Best Turned Poems
No one followed her as she ran away
fleeing from the altar on her wedding day
She’d been jilted by Jed her handsome groom
so locked herself away in an unused attic room
The bride’s father went after Jed with a gun
you should have seen the coward run!
The desperate search for Judy was in vain
She didn’t respond when they called her name
Folks assumed she didn’t want to hang around
Many years passed by and she was never found
The house was auctioned after her parent’s died
They were buried at the churchyard side by side
The new house owners were in for a terrible shock
When they ventured upstairs and unpicked the lock
They found Judy’s skeletal body in her dress of lace
Cobwebs hung like curtains from her once lovely face
Jed’s dust covered photo lay in her hand
Judy never got to wear her wedding band
Dust Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
03~22~17
In the deepest of sad emotions
My mind as been turned off
Exiting off the highway of life
The turn off of all time
As I rot in Ward J
Insane and sublime
The bars on the windows speak
The bartender sneaks in a wee piss
My mind flies away in the wind
I wish to to to to tell you my small thoughts
Or comments
Yet here I am
Locked away in hell
The soup is cold
The orderlies so blind
A Ghazal, rhyming the first line of each couplet, beginning with the 2nd.
I stand before you to beg and plead, but you turn away.
Your pride refuses to let you concede. You turn away.
You continue to pretend that everything is alright.
I can't give you the help you need. Again, you turn away.
You are losing the battle but I keep holding you tight.
I love you, though you made me bleed. And still you turn away.
I'm trying to help you by telling you that you must fight.
Stop giving in to the habit you feed - you turn away.
You need the will to leave the darkness and search for the light;
from evil demons you must be freed, but you turn away.
I have to leave because I can no longer bear the sight
of you killing yourself... drinking with greed. You turn away.
Catherine lives in constant fear for her own life; and despite
her pleas you will not take heed. She's sorry you turn away.
::...............................................................................::
March 21st, 2016 Ghazal Contest for Tim Hicks
14 syllables per line: Checked with howmanysyllables.com
In the deepest of emotions
A desire to please
Be loved
Caressing tears like the wind
Kissing dreams in creamy lace
Carnal is the heart of seduction
Insane and sublime
Holding both body and soul
To my beating heart
No one shall see my weeping face
Our love was eternal
As you died in my arms
Upside down rainbows
would be what my smiles are
right now...
as colorful and as bright,
just seeing these
beautiful reminders
of hope
two rainbows from the
rainbow nation
from one
bright and sunny friend
and her niece
how very fitting
and awesome...
gray day
turned
upside down :D
06052011235p241
**Thank You, Wilma for these wonderful pics ^_^
super smiling right now, love them --mwahugs!^_^
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?"
- T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land.
Who tries to grow out of this cold.
Unfolding wings from nothing,
nurtured with meager protection,
nourished with watery milk.
Whose fingers try to burrow
the dry clay, the impenetrable rock.
Who wants to excavate what turned
to stone?
In preservation conservation hides,
in self protection arms as withered
branches wrap around what turned
to stone, knowing that deep inside
one little ember glows, still glows.
There one small drop of water
remains, once a pool in polished
rounded slab of stone, rubble,
remaining consciousness
This is what grows,
this is one seed of hope, one
tiny root, one drop of water, one
cinder of warmth, one knowing once
belonged to a field of glacier. While
only cold remains in once warm
heart that blindly searches,
searches.
***
March 25, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Young and naive from a distance her heart leaped to its highest peak
On his terrace he'd sit lips utter words if the pages could speak
Her eyes showed ruby red as held flooding tears, so very weak
Quiet and steady she kept silent cries to touch his naked cheeks
secrets from afar
immune to the world around
enslaved hopes of love
Under shadow of garden trees among a gallery of crimson azaleas, she strolls
Portrait of beauty at my fingertips, to caress her goodness, oh so slow
She flees when stealing a look upon her; does one follow or just let go?
Burying thoughts in a book and just glance down to see her beautiful glow
silent eyes wander
stroll alongside hand in hand
heartache pages turned
2/16/2017
Poetry Contest : Form H - With A Theme
Sponsored by: Broken Wings | Send Soup Mail
A silver shawl hangs heavy over the mountain
sky grey clouds shooting gun barrel smoke hiding sunlight
Looking out towards the ocean dreaming in wild north Atlantic waves
tides turn a little lamb suffering in the spring crouched cold
We all see visions of injustices flash before our eyes turn
for which no one is held responsible the standing joke of our century
So many people turn a blind eye as their souls have already been bought
children of this world have suffered at the hands of tyrant slave masters
Born free without chains attached what gives any race the God given right
killing innocent women and children destroying families unjust actions
Some of us on this planet are sick with an untrustworthy state of affairs
listening to what these monstrous brutes get away with
In the name of peace not twisted truths building bridges instead of walls
who ever sells arms are terrorists against the living
Democracy has no grounds only love the suffering because
behind the mask many in this world condemn us
Branded from birth marked as slaves unto a system each of us a number
piercing bullets flash before the eyes redemption knowing whats true
I wish I knew how cold summer would be,
maybe I’d wear long leggings in the pool-
I’d swim with my mittens casually,
and most likely look like a chilly fool.
