Best Towered Poems
He scooped and he packed
He rolled me good and round,
When all was done, I stood there
Only three feet off the ground
I had wondered why...
Why did this teenage boy,
Build me up this way
No bigger than a toy?
No bigger than his dog
In fact, we saw eye to eye,
I looked around for answers
And still I wondered why?
Then I came face to face
With an answer that was clear,
When the boy in the wheelchair
Slowly came rolling near
With his teenage brother
Lending him a helping hand,
He placed a smile upon my face
A smile so wide and grand
My eyes, two big buttons
From Grandma's sewing kit,
My scarf, one of their Dad's
Was striped and hand knit
From their Mom's kitchen came
My nose, a long gnarled carrot,
My arms, two maple limbs
From the family's tree I did inherit
My heart, warmed by the boy
The boy who could not walk,
His eyes laughed when he saw me
Though he could not even talk
No prouder stood a snowman
That towered, oh so tall,
Than me, the littlest snowman
The proudest one of all.
If "we" are a sin,
Why is my heart bleeding for you?
Why is my soul screaming out your name?
Chained by the links of horrors that hold me against you,
Towered high up above the ground,
Little did they know I'd crumble every bone just for you.
I would not wish such adversity upon my adversaries, such as the animosity which chastises our hearts.
Every precious petal in my garden has turned black, waiting for your lips to rejuvenate their vibrant hues.
Why must love be cursed by society's blindness,
or has Cupid's ignorance plagued our forbidden fate. Maybe death is the only freedom for our devotion
Kyoko walks alone in the morning tide,
comforted for a fleeting moment by salty air.
She feels the same sand between her toes
as when she was a barefoot little girl, in a time
she felt safe, when the eyes of her mother protected her
like a suit of armor - before the mighty wall of water,
the “harbor wave”, towered over her village
near Fukushima, washing her happy childhood away.
Her dear mother, her security, her everything
never came home that day.
Many months later, her father, a local fisherman,
has lost his ability to cry, laugh or tell her why.
His silent eyes, cold as frost, are dead
like the poisoned fish he nets every morning.
In many ways, Kyoko lost both of her parents
on that haunting day - forced to grow up long before
the water receded, before the nuclear leak,
before this new, austere existence.
Night deepens the despair. She is loneliest
when darkness invades. She prays for the crickets
return. They no longer sing her to sleep, and the stars
have faded, no longer shining through her open window.
Even the grasshoppers have died…
from restless sleep, night calls her to the mirror
to find her mother’s dark eyes staring back at her –
a curse she hopes will one day become a blessing,
a hope that one day her father will look at her again...
With tomorrow, her greatest burden will return.
She will wake along side the broken-winged butterfly
with her duties in mind. Then, she’ll wear her stoic face
to the marketplace. Father says he will soon lose
his fishing boat. She has heard visitors from the city say
only a fool would eat the fish from nearby waters,
the same fish she fries most every day. No one knows
the global impact, they say. She hears foreign words
like radiation, disease and mutation while she sells
the shiso and wasabi root from their garden stand,
feeling fear she does not fully understand but one day will.
She only knows how to survive today…
For Debbie Guzzi's Global Poetry Contest, 11/19/14
The velvet sky was strangely quiet...
The Earth still and hushed beneath my feet.
No mountains groaned, no crumbling stone
Giving voice to my defeat.
The lake... calm and placid like mirrored glass...
Not a ripple to be seen.
Two loons at play had flown away
Leaving a tranquil pastoral scene.
Birds would sing to mark this day
As beasts roamed throughout the land.
I was not impressed and most distressed...
Nature's laws seemed well in hand.
The morning scented with a familiar air as
Meadow flowers made good their vivid fashion
But in my grief, there was a unyielding belief...
Nature should be gripped with far more passion.
I wanted Earthly reprisals and thunderbolts
To lash out their.. mournful roar.
I wanted winds to squall and towered trees to fall
And huge white capped waves to lap their shores.
I wanted the land to wither and blow away
Where wilted crops grow stunted for the year.
