Best Undeterred Poems
Though she holds his hands, he feels all alone
As moonlit desires sense his dissonant vibes
Emanating from pulses beating in discord
Plundering away ambiance to vacant thoughts
When a cogent conversation becomes a task.
Silence he placates discarding her prompts
Preferring the dark over company of stars
As a lone-bird sits forlorn on a leafless branch
Awaiting for daybreak to build a new nest.
Steadfastly she holds on to her view of galaxy
Undeterred by forces of invisible black holes
Comforting his woes till he rejects her call,
Deciding resolutely to abandon her place
When the lone-bird flees before daybreak.
November 5, 2018
Placed first in contest #520 by Brian Strand
Line of enquiry:
"We look for that that does not come and go
it cannot be organic form, subject to decay
thoughts and beliefs are fickle, how little we know
yet come what may, our inner child continues to play."
Souls search for the eternal, silently casting their gaze,
pondering about what remains untouched by fading days.
What are we but primitive forms, easily led astray.
Upon a quest for the timeless that will forever stay.
Thoughts and beliefs are fragile like whispers in the wind.
Volatile and flowing in a dance that can easily rescind.
How little some know about their inner cosmic aspect,
yet onward we journey, undeterred by the prospect.
In the theatre of life our inner child takes the stage.
A playful spirit immune to the true wisdom of age.
Through tribulations and triumphs our characters change.
Laughing in innocence, youth cares not how the storms engage.
We are mere guests to travellers we meet on the highway,
each one with a lesson but most never really stay.
Our spirits flourish when we search for sincere meaning,
so if we do not question, then life can be demeaning.
For in seeking the eternal in a world of ebb and flow,
we find comfort in the constant, where inner treasures grow,
so, let my heart ignite in intimate fields where dreams remain.
To embrace tomorrow, regardless to what hopes we attain.
Under the Sea (English Sonnet)
I’d like to go beneath the sea
exploring wonders down below
where fish and creatures dwell for free
and undeterred the currents flow.
A submarine like Nemo had
would serve me well to venture deep.
This would not be a passing fad
or an adventure on the cheap.
Submerged Atlantis I would seek
Poseidon, too, trident in hand;
a lingua franca we could speak
for Greek is hard to understand!
I’d like to go beneath the sea
then share with you its mystery.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An English sonnet follows the pattern 'abab cdcd efef gg'.
Every line should be ten syllables long, but in this case an
exception has been made, thus 8 syllables are being used.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Where I Want to Go
Sponsor: Nicola Byrne
Placed 2nd
© 3rd March 2017
Oh Aphrodite! Mother of my two pearls
Venus of my night sky
Commander of my world
I fell for you like a comet
I burnt for you like Mars
Abide in my trajectory
While guided by stars
Your sonnet dedication metered
All is written in quatrain
I'm completed in your presence
In your absence I abstain
Diurnally blinded by fire in the sky
Cupped my hand to shade my eyes
And thirstily complain, about the lack of rain
Elongated animals on savanas and plains
Nocturnally beleagered but eternally yours
Seeking answers in ash , while staring at coals
no one hears my guitar so voicelessly strummed
Flames my desire , so forsaken my soul
A hundred thousand embers
Sparked a thousand million stars
Explosions in the ether
Flashing diamonds that we know
Unprepared for this journey
Undeterred my savage heart
Skies are ripped and torn by thunder
Clouds adrift and left asunder
Lonely cloud goes East and cries
The other West, and melted... dies
It's up and down and twice around
With an ample side of snark and leeks.
And an assortment of lies divided by pi,
To find this thing I seek.
I searched my bedside dresser
In the hope to find it there.
But not to be, so I was forced to see
If it was in a box beneath the stairs.
The box was bare and empty
Which did not aid in my relief.
As i was lo' to explain, why it no longer contained
My most cherished held beliefs.
But I digress and that aside,
I looked beneath a bedroom chair.
And where I thought... my valor ought,
I found just a wisp of empty air.
Undaunted by this troubling news,
I remembered a desk that I had bought.
