Best Turning Poems
On boulevards of memories, with you I walk
Reminiscing in yesteryear as I turn back the clock
And persuade the silence of amour to talk
As conversations of yore ridicule and mock.
When passage of time changed us, losing its way
Feelings that still evoked had nothing to say
And hearts then discarded rules of the game
For love no longer cared to ignite the flame.
Echoes of desires stopped calling your name
When lyrics of our song could no longer claim
Melodies foregone that altered our frame
As I stepped forward alone to take all the blame.
But, regrets that mount have no place to go
Except being drawn into pathos of woe
As winter emerges in the midst of spring--
In passions of ruby rose, its thorns now sting;
Like summer’s heat burns soft autumn breeze
And gusty gales shatter last leaf of barren trees,
When in serenity of blue-skies dark clouds frown
Raining on crimson arc in twilight of sundown.
We now reside in our separate new meadows,
Having barred future from sullen past shadows,
In nights of blissful reverie, kissing dreams of dawn--
Pointless it is to invoke dreadful spirits long gone.
From the fork in the road we’ve traveled far,
In abodes of our distinct worlds happy we are;
View in front is golden glow of vibrant sunrise--
Rear view spurs spent emotions of dreary skies.
October 9, 2019
Placed 2nd: If only we could turn back the hands of time poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
HM: Strand contest #670 by Brian Strand
trees tessellated
prismatic presentation ~
wizened eyes widen
(September Full Moon – Anishinaabe)
A five and a zero.
Numbers.
The big one creeping up,
Five...
Four three two one!
The countdown has begun
The race is on.
Big one creeping up so fast
I can hear the crack of the gun.
The big five... Oh
My mother didn't make it past.
I've been told that that's your big one,
Your own ceiling of glass;
That it creeps into your psyche,
Your parents to outlast.
I've been working for a while
To quit smoking before forty,
Success five years too late.
Five to go, the age that she was shortly.
Fifteen years six months eight days between us
Is as close as we ever got.
I don't need closer now,
I have a second shot;
I almost died with no idea what hit me,
A tragic but not sad how.
So to me it does occur
To slowly drown as your lungs fill
Is to fill a fate
I would much rather defer.
17.04.08
For On Turning Fifty Contest
keep the music sorrowfully low,
so big daddy doesn’t hear.
the shadowy figures, surrender
and whisper in your ear.
the psychedelic colors flow
like the sea foam beat.
Angie, your chromatic hair
smells incandescently sweet.
locked and loaded, alone
with your beastie dreams.
your pillow’s soft and it leans -
your coming apart “at the seams”
one boy plays peek-a-boo, sniffing
your honeysuckles suspended.
tickled by your goldilock curls,
not realizing all it portended.
like walking into the deep dark wood,
he creeps hand and foot, eyes first
like a prowling tiger, tail wagging,
with a rattling tongue a-thirst.
Angie, swooshes her fingers
through his hair, hushes him.
...he stares at the ceiling stars
...loud music descends on his limbs.
Angie digs her embryonic duffel bag,
smiles and adds his decomposing bones
to the ashes of her huge imagination
and recalls that in this world, she’s all alone.
5/8/2019
Musical Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Song choice: Angie, Baby by Helen Reddy
petrified
the ink
has dried
3/1/2019
The man stumbled on, wanting to get as far away as possible
the sights he had seen and lived through too terrible to contemplate.
How could another human deliberately inflict such awful things on another.
He could see a gentle stream of smoke arising from the distant chimney
and headed for the shelter it offered, staggering on until he reached it.
It was a pretty cottage nestled deep into the hillside and isolated.
He tumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor.
Mistily he drifted in then out of consciousness unable to focus
aware vaguely of a gentle touch that soothed and replenished.
He drank from the cup pressed to his lips and then let go.
The old lady shook her head at the follies of mankind,
and set to work bandaging his festering wounds.
She made a drawing potion to clean out the poison
that had taken a fierce hold racking him with fever.
Then she covered him and stoked up the fire.
For three days he lay in a coma muttering about the war,
not an ordinary one, oh no, this war caused carnage.
Evil stalked the land every hand turned against the other.
Sons killing fathers and brothers and to what point?
A simple disagreement about Creed had started this.
Weakened by the ravages he was slow to fully heal
yet he learned much from the old lady causing him to rethink.
To look at things with eyes a-new seeing the other point of view.
These new values he took with him when he left thanking her gratefully.
He set out on a new route, his task now to heal and bring peace.
Standing a-midst the crowd on a small hillock he taught them new values
not by preaching as such but by parables that showed the way to peace.
After all he would say; Pause and Think, For What are We without hope?
Everything gone by can be changed, all we have to do is care and act.
So lit the small flicker in your heart and fan up a healing blazing flame.
