Best Try As I Might Poems
How A Poet Was Born
Jacob Payne aka John Posey sat alone by the fire
When it came the time he would normally retire.
But his eyes would not listen to slumber’s request
And soon finding sleep became a physical test.
His heart was in panic and he felt it would burst
There were words coming to him that he must say first.
Words about bridges he’d crossed long ago
Across destiny’s caverns so far below.
Strange feelings came over him – he felt so alone
Then he felt a strange peace like he’d never known.
Sweet memories of childhood were at his command
Up to the time he would stand as a man.
He recognized memories that must not be lost
Lest eternal restlessness would be his cost.
And before he had time to stop and think
He reached for a half used bottle of ink.
The words kept coming like wind driven snow
Till his pen took on a near ghostly glow.
These things I can relate to you now
Are counted as a beautiful gift, somehow.
And no matter how hard I try as I might
The words stay hidden as on a long lonely night.
Written By John Posey
9/10/14
A double sonnet in which the great detective and his faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, alternately deduce the cause of Sherlock’s latest malady…
Part the first
Sherlock could not deduce his source of pain
at first. “Try as I might, I cannot find
the cause – is it contusion, or a sprain?
Perchance a mere psychosis of the mind?
“Yet by deduction, I’ve ruled out the plague,
consumption, smallpox, cholera, and mumps.
My symptoms, although serious, are vague –
this lack of answers has me in the dumps!
“Where’s Watson? He would have a quick prognosis –
I’ve never seen him err in all our years”.
Then! Churn of stomach yields its diagnosis
just as his friend, the good doctor, appears:
“What seems to be the problem, troubled one?”
“It’s alimentary, my dear Watson!”
Part the second
But from the learnéd doctor’s point of view,
there yet were tests and readings still to take.
He’d learnt the ill effects of poor review
and on his friend would not make that mistake.
“Stick out your tongue! Now, turn your head and cough!
Say ‘ah’. Hold this thermometer in place,
and while you’re at it, take your trousers off -
we’d better check your prostate, just in case!"
But Sherlock dashes to the water closet
in dire urgency and grave chagrin
to make a loud and liquidy deposit.
“It’s diarrhea!” Doc yells with a grin.
“How did you know?”, shouts Holmes. “How in tarnation?”
“Why, Holmes, mere process of elimination!”
written 17 Jan 2020
Our dance began in the spring, it was meant to be.
There was a glimpse of heaven in your perfect smile.
Although imprisoned by desire, I still felt free!
Yet pleasure turned to pain after a little while.
My friends warned me, that I should stay away from you.
Still the heart wants what it wants regardless of cost!
Moments felt like eternity but were too few.
You absorbed my very essence and I was lost.
I fell willingly into your passionate arms.
Upon a pleasured bed I intertwined with you.
My logical mind was overcome by your charms.
I idealized perfection, that's what fools do!
Try as I might to reach your sad and lonely heart.
You never allowed me to touch more than your skin.
It was almost like being, enchanted by art.
Imagining substance, but the canvas was thin.
Fate gifted us passion, we drank from its chalice;
wading through waves of fierce flame increasing ardor.
In summer, your sweet roses covered our palace.
The time away from your touch has become harder.
As I look across a wind-blown spray of ocean,
my mind turns to the sadness of our parting hours
Kneeling, I beg for a distance closing potion
so I can reclaim coveted castle tower.
My wish is to be with you there in your bower.
To see a lovingly longing, desperate face
enshrined in fears deepest depths as we part from clutch.
I remind you distance cannot erase love's trace
or lessen my need to feel your soft, gentle touch.
Last week, I sent you a love-soaked, tear-stained letter;
For I'll return aboard a ship needing your love.
I truly believe no one can love you better,
Yet I fear you'll shatter like a porcelain dove?
Written with my friend Robert Lindley.
Twas the site before Christmas
and all through the place
All the poets were writing
happy thoughts to embrace
They sprinkled each stanza
with seasonal things
Like Santa Claus, candy canes,
five golden rings
All phrases were penned
with a holiday gleam
As sugarplums danced
in the midst of their dream
With Frosty the Snowman,
live wreaths on the door
Evergreens, Jingle bells,
presents galore
Tree trimming poems,
sleigh bells and joys
Fairly land winters
and elves making toys
A star in the sky
that three wise men did see
A babe in a manger,
the nativity
Hot cups of cocoa,
the garland is strung
Tinsel and ornaments,
stockings are hung
I read and I laughed
and I grinned ear to ear
Perusing their poems
of Christmastime cheer
When I thought of writing
out one of my own
Not a creature was stirring,
I sat all alone
I stared at the screen
wondering what I could say
To bring many smiles
on this wonderful day
But try as I might
my mind just couldn’t think
Of something for Christmas
to put down in ink
So I sprang from my chair
and I caused such a clatter
My neighbors called out
“Hey Chris, what’s the matter”
“It’s Christmas,” they shouted
as snow starts to fall
“A time to spread kindness
to one and to all”
When then, like a sled
moving quickly downhill
I got an idea
Of a way to fulfill
I ran to the keyboard
and started to tap
Before settling down
for a long winter’s nap
My fingers were nimble,
like reindeer they flew
To type out this message
so long overdue
For all of the poets
I’ve been lucky to meet
Who write so amazing,
leave comments so sweet
So here are the words
I decided to say
Merry Christmas dear Soupers
have a great holiday
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays Soupers
I hope the holidays bring you much happiness and joy
and you are surrounded by love
I will be away for the holiday, so I will see you again next Monday
For the Ho, ho, ho, poetry contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Another year has gone, it just slipped away,
Without notice or warning or eulogies to say.