Where the force above... feels a desperate shove
And an unplumbed chasm then appears.
But then again... on further musing,
Such sights would not honor her at all.
We had oft discussed... there be no fuss
When she answered Heaven's call.
No trumpets roared or melodic lyres blurred
As a callous Nature missed that special day...
But Church bells rang and sweet Angelic voices sang...
When my dear Mother passed away.
The End
When I was young the broom sage grew so tall
It towered over me, fuzzy tickling
Right there in front of momma harvesting
Harvesting just enough sage for a broom
Broom sage to sweep the hearth clean of debris
A hearth white washed with Georgia kaolin
Nothing to cover the dirty black sooted bricks
In summer even the inside was white washed
Taller now towering over the sage
Whose sick sparse shoots reach up to claim sunlight
Purple hues shimmer in breeze, wait for spring
Renewed to live again, again, again
Like sage cut, fashioned into a hearth broom
Life is short, wears away the youthful joy
Soon the end in sight, retired to kindling
Laid down upon the white washed inside brick
Awaiting morn when a spark will ignite.
A roaring fire will spring forth ablaze
While all the family gathers around
Warmed by the hearth of a happy snug home
Written:December 9, 2015
Definition of Blank Verse
Blank verse is a literary device defined as un-rhyming verse written in iambic pentameter. In poetry and prose, it has a consistent meter with 10 syllables in each line (pentameter); where, unstressed syllables are followed by stressed ones and five of which are stressed but do not rhyme. It is also known as un-rhymed iambic pentameter.
•Blank verse poetry has no fixed number of lines.
•Blank verse can be composed in any kind of meter, such as iamb, trochee, spondee and dactyl
I chose this form because I did not want to rhyme..
A pursuer at an precocious age,
Instantly able to set the stage.
Unaware of the glare from a piercing stare,
Calculated thoughts and moments planned; the prey would be snared.
Indulging in oratory flights of beautiful language,
Enticed by a venomous tongue the prey languished.
Striking the first note of genuine eloquence,
The Huntress pillaged without rendering an element of forbearance.
The impending execution of the venom ignited an explosion,
That there was an instant expulsion.
From the impending death,
The prey took a long deep breath.
The craving of the Huntress had grown,
The prey subsided with a shuddering moan.
Towered by the Huntress’s shadowing eclipse,
Impetuous feeling the softness of her kiss.
@ Tunisia Torres
2/3/2009
We walked among the birch trees
To pass the summer days.
And did our best to trick ourselves
To try and lose our way.
But with success of getting lost
Our courage turned to fright.
When concern gave way to worry
That we may have to spend the night.
We trampled through the cheerless woods
With the Sun still overhead.
Unsure of where our cabin lay
And where this trail led.
The younger kids were quite distraught
And their tears began to flow.
While my Brother and I looked about
For a direction we should go.
The hours faded and the time grew late
As we walked on dappled grass.
But nothing seemed to ease our plight
With twilight's gleaming set to pass.
We came upon a quiet meadow
And sat to ponder the challenge we all faced.
In hopes a hurried rescue
Would bring a Parent's warm embrace.
When at that moment a car drove by
On a road deftly hidden by towered weeds.
And our spirits soared to see the path
Which would quite comfortably suit our needs.
An hour later with the Sun asleep
We arrived home with a hush of anguished pain.
But we were all eager for tomorrow...
When we'll happily lose ourselves again.
The End
*True story. As kids we would march into the woods, get lost and see if we could find our way home.
*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
Once addicted to carnality opium’s ecstasy
My flesh reigned with selfishness-excellency…
…But God, so merciful in His clemency
Transformed me to acknowledge His satisfaction-sufficiency.
Once exalted upon vain glory’s elegance
My heart towered toward destructive arrogance…
Yet the Lord, gracious in His forbearance
Pulled me toward meekness’ endurance.
Once afflicted by woes of poisonous transgression
My soul was slain midst venomous iniquity’s infection...
…But the Creator, verily the Author of revival action
Quickened* me to testify about His redeeming compassion.
Once destined to hell, condemned by sin-wages
My mind succumbed to humanism midst earthliness’ sages…
…But the Saviour, by His pardon assuring holy changes
Reached out to me, freeing me from damnation charges.
Once gripped with materialistic enrichments
My spirit could not abstain from worldly engagements…
…But the Almighty offered heavenly bestowments
Drew me near His fellowship of significant celestial moments.
Once drained from the pursuits of ephemeral endeavour
My life lost its essence according to divine flavour…
…But Christ with His grace midst sweet serenity’s savour
Wrought miracles for me and my faith-serving fervour.
*1Peter 3:18 For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the Spirit.
August 20, 2019
1st place, "STRAND CHOICE 6, any form, any theme"
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/26/2020.
The morning broke pragmatically
As the warmth kissed the dew goodbye.
And the thunder clouds who haunted nigh
Had fled and left an open sky.
Where an aged thrasher voiced a song of love
That rained down from up on high.
The towered trees would cast their shade
As the Sun rose to melt the day.
And a breath of coolness came over me
To lead my soul astray.
And marvel at the many twigs and leaves
Still left from fall's decay.
A beguiling tiger lily lay at my feet
To mark its space from meddling spores.
And claim a right to live its life
As the victor of a callous Nature's wars.
But it brought me peace knowing of its bloom
Just like the day before.
A coppice wall stretched beyond the light
To give sense and realm to my domain.
And it served me well on weathered days
When subjected to a dreary sleeted rain.
But this pleasant morning would have none of that
So I had few reasons to complain.
A Man wavered at his assigned post
With a gaunt and haunting stare.
And mumbled tearfully as children do
Some long forgotten prayer.
But as to who and what the message was...
I was keenly well aware.
And the day wore on till night's first creep
With the laws of Nature well behaved.
But the thrasher still flew and spun its tune
Of a life so grand and brave.
And I took great comfort from its song of joy
As I lay peacefully in my grave.
The End
Upon this world in centuries long past,
Dwelt in woodland glades and pastures fresh,
The spirit of Utopia was cast
By nymphs and faeries in their pristine flesh.
In innocence and truly wondrous ways,
Phantasms of delight would greet the dawn,
And gentle creatures thrived in ancient days,
The phoenix and the lamb and unicorn.
Yet tides would turn and slowly parasitic
Denizens of darkness trod the land,
With sterile minds, their trespass scientific,
Indoctrinating methods came to hand.
Cities sprang on barely distant plain,
Structures towered, spires of steel and glass,
Spreading like a cancer-ridden stain,
Eating each and every blade of grass.
Streets reflected harsh magnesium glare,
Pesticides produced with no delay,
The blackness of a future painted there
With creeping scents of graveyards and decay.
Concrete drowned Utopia to death
And dragged the dreams of legend down as well,
Mother Nature's lungs were starved of breath,
False paradise defined a living hell.
Yet gadgetry malfunctions to a halt
And science on it's own cannot set free,
The heart and soul of man by some default,
It never is enough nor will it be.
Soon nothing moves, a chill breeze starts to blow,
The things that once were great or so was said,
Are drenched in sheets of radioactive snow,
A mortuary world slabbed cold and dead.
What science could have rescued them from this,
What reason of the night seek to undo?
For when one looks into the dark abyss,
The dark abyss looks also into you.
Thus now the graveyard world collapses on,
With screams engulfed in falsified euphoria,
With hopes and dreams redundant, dead and gone,
Comes darkness, death, decay to Robotoria.
There was a small boy
Whose heart was filled with joy
But was noisy and people he annoyed.
He was unemployed this comes to no surprise
For he was a child but was six feet high
Only at the age of five he towered over other guys
He worked at the mill for his parents were ill
And he awaited the day he could get their will
For his father was rich like Moebey Dick
And spent all of his days catching big fish
It was the boys wish to be like his dad
But, now that he was rich, fish was as costly as sand
Then later he took the hand of the girl he was to marry
But he being poor so the ring was made out of candy
The girl's name was Sandy
She was pretty, shy and dandy.
