Best Venues Poems
Ascending above sanctum of horizon, a dawn inflames the effulgent rays,
Enlightening daybreak as embers of light set the scarlet morning ablaze
Projecting golden beams on hushed venues, in beatific style, not seen in a while,
Glittering on grass in vivid dewdrops, glinting ornamental autumnal smile.
Riding the path of shortened days, marigold passions eloquently evoke
Enchanting colors of resplendent meadows--sensuous vibes tenderly stoke
When traversing upon a vibrant blue-arc, solar-noon invokes seasons warm
Where cumulus clouds stroll the meridian, amid nary a sign of rainy storm.
Seeking affinity of ruby dusk, a spectrum inscribes on gilded evening skies
Iridescent emotions in colors of romance, pleasing desires of amorous eyes
As falling leaves waltz, in leisurely dance, attuned to song of sunset breeze
Descending slowly with vanishing sun, in forlorn shudders of barren trees.
October 28, 2019
Poem of the day on October 30, 2019
Placed 3rd: Strand special 2 by Brian Strand
Categories:
venues, autumn, imagery, sun,
Form:
Rhyme
Born in cloak of modesty, life toddles, yet thrives
Musing of blissful eternity in domain of paradise
Befriending and beholding its virtuous design
Facing triumphs and failures of quests worthwhile
From first breath to last it's a long thrilling ride
As love and desires rule trappings of eager minds
And will to acquire wealth demands equal time
While allure of fame ignites latent spark inside
As maturity gains wisdom it begins to ask why
Things that were treasured once, now fail to satisfy
And glitter that charmed then, now burdens eyes
When meaning of life changes as time goes by
And memories then bemoan venues forgone:
Failing to sail the oceans when tides were calm,
Forsaking kiss of love when nights twinkled stars,
Ignoring golden aura when fervid was the dawn
Precious become moments waning to end the game
When tallies are made of words said and unsaid--
Some seek reconciliation, some still burn the flame,
Some that meant so much, no longer mean the same
July 28, 2019
Categories:
venues, life,
Form:
Verse
Words For Those With No Voice
For every pair of shoes
All the burnt bones and woes
In the millions, in the mud
All died alone
Starving of food and having lost our souls
Our god abandoned us so
Mother father
Sister brother
Fuel for the Reich, we lay slaughtered
Some of us were saved
By those whose honor made them brave
We must salute them all, the bold and the dead
Even if we have only skeletons to mark their stead
Now that time has passed
There will be contests, it will be a blast
Who wins first? Who wins third?
The holocaust deserves no prize
Why must we die twice, this is absurd?
Honor me with a prayer
A poem
A moment of silence
A heart felt thought about humanity
Prose and verse, to remember the atrocities
This is the honor of men of a higher velocity
Never make a circus of the horrific gas chambers
A contest of who makes the horrors more real or titillating
Its not you the writer or the reader that feels
It’s us gassed and burned and buried with our id numbers
Asleep in the fields in slumber
Yellow stars fading away in silence, in tears
No grave markers to shout out of atrocious fears
The subtly of honor is lost on the crass
Maybe it’s them who should be buried under this grass
Notes:
I realize this is a delicate issue, I wrote this poem only because is of my opinion, that having a contest on such issues unless for specific venues, causes, etc. is somewhat tasteless. There is no right or wrong, this is simply by view or take on things and thus have expressed so via this poem. A contest implies a prize or reward even be it praise, and so to profit from so many peoples suffering, well I have explained why. However that being said, any expression or illustration dedicated to honoring and bringing to the light such atrocities, is a different issue.
That being said good intentions are just that, no matter how misguided they may be. We should be grateful we live where we are free to express our sentiments, feelings and beliefs, without fear of repercussion, and that by its very nature will mean many have diverse opinions and views on any issue.
