What species was the tree
He grew to be
The roughhewed, splintered
Old rugged cross
What pain He went through
For me
Because His love was true
For you and the whole world too
He grew the plant
That they did implant
Upon His lovely brow
For my sins of rejection and desires
So imperfect
His brow now scared
From those pointed briers
Which pierced so deep and hard
Heated only by stars—
Another night without you.
It bites out my very veins,
This shudder from some animal
That made its house-home in my soul
Now since you’re gone.
I won’t play too hard with my dark side,
Though they say now I must.
I’m remembering you instead—our dreams in stardust,
In the light or night of day.
Are you getting the briers I left in your skin?
Stuck to you, I know I hurt you;
But I hope they fit around you like the beginning of wings—
From me.
I hadn't seen her before,
We had a brief moment together,
Which still lingers in me,
I've had so much about her,
She had often sent her love and gifts.
I didn’t notice what I was told about her,
It was an ease discussion,
She talked about the gone days,
She talked about family values and vicissitudes,
The pains and troubles of motherhood.
I saw a woman who had battled her midnight,
I saw a woman who had
journeyed on a path fraught with briers and nettles,
She had so much to say,
Her eyes spoke volumes.
It was the last and only time I saw her,
She promised we would see soon,
But that day didn't open its door for us,
She wasn’t wakened by dawn,
She has gone on a forever trip.
December 27, 2022.
Priceless Poetry Contest,
Regina McIntosh.
Turbulence in my chamber,
Seething cauldron,
Standing amidst a crashing sea,
The waves beat vehemently.
Thoughts are running riot,
A howling storm is trying to pull apart,
Walking on a pathway fraught with briers and nettles,
Wading through troubled waters.
Above is calm and serene,
Below is dark and murky,
Saddled with uninvited guests,
My home is in a topsy-turvy state.
Dawn harbingers recalcitrant storms,
The day is a walk through a clouded path,
It’s a ceaseless tussle,
A worn and weary traveller.
It's a sea of unanswered questions,
It's a search into the sacred book,
It’s a dive into the unexplored unknown,
It’s a tenacious hold on to hope.
December 1, 2022.
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibe.
So, what does Nature
and Her Winter suggest?
that death is but a sleep
before a refreshing showery
sunny new awakening
that each resting kernel of being
is a blossom again to come forth
perennials of form with lofting
scents and beguiling evolving
textures
no soil can ever fully contain
nor rising smoke of briers
be anything less than Freedom
Breaths released
seeking dawns of experience
souls en-route to still ampler bliss
having been de-shelled
freed from stifling encumbering filters
I think Winter as much the good messenger
as it is the Grim Reaper
I think Winter as much the cold and still
as it is the ceaseless heart of birthing
warmth
flakes of color never straying too far
from their green leafy patterns
we travel inherent veins sensing our
own blood pulsing there-in and out
blushing and unfolding fond ripeness
every flower brought forth
a new universe
to freshly sniff and dream
every bee and speck of pollen
an extender-finger pointing toward
an even greater God
The answers in the dice,
They hold us in a vice.
We run a course,
We're blinded to the cause.
Dawn brings our desires,
Some enmeshed in briers.
Life with its troubles,
We're in a world of doubles.
Lessons are learnt in our sojourn,
Irrespective of the region.
The best blessing is to be in one piece,
Amidst storms recalcitrant to cease.
Life is a voluminous book,
No one has had an entire look.
We listen to the sage,
They don't see all the doors out of the cage.
Exploring the disconnect,
We walk in circumspect.
We assiduously labour,
Given a view of the harbour.
Life is a mystery,
Beyond the annals of history.
November 23, 2022.
Edited November 28, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 21 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
It has bled several times,
And healed again,
It has been scarred various times,
And mended again.
It has gone to the healing waters,
Overrun by its wave,
Streamed in its flow,
Washed from its grime and debris.
It has withstood the storm,
Shaken by the violent winds,
Its boughs swirled and trembled,
Its foliage was lost and returned.
It has gone on a voyage,
Fraught with nettles and briers,
Wrestled phantom beings,
Taken its bequeathed belongings.
It has made its return,
Reminisced on its conquest,
Scripted lines and stanzas,
And pulled together the curtains.
October 24, 2022.
Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest,
Brian Strand.
Judged October 25, 2022.
December 3, 2022.
Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
Down the middle,
The road to self,
It looks endless,
Walking through infinite doors.
I see more than can be explained.
Down the middle,
I have to journey,
My self unveils itself,
As I venture deeper,
I need more light to see me.
Down the middle,
I embark on a road
fraught with briers and nettles,
I ask if it’s the same for everyone,
I can catch a glimpse of something ahead.
