111 Contest Picture Prompt 1-22-26 Eve Roper
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Up Past Her Bedtime
Midnight magic floats
Through a warm candlelit nook
Little heart takes notes
Of butterfly tales in books
Lost in soft starlit chapbooks
Actually, I do not know why I write a poem
I started at a very early age and continued,
When I was very young, I loved to show-em
In adolescence I wrote when in a grim mood.
Discovering love, poems became rather natural
My output of sonnets was somewhat prolific,
As time passed, writing became an essential
Some of my poems were bad, others terrific.
During the middle years, I wrote less poetry
Experimenting with short stories and novel
I quickly returned to writing them vigorously
In retirement, in my little 1950’s brick hovel.
I write because I cannot not write, you see,
From an early age I learned to express myself
Then came the time when many were in print;
Best of all, I saw my chapbooks on the shelf.
Writing poems is a way to express who I am
Capsuled portraits of the way my mind works
Someday I’m certain no one will give a damn
But, writing poems is one of my finest quirks!
Written August 27, 2022
Submitted to “I Write Because” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
The Messenger
I watched the clouds of afternoon
Gather tempest force;
Now, from a cozy shelter
View October's raging storm;
Watching through rain washed windows
Golden oak trees quake
While from their summered branches
Autumn treasures take.
Drops of glistening rain fall
From the clouds above
When darkening skies of eventide
Hurry bust'ling crowds;
Through storm winds call they homeward rush,
Not hearing autumn sing,
They search the night for quiet havens,
Shelter from the rain.
Children run along the street
Among the fallen leaves
Gathering autumn's artistry
Riding on the breeze;
The wind blows cold, time's messenger,
Of dark days yet to come -
Taking from the land its harvest
Making way for the ice blue sun.
Have published nine chapbooks of my poetry. The Messenger is one of the poems published in a chapbook titled Rhythms and Rhymes - Award Winning Writings.
All of the poems included in Rhythms and Rhymes have won a contest or an award.
My books are available through my website - www.samkservantsheart.com, or through me. That is an amazingly self serving piece of information but I thought I would include it.
Walked over to the local tea shop
and had a blueberry and a jade green tea
The owner and his wife - a nurse(!)
were there
The owner has some of my poetry chapbooks
I traded the last one for a cup of green tea and a
blueberry muffin - a profit of $2.00
Sent out a poem - in English
to the anthology again
Started an article on the life of Longfellow
$50 if I get it published
Passed through a period
of reading sports novels
Passed through a Dreiser, Farrell, Malamud, Baldwin
period
I am great at dropping names, aren't I ?
I've read a lot of poetry and have published a number of chapbooks
Once I had 13 poems in a civil rights magazine
Then I passe through a Tolkien period
and published fan - fic
and Tolkienesque poetry
After that I returned to Planet earth
and read "The Rise of David Levinsky" and other novels about the Lower East Side
I sometimes attend a New Age shul
WHERE THEY READ A POEM AT EVERY SERVICE.
poetry won't pay the bills
but it is a good way to socialize
And it often speaks to the heart
It's not everyone's cup of tea
Speaking of that
the Kettle is boiling and
I'll soon have another cup
and read the Book Review section
I had two odes published in the New York Times
last year
Boasting can be fun!
Especially if you are not wealthy
like the majority of the world's poets
and chess players
The poets begin to arrive
at the diner
where readings have been held
for over thirty years
Men and women
young and not so young
gather to share their words
The readers(including myself)
step up one by one
and face the crowd
Laughter and applause
for the wordsmiths work
Seeing old friends
Trading chapbooks
Brooklyn , New York
is not often thought of
as a cultural Mecca
But at least for one night a month
The Brooklyn Renaissance
continues to flourish!
We were beginning
to gather
at the "Shut up and Write"
workshop on Broadway
I brought a couple
of chapbooks of my
poetry
and an article published
in a collectibles journal
A Hispanic woman
told me she was writing
a memoir
I showed her my
chapbook - she smiled
Last time I came
there was a
prosecutor who wanted to write
"literary fiction"
Also, there was someone
who was heavily
into finishing his
comic book
It seemed that only
the Hispanic woman and
myself have come to
"Shut up and write"
She is busy typing
up her memoir
I start work on a story
Across from me
two young Asians have begun to work
on getting their Series 7 license
They are working intensely
A writing workshop in a coffee shop
"Shut up and Write"
Indeed!
A fledgling poet round two thousand three,
I found some friends who mentored me; they led
me to a site called Shadow Poetry.
By mental challenges there, I was fed.
I learned to better write according to
specific forms or themes, and I was thrilled
by all the many things that would ensue
the more time there I spent; I was fulfilled!
The annual big contest, Shadow Ink,
gave not just money, but a chapbook deal.
I paid to enter it and did not think
I stood a chance. How good I soon would feel!
My best friend and I tied. We HAD to call
our chapbook “Friendship Garden.” That said it all!
Note: Shadowpoetry.com was not able to be maintained as an interactive poetry community and after several wonderful years, the owner had to pull out. All our chapbooks were removed from the bookstore and the contests are no longer done. Today it is a website for writers' development only.
Chapbooks
by design-
arty posters
with illustrations so
sublimeWiliam H Bradley (1868-1962) of US Art Nouveau fame
http://www.willbradley.com
http://www.willbradley.comhttp://www.nga.gov/feature/nouveau/thanks_a.htm
Poets are real vampires.
They will sink their fangs in your carotid artery
If you don't buy their chapbooks;
Poets are real vampires.
They will suck your fresh tomato juice
If you don't listen to their readings;
Poets are real vampires.
They will head butt you with their horns
If you steal their poems.
Poets are......
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