Best Thrived Poems
Professor Hapgood’s studies on ancient maps were fixed
Einstein said his theories should be added to history’s mix
Perhaps it proved too big a leap for other minds to take
But his ancient culture findings, Hapgood would not forsake
6000 BC, before Egypt’s pyramids were built
Millennia before Pompeii’s lava had been spilled
Or small fishing boats hugged the Mediterranean Coast
And Columbus’s “daring” voyage was not even close
Ancient seafarers drew with astounding accuracy
Maps of the world they once knew, the fishermen’s legacy
Antarctica sans ice and closer to the equator
The Mid-Atlantic Ridge once an above-sea sky scraper
Siberia touching Alaska with no Bering Strait
(Palin could have seen Russia without snow from her back gate)
Cuba, England, Sweden, too, on these maps appear clearly
But Sweden’s fully glacial; England’s blanket an ice sheet
If we believe Hapgood, a civilization once thrived
Thousands of years before language; maps keep memories alive
Technology to chart the seas was lost in ancient times
With latitude and longitude measurements quite refined
Sea kings’ cities may have succumbed during the last Ice Age
Surviving nations lost their skill when history turned a page
Geography to be found again when the Earth had healed
“Discoverers” reinvented the forgotten ship’s wheel
Magellan, perhaps not the first to sail around the globe
Admiral Byrd not the first man to visit the South Pole
Spirits from a colony of seafarers can be found
From deep beneath Antarctic ice, they try to spread the word
But laugh they must as scientists forecast global warming
And man attempts to alter life and heed their dire warning
Shifting poles? Natural cycles! Men would be well advised
To study the maps Hapgood found and open their closed minds
To learn more about Professor Charles Hapgood’s map studies and the comments made by
Albert Einstein, you can visit http://www.crystalinks.com/crustal.html.
From high above the mighty eagles soar
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land;
a proud and peaceful nation thrived, before
the bombs began to fall with czar’s command.
Their saddened eyes see blood upon the sand
as innocence lay scattered on the shore;
they’re witnessing the slaughter now at hand
from high above as mighty eagles soar.
Her cities lay in ruin from the war;
her leaders pleading for a helping hand;
the world in horror watches evermore,
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land.
Atrocities and pillage deftly planned
erasing all the joys from days of yore;
the villages and townships now unmanned
where proud and peaceful nation thrived before.
I cannot see the reason for this gore
nor endgame of this despot’s evil hand,
and history repeats itself once more
as bombs begin to fall with czar’s command.
And what will be the outcome of this stand
when smoke has cleared the war which we deplore;
and who will be the next at his demand
as angel’s tears begin to fall once more
from high above?
July 1, 2022
Original Poem - Dreams Still Grow
Once I felt the warmth of balmy spring...
breathed deep the scent of blossoms, fresh and pure...
I thrilled to sounds of songbirds in the air,
while sprouting blades of tender grass appeared.
Upon the dew, my seeds of hope were cast...
and dreams grew in the magic fling of spring.
Then later came the cold of winter's snow...
the scent of blossoms turned to musty dust.
Chant of restless wind soon filled my ears...
green tender grass, long grown, had gone to seed.
Still hopes lay buried deep in icy frost...
and bright, new dreams emerged to grow in snow.
Posted: 09/01/2015 for contest
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New Poem - Dreams Have Grown
And bright, new dreams emerged to grow in snow,
for winter days are numbers on a page.
If body bends and mind is still aglow,
no reason to lay dormant neath the frost.
New hours, new days, new months to fulfill dreams;
continue on, each one a precious gift.
And winter is no time to dwell on death,
when life still sparks in every newborn morn.
So much to see, so much to do until
the time has come to know when done is done.
My hopes seemed buried deep in icy frost,
but bright new dreams have thrived in winter snow.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Famous Last Line
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 03/17/2016
Rules: Looking for a new poem, with the starting line being the last line from a previous contest entry. The poem you choose does not have to be a winning poem, just any poem entered.
