Best Unrivaled Poems
You, my homeland
Are of a beauty unrivaled
From one coast to the other
Your plains and rolling hills and pointy peaks
Cry to the heavens of freedom
Your jagged coasts and sandy keys
Offer the arms of welcome and opportunity to the world
And teem with the gifts of the oceans
Lakes and rivers and streams
Born with purity in the snow-crusted mountains
Are the lifeblood of the people
Bubbling with earth's finest bounty
And carrying the breath of all creation on their backs
From cities bulging with people
To a wilderness, untouched and untamed
You are the envy of the earth
And the bosom of liberty
America.
I live here
In the United States
Yes, I'm proud
Proud of where I live
Blessed to have been born in a place
Where I can chase a dream
Where I can speak my mind without fear of punishment or death
Worship, (or not), in the way I choose
Get healthcare, schooling, and assistance in a number of ways
Learn to drive and get a license when I reached 15
Vote at age 18 in a democratic process
And follow the interests I decide on, freely
These are extraordinary things
When you think of the restrictions
Of much of the rest of the world
I was taught from an early age not to take these things for granted
And that many of my opportunities and rights
Had been paid and fought for
By the energies and lives of our people in military service
I'm thankful for that
Whatever others may say, to me this is the greatest country
We are usually the first to be called upon
When another country needs help
And usually the first to respond, in any way we can
But we are also the largest target
And take much of the blame for negative things that happen
No matter where it is
And yes, that bothers me.
There IS no perfect place, and certainly not this
But it is a land of freedom and opportunity
And people move here from all over the world for those reasons
I was blessed to be born when I was -
When a kid could go for a walk and not end up on a milk carton
But I was even MORE blessed to be born WHERE I was
And I thank the heavens every day
That I am an American.
Serenading voices of snow geese thrum in the morning sky
Unrivaled is the clangor of their echoed gabbles in October
Songs of Fall ride on the wind as russet leaves begin to fly
Unrobed are trees; stripped bare, looking bereft and sober
Ripened are amethyst crops of corn and grains in the field
Rivaled by a soft golden glow of the gibbous harvest moon
Undeniably beautiful, when in October its glow is revealed
Seduced by its romantic luminance, lovers kiss and swoon
On All Hallow's Eve, I see scary costumed trick-or-treaters
Feasting on candy given by generous household greeters
Ode to October, there's a chill aloft, whispering in the air
Conspiring with Mother Nature in such a glorious season
This pleasant month arrives with a stir of festive fanfare
Offering a kaleidoscope of colors, and with good reason ~
Brushes in artists hands paint landscapes of Autumn days
Eagerly, I welcome those dazzling hues that seem to blaze
Rife with splendid riches, I chant October's songs of praise
~ October 2, 2020 ~
Pick-A-Title, Vol 23-Seasonal Acrostic Contest
~ Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh ~
Though I ain't a cordon bleu chef as the title might imply,
I can still whip up gourmet fare in the blink of an eye!
And to an oven or a fryin' pan I need not be a slave,
As long I can open cans and boxes and use my microwave!
No need for me to spend hours cookin' on languid afternoons,
Makin' a mess with spatulas, blenders and tablespoons.
I can simply open a box and fix Kraft's macaroni and cheese,
Or thaw Marie Callender's lasagna from a carton in a breeze!
Ah, the variety of Campbell's soups I can extract from a tin,
All prepared to perfection, not too thick and not too thin.
Doesn't take me long to create a scrumptious mulligan stew -
Just open a can of Dinty Moore and heat it up is all I do!
I never bother makin' vanilla waffles anymore from scratch,
When I can thaw Eggo things from a box and enjoy a tasty batch!
Thanks to my handy microwave I can fix Sara Lee frozen pies -
I didn't bake 'em but my gullible guests think otherwise!
My side kick Chef Boy-r-Dee and I make a fine spaghetti,
And also unrivaled ravioli, tortelline and capelleti!
I'm always happy to share with others the secret of my success,
And the proper presentation of fine cuisine with panache and finesse!
Entry for Lewis Raynes' "I Love Food" Contest)
I know a very fine poet, a dear colleague, who’s so exquisitely talented and bright,
And has a superb facility with words and themes making all fit perfect and right;
She has an unrivaled mastery of the poetic art and writes with the best approach,
And has an unparalleled ability to write the finest verse beyond any reproach.