Categories:
venues, allah, death, evil, holocaust,
Form:
Free verse
On the streets of sin city, on the high roller's main drag,
Known as the Las Vegas Strip, a gentlemen phantom
Does stroll dressed in all black attire, striding forth with his golden Cain,
Flipping a silver chip into the air, and mocking at its power.
The devil's agent of deception is he, retaining a list of names
To collect upon, this gentlemen bandit of the forsaken.
He is here on the dark master’s behalf, ready to claim on
The I.O.U's signed by the greedy, and innocence fallen.
Quietly, moving amongst the crowded venues, he waits
Until his lord calls the name of the unlucky, to be reposed.
Dance do the neon lights, flashing towards pleasure dens of iniquity,
As ladies whom belong unto the night itself, offer their
Tokens of favor, for a working man's paycheck.
Black jacks twenty-one, cut those cards, and pass them out
The first timers dumb luck, will deliver him unto evil,
On this walkers dead man's list tonight.
Against the loaded dice, no soul is left unsanctified,
On the sacred green velvet altar, the wheel of fortune
Spins out of control, then hitting the baccarat tables
Wooden wall, someone screams snake eyes.
Then all is lost, faded are the dreams of illusion, melting away
Into the harsh desert soil, along the road side leading to sin city.
Beneath the arid sandy duns, lies the grave yard
Of the unknown unidentified, a missing persons
Smorgasbord of the rich and infamous, lying right
Beside, the unreported poor man corpse.
This is the Grim Reapers play ground, taunting
And tormenting, those begging for redemptions
Last chance to gain a reprieves pardon.
But when tapped by his golden cain of death,
Your life's essence has wagered it's last bet,
To the winner goes the spoils, and now you
Belong unto the devil.
People say what happens in Vegas stays
There, and rightly so will he agree, with his blackened
Heart and soul, for after all is this not
The capital of hell on earth, known as
Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The populations of the undead just added
Another’s names tally and the gentlemen
Dressed all in black, is sent a wandering
Again amongst the crowed streets, to claim
Another victim in the dark master’s wrath of
Vengeance.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
venues, adventure, america, evil, halloween,
Form:
Free verse
Tech Zombies
Written: by Tom Wright
10-6-2016
Some have lost the ability to use their head,
And depend on gadgets to get by instead.
A Phone, Pod, or tablet now fills each hand,
And in certain venues they should be banned.
I’ve sat in church and observed others texting,
And this, to me, has become quite perplexing.
Distracted, I think, why even bother to come,
As I muse, why this, they can’t refrain from.
“Techies” can’t wait for Apple’s latest upgrade,
While I sit thinking they’re just being played.
Like sheep they stand in line at a local store,
To be fleeced for a device they’ve fallen for;
Technology has made our lives so much better,
Giving us aspirations of being the pacesetter;
Technology, now, is nearing an insane extreme,
But an enormous boost to poor self esteem;
Categories:
venues, technology,
Form:
Lyric
The Full Moon
The wide ocean moved, like a living creature all by itself, yet full of even more living creatures. The schools of fish... swimming with the dolphins, being chased by sharks, and so on were all, part of the deep water landscape. Whales, swordfish, starfish, and just fish swam the currents, the eddies, and the flows.
The waves that divided the realm of sea and air were sometimes quiet, other times not. The difference, the reasons; the seasons and venues, weather and whim... the sudden impulse of nature, or by the direction of the maker.
Above the waters, high in the air... The moon peered down, watching. The man there wondered how the small unimportant ones living below, were doing against the larger scale of world events. Just a "made-up story", The Man on the Moon... in a child's book, but every story also having roots, in reality, left the essence of the word "wonder" hanging.
The stars all around looked down too. They peered on in silence, or at least to music no one else could hear. It was the sound of the solar wind, the cracking of great rocks under pressure, and the spectacular rain of space dust... glittering against the backdrop of the sphere below, called Earth. A small unimportant place in the scope of the universe perhaps, but the jewel of God's eye.