In a land torn by evils cruel hands
where innocence once thrived in golden sand
echoes now haunt barren torched lands
of children lost, tears fall in graves of pain
Fourteen thousand souls, too young to know
caught in the crossfire, victims oppressed
their laughter silenced as dreams cut short
in a horror of genocide where all limbs bleed
Babies cradled in arms, so tender and small
now lie cold and lifeless, victims silent in white shawls
their tiny hearts, once filled with hope's embrace
now silenced forever in a merciless disgrace
The army's march such ruthless crimes
leaving devastation in its tide
families torn apart by Israels cruel wand
as they mourn the loss of those they held fond
Oh, may their memory be a solemn vow
strive for peace and harmony, lets end sorrow forever now
for in the wake of such unfathomable hate
lies a plea for humanity to erase this state
The weary ploughman shuffles
along the deserted bridle path,
his day-long work completed,
furrows wound around his piece of land,
just arable enough to provide his daily bread.
His dreary shack is cold and bare,
just a few essentials. Oh, once it thrived,
but that, alas, was quite a long past.
Slow movements help him light his fire,
and hang inside the hearth a pot full
of vegetables harvested from small plots
that once was a sort of garden of his wife.
Waiting for his meagre repast, he sits.
upon a decrepit sofa, thinking of the furrows
and what he could sow there provided
he manages to find the seeds and tubers
for the next Thanksgiving Day.
Furrows, furrows everywhere, so very like
the furrows of his weary days gone by.
The day when he was barely ten years old,
came home to find his drunkard of a father
dead at last from cirrhosis of the liver.
Left school and began to till the land
under the caring eyes of his once-battered mother.
The day he met plain Jane, shy and speechless,
they walked along the banks of a lonely stream,
never uttering a word, never holding hands
until the day they finally got married.
Then, the worst furrow of all, the day his child
Was born prematurely stillborn. That day
he could not mourn. Only his wife cried.
Until some years later she too followed her child.
And still, he would not mourn, bottled-up grief.
Yet he had one firm conviction.
The paths of life lead slowly to the last furrow,
there to find, at last, eternal peace.
I lived ... once
I loved and laughed and ached from my marrow
I spoke my soul, and spun my mind to my innervation and impulse
Swam up spirits to the source of their dreams and passions
I moved and breathed and thrived
Slept and soared and savored the tang of carnality
Counted my chaos, and measured my occupations with desire
I danced with angels, dazzled and dark and unearthly
And I sang to the heavens in their wildest weeping
With a voice of callow intonation ... and melodious temper
ALL with a child's heart, and a saint's assumption
Yes, I lived ... once
Full and bright and joyous as a midday meadow
Yet, in the midst of a moment's suffering
A soft, stinging moment of false hope and agony
I pressed, tender, the lips of a curse ...
One deep, warm, melting kiss of a temptress
That turned to a coursing ... of poison
"You will write with such feeling," she whispered, eyes smiling
As the glass between us fogged with her bitter breath
A painted fingertip, shaped and pressed
Tracing my doom in the opaque mist
Oh, vile brutality - to gift me this insight and creativity
Only to shake it ALL from my grasp ...
And turn me ... to dust.
~ 10th Place ~ in the "Opaque" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausin, Judge & Sponsor.
In times gone by, in a land of dreams,
Where childhood thrived with laughter and gleams,
A story unfolded, enchanting and true,
Of mirthful times and dreams that grew.
In a quaint little town, where joy ran rife,
There stood an ice cream truck, full of life.
With its jingling tune and colorful display,
It brought smiles and laughter every day.
Children flocked to its magical sight,
Their dreams bear flight, day and night.
With sticky fingers and faces beaming,
They tasted flavors, delicious and gleaming.
Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry delight,
Each scoop is a memory, pure and bright.
In that little town, under the summer sun,
The ice cream truck was where the fun had begun
From morning till dusk, they would gather around,
In eager anticipation of the sweetest sound.
The tinkling melody that filled the air,
Drawing them closer, without a care.
The children would form a queue, their eyes wide,
As the ice cream truck parked by the roadside.
