Best Vied Poems
A coral pink design on glistening ruby tapestry--
Reminiscent of ingenuity of sculptor's blueprints
In scarlet-orange tinges and teal-green imprints
Hanging spectacularly in the cosmic art gallery.
You are the brushstrokes of Florentine artistry--
Verses of poetry scripted in ornate vocabulary
Articulating the vision of a star studded galaxy
Flying in the universe on wings of your beauty.
The scent of purple heliotropes you often vied for
Lingers in search of your golden yellow persona
Since you left the earth floating on dream clouds
Ingesting dusty gases to forge your own replica.
Jealous are the stars of your blushing rose motif
Shaped like a monarch besting your surroundings,
An ornament you are, flashing your royal charm--
Jewel that took the crown from dying supernova.
June 10, 2019
Placed 3rd: Your choice (7) contest by Brian Strand
Placed 3rd:Nifty named nebula poetry contest by William Kekaula
Picture 1: The butterfly
THE BARE INFINITIVE
Look: up above the stratosphere
Outside the earth's blanket veneer
Beyond planets stars and galaxy
Past even faintest nebulae
Far from the pull of gravity
Free of Dark Matter's hidden vector
In existential cavity
Untied to any spacial sector
All human weakness risen above
In solo freedom primitive
Beyond the bonds of hate or love
There sits the Bare Infinitive
No cares nor problems, fears nor pains
But there's one question that remains
From Liberty, took a blessed kiss?
Or to false seductive promise succumb
Is he in sublime unfettered bliss?
Or formless, endless tedium
COROLLARY - The Meaning of Life
So perforce the very asking of the question
May reveal the answer to that greater plea
Why suffer slings and arrows, pains, anguish, oppression
When we might, by NOT opposing, be set free
The gloomy prince omitted consequence unsaid
In agonising on the walls of Elsinore
Endless nothingness holds nought for us but dread
Perchance to dream preferred to void; that we abhor
Thus life’s meaning may be: to be within a life
Then if we also have a purpose vied with strife
Result: interest, time, curiosity, interaction and aim
Or the elements of what we call: A Game.
Lest you think this demeans Creation to mere caprice
Then observe to be the player, not the piece.
24 May 2019
WALES 1 GERMANY didn’t
The Germans take great pride
In long words measured by the clock
But can they compete when vied
With Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
The host was the most, an elegant man,
Who throws great parties like no one else can.
All were dressed to the nines for a special affair,
While men peeked at bosoms and tried not to stare.
The gathering together of local folks,
Were sitting and telling some witty jokes;
While ladies who came dressed in the latest style,
Vied with each other for a gentleman’s smile.
Candles were lit, the music played low,
The table was set in perfection’s glow;
With goblets of wine and bone china plates,
That defined the mind with earnest debates.
The fragrance of food that smelled so fine,
Was delivered with bottles of sweet scented wine;
And great steaming bowls of chicken soup,
Were served in style with a sterling silver scoop.
Roast beef with gravy was served with care,
With mashed potatoes and all the fanfare.
There were squash, carrots and dishes of beans,
And bowls of crisp chopped salad greens.
There was wine to sip and coffee to drink,
There was so much to eat, no one could think;
There was cake to splurge and gin to purge,
And all who ate quickly lost the urge.
The hours ticked by with buttons undone,
That belied the gourmet from having fun;
For lessons they learned were simple and few,
A waist filled with haste is hard to undo.
.
The Comfort of a Drunken Mind
Lipstick on an empty glass
A Memory of a smile
In my time, don’t you know?
Young girls vied for my attention
Always posing, Heartbreaker to women was I.
God, I will never see her smile again
her voice silent to me
Inside I am a flower without rain
A musician without music
My love waits in a queue,
Full of fools, and whiskey bottles
Ahhh another drink
Yes tomorrow, will be better
I remember her stare,
Sitting on that chair,
That damn chair.
Drink Darling?
My Blossom of the night,
a smooth talker me.
I broke her dreams
Now Petals on a stormy sea
I remember her scent
Now washed away on the hurricanes breath
Called Whisky.
Ahh another drink, she won’t leave me?