Categories:
venues, bible, courage, creation, death,
Form:
Free verse
Smiling recollections,
summer evening reflections, now
almost gone for new generations
while my venues of childhood musings
and adolescent anticipations
...near extinction.
I must concede my willingness to share
what they will never recall
- the exhilaration
when Dad would pronounce,
"We're going to the drive-in tonight".
A creature double feature,
"The Blob" and "I Was a Teenage Werewolf",
both Feep worthy presentations,
fantasmically speaking.
The impatience for dusk was matched
with the rush of a 10 minute intermission
and, while spotlights played on the
darkened screen, cardboard pizza,
Buttercup popcorn, hockey puck hamburgers,
soggy steamed dogs, and french fries,
were greedily consumed for more
than the price of admission.
Hood ice cream cups with flat wood spoons
for dessert, then back with only
one minute 'til SHOWTIME to the
mosquito safe car where "Pic" coils
repelled the infestation while smoldering
on the glove box door - mesothelioma be damned!
Then, if we didn't escape with an
early exit dash, were caught
in the dust and chaos of the only
late night traffic jam in town.
And...years later, those teenage
trysts, without permission - I'll never tell
what movie?
But, always remember "Gourmet Confessions"!
Categories:
venues, memory,
Form:
Narrative
Do not allow others to define you.
You, deep as the rolling cerulean sea.
And believe me you are the bright
star on your Christmas tree!
Chase your dreams, they will not
fall into your lap!
Above all, don't judge your poem by the number
of comments you get.
That's no way to go, my pet!!
We all have different unique styles
Created in part by our unique life
miles.
Behind your words your hear hearts and lives.
Just be your best and in that moment, to humanity
you truly will do more than survive!
Soupmail me, if you feel passed by.
I have seen the huge number of poets unread,
Believe me..here there is no Poetic godhead.
I try to remind people this is poetry, not comment soup!
Just be here to be original and the satisfaction of not wanting
commenting from others is a true poet's hue.
It takes courage! I understand to continue!
Some of the very best here have unique poet venues.
12/15/2020
Categories:
venues, encouraging,
Form:
Rhyme
FAREWELL MY FRIEND
Within the heart of this gentle man, rocked the storm
Of the open highway, a blazing passion that burnt and
Singed at his inner soul spirit.
Spiritual kindred of the Harley idealism, born to be free,
Living with the wind beneath his wings of cycle chrome,
An eagle silhouette beneath the horizons lost venues,
Of the routes less traveled by.
Oh God bless this lost road warrior, for he tried
His best to live by the rules of honor, bravery,
And courage.
Beneath those wrinkles of age, a sparkle lit within
Those eyes that remained timeless, but only a biker
Can truly understand such passion that drove such
A gentlemen such as this friend of mine, known
Simply as Tattoo.
Oh the open highway is a harsh mistress, clashing
Hard with the review mirror of reality, betrayed by
The warmth of sorrows distrusting female, it was
All that remained left unto he whom loved her
Best, but the lure of drugs took him away,
Leaving us to wonder why?
It is said that God protects the meek and mild,
If this is true, may he stand at the right side of
The good and just. Beyond these troubling shores,
That seemed to bare down upon him so.
Let the divine winds of grace always remain
At his back, as the breezes of freedom blow
Through his graying hair, riding onto the last roads
Eternal highway on his majestic Harley, we bid
Tattoo a toast in destiny’s honor and fellowship.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
venues, adventure, america, dedication, farewell,
Form:
Free verse
Hear the whispering voices of our tribal ancestors,
Echoing against the rough rock skin of Chacoan Canyon,
Telling the outsider white devils, that this is sacred ground,
Do not dare to tread here, for your own salvation's sake,
Lies at risk.
Can't these intruders hear, the rattling bones of the dead,
Beating against the native drums, calling forth the guardians
Whom protect these revered mountains, and ancient?
Forgotten ruins.