This poet’s sense of depth, empathy, and poetic variety is quite splendid to behold,
And she brings such compassion and power to her work worth its weight in gold;
With well-conceived themes and images she invites readers to her special dimension,
While enchanting them magically with sublime verses and holding their attention.
This poet communes with Our Poetry Muse, seeking her scope and enchanted vision,
And shares amply all with her readers with enraptured intent and a perfect precision.
Our friend’s poetry reflects always the human dynamic with such power and grace,
And she finds the right tone, tenor, pitch and rhyme—putting them in proper place.
I must say I’m very proud of our colleague’s work and appreciate so her fine poetry,
And I’m so glad she’s with us and gives us such beauty and elegance in her poetry!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(November 9, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format)
*****Written for the “It’s All About Me Contest,” December 4, 2014*****
Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . .
before the electrifying surge of insurgency -
when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and
when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . .
before the rampant slaughter -
the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones
and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses
on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . .
before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations
and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps,
there were whisperings -
insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious -
and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate.
Before it all,
there was a brewing of resentment
of a people with a history of poverty and
of transitory freedom and capricious politics.
And through it all, with such grave consternation,
governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited,
playing with semantics
while thousands dead became the hundred thousand,
and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities -
came to its completion.
Seemingly, peace has been restored
and punishment stingily doled out.
Time moves on . . .
except for half a million
for whom compassion by the world
was spared.
I gasped at what had been concealed,
Its beauty suddenly revealed.
A bit of Heaven come to Earth
So awe inspiring that I kneeled.
The blended hues of gold and green
Enhance a most enchanting scene.
I drank it in, God’s artistry.
No man’s cathedral so pristine.
No other human was around,
My heartbeat was the only sound.
It seemed created just for me,
This bit of Eden I had found.
I stayed until the end of day.
Reluctantly I turned away.
That glory I’ve not found again.
Please lead me there, Dear Lord, I pray.
one of multiple first place winners
Bronwyn the Barbaric was a buxom lass
the envy of all her peers
She spoke with unrivaled swashbuckling sass
her pirate-ess fashion was fierce
She could charm off the arms of the most hardened men
how they'd swoon at the sight of her swagger
She ruled over cutthroats with a dangerous grin
her hand ever over her dagger
But her smile was so lovely, her style was so vogue
that she had little need for such violence
With a wave of her hand, she could tame ruthless rogues
with a look she could cause utter silence
So, peacefully she plundered (with minions to pillage
and devotedly obey her commands)
Until a shop window caught her eye in the village
and she made a bad purchase, unplanned
There she acquired the most dashing high-heel boots
custom made (according to her wishes)
But the pain that they caused was something acute
and it made the 'old girl' act quite vicious
She kidnapped the cobbler and tortured him so
she was in quite a terrible temper
She dealt him such cruel and merciless blows
the crew could hardly handle his whimpers
She became a tyrannical, treacherous wench
terrorizing from Tahiti to Tangier
Leaving in her wake only ruins and stench
with a reckless and wicked sneer
And 'though her crew were not a cowardly lot
they dared not get on her bad side
The last scalawag was both stabbed and shot
before she tossed him into the tide
But one rakish mate had an interesting offer
her vanity couldn't refuse-
If he could, just once, get those stylish boots off her
a better set he could produce
So eyeing him, slowly, she peeled the boots off
and immediately felt such relief
Gone was her bitterness, her angry scoff
gone was the source of her grief
Seeing their pirate queen herself again
the crew gathered 'round and they cheered
Those bloody boots were thrown overboard
and their mate was quite revered
Now a barefoot buccaneer, she still
struts across the deck
And if they don't bend to her will
she'll see they're put in check!
I have heard a myth, a rumor,
A legend long ago told.
About a mighty being eastward
With arcing wings of gold.
Its breath alone brewed fierce storms
A shaken feather made thunder roar.
And God have mercy on the soul
Caught in her rage's downpour.
I have heard this myth, this rumor,
This story handed down.
Of a beast powerful and brilliant
That wears lightning as it's crown.
When I met the rain
And listened to every droplet fall,
I swear that through the tapping
I heard her mesmerizing call.
As temptation was too much,
I ventured out into the gale.