They'd count their coins, their pockets emptied,
Hoping to indulge in the flavors they craved.
The ice cream man, with a smile so bright,
Served up scoops with all his might.
He knew each child's favorite treat,
And made sure their dreams were complete
With laughter and giggles, they'd savor each bite,
Their taste buds danced in sheer delight.
The ice cream truck became their halcyon place,
A sanctuary of joy, a sweet space.
And as the years passed, and childhood flew by,
A symbol of innocence and a carefree day,
Ice cream truck remained a cherished reminiscence
Where dreams were nurtured in the sweet existence.
Story Poem
How endearing the innocence of life was,
When blissfully it started, with a blank canvas,
Cherishing in mother’s love and warmth,
Happy as can be, cuddled in loving arms,
Flaunting vigor of adorable, zealous charm.
Life ran into hurdles as it learned to walk,
Stumbled, yet got up, after every fall,
Giggled and babbled, learning to talk;
And from gibberish, as cogent words formed,
How flawless, pure, beginning of life was!
Soon, as it donned unique shape and form,
Colors adorned fabric of once empty canvas,
In brushstrokes of inspiration and resolve,
Enlisting hope, amidst despairs of loss,
And beams of light upon tenebrous clouds.
On ambitions it thrived, braving passionately,
Yet, encountered unbearable abyss of grief
As doubt and dismay churned in defeats
And failures sprouted within complacency,
Deviating from path of purposeful deeds.
From inner peace, as wisdom vibes chimed,
Life freed from mundane, agitation of strife,
Triumphant when dreams and reality rhymed,
Questing for tranquility in eternity of time,
Retouching feats-unfinished on canvas of life.
Written: January 05, 2023
Topic 1/ The art was most masterful on the dark canvas.
_________________________________________
A dimly lit canvas displays the best artwork,
A creature beyond earthly limits,
Harmony of shadows and strands
A superb creation that enthralled all.
Artists built lovely quilts with every line
Portraying the soul's deepest design,
Shades and light dance, pristine and refine
A mosaic of hues may sweep and entwine.
A vivid palette that whispered mysteries,
Brushstrokes convey stories and sighs
The artist's hands were graceful
Creating an undefined world,
Talent thrived on the black canvas.
Where bright dreams came alive
Imaginations and phobias swirled
Truth faded into emptiness,
It exposed the human inner abyss
Inner brightness and darkness,
We felt our greatest fears and desires,
Exploring human existence beyond fire.
Written: August 06, 2025
*********
The traffic roars as wounded gulls.
metal beats skated over the asphalt waves,
each honk a fractured prayer,
fleeing the city, restless breath.
I sit beneath a twisted jacaranda tree.
Its lavender flowers unfurl as the sun dips low
Parrots squabble in the canopy—
boisterous, unrepentant, and singing,
stirring the dawn with their raucous cries,
a beauty entwined with longing.
Their melody exists beyond,
concrete and clocks,
I sip coffee—malnourished warmth—
Its bitter essence wedged between my ribs,
where comfort once thrived.
The chipped cup, a reflection of lost trust.
Each face that passes me
is a silent question,
I have forgotten how to answer.
Once I skated these streets
hungry for names,
for the echo of someone to cram my void,
But identity remains a fog
caught between chain-link fences
and fragrant jasmine vines.
Yet still,
I listen for that singular voice
amid the clamorous parrots,
the one that might beckon me back
into the wholeness of myself.
Oh! Those whom I loved and cared that left this world
Enjoying the bliss of heaven when my heart wreaths in pain
Free from anguish and agony and attitudes apathetic and cold
Away from burning sunlight of hatred, ruthlessness and strain
My loving parents and my little sister departed one by one
The infinite mercy of the Creator granted them joy of heaven
For me the luscious trees of love gave way to burning sun
The path of life turned thorn infested, rocky and uneven
The lustful demons of merciless world waiting for me on way
My only weapon, my resolute, indomitable will
With God behind my relentlessness I conquered life in a sway
Lonely nights followed crowded days dreary, dreadful still
Then showered on me God’s sagacious and profound recompense
Through love and compassion my beleaguered soul thrived
On desert of life came the rain-filled clouds of loyalty of friends
Roses bloomed, nightingale sang, life’s elegance revived
But happy days are shorter than the morning dew’s life
You Manzoor, Arif, Marghub,.Nisar, Mehmuda, Ismat, Harry and Jo.