Damn that empty chair
To bed, the morning will bring her back
The bottle sleeps
and the sandman paints his illusions
Dreams invulnerable to reality.
The glow of dawn, incinerates these imposters
Fabricated in the monsoon of a drowning brain
Cornflakes and Barley wine, a man’s breakfast
What now, a snifter I think and another thought?
Love has left this empty chair
Where dreams and happiness dwelt
Where futures were planned
and Where love flowed, intoxicating our lives.
Still, the empty glass remains.
Ahh, another drink, and another illusion to comfort my soul
The bottle is my love now,
And the empty chair, my sentence.
That damned empty chair
Ahh did I tell you, once I was a heartbreaker?
Come share a drink with me friend?
Oh, my darling, how passionately you whisper to me
Secrets of forbidden love, titillating magical feelings
Mesmerizing romantic night in blossoms of dreams
Beckoning to heavens above to fulfill sweet fantasy
Alluring sensuous desires twinkling in glistening skies
As I feel your vibes, sparkling in your glamorous eyes.
Ah! river’s serene zeal rejoices your sensuous appeal
Rippling exhilaration emanating from tranquil stream
Sensing my arrival in tenor of soft midnight breeze
Rustling shamrock leaves echoing hearts’ tender music
As melodies of doting souls warble from smitten trees
Jubilant in aspirations, mythical fascinations reveal.
Chasing earthly passions in rhythms of ecstatic ballad
Oh, how I, quixotic star, inflame in your cuddling arms
Crooning breaths on sensual lips, answering you call
Satiating night you vied for, till I part at stroke of dawn
Leaving behind part me to forever cheer your heart
Inscribing upon eternal memories, fable of romance.
September 30, 2020
Placed 1st: Impacts and metaphors poetry contest
What price a smile;
its value immeasurable?
First learned when a cheek was tickled,
long before an uttered jest,
a nonsensical gurgling grin
learned how to own a room.
Before "trying harder" failed,
sophistication and foolishness
vied for our personal attention;
painted smiles begging to be laughed at,
lonely hearts begging to be loved -
a quest never truly sated,
while we struggle to find
what we've always owned.
(Inspired by Henry Miller's "The Smile at the Foot of a Ladder")
What story should I tell?
This is the tale of how the lonely acorn fell
far from where the mighty oak had stood
cut by the hands of man, felled for its wood.
The mother-father tree lay across the laid bare land
cut down in the forest no more to stand
and the branches stretched out along the dirt
releasing the acorn from its berth.
This acorn scratched and bruised, browned and torn
slipped into the streamflow of new rivers formed
and floated out to the open sea
she rode the tides salted and found herself - free.
The gulf stream path sped north into the wintry chill
as she cut across the sands where tidal waves were spilled
and a gull eyed her glistening shiny coat
and scooped her up but not down into her throat.
Pass the inlets, along the earthen roads
the gull dropped her beyond the manmade folds
where fertile land had long ago appeared
and squirrel and chipmunk vied for burrows cleared.
Buried deep in fertile soils blessed
this acorn was welcomed as the forest began its undress
with autumn fall and winter tamed,
she was awakened by the sun and rain.
This acorn found a place in the northeast spring
with hairy roots that began to form and sing,
of an acorn that was newly born.
escaping the outer shell coat torn.
She began to grow far from where she fell
and as life took on its hold in sapling meld
the newest oak began to watch history unfold
and knew then she was not the last acorn in the mold.
As time and historic years hurried pass
she knew she was not nor would be the last
with nature's watch and thirst
she was, the very first.
4/24/20
for John Lawless contest
The Last Acorn
I am the future of this noble land
I look out for you to seek my hand
Although I am young I have ambitions and strengths
For I am the future you must understand
I acknowledge my predecessors, the heroes and souls
Who lost their lives in this struggle to uphold?
The many brave men and women who vied with racism
And followed their heart and altered all perception
Equality reigns supreme, no matter your hue
Past sins forgiven, success long overdue
I look to the sun and see it wink back
Confident am I that I am on the right track
Solitary winds envelop and succumb
Looking at my lands beauty I grow numb
I strive for success, happiness and fame
For I am the future, the youth by name
"Steamboat is a-comin' 'round the bend!"
