Written: January 24, 2026 for contest Sponsored by: Eve Roper
******************
Dark charm with wings light,
Sky-shades swirl in snug, lit nook.
Girls cheer for smooth flight,
Butterfly dreams in tale brooks.
Golden croons through starlit books.
When the clouds’ part and the sun does rise,
A glimmer of hope felt for my treasured prize.
Vast above the sky shimmers blue,
Forever in search for a heart pure and true.
Over rolling hills, farms and babbling brooks,
Through glimmering eyes and dazzling looks.
To the horizon they dream and leer,
Forever trapped in what is ever so near.
So far from the feathers of my soft, warm bed,
Nothing but the hard ground to comfort my head.
The big expanse of the night’s sky,
Shows the tears from love’s lost eye.
How I miss my home and Mate,
Every day I wish for Yesterday’s forgotten Fate.
Melvin James Brooks
wasn’t one to cook the books
with movie making he was bold
and gave us comedies that broke the mold
...after Gwendolyn Brooks & Terrance Hayes
In this dim-lit hall, gathered close, we
Chalk our cues, faces worn but real.
Eight-ball in the corner, staying cool,
Brothers in the game, that's who we
Are. Schoolyard dreams we long since left,
Traded books for pool cues after school.
In this smoky haven loitering, here we
Find our place, amongst shadows we lurk
Quiet-like. Clock ticking, hour grows late,
But time don't matter much when we
Line up shots, aiming for that strike,
Playing it cool, playing it straight.
'Round the table, huddled close, we
Share our stories, raspy voices sing
Of life's hard knocks, fleeting joy, hidden sin.
In felt-green world, for now we're free, we
Hold on tight, though hope grows thin.
Raise our glasses, cheap whiskey, no gin,
To friendship lasting. Together, we
Make our music, spinning pool hall jazz.
Summer's ending, farewell to June,
We play on still, knowing in short time, we
Might not be here, where dreams can die,
Our final game coming too soon.
In whispers soft, the rustling leaves confide,
Secrets shared upon the forest floor,
Their gentle murmurs in the breeze abide,
As tales of ages past are whispered more.
Beside the brook, its babbling waters sing,
A lullaby that soothes the weary soul,
In murmured tones, the stream's sweet whispers bring,
A sense of peace, where troubled hearts console.
Above, the birds in chorus chirp and trill,
Their melodies a symphony of air,
Their whispered songs the valleys gently fill,
With notes that echo through the woodland fair.
Amidst the field where wildflowers dance and sway,
Their whispers weave a tapestry of spring,
Each bloom a voice in nature's grand display,
In whispered hues, life's beauty takes its wing.
Lovely Brooks traversed through
The desert and the glens
From Mountains leaping sunshine
Back to the sea again
Onward now the glittered shore afar
Sure leaning heart
Toward silvery paths of stars
Sweetest joys in wonderous place
Beaming love on every face
Brooks of joy, beyond Earth's bend
Now onward flow,
Farewell sweet friend
If you're wondering how long it took for a man to die after crashing a car, five days was how long it took.
The car crash killed him and his ex-wife who was named Stacy Brooks.
He was driving over a hundred miles per hour at midnight, that was really fast.
Stacy died instantly but her ex-husband died about 120 hours after the crash.
Stacy has been dead for the same amount of time that she lived, twenty-five years.
She was a very special lady and her death brought about misery, suffering and tears.
Stacy wasn't stuck up like some other girls who I went to school with, she would talk to me.
It wasn't fair when she died so young, my friend has been dead for a quarter of a century.
Her life ended in 1997 on the seventh of September.
She was a unique person who I will always remember.
[Dedicated to Stacy Brooks (1972-1997) who died a quarter of a century ago today on September 7, 1997]
mel
...flows low waters still...
brooks
...in valley pastures...
spring waters
...to ponds and back...
have carried
...creations for ninety six years...
stans sand
Sky squeezes wet clouds and showers drip
through fingers and drop on earth’s grip.
Drops peer through nerve ends to starving earth’s soul;
soul fills in and crust moistens
and drops slip on her skin.
