rose bloom set afire
flame offense chars love most dire
fray'd woe fuels grief pyre
Across starboard bow the cliffs drew nearer,
into harm’s way mighty battalions drove -
men and mule upon cold waves of terror
stormed the beachhead landings on Anzac Cove.
Great southern blue, red and white standard stars
in battle hymn out of Commonwealth port,
where the flame of liberty fiercely chars
in every free heart whose sons fell and fought.
Raise the flag and let us honour the few
that march at dawn - the glory and the ghost
of those brave soldiers in foreign graves who
in duty stood their ground and stood their post!
Young men and women who went off to war
in trust of King and Country, God and Corps.
Written: September 2001
Succumbing to the night's allure,
I greet the Goddess of the moon.
And Luna rises, all aglow,
elegant lady of the night.
Dusk blurs the lines of light and dark,
succumbing to the night's allure.
And a sinking scarlet sun slips
slowly over the horizon.
Crimson chars the edge of the Earth;
as shifting shadows swiftly merge.
Succumbing to the night's allure;
an owl announces dusk's approach.
A diamond-studded ebony
descends like a velvet curtain.
And I am instantly spellbound,
succumbing to the night's allure.
Ripples of vibrant streams stagnate
Songs of flapping birds relocate
Forest rustles hibernate
Skeletal trees shake, underdressed
Mushy, scabbed apples numbly rest
Brisk, harsh breezes pierce life's chest
Pruned trees develop healing scars
Skies of pewter, stone, and smudged chars
Meet to contemplate the stars
Sorrow and indifference blend
A crocus and daylight ascend
~The beginning of death's end
1/21/2021
Moonlight flows down from the sky like milk,
The stars burn holes into the darkness,
Their patterns take shape and I collect them,
I trace them with my fingers,
Their unnatural names dance on my lips,
Shadows skitter across the grass,
And mutate into monstrous forms,
Ready to swallow me up,
But I’m safe,
Because I’m under the light of the moon’s florescent skin,
Tucked securely under the Earth’s nightlight,
I hear insects chatter from the trees,
And wonder how such ugly things can make such beautiful sounds,
I hear the crackle of thunder moving towards me,
The frogs begin to croak in recognition,
And I feel the rain start to fall,
The cool water feels luxurious in contrast to the hot, sticky air of the night,
I let it run down my skin,
And soak my clothes,
Lightning flashes golden with razor sharp lines,
It’s jagged bolt strikes a tree with enough power to jar my teeth,
It splits and chars its flesh,
Fear jolts me like electricity and I run inside, laughing at myself,
Our old screen door swinging behind me.
Eruption of blazing emotion from the volcano of anger,
chars innocent minds, you’re burnt by the lava of remorse.
Spoken word of wrath, the sharpest double-edged sword,
one side decimates your opponent, the other severs your soul.
Deep desires unfulfilled, morph to the deadliest of hates,
you’re in labyrinth of apathy, chased by demon of your shadow.
The radicalized mind rides the mad horse of revenge,
violence destroys illusion, the failed victor becomes the victim.
Let the sword remain sheathed, tame beasts of hate and anger,
wield heart’s magic wand, win battles with love and compassion.
December 10, 2019
Contest : If you live by the sword then you die by the sword
Sponsor : Silent One
The eruption of blazing emotion uncontrolled
from the simmering volcano of anger,
chars the green minds of innocence,
you are burnt by the lava of remorse.
The spoken word of wrath,
the sharpest double-edged sword ever made.
One side may decimate your opponent,
but the other side severs your soul.
The deepest desires unfulfilled,
morph into the deadliest of hates.
You enter the labyrinth of apathy,
chased by the demon of your darkest shadow.
The mind radicalized for vague cause,
rides the mad horse of revenge,
heartless violence destroys the illusion,
the failed victor becomes the victim.
Let the sword remain sheathed abandoned,
tame the beasts of hate and anger,
wield the magic wand of your heart,
win all the battles with love and compassion.
Date written : December 10, 2019
Entered : December 23, 2019
Contest : Your Best December Poem
Sponsor : John Hamilton
love is awake
it does not rest
but a broken heart needs to sleep when
distortion of truth chars upon the arteries
of love that nourished the heart.
trust must not rest
its vital to sustain love,
when love is not awake
a heart will find comfort and sleeps.
The River
The river sings its sweet lament
in ancient voice softly lowing,
vibrant melodies subtly meant
to plumb the depths of our knowing.
Around each bend it curves, flowing
onward toward its fated reunion
with unkempt sea, wild and blowing;
embracing briney communion.