My! Oh my! The wonders it might portend,
As it stopped by sleepy towns along the Missisip',
Dodgin' stumps and wayward rafts on its monthly New Awlins trip!
Its arrival was heralded by the town drunk who had nothin' else to do,
And the denizens who didn't flock to the wharf were very, very few!
The steamboat 'General Custer' was indeed a spectacular sight,
With fancy-topped stacks and palatial pilot house painted red and white!
The pilot rang the big brass bell, then folks began a frenzied rush.
The first mate let fly some dirty words - 'twould make a teamster blush!
He had ten minutes to lade his cargo and didn't suffer fools gladly.
Passengers scrambled on and off the boat fightin' each other madly!
There was a colorful parade of characters disembarkin' from the boat:
There came a preacher man clutchin' his Bible wearin' a black frock coat;
A soiled dove slithered ashore much to the delight of the local swains;
Followed by a shifty-eyed gamblin' dude with intent to swell his gains!
Drays, carts, horses and men vied for space to unload their freight,
Fightin' and cussin' and the mate hollerin', "Hustle! Hustle! It's a-gittin' late!"
The pilot rang the big brass bell and the steamboat was on its way agin'.
Til next boat, the drunkard is on the skids agin' guzzlin' his jug o' gin!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Thrift Store Foreshadowing
by Odin Roark
Inventory of past life inventories
Poised in dress-parade attention
Obliging his obligatory inspection,
Seeking the suit that would fit him well,
Avoiding the over-priced,
Cleaned and pressed,
Yet with frayed collar conspiracy
Luridly foisting their prominence
Beneath overhead fluorescents.
About the store,
Bathed in mist-like dust mites and hidden cobwebs,
Dummies dressed in street-window conceit,
Stood like Nutcracker soldiers
Their Mona Lisa eyes tracking his every move.
As rickety fans stirred the summer’s air,
Racks of faded dresses sashayed to and fro from hangers,
Not knowing he was of manly preference,
Even though…
Racks of shirts and ties waved
As he hurriedly sought an exit.
Dead men’s boots and shoes vied for his attention,
As sweat-stained Stetsons rolled along the floor,
Chasing him back to his slumber,
Where his time to wake meant quashing the noisy Big Boy alarm,
Following his ritual of ****, shower and shave,
And the daily venture into the real world of fear.
Sadly…
His analyst, the only known confidant, gave little credence to the dream,
Until having to identify his still body at the morgue,
Her doubt developed a bit more dream consciousness,
Insomnia becoming her constant companion.
Elizabeth the first of England
Had many suitors who vied for her hand
She doubted love, or was not keen
And so she died a virgin queen.
29 th May 2015
----------------------------
Contest: Cleri-who?
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Placed: 6th
She did.
She did it.
She did it twice.
She did it twice over.
She did it twice over again...LOVE,
Susan saw something solid.
He had her heart.
Everlasting energy ending eternally.
Dance, daring dazzling dance.
I intend impish interactions.
Dance, daring dazzling dance.
Letting love lightly lead.
Over opera octave o'yeahs.
Very vivacious victory vied.
Everlasting energy ending eternally.
By Susan Mills
Form:
Heading for the next election,
Votes vied for by vicarious politicians,
Who are we all voting for?
Is it for their superannuation? Or,
Streamlining services to sway us,
Does Oz really need such fuss?
We're walking on the winning side,
Let's have some more Hi-fives!
Debates due to direction,
Teen brain selfie obsessions,
These are our politicians,
It's a short, amusing ride,
Someone pass vicarious pesticide!!!
MA headline in the red tops,
Tabloid front pages as well,
A story the media vied
To be the first to tell.
A Revolution in medicine,
Really something very big,
The first time a human
Received the heart of a pig.
A little genetic engineering
Was all they would need
And so with care they bred
A pig of a suitable breed.
They took time and effort
So that they could prepare
For a successful procedure
And after surgery care.
He got a new life
His dreams came true
Once again he was able
To do things he used to do.
Only one slight problem,
In trees he would start to snuffle,
And, going down on all fours
He’d start to hunt for truffle.