It's a presence of malevolence, given off by shadow stalkers,
Whom elude detection, spiritual chameleons these the unseen
And the unheard.
At dusk's twilight hour, does blood's mountain so flicker
Crimson red, for within dwells the beast, whom feast upon
The forsaken, those who have desecrated the purity
Of this sacred tribal land.
Weeping women of generations plead for mercies
Leniency, but the creature knows only basic instincts
Need for survival, and this is his native hunting grounds
Territory.
Can you not feel its eyes watching you from above?
Does not the hair stand up straight on the back of
Your neck, flee out-lander to a different venues location,
Before it is too late.
No medicine man's enchantment, or incantation's spell,
Can save thee, the sacred right's ritual is older than the
Desert sands that blow against these rock canyon walls.
In this arid arena the fallen are taken prisoner, by a dark
Phantom gladiator, who seemly is made of vaporous mist.
But the chieftain elders praise his existence, for he is a
Guardians sent by the power of the Great Spirit,
To protect and guard this land of native wonder.
Many thrill seekers come here to behold nature
In its raw state of brilliance, and few leave
Unscathed, for they have been touched by
The presence of the supernatural.
In chacoan Canyon, where the Colorado River
Still runs wild and free.
A killer crouches in a stance's freeze, waiting
For his next meal to step forth onto his sacred
Feeding grounds, welcome tourist, unto the ritual
Bloody feast.
The beast does smile, with fiendish delight, come'
Any further my friend, the creature speaks, and
You belong to me for all eternity.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
venues, adventure, america, halloween, history,
Form:
Free verse
Bricks and mortar vs. feelings, and emotion,
Binding ties, suspensions cabling, connecting
Generational divides, blood stones legacy, uniting
Distant shores these are the bridges of emotional
Tides, a streams current flowing beneath our kindred
Souls.
Red cobble stone streets running downwards,
To a fine points country road, from the cradle,
Unto the grave marker, these venues of relevancy,
Merge the binding chains of reinforcement’s foundation.
Cohesion melting bolts secure, the rough edges of
Traditions uniqueness of variations design, is a shifting
Earthquake zone, yet in beauty the grand
Vision holds fast together with loves divine, and
Tender care.
Hands extended across the ages linking us,
Photo albums pictures of black and white faces,
Smiling, memories legends passed from the spoken
Words remembrances, we are the total sum
Of all these special linkages.
Inheritances stepping stones of brilliance shimmering
Beneath the light of the eternal sun, elemental children
Of oxygen, inhaling, exhaling the vaporous air of generations
Long scene past.
Bricks and mortar vs. feelings, and emotion,
Binding ties, suspensions cabling, connecting
Generational divides, blood stones legacy, uniting
Distant shores these are the bridges of emotional
Tides, a streams current flowing beneath our kindred
Souls.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
venues, identity, imagery, imagination, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
"You say you want a revolution" screamed the four,
John, Paul, George and Ringo beat down the door.
Melody and harmony and Brit sex appeal gone anti-war
Nine times round the turn table with Yoko, hardcore.
Fab stereo artists with composite collages for musical scores,
they kicked, whined, smoked and dined in venues top-drawer.
Number 9 was the cut most radical by lore
chaos, poetry, and prose composed with sound effects galore,
a sandwiched montage of "what are you looking for?"
Categories:
venues, dream, history,
Form:
Rhyme
It slumbers here within our hometown memory,
The calm, peacefulness of serenity, a place
Where everyone belongs without fear or judgment,
People say hello, and call you by name, welcome
My friend to the dream.
Many pebbles stones have I taken from within, these worn
Out tennis shoes, searching for this lost paradise of thought.
Roads venues known and unknown, have I walked yet it evades
Me, with each turns crossing, and behold how the miles stretch
Out in the distance, but I shall not lose hope.
This mirages illusion of deliverance, from reality's harsh world,
That surrounds me, yet I seek it still.
