Best View Poems
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
To appreciate our planet,
begin with its snowcapped mountains;
where sunbeams morph crystals of ice
into gems of glistening light.
See pink clouds hover in the skies
afloat on a vista of blue;
and a setting sun smear scarlet
onto puffs of marshmallow white.
And jungles at its equator
create a sash of vibrant greens;
while burnt sands ripple Earth's deserts,
with shifting dunes of tans and creams.
See Earth's leafy forests change from
deciduous to evergreen;
and tundra pitted with blue lakes,
fade to stretches of virgin snow.
And volcanoes erupt in flame
spewing plumes of ebony smoke;
lava bleeding from gaping wounds,
while giving birth to molten earth.
See azure and aquamarine
waves crested with white foamy froth;
and two tilted poles, capped in ice,
sparkle like crystalline jewels.
View it from afar, as it twirls
within the vacuum of space;
like a phantasmagorical
cerulean marble; called Earth.
socialism communism fascism despotism
buddhism catholicism hinduism zoroastrianism
territorialism colonialism imperialism expansionism
positivism relativism behaviorism existentialism
adventurism escapism negativism nihilism
puritanism fanaticism extremism terrorism
sexism chauvinism ultra-nationalism jingoism
hedonism epicureanism ~ stoicism asceticism
patriotism heroism altruism idealism
activism idealism individualism exceptionalism
atheism deism monotheism paganism
optimism pessimism cynicism romanticism
atheism secularism humanism utopianism
hypnotism mysticism exorcism surrealism
~ and what if there were a schism in each and every 'ism!'
You call me insensitive,
But I don't believe that's true;
Because, you see,
It's all about me.
It's not about you.
You say your opinion doesn’t matter,
That I’ve no respect for your point of view;
But I do if we agree,
Because it’s all about me.
It’s not about you.
You say I’ve no compassion,
No feelings for your troubles or your blues;
But none of us is issue free,
And mine are all about me;
But…not about you.
A time old adage,
“To thine own self be true.”,
Is all about choices you see.
My choices are all about me,
And, certainly, not about you.
So, when its time to make your choices
You’ll understand and know it’s true;
To decide what will or will not be,
Won’t be at all about me;
It will be all about you
But special moments confront most of us,
When what matters isn’t “Me”.
And while these moments are few,
They’re not about me, not about you.
For a time, it’s all about “We.”
Yes, “…no man is an island.”
Is a valid point of view;
But if it’s not about “We”,
Then it’s all about me.
Sorry. It’s not about you.
As soon as we got to the county fair
The country odor got through my nose hair
Coz above some milk pails
We encountered cow tails
Which filled our senses with their dairy-air
Barefoot in a field of daisies
hair blowing in the breeze
smile beaming ear to ear
babbling brook streaming nearby
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
Sunrays shining down
from the cerulean morning sky
a parasol twirling in her hand
shading those beamish eyes
The cottage of stone hidden
in a bed of spruce trees
ashen smoke flowing
from the ancient chimney
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
The picture won't change
It's what you construe
Each story may vary
based on a point of view
Pictures, paintings, natural beauty
drawings, photos, or sculptures
A picture, no words
A story, unheard
Splashes of scarlet and violet blend into blue heavens
While soft, white, feathery clouds rise like angels taking flight
Over memories of Monet’s Artist's Garden at Giverny.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Contest Name Glorious Sijo Fields
February 7, 2015
From high above the mighty eagles soar
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land;
a proud and peaceful nation thrived, before
the bombs began to fall with czar’s command.
Their saddened eyes see blood upon the sand
as innocence lay scattered on the shore;
they’re witnessing the slaughter now at hand
from high above as mighty eagles soar.
Her cities lay in ruin from the war;
her leaders pleading for a helping hand;
the world in horror watches evermore,
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land.
Atrocities and pillage deftly planned
erasing all the joys from days of yore;
the villages and townships now unmanned
where proud and peaceful nation thrived before.
I cannot see the reason for this gore
nor endgame of this despot’s evil hand,
and history repeats itself once more
as bombs begin to fall with czar’s command.