Brooks fill in, fields spill; canals feel thrilled;
crabs bounce, fish pounce and cranes feel chilled;
trees bend their heads, their hands and their arms;
sap oozes through their stems, roots and palms.
brooks pump the river
river spills and floods marshland ~
frog adores a bog
-------------------------------
Crystalline: 9/8; Kimo: 10/7/6; Couplet (9 syllables in each line) and
Haiku: 5/7/5. Posted on Verse
*A 2nd Place*in the following contest (judged on Dec. 7, 2020)
Dec. 1, 2020
FUSION Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand
*A 3rd Place* in the following contest (judged on Sept. 20, 2020)
September 10, 2020
Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Minority rule Apartheid
We, majority, asked:
How? blaming the victims of hate!
I heard Gandhi, Dr. King, Biko
II
Now we who have media, wealth, vote ...
Ask Lincoln to police Minneapolice (Mean Polis?)
We quote, "Be the change you want," but
Dream dead Saviors, hate Prez Obama, First Black
III
We were asked to solve (apart-hate) - apartheid
We did so, without the vote, money, or hate
We are hard - fair - on you for murderous policing:
Just don't kill unarmed Blacks. You need LINCOLN for that!
The USA sent 3 men to the moon in 1969,
helped bring us to a cell-phone age,
but the globe's wealthiest nation, with the most freedoms
WILL NOT STOP COP-killers murdering unarmed PEOPLE OF COLOR
(c)Deo. shalom, shalom! Corona feels like Judgment now.
IF U WON"T PRACTICE DEMOCRACY, THEN TRY JESUS. Better than your stinking democracy. Ask todays Iraqis, Native Americans, Libyans, and many US citizens. June 14th, 2020
NOTE: This murder occurred after 11pm on Friday 12th June. The young man apparently failed a sobriety test. He was fleeing the 2 officers, when killed.
A DEDICATION
RAPPING BROOKS
~~~~~~~~~~
Many brooks I've heard rapping,
I dance with joy, end up clapping.
All have spirit, what err the land,
meandering journeys nature planned.
To sit on their banks, meditating,
to them babbling over rocks, relating.
To times gone by in Wiltshire,
I first dedicated my heart to nature.
No regrets, not ever on my part,
bar one, humans, they broke their hearts.
Most brooks now dehydrated, gone,
but hark, their spirits still rap on,
memories, the day spent on their banks.
Evoked by you Eve, my special thanks.
Hearts bleed heavy on a Cold Lonely Night
hurtin' since you walked on out that door
Whiskey jars tumble and I hear a little murmur
as some mighty Bayou Lightning Strikes tonight
Whether You're Using Me or just Wound Up Tight
It's gonna be okay baby you'll be alright
A little down and a little dirty pepper mixed in
you'll shake what ails you and be grooving soon
Back out in our sweet Sweet Home Chicago
Even In The Dark we are livin' in your blues
**A tribute to the late great Lonnie Brooks
who passed Saturday at the age of 83
SWEET FLOWER OF PARADISE
Grace ,a very sparkling jewel,
a ring of gold,brings day out of
night,sweet from bitter ,glory
out of shame and turns pebble
to pearls,weakness into strength.
This sweet flower of paradise
dwells in the heart that empties
itself of self.Prayer brings forth the
sweetest blessing,where God speaks
peace and fills with joy.No mercy
is too great for Him to give ,no
mercy too little for we to crave.
Lay hold on mercy for how strong
is grace,and how victorious over sin
From Thomas Brooks writings in Spurgeon’s
Smooth Stones
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this phrasis verse of mine on youtube under name ichthychiro
"You're having a little one,"
I say, seeking information
from my therapist
(she's considerably
pregnant). Then, I ask her
about vocation:
Why she chose this specialty,
and did she
know the baby's sex,
name, and serial number?
She says, No Maybe about it,
the baby's a girl and
has a name.
"Did you know the name
you chose is fame-
ous? A name rarified?
Hemingway's Paris
wife," I clarified,
And then, I wrote
this rhyme: a little
riff for a baby gift:
"We'll gladly
welcome Hadley,
(she's a girl),
into our world."
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.