On purpose, I barely register its passing…only crack
A bitter smile;
A half-raised, quizzical eyebrow, maybe, laced with a brief
Sense of a long forgotten once close friend
Giving up the ghost.
From starved tree branches the leaves tumble down,
Sheets of rain guillotine on this dirty old town.
I watch the autumn gale axing…havoc from
The frozen North.
I'm digging graves for memories, perhaps, meticulously fast,
For they really need interment
As they are the living dead.
Funny, it's the first time ever, I realise I'm getting old,
The heart misses beats and the room feels always cold.
I see the lines etch on my face…gritted warp
Of aching bones.
And try as I might to shove longing and regret back into
Their woodworm coffins,
It does not keep the pain at bay
When the past craves resurrection.
A memory is found in the back of my mind
That I thought was stored away
It's creeping back in, without my approval
Oh why would it treat me this way
I keep thinking about that bean juice
But it's not what you people may think
Get your minds out of that smelly gutter
For it has nothing to do with the stink
See, we were singing at this fundraiser
Kind of an all you can eat buffet
What happened next was a nightmare
And I keep trying to forget that day
As I went down the line, with plate in hand
The soup beans were all I could see
Since my mother died, the beans were scarce
For my wife wouldn't make them for me
My plate was full, as my heart leapt with joy
From this promising prize that I'd found
I know what you're thinking so stop it!
It has nothing to do with that sound
The place that I'd chosen to sample this treat
Was packed like a can of sardines
But I was in a hurry to find my seat
So I could get to those wonderful beans
At the front of the table sit a famous guest
A popular radio D J
Though try as I might the path was too tight
As my bean juice had found his toupee
Now with beans in my plate and egg on my face
I had only myself to blame
For three beans with juice sat on top of his head
As my wife hid her poor face in shame
I mean what could I say to comfort this man
As my meal sat on top of his head
So I just bit my tongue and walked away
And hoped he didn't notice instead
Well my guilt would get the best of me
As I approached him later that day
I reach for his hand, and say I'm sorry my friend
For I've spilled bean juice on top your toupee
Well, the man wasn't happy to say the least
And I really can't blame him at all
For I'm stuck in this slow motion memory
As I watching that bean juice fall
Well, that's my story and all of it's true
Maybe one day that memory will pass
See, I told you this story was not what you thought
For it had nothing to do with gas
~
Sitting beneath an autumn moon
watching shadows dancing amidst
pine needles swaying as
rhythmic motions of light entrance
Harmonic whispers of nightfall desires
come as music to my mind,
lyrics afloat on rhyming breezes
in the key of unquestioned love
I take pen in hand
as a starlit melody traces
over my thoughts, like a fallen leaf
meandering slowly to the ground
Though try as I might
on this enchanted evening
where my every dream comes true…
I cannot write this song
For it has already been written,
perfect words in eternal ink
of the deepest devotion
on my heart…by you
~
Lately, nothing seems to be going right.
Sorrow spills from my heart every night.
Try as I might, I simply fail to understand
why my tears gather like grains of sand.
I'm hanging on for dear life, but how I miss
the love we shared. I've fallen into an abyss,
and in the distance I watch the sun as it sets,
filled with forlorn emotions and rueful regrets.
I've lost my verve for living and paying the price
for listening to my sad heart's quixotic advice.
I can no longer, escape.
I am caged, in my mind.
A slave. To my own, thoughts.
And try as I might. I am trapped.
A songbird, that longs,
To be free
But is trapped
In a cage
Of its own
Design.
I Go There But Just Cannot Get It Back
I go there but just cannot get it back
The buildings there are quite a bit older
But no loud trains run down that iron track
I was young then, strong and very much bolder.
I go there but just cannot get it back
The buildings there are quite a bit older
Time has left me only an empty sack
And reminders of lies I once told her.
I beg, beg loud to yet again hear it
That sweet music of love and heart sounding
The kind that once so well soothed my spirit
I feel in prison now darkness surrounding.
I beg, beg loud to yet again hear it
That sweet music of love and heart sounding
O'lord that darkness I do so fear it
In dreams rabid beasts are my life hounding.