And found myself under her gaze
With my face flushing pale.
Though chaos engulfed us both,
Peace was still in her eye.
Despite the pandemonium
She commanded the sky.
When I met the rain,
And felt the splatter on my skin
I finally met the legend
I had always believed in.
Just to stand this close
To be here struck by awe
In the presence of perfection
This being without flaw.
To feel the radiant energy
To breathe the same air
Of Her Majesty unrivaled
With whom none compare.
Just to stand this close
To be found where you are
Is a greater blessing
Than any given me thus far.
You, mighty Thunderbird,
Are creation's pride and joy.
Complete supreme beauty
That nothing could destroy.
There exists no equal
On earth, in heaven, or sea
For no one else can boast
Such intricate complexity.
You wear a thousand masks
And rarely show your face.
But I have seen your heart,
It's cracked elegance; it's fractured grace.
You, precious Thunderbird,
Are all I've wished to find.
And now that I have seen you,
I can't get you off my mind.
Over the west Sun dies, oozing blood,
The hillside glows in a ruddy blaze,
Pink and crimson fade slowly around,
And a pallid shade taints the twilight haze.
By and by, darkness descends like foggy mist,
Wrapping the Earth in a blanket of gloom
And God turns on his ornate chandeliers
To illumine the world in effulgent gleam
Attended by a cortege of starry maids
The Full Moon arrives in her glowing raiment
Evading the amorous presence of clouds
She enthrones herself before the royal regiment
So glad she is in her princely state
And in her fair mien, she takes delight
Bards and lovers have often been mesmerized
By such charm surpassing all that is bright
Beaming, she gives the night its nocturnal glee
Beckoning us heavenward to gaze and praise.
With benign grace and regal grandeur she smiles
On kings and clowns and on all the human race
She changes her contours with every unleashing night
Constantly renewing and reveling as a glamorous queen
She leaves the world aglow beneath the blue sky
Lending the night its unrivaled celestial sheen
April.13. 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Your love shown like an antique bloodstain on the dress of our decay.
You pushed your hand through
the over grown garden to crush the final living rose.
Blood seeped from your pores.
We held hands on our last night on earth.
We dance on the graves of loved ones lost.
And we kissed under the trees
and under the sky.
We sold our souls to the vampire in our dreams.
We sung about broken hearts and lost souls as we cried.
We were never meant to be.
You can take these tears.
Watch the blood drenched TV screen flicker with anticipation.
Dancing in our sorrow.
And singing in unrivaled beauty.
African-American and abusive, my late step-dad
was a reverse racist:
an army sergeant; a Vietnam vet; and, a backhand,
face-hitting sadist.
I once bemoaned that I was a white child
(as if it were my fault!?)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
So, once in reckless revolt
against his ongoing abuse,
I rebelled under my breath
and uttered the "n" word at him
(so he beat me nearly to death).
Bruised, I never uttered that word again;
then mom and he divorced
as I grew older (which freed us at last!):
now unrivaled (with no remorse),
I suddenly was the man of the house; and life
for us seemed less stormy.
For the first time in years we lived without abuse;
and, at last, we were a family.
Then I got religion and met God;
and gave myself to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did!
Born again, I thus was sufficed.
So the scars of my step-dad's abuse which
for years I had repressed
began to heal and disappear; and so I became
less and less oppressed.
Now old, my erstwhile step-dad developed
advanced swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet (back when
I was still angry and young).
Not yet able to forgive him for the abuse that
made our lives so unbearably grim,
I nevertheless still realized that the weight
of still having hatred for him
was far worse than my pain. I recognized
that in life we all transgress
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
His grace and forgiveness,
I made the right choice to forgive him;
for me a daily, ongoing process,
I at last began to let go of the anger
and truly begin to move past the mess
that was my step-dad's legacy to me. Also, I
began to forgive God;
for He was not to blame for him (whose own
father, too, did not spare the rod).
Still, tho' I had chosen to forgive (him) and let go,
he was unmoved and unchanged as ever:
but I, however, realized that what truly mattered
was that forgiveness set me free forever!
When at last he died, I had already completely
let go (so that he was forgiven).
Now I can only ask of God whether my step-dad
was changed from his glimpse of heaven?
