Psalm 23: Modern Version Contest
1] The Lord is my Teacher; I yearn to know.
2] He taketh me to read in libraries serene: He leadeth me to instruction and knowledge.
3] He restores my faith: He takes me from blind valleys to mountains of sight, to find wisdom.
4] As I walk through the darkness of lies, on every side, I Am unafraid: for your light shines before me; Thy sword of truth protects me.
5]He feeds my hunger for knowledge and my thirst for truth in the presence of ignorance: He guards my mind from pestilence: epiphanies overflow.
6] Surely wisdom and understanding will clothe me with inner beauty: and I will strive to learn from my Teacher forever.
lovely long hair flips
sexy walk with switching hips
bright red painted lips
emerald round eyes
accepting drinks at the bar
like a star call girl
Optimism entwined in this missive
Letting hope flow through nature’s ceiling
Splayed up on the page by a maestro’s hands
May entice readers’ emotions to reeling.
Spirituality oozing into the words
Gentling guiding the band’s helpful intent
In a reverent manner with love
This poem is truly heaven sent
Written 4-23-2020
Poetry Contest: Poetry Anthology
Sponsor: Krish Radhakrishna
It is said ?
And you may know or have experienced
this very conundrum first hand
Some people are very difficult when it
comes to buying presents for
Like Bobby who celebrated his come early May
So 1 day when looking in a Gift shop window
The giver wondered what it would be like ?
Stuck in A Christmas Globe
Looking from the inside out
Everything can change in an instant
Your entire world can be turned upside down
With 1 Simple Shake
And change the course of winter future past
Until only memories last
Reflecting back on Frosted Glass
A timely reminder
To take time out to remember the true
meaning of Christmas
Love is Global
My entry
28 November 2019
For Bobby May Contest
Stuck in A Christmas Snow Globe
All winter they slept,
the fingers of their roots entwined,
friend clutching friend.
All winter they slumbered,
sustained by the last of summers' bright syrup.
No wonder, then, with the melting of the snow
their dreams overflow and burst the banks;
No wonder, then, the tightly wound colors of their dreams
slip through cracks of bark,
and slowly begin to open
like yawning springs of the clocks.
Spring contest, host Craig Cornish
4/29/2018
Written and typed on 3/31/2018 at 11:11 p.m.
Title: YOU ARE AMAZING
Do you yearn to help a child find her own potential?
Ready for your dialogue to completely wow them?
What is your most fascinating new idea?
What steps have you taken to make it real?
What can I do to help you make this happen?
Please put me to work; I’m ready to help.
What can I do to help you make this happen?
Just tell me what to do, make it easy.
I think we’ve got this!
You are amazing.
The light will still fade, if I take you in my arms,
but your eyes will be closed, safe in our secret light.
The wind will still quarrel with the trees,
but your ear will be near my chest, as
the wish to be here with you, always, repeats,
as if it will do any good, but
right here, right now,
as Summer condenses into warm honey,
your thought spreads through the jar of my body from base to brim,
heat I cannot give, only return to it's rightful owner.
The world will still be cold; the world will still be cruel,
even as my arms give you rest,
but I will give you rest,
until it comes to take me too.
9-18-2017
Hydrants open; the waters gush and flood
the burning road. The children cheer and run
in suits, to feel the flowing cold. While mom
and pop stand side by side, the neighbors prom-
enade, and Mary Jack and Adam splash,
as Becky cools her feet. The Conners dash
with flapping towels, into the flooded lane.
DeMarco tries his best to swim, but blames
the cobble stones. Beside a dirty bin,
a boy stands all alone. His cheeks are thin
and pale; he's almost skin and bone. His eyes
go wide, as little Leslie leaves the light
to take him by the hand, and leads him back
amongst her friends. We all remember Zack.
9-3-2017
Sir Ian McKellen's a blast.
He once graced a day of my past:
warm crumpets in bed,
my cheeks turning red,
til Patrick appeared with a gasp!
