Ole warty toad,
on mossy road
where secrets bode
For man to learn,
and wisdom earn
from leafy fern
Where you hold court,
and make your sport
safe from retort
I must amuse,
'tis no such ruse
lest I refuse
A fool I've been,
frantic again
like Mother Hen
Too loud to hear,
now you are near
your secrets dear.
Winner first place: Any Living Thing, Charles Messina (Sponsor) 4/19/26
Starting the week exhausted,
doesn't bode well for having
a productive week.
However, I find myself
energized today and plan
to finish this week strong!
Had some strange meals in my time
ostrich alligator bat and snake
all went down well it seems
but make no mistake
altho' not going off half-cocked
and yet unsure what signs it may bode
of all the just desserts
I like my ice cream à la mode
M-ansion
H-ouse
I-s
N-ice
A-bode,
J-ust
O-ffering
Y-ou
F-ine
L-iving
O-n
R-oyal
E-state
S-ubdivision
©bfa060725
Monocrostic (Birthday of Mhina Joy Flores)
L-eaves
A-lways
I-ntrigue
L-onging
E-yes,
N-aturally
E-mploying
M-ysterious
E-arth's
J-oyfulness
I-n
C-harming
A-bode
©bfa060325
Monocrostic (Birthday of Lailene O. Mejica)
I opened a large book- my rose to lay
aft lifted from his graveside to my breast.
Oh, yes- God stood beside me on that day
and led me to the place where it would rest.
One night I prayed to Him- please send a sign
my father was at peace in Heaven's light
with everlasting life and soul divine-
which I felt true- but longed to know was right.
Some days passed by and in the opened book
I read the words beneath the wilted rose.
Emotions flowed, and teardrops overtook-
as God, beside me, banished all my woes.
The rose lay on a poem named “The Grave.”
Its words by Robert Blair, bode life anew.
In God's eternal life, great hope it gave;
and so I knew this answer made it true.
This miracle now rules my soul and heart.
Oh, yes- God stood beside me on that day.
Now I believe that death is a new start-
as proved to me with words- where my rose lay.
me to you
on the wing of a pray
of something new
birdie i love you
on the raise you errant
not giving your answer true
birdie I wish I could fly,
on the wind you are borne
even my hopes
by giving a yes
then i will sing to you tales of bode
When I am excited about things I cannot do enough
To show you my enthusiasm, to provide joy in every direction
My passion cannot be limited
It is best to give me the freedom to do
And be
And enjoy
When you try to reign me in, squelch me, saddle me,
Ride me up the hill in your direction
I become a wild mustang
A grizzly bear
a maniacal lion
wanting to bite off your arms and your legs
it does not bode well for either of us
so if I were you
I would stop trying to
Direct and micro manage me
It will not be a pleasant ending for either of us
Born illumined, with an open fontanel,
we were then entwined with universal mind
but crown closed as we grew, which did not bode well
for soul now trapped in ego's remorseless bind
and so we sank until we let out a yell,
screaming for freedom and since God's always kind,
He bestowed divine grace, igniting love's flame,
whereupon bliss drenched, we rose in life's endgame.
20-October-2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Notes: https://www.yogapedia.com/definition/5529/crown-chakra
A sanctioned priest fell in his cell
Lickety-split straight down to Hell
He grabbed a spade
But for its shade
Since Climate Change does not bode well
The Old Rusty Gate
Bright sunbeams puddle on a summer road,
Lazy bumblebees rise up with the heat,
Leads to a rusty gate, mysteries bode,
Barrier opens wide, invites come retreat.
A garden gate where pale lilac plumes lounge,
Secluded secrecy of hollyhocks,
Where snarled blackberry vines freely abound
With tangled climbing roses and white phlox.
Abandoned garden grows in wild array
Behind the gate that each day spawns more rust
Untended briars – forlorn nights - sad days –
Footpaths clog with the spells of ragged dusts.
Season’s pass, erase footprint signatures
‘Til life blooms from rusty gate overtures.
6-23-22
Contest: One in Five
Sponsor: Joseph May
Title Chosen: The Old Rusty Gate
the dogs were happy
did not have to dig deep
in bomb craters and
makeshift graves
they licked at pulverized bones
and liquefied brains
slurped up the proceeds of war
and roamed the street
sluggish and flatulent
saliva dribbled as well
from the industrial military complex
fused joy with sore fingers
from counting the money
Dmitri wondered
what had become of his folks
and where the flowers had gone
before he pegged his rag doll
to a skull bone that floated
in a sewer of lost hope
his young soul was confused
with reality and fake news
and yet his scarred mind
was never far from revenge
as he waded through carnage and destruction
he found remains of his pet
and smeared a bloody reminder
on his feverish forehead
picked up a land mine
and bode farewell to one of his arms
because the weapon exploded
never one to cease with belligerent ease
My heart asks me “Will this help someone or hurt someone?”
I follow her lead, and maybe it’s not even my heart.
Maybe it is my spirit guide, but she keeps me close to myself.
When I try to buck her off, or pretend I did not hear,
things do not bode well for me. I have experienced this more than once.
So now, when I hear that voice I ask myself,
Do I want to ignore this voice and try to do things my way again?
Or do I want to slide into her way easily without kicking and screaming
When I know I’m going to end up there eventually anyway?
Light and shade are vital to life's beauty, charm, and richness. By Poet.
sun
sunshine
dawn to dusk
nature supplies
vivacious hues clash
cumulonimbus cloud
sprouts expanse toward the sun
every day, it swells keen and vast
as crocus sprouts muzzle widespread breeze
in stark peacefulness through the strides of verve
Melted gold gleams in the thoughts of moonbeams.
As light wanes, faint stars tackle to glow.
they shimmer like zillions of studs
while embedded to sunbeams
Scudding blue-purple swarms.
soar through azure sky.
gazed birch leaf buds
and clean grass
spring's rays
warmth.
scour
the bliss
tweaked and deep
blue fades to mauve
humped at hearts of stem
stream heavenly keenness
as waterway of sheer praise
sequent the path of least toughness
same as a flower's smell loads the air
linked to bode love, uttering lease to flow
Written: February 15, 2022
1st place contest winner
E Forms- Etheree - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
You got on my goat and rode away.
I haven't seen you since that day,
You tried to make me feel small,
Which did not bode well with me at all,
Wherever you are, I hope you stay.
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