Where I found a mortal slice of wasted life
But still no sign of what I sought.
So undeterred, I left the room
To explore the very nature of my soul.
Where I was forced to roam with no one home
And found just a bigger hole.
I then paddled through my memory
To bring to bear both time and space.
But the fog of age is a paltry sage
And would not expose its hiding place.
I remember not too long age
When It had been my ardent guide.
I'm not afraid to tell, it had served me well
With no providence denied.
But with many years of gross neglect,
It had become a shadow of my past.
And something so grand without a plan...
Is never meant to last.
So my search proved vain and fruitless
But I attempt to soldier on.
And in my despair, I turned to prayer
To question where my love for life had gone.
The End
*Dedicated to those just having a bad day.
*I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's Your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day or so.
A "collaboration" with Edgar Allan Poe's poem titled, "Alone"
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
Where years of mingled adolescent voices
Denied a heart and it's choices
My quiet self could not speak
Another outcast - a soul unique.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone.
Pages of art, the written word
An interest each one found absurd
A solemn love that I must hide
To keep when I and time can abide.
Then - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
How - in melancholy youth - I found
The companion to whom I remain bound,
I do not know precisely the day when
Though I knew I had gained a friend.
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold -
The years dragged on without relent
As months of solitude were spent,
Down a new road I traveled then
Meeting destiny, though I knew not when.
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by-
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Undeterred by any supernatural power
Or life's occasional teardrop shower
My soul kept tight hold of passion
Let me fulfill it in my own fashion
This outcast "demon" found in me a friend
Alone together, now and beyond the end.
** A protest against the hypocrisy of the death penalty and the decadent environment of the prison system where a simple thief or criminal is unleashed on society upon leaving worse than they went in**
The days are short and gentle
in the pillow of truth;
gentle like rain-fallen feathers,
yet the gallows bleed
and the hangman smiles
at justice unjust,
and his lazy solution:
that death brings life
Death, brings life
to the children of judgment ---
life, then death
and prison be not cruel enough ---
awash to the brim,
undeterred ---- by the hangman's promise
Like a rat the prisoner awaits
in a cell built by cruelty
and fear ---
that our most precious things
be stolen by mere hands
By mere hands we have built this place;
shackle, lock and bar,
cold, with empty promises
and rigid worry
and desolate hope ---
we esteem the prisoner shall not return,
though his soul is filled with tears;
and the day seeming not his friend ---
alone,
the night speaks to him
yet he knows that day will come again
Who are we to poison hope?
Who are we to celebrate the pain of another?
Is this not the very thing we punish?
Porcelain shroud slowly falls;
hapless Mother trapped inside.
For the next twelve weeks at least,
her time she’ll be forced to bide.
Returning from his exile,
Uncle Jack’s come out to play.
Across our world, it’s been said:
free to have his wicked way.
Undeterred, life struggles on;
endangered mammals slumber.
Safe, secure and snuggled down,
climate does not encumber.
Signs of season everywhere;
glassy ice and icy glass.
Crisp, consoling cracks ring out;
the crunch of frost-crusted grass.
Deep within the forest’s womb,
hidden seeds of life gestate.
Once this weather does improve,
eager to embrace their fate.
Newborn shoots raise sleepy heads;
late frost strikes a grievous blow.
Others will soon take their place,
bursting from the soil below.
Wisps of freezing fog linger;
this last vestige Jack did grasp.
But ‘tis futile, this foray;
Winter’s final, feeble, gasp.
--------------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 5th March 2017
Submitted to Rob Carmick's "Screwed XVII" contest (judged 6th May 2017)
(3rd Place)
Originally submitted to the "Open Poetry Competition" sponsored by Charlotte Jade Puddifoot (5th March 2017)
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
On the road to cessation,
I discovered tiny tears,
The kind most accompanied
By legions of saviors
(albeit rented for just a few hours)
Undeterred, my race resumed;
Candles lighting my path
Through the forest, avoiding
Sparks that often ignite lies,
A vain attempt to retrace tracks
Of my runaway memory, drowning
Me in delusions of laughter, gripping
Tightly to descending cries of lost
Hearbeats, the sound green makes,
Each tear a field of poppies, as far as
My eyes can see; behold
Jupiter ascending, under the watchful
Eyes of Pisces,
Whispering
Eternity.