Will tomorrow be smiles and lovely
Will your smile ever be real to me again
I don't know how to change what is
Time has creeped upon you and I
Grey is our hair and loose is our skin
Those things don't matter
Just the way you speak unkindly
Hurts me to my soul
Bitter blood boils through my veins
Tension causes stress points in my face
My smile has been away for awhile
I miss that smile
I miss your laughter
What should we do or say?
In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.
For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.
At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.
Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.
When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.
A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.
So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.
The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.
In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.
A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.
I’m turning into mother
Eyebrows, nose, and lips.
Bosoms hanging, almost, to
my child bearing hips.
She’s grumpy and forgetful
And I’m growing much the same.
Tables now are turning
In the parent child game.
It’s me that does the cleaning,
Feeds and dresses too
Who always asks before we go
‘have you been to the loo’?
Her childlike ways increasing
throwing tantrums, snubbing food,
and me left to be patient
understanding, kind, and good
I’m turning into mother.
But the future I can see.
‘cos they tell me life’s a circle,
and soon, that child will be me.
When the day is put to bed
and at last you lay your cares
aside, then listen to the wind songs
playing in the trees beyond the garden
wall. A night bird serenades his lover
with his own sweet and tender melody
reassuring her that the dawn will come.
When the day is put to bed
What am I but an ironic turning
of this mind, now frosted,
from a short walk around the edge,
of the corner,
promising to never promise,
even as I do?
And even, as I do
then; within the spin,
of what I've seen,
passing shadows and looks,
along here and there,
past where fragments of dreams,
cool under their own clouds,
time, and stars.
Ah yes, my dreams, let us
ransom other people, the other people
outside the door.
We have a way to go. Didn't you feel how much was missed,
just waiting,
to let it go?
Cast upon a book
Her angel eyes
Within her mind
This beauty flies
She's not restrained
By earthly woes
Within her mind
Imagery flows
In this garden
Beneath morning star
Wings to paradise
She travels so far
Look of serenity
Yet inside there's heat
On passionate pages
Her heart skips a beat
A sweet knowing smile
Spreads across her face
Imagining strong hands
Removing her lace
He wrote her this book
For their wedding day
Joined in the garden
Paradise starts today
Isaiaha Zerbst's "Poem in Paradise Contest"
"The budget should be balanced, the Treasury should be refilled, public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and the assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People must again learn to work instead of living on public assistance." Cicero , 55 BC
controversy over government nothing new
Civil War? oxymoron
in a country divided, there is no civility
protestors fume on Wall Street
Tea Partiers toss their caffeine into the mix
Federal Reserve makes unauthorized loans
but to whom we do not know
states debate seceding from the union
families learn to live on budgets
countries spend what they don’t have
why don’t we learn from history?
“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s”
is there anything left for us?
look to Cicero and sages of the past
Plato and Socrates will set the disenfranchised straight too
*Entry for Brian’s “Anywhichway” contest
The naked night, the wailing wind;
leaves in their flight are summers end.
Betwixt occult and morning’s light
moon stands, it’s her birthright.
Ghost-nests revealed in abandoned limbs;
wind wails and peals its adieu hymns.
Birds left will feed on frozen meals;
squirrels will plead for fruity fields.
As Earth beds down for an annual sleep;
wear no frown no crawlies will creep.
Parchment colors paint the ground,
Fires for lovers will abound.
In autumn as the Vandyke leaves fall, lovers truly have a ball.
When winter’s cold molests the air, spiced rum and cocoa we’ll all share.
In a tossing and turning night, to wake up I forgot
Never slipping from a series of perpetual dream
A strange situation over and again, escape I could not
In the fabric of this woolgather, I couldn’t tear the seam
A speech in front of hundreds, I yearned to scream
Standing in my underwear, my shaking voice was caught
Closing my eyes tightly, trying to change the theme
In a tossing and turning night, to wake up I forgot
Skating across the ice, I wind up to take my shot
I miss the net completely, letting down the team
I’m stuck in a roar of booing heckles, an onslaught
Never slipping from a series of perpetual dream
Shut these lids again, restarting in a shallow stream
Running with aching legs amidst a forest, I am shot
A hunter hovers over me, to finish his prey I deem
A strange situation over and again, escape I could not
With the bang I take off again, sprinting on the spot
There is no ground below, I plummet from a height extreme
Anticipating the collision, pinching to change the plot
In the fabric of this woolgather, I couldn’t tear the seam
Is it over? Am I out of this self-induced figment regime
In a jolt and thud, I reach the cloth of bed that I’ve sought
A sigh of exhaustion and relief, I’m all out of steam
Bedding and pillows askew in the chaos that I brought
In a tossing and turning night.
June 6th, 2022
A RONDEAU REDOUBLE POEM Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS