Best Used Poems
When splendor of love spun dreams ecstatic
Musings of fantasy waltzed joyous themes
On blossoms of meadows in prime of spring
And giggles of streams donning green prairies
I felt your presence my eager beats crooned
When halo of the moon ravished our mood
As melodic rhythms inflamed doting hearts
And voice of hot passion blazed our romance
You were sweet life that I cheerfully claimed
And I was to you what your triumph meant
But feelings euphoric soon lost their edge
When in winds of change vows of youth drifted
I saw you go there where lonesome souls cry
Where emotions despised strife of pale sighs
When day’s silence often filled awkward void
And haze of nights we spent gazing gray skies
When dawns soon arose enveloped in shroud
Love too got masked, cloaked in stygian clouds
And allure, once acclaimed, began to fade
As contempt of sameness dwindled our flames
As you leave this dream, dear, you know it too
No longer the birds choose to croon your tune
They are searching someone they loved and knew
The one they once wooed, who used to be you
January 27, 2021
Poem of the day on January 28, 2020
Placed 1st: Watered-down juice poetry contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Ten syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)
I used to dream of marrying one day
a princely man! My soul mate he would be.
I dreamed of visiting lands far away.
That dream I lived! It’s now a memory!
I used to like to kick a ball and run
the bases, ride my purple Sting Ray bike,
skip rope, play tag and other games so fun
which have become the things I USED to like!
I watch my grandson get excited by
a visit to the park, a simple toy. . .
He’s unaware how fast that time can fly
and how - one day - he’ll miss his childhood joy!
And what he’s dreaming, I can too recall. . .
as bliss I found in things when I was small!
Aug. 21, 2015 for the Childhood Dreams Poetry Contest of Silent One
I used to be a dreamer
Growing up within my mind,
I was no heavy sleeper
By creativity confined
I used to be a hero
One day, and then the next
I could've been Jack Sparrow
Prancing between the decks
I used to live in a circus
With carousels and flying cats,
I'd muck about without a purpose
All day out, with Mr. Tall Hat
I used to be a rarity
From anyone else, I was unique
I used to live in fantasy
Believed in fairy tales, even magic
Today, I am another person
As normal as they define
Too scared to be uncommon
Afraid to be left behind
Today, I live in blunt reality
A world of black and white,
that outlaws every little oddity
and punish them on sight
I have been dead before,
When they took my dreams away.
A heart
Never used now
Shall die
Dying
A congealing
Dead beat
Beaten
Down to silence
Some where
Where pure
passions exist
Then flee
Fleeing
Soulless to hide
Now lone
Lonesome
Turns to fury
At heart
Heartless
Cold and hollow
Always
Rick Lamoureux's contest
"Mussetle Train"
He sat there in his fav'rite chair, a blanket 'cross his lap
And covering his snow white hair was his old fishing cap.
I knew he could not talk to me since suffering the stroke,
But still I sensed he could relate to ev'ry word I spoke.
"I went and wet a line today ... down where you caught that cod.
The biggest one you'd landed yet and though it was my rod
I reckon he was yours all right ... but cod are far and few.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
"The algae's building up again and stuffing up the creeks,
Though at long last we had a fresh, the first in flam’in weeks.
Pulled twenty stinking euros in, along with one old dew,
But they had sores all over them, though still that's nothing new.
The cotton farmers cry, "Absurd! It can’t be from our spray."
Perhaps the fish have just got aids from turning flam'in gay.
Its getting pretty sad all right, but what can one bloke do.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
"McDonalds seems to be the go and good old KFC
And eating yellow-belly is a flam'in rarity.
Your grandson won't go fishing as he says it's just for nerds
And when I take the missus we just end up having words.
I really miss our fishing trips, your company was swell
And by the mist there in your eyes you miss them dad as well.
I heard you sold your tinny mate, your outboard motor too.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
They're introducing fingerlings and giving that a shot,
But duckweed takes the oxygen which kills the flam'in lot.
The droughts have had their toll as well and one thing that's for sure;
I can't see in the future dad a remedy or cure.
So mum's ducked down to Salty's mate and I would dare a punt
She'll come back with a feed of fish before you say Rex Hunt.
I guess we'll have to wash it down with some of your home brew.
They don't bite like they used to dad. They don't bite like they used to."
Daylight fades, as day is done
A city pulsates out of breath
Headlights duel upon the streets
and I am like the kiss of death
to those who scurry home to eat
They pass me by, on rapid feet
heading to some cozy nest
And I must seek a place to rest
People in the crosswalk pass
with eyes that look the other way
and will not meet my own
They have important things to do
A class to take, a call to make
a meal to cook, a TV show or two
Like squirrels they scatter here and there
It seems the world is on a run
Shrill trumpets of a gale force wind
rattle doors I can't go in
Old news print flies into my face
I hardly feel each new disgrace
I swat away, and brace for more
distrust they have embraced
They see me with such wary eyes
If only they could see my heart
Not long ago I had a dream
A part of something good, it seemed.
I had a life, I had a home
Until it fell apart......
And hard times I have known
By circumstance the fates could be
me who hurries home to see
a family waiting, a table spread
a place to rest my weary head.
Oh, is it just too much to ask
Please look at me, just one true glance
and see that I am just like you
Someone that you used to know
______________________________________
Contest: Being Homeless
Sponsor: The Seeker
10/26/16
I got used to your hi's and your hello's,
Your smiles, your stares,
the stories and the jokes;
I got used to your sweetness and your surprises;
The endless conversations and the laughters;
I got used to our love,
our sweet affair;
Your touch, your kiss,
the moments that we shared.
And then I got used to our differences...
the space we gave each other;
The days we didn't talk,
the times we didn't care
I got used to your silence;
the many times I asked to speak and you didn't respond;
Your absence while we were together,
'til the time you're actually gone.
I got used to hurting,
to the silent tears I cried;
but still I waited,
'til I finally just got tired.
Now I smile as I recall;
I got used to missing you...
and then not missing you at all.
Her glasses perched on her nose, my old friend
the Bookworm proprietor, welcomed me smiling,
and then murmured. quietly.."behave yourself"
knowing I would end up at the poetry shelf.
Words, one word, a billion words..all for
me..all for the taking. Words of love and hate,
of brooks and fields, creatures small and great.
Words of sunshine and laughter ,sadness
and hope…of places and faces.
A coffee stain, a torn page patched with tape..
a loving inscription on a cover page.
Settling in my favorite chair, the tabby cat
at my feet, I loose myself in a land far away,
a land that grew from a poets mind and heart.
Tomorrow will come soon enough, but for this
time, and of all these words, I am a part…
8/24/14
revision
Remember when you used to smell the sea.
The briny air would open up your nose.
But now it seems this case is not to be.
Like any other place is how it goes.
World warming or pollution I suppose.
Remember when you used to smell the rain.
The petrichor perfumed the Springtime ground.
Our atmosphere has undergone a change.
Now sudden bursts of torrents do come down.
Our senses don’t react to smells not found.
Remember how outside was always fresh,
a freshness that would live in line dried sheets,
and when you came from play all out of breath
you smelled of summer sunshine and the heat.
Remember when these smells made life complete.
Remembering the past leaves fearful taste,
since Earth expresses climate change uproar.
At times I seek protection with great haste
from howling winds and snows that block the door,
as nature angers for our love the more.
Written 3/12/18
Revised 1/3/2023
I miss the person I used to be,
You would have liked her too—so full of life and carefree.
Her glass was always half full,
She saw the bright side, ever hopeful.
No matter what came her way,
She’d just smile and face the day.
Grieving the self that’s now long gone,
Knowing a part of her is beyond.
The emptiness now shapes her today,
Sadness, like an uninvited guest, lingers more than joy in her day.
Aware of how fleeting life can be,
She still rises each morning, thankful to thee.
Hiding behind her mask is grief,
Sorrow and pain, she’s still in disbelief.
She stands tall, remembering the past,
Memories burn bright, forever to last.
She misses her to the depths of her soul,
A loss so profound, it takes its toll.
Her love for her transcends time and age
Everlasting through all the stages.
The ghost of the mommy she used to be
Is now in heaven, rocking her Karyn gently.
Sunrise
The flame of love is as
pure as the day she was born
May 8, 1993
Sunset
The day of mourning etched
in her soul
January 12, 2024
“Your life was a blessing, your memory a treasure. You are loved beyond words and missed beyond measure.” — Unknown
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi
Upon my quest for quintessence.
I was an amorist,
positive in poetic philosophies.
Elysian and empyrean effigies,
enlightened in an ephemeral existence.
Life a fragile garland
festooned with a frangipani fragrance,
meandered in meadows of melodies,
a mouthpiece to a frivolous flute
but gone are lucent lusory lullabies.
I turned to the ballad of birds.
Dulcet desires dreamed of diamond drops,
dulcifluous, dulciloquent and diaphanous.
Delusions led to an interpretation of illicit illusions.
I became a metaphor for afflicted adjectives.
Mimesis mind became brittle and barren,
aphonic and amort - a crestfallen conscious.
A wild wallflower in an orchard of opal orchids,
slowly decomposing - in silent semblance
clocks won't stop for sojourners of the soul..
