Best Troves Poems
On earthen shores are treasures
Of love, of joy, of life
A family's forever bond
The children, Husband, Wife
Treasure troves of memories
Within' these earthen treasuries
The blessed earthly life of years
And yet, can break, and rush to tears
The tears like diamonds fall like the sands
Lift them Father, within Your hands,
The broken hearts in sorrows weep
And in Your love, please. Father, keep
Those washed in tears sweet memories
Flows from earthen treasuries
Comfort the broken, draw close and near
Drying, every diamond tear
Amen
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
I want to mingle
with the people of Walmart
as they regally push
their shopping carts
Eclectically dressed perfection
each a work of art
Camouflaged chic
or an old guy
dressed like a tart
Back and forth my eyes dart
Over there
a sequinned heart
and here
a bedazzled jacket
that looks real smart
Some saunter,
some sashay
reaching into pockets
and purses to pay
The happy faced discounts
make everyone’s day
Treasure troves in hand
life’s better than okay
See the flying nun
with her habit hiding her gun
Today’s discounted ammo
is tomorrow’s fun
As I watch her pay
I wonder if her beads and bullets
help her to pray
A coupon cowboy
basement bargain pleasure
a new pair of jeans
some pork and beans
for good measure
Get in, get out
no time for leisure
Here the world moves too fast
he don’t like the pressure
Low cut tight tops
girls searching for cheap
bargains galore
listen to the cash registers beep
I let the sights and sounds
into my brain seep
None of these people are sheep
humanity is well beyond skin deep
Lingering laughter later
might make it hard to sleep
Perhaps too much butt cleavage
and beep bleep bleep!
Inspired by Kurt Ravinda’s poem “A Metophor” his is a brilliant piece.
She ventured far beyond Earth's realm
past cordoned confines of heart and soul
Tumbled, as did Alice, down the rabbit hole
Drifted, like an Autumn leaf blown from an elm
She soared past distant planets,
on paths lighted by effulgent moons
Weaved her tears among Saturn's rings
and all the while she was gathering stardust
before they mingled with sand on Mars' dunes.
From mountain peaks of Jupiter,
she bottled mist, to which she clings
And all these amazing interstellar things
were collected as caressive tokens for him;
the one she had vowed to love more than life.
From far reaches of dark galaxies
she held treasures from her jaunt;
Mystical items she hoped he'd want
brilliant beacons of silvered moonbeams,
fading light, captured as the sun dimmed.
She carefully wrapped her gifts to offer
in layers of cosmic flecks from a comet's tail.
Trussed with silken threads of time, unraveled,
she tied celestial troves she would soon proffer
to the one for whom she holds in fervent affection.
From his heart, she hoped would spill
the love that somehow waned to a trickle.
Then in abundance, once more it would flow
like a wildly churning river, Yes, she loves him still
Faved PoetrySoup poems, I've many a favorite
Are such a treasure trove of Joy
Each one so exquisite
I've many, but imagine, I'll have many, many more
I wish they could be bound in books
Purchased through a PS store!
Leaves of golden artistry of poets that I love
A little bit of heaven on earth
Like sunshine from above
I thought to name these poets, that have written
On my heart, but that would take
Me quite some time,
I don't know where to start!
Suffice to say, I'm blessed, I love this precious group
What treasure troves of blessings
These poems on PoetrySoup
Keep shining, keep on writing, your voices like a song
The aroma of sweet fragrance
Gently stirring all day long
For each new poem that's written, a gem within the sea
A gift of golden treasure is your
Precious poetry
My image shared is just a 'dream' book of sorts, an
idea of how it may be easy for PS to create a personalized
book of our favorite file poems from our dear PS poets.
My mother had an old empty scrapbook I inherited,
I applied the gold lettering just for an example.
Maybe Team Poetry could brainstorm an idea of this
sort, I think it would be wonderful. Anyway, just a thought.
<3
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree
I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttered after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.
An unclaimed Gift
For you, I have placed my beating heart on a silver plate.
You have chosen to let it die – not to become your fate.
You see me through eyes of a miss perceived past.
You hear of me through troves of gossip – believe – cast.
You cast me in a light of doubts, uncertainties and fears.
For me – knowing these things, brings on a world of tears.
You espy me in a light that is filled with many shadows
- from which I am unable to extricate myself, escape –
that drown out possibilities, the desire - to shine - I have
to know you, as all the colours harboured by this universe,
as they are transformed, refracted through the prism of you,
- the refracted, the reflected, the unfettered by inhibitions –
the you that seems to desperately hang on tightly to the past
and all the past experiences that keep you back from taking,
taking in every nuance of joy, enjoying every flake of a moment.
Ah but therefore, lost for ever, all that might have been.
B. J. “A” 2
April 13th 2007
Call me a DREAMER call me an IDEALIST. I want mass appeal.
I am a dreamer. As I think, my muse are heavy unclear
I fall asleep MY dreams are plenty starlit glistening seeming VIVID.
My Contemplation DEEP near daunting. I seek the best of BOUNTIES
steep, until I wake to count the trophies that I keep.
I refrain from CONSCIOUS tidings or else be accused of SHEEPLESS
SLEEP and JADED SCHEMES.
I am a dreamer listening to the pattering raindrops as I sleep I dream of
PEACH ORCHARDS and fields of VIOLET blades of GRASS. I dream of
PLATINUM sashes ample sample stashes of CHOCOLATE CANDY CANES
and tasty CARAMEL TREATS. I seek the finest shores Of the planet
UNTOUCHED islands GALORE.
I dream of IMMEASURABLE measures of TREASURE TROVES and other
Mundane riches never told, warm paradises spectacular surprises. I am the
Keeper of my dreams. I am a dreamer of RASPBERRY kisses
And PURPLE PASSION WISHES NOW
Moon light gleaming as I lull my weary body
Back to QUIET slumber
QUIET is the night.
Ethiopia was easy to chew right through
African jungles taste delicious yum
Biodiversity treasure-troves devoured
No splintered aftertaste or toothpicks left
Eating Australia was a challenge
Don't want to hurt no kangaroos
I wish I had a bigger mouth for Europe
To cover bushes and lumber in one chomp
Rain in South America is like salad dressing
Makes me famished as trees vanish one by one
Canopy after canopy drop
This place is too alien for me
Sand has always been my favorite snack
I'm moving on to dryer spots
When I finish with this world real soon
It's off to other planets to consume
Palimpsests of smoky cone-rolled pages charred black from the lead of hatred laced pencils,
Assemblages rewriting peaceful philosophies from behind the blindness of fire-flooded eyes;
Nourished underground rivers of stiff minds that hang coarse like dried laundry on the line,
Demolition derbies of personal agendas colliding like sticks of dynamite beneath a cool bath;
Endowed schools of thought mindlessly led back into troves of blood soaked barren lands,
Mellifluously singing the cash register's melody for drunken bankers and bankrupt diplomats;
Once upon a time our minds only pregnant think-boxes of shooting stars with no prison bars,
Now palpable petals wilting beneath the graffiti drenched petrichor that chokes our senses;
In years smarter tonic will pierce our hearts with the healing strike of medicine tipped darts,
Until that time we can work to smolder beneath the sun-kissed rituals of knowledge and love,
Making our futures bright and golden, leaving this pandemonium as history, for our children;
August 2, 2016
Among the mango groves
Rain falls in rallies, waterbeads
The gust of wind gather treasure-troves
Of passive smell of weeds
In the groves,play of waterbeads, breeds
The water spirals down the earth
A rumpy cudden in trapeze
A distant coming nature's re-birth
Meandering roots squeeze
A trapeze, rebirth ,trees wheeze
Rain 's stopping by,a shy goodwill
Falling of twigs , nipped buds white sauce oozing
Astringent in taste sweet souls on the mill
Waters sleep on the bark sousing
Sousing in the puddle of rain-a goodwill dousing
Manassian Quintain - Poetry Contest
Sponsor craig cornish
07 th January,2015
Power in the hands of a woman? Wow!
She can wreak wreck worse than
All the fires burning in satanic hell
Or she can turn her hell into a paradise
With super powers invested in me
It would be a minuscule to almighty's, yet
The aged would be eased of any physical pain and
Their struggles would be behind, their peaceful days ahead
The lives of the physically challenged
Would be comforted in their self sufficiency
Food would be substantially dispensed between
The rich and the poor so that no one dies of excessive surfeit
I would make every orphan be adopted in a kindly home
Babies and children would be warm in comfort zones of love
I would love to see them playing truant with the whispering winds
And hear the echoes of their loud shrieks of joyfulness from the parks
Evil thoughts and indisciplined speech vindicate my patience
So, instantly I would create havoc and punish the uncouth with
Vipers, lizards and cockroaches spluttering out of their vile words
I would delight at my powerful energy till waspish tongues are rectified
I would indulge in devilish treats fanning my sweet tooth with
All the forbidden desserts that would ironically relinquish me of obesity
I would fly free across the globe feasting my eyes on unexplored treasure troves
My childhood dream would miraculously come true when my super power explodes
June 7, 2016
Lewis Raynes
Pavers of life worn down with ware
Solid blocks built upon, set with care
October years spent mending the cracks
that Septembers years most surely lacked
Crossing the yellow lines
with a quivering spine
as November draws nearer
December years decline
Autumns harvest of memory troves
feels winters cold remembrance slow
Golden nostalgia, like falling leaves,
too briskly escapes in winters breeze
© Debra Squyres
Beleaguer me with beaten breaths as I burn long beyond this dalliance of love,
Remind me with a rush of redolent-rippled candy kisses draped across my lips--
Enchant me with a tickle of your tempest as you transcend my tepid tranquility,
Attacking my dank demure with your deliciously decadent defiance to my doubt--
Tiptoe your ebullient eyes through thick doleful curtains drawn atop my trust,
Helping to lather my lassitude with your lustrous elixir-like gaze that slays me--
Tempt my desires with your tender touch as you whisper passion into my veins,
Aching to unravel into your snowy soft embrace at a falling feather's descent--
Kill the messenger that meddles in my mind preventing me from your seduction,
Imbibing me in sensual serenity as we get lost climbing sky-bound staircases--
Never stop the theft of my breath for I promise you troves after each idyllic kiss,
Granting you all the love that my lungs can hold as you fix me with your bliss--
March 10, 2016