The boy now being 19 became the father of 4 sons
They were all fine except for the last one
This one being ugly just like his mom
Time went by quickly
Soon the boys all got married except for the one whose nick name was Bones
For he was ugly like his dad and wasn't very strong
Now someone told me this story that you have just now read
Don't know if it's true but they say the boy is now dead
Said he told so many lies that he ups and gets killed
Now I'm waiting among others to get part of his will.
The sunflower stretched
With its stalk and its neck
As far to the sky
As it could – reaching high,
Pushing its golden face
With clumsy, awkward grace
Trying, with all its might
To reach the highest height
That it could ever muster
So it could be like Custer
Or like a grand ole redwood
(I think it thought it could)
It reached into the atmosphere
Inhaled the biting air
Looked about in wonderment
High above the firmament
But slender was its frame
It did not have the strength
To stand as so unaided –
It weakened, and degraded
It towered, then bent over,
It leaned a little lower
And found the earth up close
Had just as much to boast
As did the open sky
It wondered at up high –
And thereto did it stay
Forever and a day
A little bit hung over
As if it lost its lover
Or better yet, had found
Upon the hallowed ground
Some cosmic explanation
About its situation
Which held it in its thrall
High above it all
And made its hanging there
That much easier to bear –
I walked with heavy childish feet
Where galaxies of white Chervil towered
And asphalt ribbons did dance on air
dividing fields of early summer flowers
On that shimmering Tournant road
from Tynte Park cross to an iron hill
Blossoms in the June sunshine
staying so silent and peacefully still
Before me each cheating rise
a false promise to a child alone
With five shillings spent on a silver toy
to shoot black crows on my way home
Granite walls of the graveyard now behind
my burning feet soon rest on cooler slate
I will listen to the Stanley's hiss
and boil its sap with the last of that good light
I'd listen to the gentle swing, tick and tock
struggling to keep time on those balmy nights
While shadows eventually bury her black clock
As moths gather about her death stained light
I drove around the countryside, one wet and stormy day;
as lightning flashed, I realised I'd truly lost my way -
I saw a house and went to ask directions from the folk;
I'll tell you what then happened, but you may think it's a joke...
The door was open, just a crack;
I knocked, then went inside;
the stench was terrible, just like
an animal had died.
Huge flies were buzzing all around
an ancient photograph;
as footsteps echoed through the house,
I thought I heard a laugh.
The front door slammed - the laugh again -
I shivered then with fright;
the door was stuck, I couldn't leave,
and guessed I'd have to fight.
'I - I mean no harm,' I stammered, then,
'I'm sorry to intrude -'
I wondered would my story hold
verisimilitude.
The voice that boomed was deafening,
and curses filled the air;
my heart was thumping, hairs on end.
I felt an evil stare.
The stench was growing...footsteps neared...
a shadow on the wall!
I trembled like a frightened child,
and staggered from the hall.
I ran upstairs; from room to room,
I wandered, panting hard;
and cried, despairing at the sight:
the window frames were barred.
I spun around and saw a face -
such malice in its glare;
I knew I'd have to leave, somehow -
or else I'd die right there.
I sprang towards him, ready fists;
he towered at the door;
I paused, then like a bull I charged...
and he was there no more!
I slipped and tumbled down the stairs, the door was open wide;
I hurled his photograph and, chased by flies, I rushed outside.
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
written 18th August 2018
The shadow in the night beckons.
I slowly rise from my warm and cosy bed
Only to follow the urge that drives me mad
Into spectral half-fledged woodland,
That spreads beyond my lonely tower.
Without volition, I approach slowly
A great, gaunt gate that towered
Over a ghostly path among the ashen trees.
A pale moon lights the blanched greensward,
That covered thinly the winding trail,
And from afar, I hear a river,
I hear its humming, throbbing, low, ferocious call,
Meant to disturb the serenity of my soul.
But I force myself into my somnambulism,
And perhaps, lull myself to dream of angels.