Best Written Poems
Two hearts bleached by the sun
A Poem's - fallen wish
The Love
Of A Life Time
Majestic beams fall from heaven meadow
Two hearts stitched by the constellation
Under the moon's glow
You and I
Gazing up into the Starry Sky
This night we sit under the dazzling diamond dust
Our eyes feel and meet tonight
Stars twinkle a poem of each paired heart
Listen......While......The God's Whisper!
What Is Love?
They asked
A wish so gently by the stars
Greeting young couples' heart
Poor but, in love
Mimicking an old shadow
Light embrace this Auspicious moment
-Aster Flares-
Intrigued by a sad lover's tale
Two souls forever rich-
Sharing eternity through celestial bliss
Gravitating in the world owned by the stars
A most unfortunate turn of events,
Romeo & Juliet
Collapsing stars rising with a hymn
From the moment they fell
Only to reveal how beautiful--
-- the stars in the dark
Ever so wealthy, around Orion's Belt
Reading notes on every rhyme, every heartbeat
Stars fall every eve entering the atmosphere
Seeping through the soul, making love a part of a light
Permanent illusion
Fireflies Flaring up
A passion that lasts longer than a moment
Each zodiac unfolds
The stars tell you, who you are
Gaze upon eternity
Follow the Northern star
Beneath your peaceful splendor
They will bow
Sunset and the evening star,
"My Star Of Love"
Like glitter dust upon a timeless shore
Never will the memory of love be gone
Look up at the stars tonight,
For somewhere out there
I read about YOU in a poem.
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
I sit here and ponder the days that have past
The many loves that I had, that just didn’t last.
One really sticks out, wish I had another chance
Treating her so differently, I’d show her romance.
I loved once a man, who just wanted to play
At being romantic .life was just foreplay.
Thought a kiss would be enough for his turtle dove
Not thinking about feelings, whether I wanted love.
We would start a family, having a baby or two
We’d live on the hillside, with a beautiful view,
We’d grow old together in the home that we build
Giving my life meaning, I’d be so fulfilled.
He now thinks that he wants me, I am the one
to fill up his heart to make me his own.
Promising me a home on a hillside with a view
Yet he hasn’t vowed that he would be true.
I’d hold her and cherish her til the day we depart
I’d profess to her my love and give her my heart
Romantic nights on that hill gazing up at the moon
Our days filled with laughter, frolicking in the lagoon
Sure he now promises me love for ever after
A life of joy, happiness and full of laughter
On that hillside we’d sit, watching the world go by,
A family, two dogs at our feet, kissing loneliness goodbye.
Penned by Tim Smith and Seren
. *
*
*
I
am
the
star
that
shone
brightly
in the East
that night
so long ago
A heavenly light
that guided wise men
to the place where He lie
In a manger on a blanket of hay
****Christ -Immanuel - a radiant child - a gift from God****
His only son who died on a cross
for teaching us to love and
help one another
for this is
the only
way
there
Will
ever
be
peace
on
Earth
*
*
*
clad in rags, he wanders on Wall Street
he is invisible to hustling stock brokers
he is a man with no money, no property
a hapless struggler of excessive loan burdens
bitter winter winds blow across Broadway
he is invisible to affluent theatre-goers wearing warm winter coats
he is a man who watches them scurry past the cardboard box that is his bed
like a rain-dog, huddling in the shadows of alleys and doorways
he hears deafening explosions of New Year fireworks
he is invisible to the revellers
he is a man who cowers, recalling gunfire of a war he fought
echoing through his mind in restless nights
the incessant thumping of traumatic stress
he is invisible...a victim of post-Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq
who once bore a uniform and served his country with pride
he is invisible suffering alone, paying the price
through severe disabilities and permanent scars
with sadness, he watches voters going to the polls
he is invisible, a veteran with no voice in elections
he is a man who cannot vote without an “address”
a placard on a pavement might catch the eye
unemployed, homeless, unseen
but most of all forgotten
he is a man who seems invisible
but he is still a man
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is co-written by Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
in remembrance of our war veterans.
[Published @ Muse to Move (A.P.F. Publisher UK 2017]
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
The Big Five—Africa’s pride in the vast open wild
Buffalo, Rhinoceros, Elephant, Leopard and Lion
Their prey—scattered Impala, Kudu and Waterbuck
On hardened dust… their footprints prevail and stand
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
The proposal day--- carefully planned- a beautiful beach
Red Roses, a Picnic, Sunrise and Diamond ring
The petals—scattered on the soft damp sea tabloid
Lover’s plea….a stick his pen, “Marry me—take my hand”
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
Early one morning--- He entered the dusty temple to teach
Scribes and Pharisees brought her in—an adulterous
Large stones…scattered for all to throw and accuse
Jesus bent down… wrote with His finger on condemning land
What was His message…..?
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
Jack and Jill went up the hill
With thoughts of making love
Jack hadn’t got a condom
So cut a finger off Jill’s glove
The glove was far too small for him
And it didn’t fit his todger
Now they are proud parents
Of a baby they called Rodger!