Down the middle,
It’s a winding footpath,
My searchlight doesn’t beam much ahead,
Phantom comes to reality,
There’s a quest and a conquest.
Down the middle,
I see superimposed images,
Yesterday creeping into today,
The road to self,
I see more than the eyes view.
September 25, 2022.
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest,
Brian Strand.
Love is sacrificial,
It gives all without holding back,
It stands to defend,
Putting itself on the line.
Love is a traveller,
It goes on miles to seek the desired,
It journeys with the beloved,
Distance is not a barrier.
Love bears every circumstance,
Thorns and thistles fraught,
Briers and nettles abound,
It stays close through thick and thin.
Love is a comforter,
It heals deep cuts and wounds,
It’s a solace for the bereaved,
It’s a prop for the troubled.
Love is an upholder,
It lifts from the basest level,
It carries on eagle's wings,
It channels positive energies.
Love is a boundless stream,
Unpolluted and undefiled,
Sufficient for all who want to fetch,
Available in a serene flow.
August 20, 2022.
Recalling how chiggers can itch
I'll still cross the muddiest ditch
the biggest blackberries to find.
Deet sends most critters to their niche.
Wrestling briers, a path I'll stake
while dreaming of cobblers to bake...
Whoa! my full pail I left behind
the moment I spotted a snake.
Returning with weapon in tow
and searching along with my beau
At last, I regain peace of mind,
he scares off the snake with a hoe.
Retrieving my bucket brim full
we hurry past fence and the bull.
Are they worth the grit and the grind?
You bet, homegrown blackberries rule.
July 31, 2022
Contest: Your Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
The strength of mankind,
The seat of his power,
Assailed by conflicting thoughts,
Troubled by opposing preferences,
Pressured by ambivalent choices,
If left unguarded,
It breeds nettles and briers,
Stifling its positive reins,
It can't be left fallow,
A sign of inertia,
It can't be left to hibernate,
A sign of unconsciousness,
Its doors can't be shut,
A sign of the end of sojourn,
As much as it can be,
Its doors must be left open,
Barricading every turbulent flow,
Edging away every foul infiltrate.
March 6, 2022
Consciousness Fulcrum Poetry Contest
He peers into his mind
for the once planted,
the once loved,
the still flowering,
the motley,
the wilderness blooms.
Without this retrospection
his mind would be a ramshackle plot,
so he tends to it,
even the briers and thorns.
Memory nourishes
flourishes from the seeding,
it also dead-heads and uproots.
There are many ways to garden.
In the blue vase, hip high
Is a rose
Not a new rose, days have gone by
Since first blossom, and timeless scent
Fragile neck, a green cord, bent to the right
As if falling to one side in a half swoon
Oily briers, thorns dark and daring
Cat’s claws, to draw blood, but not on skin
To seep and drain, bruised, into veined segments
Cheek-soft, aging with hints of brown
Around deep blushing cups, scoured at the edge
Frayed by the sun
Into the red swirl, circles within circles
Melting away to the heart, the final secret
Exposed, peeled back, as a handkerchief
Untucked from the breast pocket
Falls to the ground
The first in a line of lovely failings
As time reveals itself in ailing petals
And sighs, content, as nature is reclaimed
Blooms
Christmas lantern
on their jack fruit tree
like the brightest star
they admire in their rainbow
dreams.
To cut
Bamboo sticks,
under briers they crawled.
Night and day, they saw
how their Christmas lantern grow.
With its bare skeleton,
it looked first so hungry,
and they saw how it grow.
With
its yellow attires,
they thought it looked so proud.
Their sweat swings high now.
With their food, and gentle
care,
it blooms on their Jack fruit tree
like their brightest star,
kindling
their kindred hearts with festive moons.
*A 2nd Place* in the following contest (judged on Dec. 22, 2020)
Dec. 15, 2020
Christmas Poems Old or New Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Constance La France
Some thought his mind to be a tender leaf,
Yet only he knew ... the battle in his mind:
How oft' his mind did seek some sigh of relief
From wits that grieved – a burden he did find.
Pen like a wild beast, fretted his right hand,
And fingers did try to tame it, with tears;
Experts did warn his scribbles they would band,
Not seeing the gems, concealed in briers.
His fingers often blocked cascading thoughts,
And heart sure wept for the unexpressed wits;
His sturdy guts did fight with tangled knots
And sent forces to defeat ... rivals' blitz.
His life he won without laments or whines,
And here, I read for you, his painful lines.
* A 2nd Place (the 3rd from the top) in the following contest (judged on Jan. 16, 2021)
Jan. 12, 2021 (Originally submitted on Sept. 6, 2020)
Best N-A poem of 2020 Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: John Hamilton
The poem was originally submitted to "Courage Poetry Contest", which was judged on Sept. 10, 2020, but I had an N-A
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