I searched for footprints left behind,
upon porcelain seraphic shores,
but knavish kismet lay lamenting,
disconsolate upon a distant island,
manifesting murmurations of a
maleficent maelstrom monsoon.
My life was once a
razzmatazz of reflections
gold, ivory and bronze,
but now silver sighs slither,
releasing a soft susurrus,
as once sapphire sylphlike skies are
now vermillion and violet visions.
Haematic horizons close the gates to heaven,
yet in my ruins, I know there is fortune,
as I polish my mirror of misfortune,
hoping it glows in canorous colours.
As you start to walk out on the way,
the way appears.- Rumi
Tonight, I speak to the moon,
lunar verses echoing the piercing
lyrics of an aching heart.
Its crystal wings softly
kiss the sea line in silence,
releasing silver ripples
of renaissance,
while the sun awaits another
dahlia dawn, graced by
delicate symphonies of
fairy-feathered fantasies.
Time is a treat ribboned
with truth and testaments
of melted monsoons,
left as souvenirs of the past,
on shimmering shores
of fragile flowers.
I was once a broken ballad,
bruised and battered
like an ornament left
on a haunted island,
where every breeze felt
like the seething sounds of sirens,
awakening demons within
my chrysalis psyche,
to cloud the horizon
painted with pigments of peace.
Trust was an ink blot
I spilled upon oceans
of blue-black pearls,
oblivious to the cracks
and faded glows of opalescence,
for I was a naive target
of narcissistic daggers,
caressing my skin with
pestering perceptions.
As I wore my wounds
like corsets crocheted
with crooked compassion,
too eager to embrace
wrathful winds~
bursting forth infernal flames,
while drenched in the
subtle dews of raging rain.
If I were to tell the world
the person I used to be,
could I write without
my fingers trembling,
without the weakened words
of weariness that weighed me down?
For I knew not what love was,
and I knew not
dreams of strength,
runes of resilience, or the
unbreakable gravity of forgiveness.
Yet I rise, beyond faceless ghosts,
soaring above nameless streets
of pointless thoughts.
I am now everything I was not;
I am both shadow and light,
seeking and waltzing to
the music of my own magical fight.
So remember,
the furs and claws,
the water and fire,
outlining the garnet~
aura of my ambient existence.
I used to call Michigan my sweet home,
growing up used to camp by Lake Erie,
now this state has left me sad and alone,
honestly there’s nothing left there for me.
Jet’s Pizza was my most favorite food,
Jimmy’s Coney Island every Tuesday,
now all the loss and death has changed my mood,
and to leave this state is all I can pray.
Renaissance Festival in the summer,
used to be a place of laughter and fun,
but now Michigan is a big bummer,
and pleasurable moments I have none.
Michigan used to feel like home to me,
but maybe I should move to Tennessee.
December 29, 2016
Twas the night before Christmas
Dressed in my red Santa pajamas.
Tap, Tap, Tap, and a whispered strain;
Santa knocked at my windowpane.
Dressed in a red velvet hat and suit,
Lined in white fur, a black belt and boots.
His hair, so white I had to stare;
His breath puffing white in the chilly air.
"Sorry, but you've no chimney, that's plain
To see, and I know this is insane."
"Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Hollered as we hung in the air."
"Santa, use your big magic charm bags
To deliver the gifts with name tags."
"It takes time to deliver gifts from dusk to dawn.
I emerged in a parachute to land on the lawn."
I said, "That's okay, Santa, I'm totally pleased
I'll give you a squeeze, I'm not displeased."
"I thought delivering you had different shifts,
I was wondering how I'd get my gifts."
11/28/2022
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Where the antelope used to play is now shopping malls and plats.
Man in his insatiable greed has encroached upon its ancient habitats.
Not so very long ago on the plains just a few miles out of town,
Were herds of these graceful creatures that now have dwindled down.
Also, pushed from the verdant plains are the mighty buffalo,
That grazed upon the lush, green grasses not so very long ago.
Upon these sacred grazing grounds are now concrete parking lots,
And densely cluttered cookie-cutter houses on quarter-acre plots.
Where have all the magnificent wild turkeys gone,
That used to preen and strut about at the break of dawn?
Even the lowly prairie dogs, their burrows they've had to flee,
To accommodate covetous developers who've gone on a building spree.
Of the wily fox and skulking coyote, there are fewer to be seen.
They were forced from their hunting grounds and have fled the scene.
Desperate flocks of grouse and pheasant have also taken flight,
To raise their young elsewhere, escaping mans' spreading blight.
Deer and elk that once peered shyly from almost every copse;
Their environs now occupied and overrun with tacky shops.
'Twould be novel if man would recall that these creatures were here first,
And consider them when pursuing their unquenchable expansion thirst!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)