Cuz’ winter turned into summer in June,
kids went sledding in the lavender field-
The snow melted and I looked like a prune,
ice stuck on the oranges as I peeled.
It happened so fast we never saw Spring,
the poor squirrels never buried their nuts-
Never heard the baby birds chirp and sing,
never heard the quacking of the lil’ ducks.
Our Winter turned into Summer…so strange-
The seasons mother nature rearranged!
A Funny Sonnet How Your Winter Turned Into Summer
August 26, 2017
There are many painful pitfalls to happiness,
and no one is immune to misery's tragic tune.
We cry in the night like a wolf baying at the moon,
sullen, soulful songs of heartbreak and despair,
drifting upon air. Of those memories; beware.
My emotions may seem as dormant as a volcano~
Silent but molten, setting fire to my dreams.
In ashes they lie, beyond the reach of my heart.
I try to write the plight of my life, but the light
turns dark, leaving me with tormented thoughts.
Expressing the bane of lost love in poetic refrain
is a rueful score of what once was but is no more.
I've written hundreds of poems of being smitten.
Bitten and wounded by Cupid's arrow, was I.
How I wish he'd missed his target, and yet,
never would I have known love's tender touch
or the gentle caresses as he stroked my tresses,
nor the taste of his lips sealing love's vow.
My protective muse refuses to let me forget
the memories of romance, the good and bittersweet,
so, I continue to write although I stumble,
suffering while penning another grief-stricken Sonnet.
Then more, still more, I write in lamenting encore,
a sequence of denouements that will tear me apart
each time I write and lay bare my wounded heart.
XCIII
A wretched bond which all my life had borne
My sin I love and own, alas owns me
Deceitful heart that love these chains and thorns
Unsacred ties that binds, how may I flee?
Then suddenly at dawn my dungeon breaks
Fresh wounds I see on pierced hands stretched down
From darkness he my poor, dead soul did take
That from my temples fell sin’s hollow crown.
Down deep within the chambers of my soul
From my disgraceful state, a prize he found
Like lovely gem that turned from darkest coal
A true desire to praise with sweetest sound
Much rather would I from some good retreat
Till sin is bitter, Christ will not be sweet
The professor turned to me
What is infinity?
‘Neither the stars in the sky
nor the sand next the sea’
thought me
The answer, thus he:
‘Every thousand years
a bird picks up a single
grain of sand, oh-so-wee’
‘And even that
'is not infinity'
thus me
‘Jolly good!’
chuckled he
Sharp The Edges, Of Poet's Pen Turned To Fight,
( New Dawn,Third Battle And Final Slash ) -
Part Three
From within, a gifted calm brings a tranquil peace
to poet's soul that searched and found a new lease
and with foresight decided to take pen to write,
about shadowy black beast, that stabs in dark of night.
Now massive strength that old poets's pens often yields
succors heart and grants victory on battlefields
new ink hones blade, gifts poetic words that destroy,
that savage beast that sought to make a whipping boy!
From poetry comes a Light that, gives true powers
which destroys wicked beasts, lurking in dark towers
by shining wisdom from classic poetic verse,
to cut those, that such illuminations do perverse.
Lo! Be aware what may be found seeking true Light
Sharp the edges, of poet's pen turned to fight!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2019
Sonnet, ( The Third And Final Battle-- Part Three)
Conclusion- Three Part Series..
Note: This is the last to be written on this subject in regards to
this specific incident. I offer this series for the hiding fool,
the worthless opponent to come on and try to refute.
nuff said... old poet, Still writing...
A frequent favor is soon a debt:
It makes cupped hands close into fists.
Now that my hands are empty,
I see your breast heave with cold dark clouds—
A sure sign of the storm to come.
A pool of slime gathers in your eyes
That just yesterday were wide and glad
But now both narrow, each to a slit.
The fault, I know, is that a favor has gone missing,
So I the giver must hear the hissing.
Each time my favors to mist dissolve,
Your inner angels and demons to fists come.
Whom you cheer tells me focus:
Whether you dwell on scores or dwell on sores.
I see you cheer the angels
When it's my scores that you recall,
Scores that I gained whilst my favors flowed;
But it's demons that you cheer
When all you see are sores
That now hurt you where lost favors once soothed.
I feel your pain, so this much I’ll say:
In the hands of the clock is a mighty broom:
Of the plumes of angels' wings are its bristles made.
When time beats the past to dust,
It’s all soon wafted to heaven
As the clock each day fields its fabled broom.
Out of that dust, as at the beginning of time,
The Lord ever forms new worlds and fortunes
In which by his grace
Things now lost and missed may yet be reborn—
But only to those that stand with the angels.
Before the day turned into night
I slept until the morning's light
My dreams I dreamt I now shall write
And pray to God, I get it right
The dream I dreamt was long and sweet
A dream I wish I could repeat
Now wouldn't that be, well, "Oh- so neat"
Just a poet's wish, just a poet's treat
I dreamt a dream to reminisce
I dreamt your lives be full with bliss
I dreamt that all that doth read this
Be fill your hearts with happiness
Before the dream I dreamt last night
I prayed to God- you'll wake to light