Drenched to the skin,
Propelled by the urge
Of eager anticipation
He rushes to greet her
Undeterred by freezing rain
And slashing, bitter wind…
Same day
Same train station platform
Same urgent desire
He refuses to accept
Her untimely demise.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
40 words maximum ~ Picture A
Short Verse Picture Prompt Contest
Sponsored by Lisa YY
Placed 1st
© 25th July, 2022
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Alone in the night
A memory stood
Naked and cold and veiled
Fueled by the lie
Of destiny robbed
A ghost of itself
In hopelessness wailed
.
In fear the memory, frozen;
Heard a call from deep in the night
Apprehensive heart flooded with passion
A rhapsody to run to the light
The dirge of sorrow subsiding
With dawn overtaking the night
.
The substance of hope now rekindled
Evidence undeterred yet unseen
The call of the fathers resembled
The one forming and coming to be
The groan of creation upon it
Made by the Son to be free
.
The chains of religion now broken
The shackles of fear dissolved
Windows of Heaven reopened
Overwhelmed by the power of Love
.
Strength made perfect in weakness
Basked in the glow of the call
Gates of hell lying in ruins
With Grace overtaking the wall
Fear and hate shamed and defeated
And Life freely offered to all
I searched for you
Followed in the wake of your song
The sillage of your sensual scent
Long after the sun had lost its glow
I persisted, with cards in hand,
Defying destiny, undeterred
By night and melancholy darkness.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
“On Broadway” Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 1st
© 27th June, 2020
To reach nirvana
Poet paradise
You have to reach the third level
It's a journey to forever
It may take some their whole lifetime,
and others may never get there
It's a quantum leap
fraught with uncertainty
First it takes writing skill,
then an inexhaustible will
and finally, untapped creativity
The first level is easy
Most anyone can do it,
you simply write what you feel and think
It requires no linguistic coordination,
no moral obligation,
just the courage to dive in, unafraid to sink
Some people drown in their own words,
no sense of it all can be heard,
just a rapid ride on their stream of consciousness
If you make it through the first level
with pen still in hand and curiosity still intact,
you can further elevate and explore
But a lot of poets, sadly, become satisfied with where they're at
The second level is much harder
Not everyone can do it,
exploring themes not from your own personal experience
It's a precarious climb
melding a vicarious mind,
leading you sometimes to places that you never sought to find
Some people can't handle it, they cower away
when facing the daunting realm of the unknown
Unanchored from their familiar world view, their confidence be gone
If you make through the second level
with sound mind in place and determination still undeterred,
you can shed the constraints of time and space
But more winnowed poets, regrettably,
haven't the creative stamina to finish the race
The third level is the most difficult to reach
Only breached by a chosen few,
who were born to travel to the farthest dimensions of the mind
They breathe unexplored air,
they speak with authority of being there
Poetic pioneers fearlessly going where others are not so inclined
They are chosen ones who enter a hidden sacred space;
transversing the treacherous depths of the heart, facing come what may
They are timeless souls searching beyond the veiled gray
They've reached the third level
Nirvana
Poet paradise
The nexus of every imagined possibility:
they will be faithful to observe,
faithful to record,
faithful to write all that they see
When mom, Naomi, was your mom not quite,
she was a barista at the Starbucks
just blocks away from where your thunderstruck
dad used to curse the name whose will to write
mistreated sonnets never metered right.
In those days, my daughter, a word like schmuck
would suit your father, quite determined luck,
not talent lacked, should bear the blame for shame
that came from lameness littered kiddy rhyme.
But, with each finished turd, your dad (undeterred)
would march to Starbucks like he’d made a name,
and talk to mom, who taught me, overtime,
love and beauty’s praise are sonnets’ preferred.