I go there but just cannot get it back
The buildings there are quite a bit older
But no loud trains run down that iron track
I was young then, strong and very much bolder.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-23-2021
Rhyme, repetition and revelations
Note One :
Searching, searching , searching for a lost truth
Yet again I went to small town of my youth
Yet only silence was there to be found
And in these iron chains I am still bound
Yet try as I may and try as I might
Getting it back is an impossible fight
And no matter the bitter tears I bleed
Time and Fate both gladly deny my need
But when the dam breaks and I feel that urge
Through these veins aching red blood surge
I find myself racing down that old path
Praying against hope, against life's dark wrath
Searching, searching , searching for a lost truth
Yet again I went to small town of my youth
Yet only silence was there to be found
And in these iron chains I am still bound.
Note Two:
You just can never go back!!!
Note Three:
This was to be in my third Creation Blog
but it was not completed in time. As the
Note One Part, had not came to me yet,,,,
Feed me, feed me the slot machine said.
You'll get lots of money and get really ahead.
Just a few more dollars that you won't miss.
My bright lights and sounds bring you such bliss.
Leaving the machines I sat down at a table.
The gambling here may just be more stable.
But try as I might - the cards wouldn't show.
Now what could I do - where could I go?
To these games of chance they say I'm addicted.
But truly I say to you I'm not afflicted!
Off to the races to place a bet.
Somewhere here I've got to win yet!
I've just won a hundred in Casino Town.
Now that only makes me four hundred down.
At a dead run I landed in Bingo.
And at the same time I also played Keno.
The day is over and it's time to rest.
Knowing in this I did my best.
My stomachs empty and my moneys gone.
So for now I'll just say - So Long!
With me it’s not a matter of “If I could talk to God”
I have talked to God, I talk to him all throughout the day
I first talked to God when I was forty-one
I was an evil man
See, I had lost everything and everyone I had ever loved
I was in prison, which was nothing new
Except on this particular time, which was also my last time
I was in the hole and hate was all I had left
God set me free that day
He gave me a gift called Poetry
And from inside that cell
I sprouted wings and with every poem I wrote
I flew on the wings of an angel
Then out of the blue he returned my wife
Who had left me over a year before
After talking me into turning myself in
Well if I could talk to God this is what I would say:
Through the pain and tears I cried
An evil soul laid down and died
And of the stories that soul could tell
Delivered from the pits of hell
I thank you God for the blood of your Son
That enabled my sins to be undone
For giving me the gift and desire to write
The strength inside to stand and fight
For the love of my wife as well as my kids
A way to undo all the evil I did
I am your servant may your will be done
For what once was the darkness now lives in the Son
Lord why have you given all this to me?
I try to understand but still can’t see
You are the beginning and the end of time
The keeper of love and all that’s divine
And I was evil upon two feet
Tired, lonely, broken and beat
I don’t deserve all you have given to me
Try as I might I still cannot see
But till death I’ll do all I can
To live your word and be a man
I am your servant may your will be done
For what once was the darkness now lives in he Son
Anyhow if I could talk to God
I reckon I would probably say something like that
When I was younger and I thought of old age
Thought we all became senile at this elderly stage
It appears I was wrong, I can still go potty
And able to dress this tired old body
Try as I might, I don't see very well
And my wobbly old legs are as shaky as hell
Sometimes my words come out like a squeak
Other times I whistle whenever I speak
Have a secret to tell you my young whipper snappers
It's as good as it gets except for my bladder
It seems to be constantly wanting attention
I don't have a problem with pee-pee retention
So now that I've told you guys what to expect
I must tell you all it's as good as it gets
Enjoy your youth cause it's downhill from here
You'll soon be old and decrepit I fear
© Jack Ellison 2015
I have a shameful secret to tell
I never really learnt how to spell
Tho’ try as I might
It seldom comes right
But my checker, SHE does very well
Contest: Challenge—Max 8 Lines
Sponsor: Russell Sivey
Margaret Foster Oct 10th 2011
I sit at my computer musing and trying to compose meaningful verse.
Try as I might with Shakespearian panache my lines to intersperse,
With profound nuggets of enlightenment to attain universal fame,
My concentration is lost in a fog, like an ever-changing movie frame!
I suppose I could blame this dilemma on my dear, long-suffering spouse.
She's cooking beef stew for supper - the aroma is wafting about the house!
Now, how am I to concentrate on versifying when my palate is just itchin',
To delve into that delectable ambrosia she's slaving over in the kitchen!
Ah! I can hardly wait to taste that mouth-watering olio awaiting me!
She makes the best in town, tossing all kinds of stuff in that potpourri!
Of course there is the best of beef that she has tenderized and diced,
And the scrumptious gravy with exotic herbs she has liberally spiced!
She adds sweet peas, a tolerable amount of corn and russet pertaters,
And just enough onions for my taste, green peppers and fresh termaters!
Green beans, carrots and a tad of celery top off this fantastic brew!
Le Cordon Bleu Chef at the Ritz dare not concoct a more elegant stew!
Alas, I've wasted all afternoon trying to hatch up some credible rhyme,
But my thoughts have been consumed with that ragout laced with thyme!
Ah! My wife announces supper is ready so I'm gonna load my plate!
That poetic masterpiece I had in mind today will just have to wait!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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