
And I was 13
When I stopped eating
13 was the age of Jr. High
Name brand T-shirts
Disgustingly strong Axe cologne
And fitting in.
13 was when that one popular girl
Looked down on me
Because I raised my hand in
English class
And yeah maybe that was
Partially cause the blonde 25 year old,
Straight outta college
English teacher was
Cute, but
It was also cause
I liked being good at something.
Something I liked.
In English class
I didn’t have to worry about
Fitting in or
Rebelling against dress code or
Getting my first kiss or
Valentine's day.
But the day that girl insulted my
Converse I-
...Gave up.
I stayed in bed and cried
Feeling too sick to eat the
Double mint chip ice cream
My mother offered.
And the next day at dinner
I simply had too much math homework to eat.
And the next day it was spanish
And the next history
And the next and
The next and
The next
No one noticed
Until ten pounds of me were gone
I don’t blame them, my
Friends had their own problems, and
My parents worked long hours.
Ten doesnt seem like much
But I was a scrawny 13 year old
And that was a tenth of my body weight
Parents got me back on track and
It was like it never happened
Except whenever a doctor has me step
On a scale
I still get that going down in an elevator
lurch of fear
In my stomach.
I am 15
This morning my boyfriend told me I was beautiful
I am 15
Today my favorite shade of lipstick is Metallic Rose
I am 15
And have my disagreements with the mirror
I am 15
And still breathing