Who were spared the pains of this world of conflicts and strife.
Tranquility of heaven is your destiny, Aftab, Ferreira and Remigio
Your abode has elegant pink shadows and golden sunlight
Fragrant rivers and gardens with flowers of colors unseen
Pebbles of emeralds and rubies present the sight’s delight
Gushing fountains, silvery lakes, hills and valleys ever green
These bounties are rewards of goodness and your virtuous deeds
Your kindness, your compassion, and your illuminated soul
The Creator, most merciful and benevolent gifts beyond one needs
More than lofty aspirations and much beyond your goal.
Happy though I am for you I must still complain
Why you chose to desert me; why you left alone
The leaping flame of loneliness is my destiny again
The path to eternal bliss you took, to me you should have shown
-----
Fate rewarded some who came,
Daily problems quickly solved.
Wisdom thrived in their domain,
Joyful as their lives evolved.
You distorted what you saw,
Public minutes, private years.
Never witness to the flaws,
Hidden turmoil, muted tears.
Eyes, reflecting wrong side up,
Squint through nickelodeans.
Brilliant microscopic dust
Floating through what might have been.
All delusions bring the same,
Different versions of yourself.
Time can't alter what remains,
Single bookend, empty shelf.
Gene Bourne.
08-23-14
.
Mark Twain recalled my town for its extraordinary sunsets.
Under rainbows too, I’ve seen its rows of corn stalks glow.
Summertime brings big scrumptious melons famous for being the best!
Come winter, you can ice skate or sled down hills of snow.
At one time, Muscatine gave refuge to escaping slaves.
The largest black community used to once live there!
Indians of Iowa built large mounds for graves.
Nearby you can see some parks with green mounds everywhere,
Evoking times when natives thrived upon this land so fair.
Idyllic is this area; its beauty you must view.
A city on the mighty Mississippi waits for you!
For the Where are You From Contest of Joseph Soper
Dedicated to Kyle, My Darling Son
There was no joy when I gave birth,
scary words kept getting worse.
When my baby boy was born
every face was quite forlorn.
He came fresh from our Creator
to be placed in an incubator.
I could not take him in my arms
or shelter him from any harms.
Doctors all had dooming words.
Negativity was all I heard,
“He may never… and he may not ….”
Oh, how I prayed this would stop.
He was two days old when I was told
I could finally lay eyes on his face.
Tubes and wires were every place
in a sterile, see through trundle,
where laid my precious bundle.
Suddenly, I felt a sign and less sad
because my son looked like my Dad,
who had amazing, sure willpower.
I couldn’t have heard God any louder,
saying, "like your Dad, your son’s a fighter."
And fight he did, my beautiful son,
my heart, my love, my special one.
For three months he grew and thrived
defeating all odds of staying alive.
Then on hospital day forty-five,
he came home on his first ride.
As a child for long whiles I watched mother and tried to mutter,
Learning her nurturing ways, seeing other kids with fathers.
As a kid I watched those same kids play, waited to be asked one day.
In my teens, fast cars dates at the movies, I thrived on my dreams,
Of Vietnam battles, playing on the Dodger’s baseball teams,
But I watch some friends march away, saw some in stripes behind a gate.
Hooray graduation day, fathers and mothers, kids looking to their future,
All I could wish for was a warm place to stay,
Wondering what comes after today under newspaper covers.
Weddings were wonderful I loved each wife in different ways,
But after that day never did either one of us ever promise forever.
Now I wheeze through painful winters, the chills of the cold sends pain through my soul,
I watch grandchildren play, hoping for their happy lives and that I never pass away.
But now I draw family members close to me for wisdom I hope they remember,
Then ask for a blanket for the cold shoulders of the old.