Remember your
Creator
In the days of your
youth
Let your zeal seek
His favor
His discernment and
truth
And the things of
His Kingdom
For your patience
and resilience
Fronting his
unrivaled wisdom
Against your
fragment of
experience
For the choices to
be made
Are solemn vows
To take on a desired
trade
A sovereignly
preferred spouse
And a guiding
principle
Amidst many in the
offing
But preserve your
bodies as God’s
Temple
And lean your minds
to His understanding
Be the first of a
blossoming breed
That will
resuscitate the
dying moral
Among a people in
want and in need
For one truth stands
overall
True life and the
living truth
Graced by wondrous
miracles
Were in the
Messiah’s youth
And are today’s
unrivaled pinnacles
Soft, moon light, spill forth the night.
Stream rippling veils of mystery.
Where tucked away, the insatiate act,
unrivaled in thy debauchery.
Whilst Lords and Gentry, by noble birth,
plot to cozen all gentle souls.
Their wives will scamper off to trysts,
showing morals that are beneath low.
Drunken bucks will gamble all,
bring low family coffers and names.
They will ruin many a young lass,
then run, from honor and bring shame.
And all the while, I am here.
A humble quill and my ink well.
Lying in wait to spread the ill.
For tis scandle I love to tell.
Admirable Almights all I ask appreciatively allow me to attain,
be beyond bourgeois breeding ballads for the brain.
Create colloquialisms that cast competently into chimeras,
directing dramatists with doubtful determinations to
delightful dactylic discriptions.
Edible expressions that exite eyes and ears,
by freely forming a firm fire you'll flog any frigid forlornness fear.
God glorifies the good, my given gift Godsent thee,
my hardihood's husky, heart hungover with honesty.
I inscribe impenetrable insights, my individuality's
inanimate without improvisation,
other jaws jabber jargon jokingly, my journalistic journey's
like Jesus's justifications.
I know to keep with Christ a close kinship,
lie low then leap to light life is limited.
Maturing moderately I molded motives to mentally
manufacture music,
now naturally notions are necessary, abnormal novelistic natuarlist.
It's obvious this optimist ovulates obscure poetic offsprings,
perception pastel's perfectly personify the pen pusher's
potentcy passionately.
You're quasi qualified like Franz Kafka no question,
respectable written reflection ramble rampant even while resting.
Some scorn and show sentiment towards sonnets I've
scriptured successfully,
the toungue-tied troubadour tallies towering totals of
synchronized terms intentionally.
My untimatum is ultimately unrivaled when using unbreakable
utensils,
my voice vibrates vigorously, visionary with a victorious view.
Why waste what you wrote, wake up, wonder in a writer zone,
poems have vibes like a xylophone.
Heart young, yearn for God 365 times a year,
my zodac is wrong, attitude zealous.
We are the tintinnabulating trolls
To the rock rock bottom of our nonexistent souls.
Madder than the maddest hatter,
Hear us bellow, bray, and bleat;
And we prattle pitter-patter
In our jabberwocky chatter
To a bumbulating beat.
See us zim zam zoom
As we're going bim bam boom
In an onomatopoeia that so rhythmically rolls.
We're the trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls.
We're the truly tintinnabulating trolls.
We are the tintinnabulating trolls
With our xenophobic hearts lit like black burning coals.
Hate and anger are our teachers
So we squabble, squeal, and squirm.
We are misbegotten creatures—
With the ugliest of features—
Lower than the lowest worm.
In these premises
We're unrivaled nemeses;
And we burrow furrow mindless like some misanthropic moles.
We're the trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls.
We're the truly tintinnabulating trolls.
We are the tintinnabulating trolls
From compassion and goodness we're at opposite poles—
So devoid of any scruples.
On stupidity we feed.
As our villainy quadruples
We're the most attentive pupils
To insatiable greed.
See us bash bing bang.
Hear us clatter clash cling clang
As we crash upon the shallows of malevolented shoals.
We're the trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls.
We're the truly tintinnabulating trolls.
We're the trolls trolls trolls,
The incorrigible trolls.
We're the trolls trolls trolls.
We're the horrigible trolls.
We're the irritating, aggravating, fascinating trolls.
We're the wrangulating, jangulating, strangulating trolls.
We're the trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls trolls.
We're the truly tintinnabulating trolls.
– Harley White
[From my version of “East of the Sun and West of the Moon”]