9-14-2017
Harlow's Pit
The pit succeeded. Harlow's toy
infected all with doubt.
Alone, the young macaques despaired
in bins with no way out.
The pit was steel, with sloping walls
some food, a grate, and spout.
No mother's love while growing up
just fear with no way out.
The pit was made to last. For years
the world began to shout,
but Harlow grinned and left them there
in pain with no way out.
The pit was Harlow's own design,
a sadist wit quite stout.
He felt the cancer eat his wife
and love with no way out.
September 1, 2017. (based on accounts of Dr. Harry Harlow's experiment 'put of despair' to inflict despression on infant macaque monkeys by keeping them for years in isolation chambers). Written for Sara Kendrick's contest "Stuck."
Covered bridge contest hosted by craig cornish
Father's grave was across the covered bridge.
The river was cold, white, rushing.
It roared on the broken stones, as
the mare stepped onto the planks
pulling her dark carriage on its black wheels.
Her iron shoes fell, dancing.
Shade covered the wreath of lillies.
Unable to hold on to the thick petals, their strong fragrance/
slipped away in the mist of the river.
Perhaps she could have stopped
so it could find its way back,
but the mare continued on the covered bridge.
The old wood moaned, and bent, under the weight of the carriage,/
startling a barn owl from its nest beneath the span.
It perched in a tree, clutching a firm branch,
its white face looking at the coffin.
I thought it asked a question, but the mare gave no reply
as she crossed the covered bridge.
Her great head nodded with each step toward the plot,
and sunlight poured over her as she touched the edge of the grass./
August 26, 2017
Catie Lindsey poetry contest: Let it Be
Cross Stitch
Years do not heal words
stitched into the mind with a needle,
a sharp needle making its point
over and over,
'til every heartstring is used up.
What now?
What can we say to each other?
Just, let it be.
August 23, 2017
Messed Up On Poetry Contest Entry
I messed up on North Carolina poetry
contest entry. Deadline was March 1, 2017.
Am sending them to you instead
Successful Story of my Poem
Poem to you did intend to send,
After page would fold and bend;
This envelope poem will contain,
And to read should never refrain.
Poem is over finished and done;
And this will be the greatest one;
Your contest I did enter it into;
Winner am certain that is true.
When I won then would realize
Received Pulitzer Prize in disguise;
Am happy not wearing a frown;
My poem became world renown.
My Poem Became Center
Of attention, my poem became center;
Into your contest it did decide to enter;
Knew for sure subjected that I selected,
Your attention drew and had collected;
Award to me am glad you are presenter.
Jim Horn
At least, you get to read them.
(draft ii)
A rivulet of light appeared,
-- the denouement of night was near.
The birds began to wake the years
-- for fools, and knaves, and cavaliers.
The denouement of night was near.
-- With feathered songs they hid their fears.
For fools, and knaves, and cavaliers
-- their fortunes, yet, were still unclear.
With feathered songs they hid their fears,
-- as stars began to disappear.
Their fortunes, yet, were still unclear,
-- and wise men taught their lessons q ueer.
As stars began to disappear
-- rivulets of light appeared,
while wise men taught their lessons q ueer
-- the birds were gone into the years.
(draft iiiv)
*-- -- I spent my puberty pursuing Truth,
-- -- while Venus bound Adonis as a youth.*
My passions laid with Mysteries and Signs
the secret workings only hermits see,
those subtleties by which our fates align,
the ways young clocks may seed our destinies.
The vulvas that I held were hard-bound books,
vanillin pages streamed with ecstasy;
they weren't the sort that lived or died by looks,
their warmest whispers - ideologies.
My bedroom's full of volumes, silent, dry,
still waiting for that gentle touch to come,
and curve their lonely spines. But, what belies
the depth of blood? What warmer truth? There's none,
-- -- for nothing is so great as boundless love,
-- -- and, perfect bound, my books are not enough.
* additional lines for 16 line iambic pentameter contest
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