Its serpentine course scars the land
in undulant brown profusion;
shimmering gold in twilight's hand,
a gift of nature's effusion.
Pregnant spring plies it, unleashing
tempest's turgid downpour to slake
the lusty spate's thirst unceasing,
leaving ravaged marl in its wake.
Torrid summer's breath chars the soil
and saps the river of its strength,
but cool and sweet, the river's toil
paints a green ribbon down its length.
Demon winter glazes the earth,
garbs the river in frigid gown,
draws a pane of ice over its girth
but fails to stay its flowing down.
Since time out of mind, the river
has carved canyons from stubborn stone
and sought naught but to deliver
its lifeblood back to heaven's home.
Slow- fire gleams upon a nearby field
as I gather herbs from twig-like strips
adding creamy broth to stir the brew
under a moonlight of summer’s heat …
The mellow breeze warms my thoughts
where hands pour lemon mint, in a campfire
kindling essence of words for poetry soup:
then to grasp fireflies brightly adorned
until cheeks flush with tales spun nightlong.
The purée explodes to drink the light
of my muse, her delicacy soaked in potion
with a dash of tangy sage to flame verse
or rhyme Oh the meal is simple
but rich, delicious, releasing a flavour
uncommon even to me… a concoction
different each time , when a woman’s mix
of language heals, excites, and chars each
sip of soup mixed from the heart’s campfire.
Contest: Cindy Rockwell’s My Poetry Soup Recipe
1.30.2017
At some point you are going to need to impress more than a few friends with some burnt toast. I used to have an old, heavy-gauge chrome-plated toaster with a dial to adjust doneness from 1-5. I took a Sharpie and scribed a 6 at the extreme. The pointer doesn’t actually go there, but it is useful for indicating my intent. It works better than the 5 setting which merely chars the surface. But 6 chars it darn near all the way through, enlarging the pore structure to retain even more melted butter. You gotta be cautious not to overuse that feature because it’ll burn the toaster, as in overheating the thermostat and melting the whispy wires. No more toast for you. Back at the store they were quick to figure out your attempt to exceed the capacity and the clearly worded statement in the ownership contract will be pointed out to you, that glamorous document with the curly-Q decorations making it supremely authentic like a stock certificate from the 1960’s. They replaced my toaster once, but the second and third times I only got a stern look of reproach. The manufacturer has black listed me through my credit card so now all my toaster purchases are cash only.
Cold, dark, void,
Rid of all things enjoyed,
Is this place no longer my own,
In shambles, desolate and torn.
Once an expanse of green,
Now a wasteland so grim.
Sewers with filth running,
Garbage and rot piling.
From afar the stench,
Hands on mouth I clench.
Nausea crushing so fast,
Muscles tense, not long to last.
Upwards like a searing flame,
Chars away leaves me lame.
Bending over gushing out,
Can hold no longer, tapping out.
Life as dark as a cave
Hope, a ray that can save.
Paving my way, out of fright,
Running towards the ray of light.
Dreams, the shining stars,
Pulling myself beneath the chars.
Longing a life with fruitful events,
Precious gifts and shipments.
Is such life a daunting task,
Amidst the people with false mask.
Hard to trust the human race,
Each has a double face.
I used to say I love you, many years ago –
My passion-cries were wings of flight!
Like burning arrows pierced upon a snowy night,
I loosed my songs to let you know.
So long ago! So many years will change a man.
And now the songs of love lie burnt
Like cindered, wasted chars of music never learnt.
I live my life as best I can.
So now I only open doors for you - you nod.
I rub your aching back - you moan.
You only frown - I work my fingers to the bone.
My quiver’s broken, bare and flawed.
I still go on, I weed your flower beds - you pout.
I always serve as you command.
I take you to a restaurant - I hold your hand.
You point to trash - I take it out.
I buy you gifts - you ask me of my whereabouts.
I see your tears - I hold you near,
My arrows burnt by what I hold most dear -
Your nods, your frowns, your tears and pouts.
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that'll make any woman swoon,
The kind that portals her straight to the moon
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that consumed Romeo and Juliet
The kind which blossoms vivacious violet
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that chars and insulates concurrently
The kind that'll make him hold her unrelentingly
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that knows neither distance nor time
The kind that chooses her without a crime
I'd give anything today,
Anything to feel that burning fiery love
The kind that eradicates all doubts and fears
The kind that unquestioningly listens and hears
The kind that shows appreciation nomatter how puny
The kind that kisses like death is on its heels
That kind that thaws, strengthens and heals...
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