And what will be the outcome of this stand
when smoke has cleared the war which we deplore;
and who will be the next at his demand
as angel’s tears begin to fall once more
from high above?
July 1, 2022
It’s an unknown journey, but I see a trail
heading to the light of tomorrow
There will often be times I'll be afraid, to go
I may stumble a bit, with an eager heart
And may tremble climbing cliffs of old sorrows
There are deep, black chasms I will not forget,
where slopes slick, with pitfalls, are waiting to trip
But I've gone too far, and I can't turn around,
Just as the sun can't turn its back on the day
The trees speak in tongues, so foreign to my ears
using parched, old voices, and tears from the sky
Scraps of brittle leaves litter, with dust all around
Mixed with words left unsaid, that I've left behind
There’s a sharp mist of hope, at the bend of the river
yet,sun on my face seems to lend,
the slope of the rain, but the warmth of the sun
with an open blue sky at the end
_____________________________________________
THE VIEW
(SADLY)
I can't believe he has to be a poet
To tell you how he feels
Maybe he does not know
When words are written on paper
does not mean your wounds
are going to heal properly
To be or not to be?
That is the question you should ask.
The man should never call himself a poet
Unless he has lived, learn, lost, and gained it back
The man who writes good poetry
In my eyes is a man of art
He can paint you anything without a paintbrush
This man I call a poet, with a colorful heart
Using all his manly skills
He is way ahead of the ordinary man
Leaving the imagination, filling the soul with chills
aroused ------- he calls for me
While (I) the woman swims in tears
She finds herself helpless
Without a man, she thinks she is lost, nowhere to be found
The secret of the female
When she is broken
She begins to feel and thinks life is over
Little does she know her time will come
When the time calls
The lady is stronger than ever
One thing I learned about a lady
You better respect her (me)
Don't destroy (my) her better days
She will crumble you
She will crush you where it hurts
This is my demo to all ya poetry freaks
Keep it real!!
Don't steal my words.
I have feelings too:)
by:PD
Point of View
Hag in the mirror
Squinting at me
Waiting and watching
A young face to see.
She doesn’t know
Face that stares back
Never thought she’d see
That old hag in black.
But here they are
Alone the two
Seeing each one
From own point of view.
10/2017
Your arm wraps
around her shoulder.
She slips in—wears you
easily and steps in the place
that was our embrace
for eighteen years.
This looks so effortless for you.
Out of breath—
my life crosses the finish line
of a marathon-marriage to this
slow-motion, surreal, stream of pain.
Unsteady on my feet like a nervous bride,
my forevers and until death vows
unceremoniously fade..
Venus in View
Oh, megalithic moon, shine your rays upon my beatific being
For in this jubilant June, our hearts aflutter forever fleeing
My Venus stands still, a Goddess of the crimson songful sky
Within a throbbing thrill, my love comes in with a soulful shy
Oh Aphrodite grant me courage as the jewels of heaven glow
May the oracles flaunty furnish our embrace of eternities echo
And thus our love will flourish for the petals of desire bestow.
June.22.2018
Seven lines of romantic heaven
Sponsored by: Silent One
majestic red kite
darting steely eyes seek prey
look ... no strings attached
02/04/20
ado the realms that I have plunged with phrase
they have no shape - no bound'ries or expanse
some wend in heaven's dreams or hell's malaise
thoughts sown a demon's kiss or angel's dance ...
such myst'ries there are born from matter, gray
those maelstroms wend the mind's complexities
what seems dark and chaotic through its sway
works fierce to find the beauty each eye sees ...
while wordsmiths tend to stretch upon the rack
of flow'ry phrase, for sake of bloom and breaths
there's far more dire concern with candor's lack
than all the horror wrought ten thousand deaths ...
please don't misunderstand these words of mine
true eloquence is birthed through grain OR chaff
with thoughts that bare the soul in grand design
and swell dear hearts that break on their behalf ...
pray, deign to think me common, though I was
dear love's sweet fool, a million times too much
and though I'd trade my loves for verse's cause
the dearest poem can't trump ... a woman's touch.