1st October 2016
Another poem written after being inspired by Ilene Bauer's poem three blind mic
I write upon the nimble hands of fleeting time
careful not to leave my musings behind
Sometimes penning with haste and speed
trying not to forget
a relevant word or phrase seen in my mind's eye
that could be a crucial poetic thought
When tremulous mourning escapes my wistful heart
I am overcome with sorrow and cry
tears of desolation, and yet,
it is the balm I need.
Writing offers comfort, but never peace of mind
Love sonnets, I still write for him, in rhyme.
When the clock swings its pendulum and starts to chime
I become annoyed but always resigned
to accept that my heart will bleed.
Happiness owes a debt,
paid when loved ones are taken; a price much too high
as the clock mocks me, "Time cannot be bought."
January 31, 2021
My Invented Form - I Write Upon Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Syllable count verifed with HMS
Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp
Hey, babe, your style really sucks
Call that art, I have seen kids write better
Have some heart, instill it in your writes
Feel the moment, feel those letters
My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue
Oh, i see you have posted another piece
Let me read and determine my thoughts
Excellent shape and so true to form
This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught
Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness
The last write you wrote, has invited my see
It has clearly shown, your writing to be
Scope, shape and the form you have written
I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten
No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?
You may not know this,
But sometimes, I sneak
away from my cynicism,
and see through my vehement
in self loathing, to uncover
the tender optimism of
my former self, reminiscing
of elated memories, that I
over time, forgot belonged to me,
As I see us, my mind captures the
image, in hopes of warming my
essence, but the thought of
holding this picture, is inferior
to the risk of learning to smile again,
To smile and relish in a moment
that cannot be willed into reality,
despite the sincerity of a heart's desire,
Secretly, the vision of your beauty
belonging to me, releases melted
fragments of my heart through my
eyes, I shamefully wipe away such
signs of sorrow, and tell myself you
were "just a girl" but all of me
knows better, for the truth of your
importance is a factor unimaginable,
I cannot tell you that you were the
best of me, created out of prayer,
and wished into reality, or that my
eyes still remain closed until yours
sees sunlight, or that it was your
love alone, which gave me hope,
taught me faith, and filled my being
with the invincibility of a deity,
Such delicate confessions should
remain silent to your ears, and ears
of the world, for within them lies
the truth of a sorrow unseen by humanity,
and the power to allow this elation to
again grant me immortality, an everlasting
life in which I could only agonize over
a paradise unreachable, and the fruitless
fantasy of a raisin in the sun,
OOPS - I must have used invisible ink
Happy April Fools Day to you all
Hugs Jan ***
1st April 2015
In the mid-night hour
So many poems lay dominant!
Words glued together yet
Floating around as light as a feather!
Since the weather in my life will always change
I arrange these poems to be read during the darkest night
Writing a poem
Hidden with a damage rhyme
Knowing that life will forever
Echo a flame that speaks from the heart
Poems that I wrote
Never meant to be sent
But in reality there is a Word for every situation!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
WHAT IF Written Pre-Pandemic
What if a rigid thinking, extremist group
Decided to do something about Planet Earth’s
Over-population,
I mean let’s just think about this, fantasy
Of course, Just a vivid imagination!
What if they wanted to eradicate and eliminate
At least fifty per cent of humans’ world wide
And the ‘HOW” would leave nowhere to hide.
The secret would purposefully be let to leak,
So that chaos would reign, terror would spread,
People would freak!
Traversing from one side of the globe
To the other, Armies and Air force alerted,
Governments, Presidents and Prime Ministers,
Appeasing and trying to calm hysteria,
A killer cerebral virus, a very aggressive malaria,
To be released the news headlines said,
Within days millions will be dying or dead!
What if fifty per cent of the rest of world
Were told would be allowed to live,
People then going into frenzy,
Who was to stay alive and who was to die?
What if this extremist group succeeded
And brought this horror to fruition,
What a demon like, despicable ambition
What if?
Think of the film Inferno
That virus was caught just in time,
And so the hero prevented an
Inhumane crime!
Polly Wally waddles all day
She's running for office in LA
She wastes time doodling
Enjoys a daily noodling
But she never earns her pay
Polly Wally was once quite a looker
before politics she worked as a hooker
now she dresses with power
doesn't get paid by the hour
now she's aging no man would book her
My love for you I carry in my heart
A growing ache, albeit tender, sweet
For from my body you are miles apart
My words like tender kisses sent to greet
Each letter and each thought with love is tied
Poetic lines immersed in passion’s hue
The secrets of your heart in them confide
My messengers of love sent out to you
Dear heart, be sure to read between the lines
At times a message stronger there you’ll find
Wild fantasies encrypted in these signs
My paradise you’ll enter with your mind
Who dares to doubt the written face of love
Has never flown on words to heights above
For Heather Ober's Favorite Forms Contest