There is a nirvana, called the simpler life, it does exist out there,
Somewhere, on a distant horizon's promised shores.
I'm not alone, I know many pilgrims, whom have sought after the same
Vision quest, it shimmers this image, even before the blind man,
Yet he can still sense it, smell it, and wishes to experience it.
The way home that lies within his fingertips grasp, welcome my
Friend to the dream.
The world out of control is nothing more than a myth here,
No river of humanity on a speeds rush to no-wheres-vile.
Nay here the waters move at a slower pace, matching
The beating heart of the simple country town's folk.
Oh Lord here this wonders prayer, this body that aches, beneath this
Shadows hobo, many miles I've known, show me this land of milk
And honey, that I've yearned for and searched for.
Let these old eyes see the realization, that has haunted mine inner being
For so long, allow my adventure's journey to end at last, welcome me
Dearest father to the dream, and at splendors final rapturous moment, to rest.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
venues, adventure, dream, fantasy, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
VANISHED
We are the echoing voices crying within the darkness,
Melting mists of vapor co-existing amongst the living,
The ambling drifters shifting between reality and limbo,
The vanished.
Displacement malfunction, the frozen chill in one’s space,
Happening without explanation, the corporal spirit sliding
In the temporal rift as if a doorway has opened then closes
With sudden forces slamming,
The vanished.
Running at full sails speed the ghostly ship hanging on the
Distant horizons cresting wave, the Bermuda Triangles curious
Answer, never revealed, a planes broadcasting its S.O.S. then
Nothing except statics silence, the walkers of historical significance,
Never heard from again except in dusty monologue’s ancient text,
The vanished.
Rebukes despised disposed by hatred lies of malice, the forgotten,
Yet we touch the living by the night’s lunar light, angers tortured
Languishing amidst the flames of hell’s fire, crying out for justice
But receiving only torment, silences footsteps heard amongst the
The land of the living,
The vanished.
Sacrifice’s vanished foe, given to the idle gods of the past,
Manipulations fallen solider who gave his life for what
He believed was a justified cause, the lost soul of the
Innocent that does not realize he lies in the kingdom
Of the diseased,
The vanished.
The crumbling ruined city, with its lingering residences,
Still haunting the abandon streets and venues of the past,
Do to tragedies misguidance, or alliances bomb shelled fortress
Torn apart and left to molten ash, these shadows of innocence
Remain, behold
The vanished.
The dead man’s sleep walker, emerging from his cryptic
Tomb, suddenly realizing it’s survived the end of the world,
But now he’s all alone, in isolations one celled chamber,
As the human ash cloud descends upon the last ma
On earth falls to his knees and screams out loud, why,
Dear God, why
The vanished.
Listen to the voices carried upon the wind,
It is the vanquished seeking answers without
Replies response, the weeping victims of time
Bang against our shutters windows, and knock
At the front doors of our souls, they will not
Be ignored,
Those vanished.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
venues, adventure, history, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Characters in action
Talents in multiplication
Shapes and sizes of many version
Skills on display with tension
Over the top ropes one would gape
Under the ropes one can escape
Apron of thick mattress
Arena of countless matches
Highlighted are dressed to kill
Fronting the crowd that fill
Seats of spectators that cheer
Feats of competitors, not jeer
Matches roll with blunder
Rumbling and grappling like thunder
Crutches and splints spread over
Bodies of the bruised fall over
Grueling matches live on
Under any pressure show must go on
It's not "business as usual" that linger
Players of theatrics in danger
Venues are slated by dates
Participants stipulated as mates
Previews of expected bouts
Reviews that excite and shouts
Year after year is the Rumble
Inside the ring that crumble
Event that sounds so noble
Fame, not fortune that bubble
A prelude to Wrestlemania
An interlude of regalia
A shot coveted in spotlight
A spot asserted with delight
Let's get ready to rumble!...
Categories:
venues, character, color, creation, men,
Form:
Other