Written: December 31, 2025 / Not For Contest
*********************
(Verse 1)
Born beneath Carthage’s rising flame,
You carried oath and destiny in your name;
a boy who learned the world by dust and steel,
who swore no Roman crown would break your will.
(Chorus)
Hannibal, across the white-crowned peaks you came,
a shadow on the snow no empire could contain;
Hannibal, the mountains still recall your stride—
The general who walked with thunder at his side.
(Final Chorus)
Hannibal, across the white-crowned peaks you came,
a shadow on the snow no empire could contain;
Hannibal, your name still rides the wind—
a whisper where the world remembers men.
The homeless are not unskilled.
The homeless are not unlearned.
The homeless are not indolent.
The homeless are not lackluster.
The homeless are not those unready to embrace the dawn.
The homeless are not hesitant to walk into the daylight.
The homeless are not feeble or sleep-drunk.
They are not oblivious to the voice that speaks in the tranquil night.
The homeless are not afraid to journey into the unknown.
They are not uncalled or undesirous of a new beginning.
They are not frail-gifted.
They are the unprivileged.
They are those who have faced unfortunate circumstances.
They are the voiceless.
They are armed but unshielded.
They are a dim light waiting to shine.
They are those in the depths of the stygian night.
They are those seeking the stars to illuminate their long night.
December 31, 2025.
A cat sits on a chair
and hovers over me
as I lie in bed.
It’s December 31st
as a soft rain falls.
As I get up
I ask myself
if this is
an ending or beginning.
I’ve been back in town
full-time for five years
but embrace memories
of highways travelled
throughout the Midwest
when I worked
for road construction crews.
Now I’m left with my poems.
Bare limbs in the yard next door
wave and dance in the wind
beneath the cover of grey skies.
The cat brushes against me and mews
and I know it wants to be fed.
I take it downstairs
and fill a dish on the floor.
It eats in the kitchen while I call
my older cousin and we peer
into our younger lives.
When asked I said
if given the chance
I say
I’d live my life again.
Outside the window
rain has turned to snow
and the dormant yard
bears the change of weather.
Triumphant* 2023 lovingly blest by God
Vibrant with divine grace, abundant for sharing with bliss and peace
Jubilant, surely prodding me to continue by faith’s strength.
*2 Corinthians 2:14 “Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place.”
December 31, 2023
3rd place, "2023 in One to Three Short Lines" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 1/8/2024
I'll gather my fears into a box,
I'll face my monsters,
I'll script my day
even though dawn has gone ahead,
I'll come out of the shadows of gloom,
I'll permute my thoughts in the tranquil night.
I'll push my fears out of a box,
I'll run from my monsters,
I'll let my day write itself
as long as twilight has closed its curtains,
I'll go into the radiant light,
I'll disperse my thoughts in the turbulent night.
December 31, 2023.
The sounds of roosters' crow
Give a hint for a new dawn
Where the dark of yesterday could be put behind
For a new sunrise has come
December 31, 2023, 5:19 AM, PST, SPC
Night falls and morning calls
Puppets gearing for a play
By the sway of their master's fingers
For how would you expect a puppet to sleep and think?
December 31, 2023, 3:13 AM, PST, SPC
I will never give up my warm mittens-
for those stiff and so awkward gloves,
for mittens are warm like kittens.
I will never ... give up my warm mittens!
Oh, gloves I will not be missin'
for any kind are not my loves.
I will never give up my 'warm' mittens,
for those stiff and ... so awkward gloves!
____________________
December 31, 2022
Poetry/Triolet/I Love My Mittens
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1513-507-31
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Of what use are gloves
to fingers that only understand mittens
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 01/24/2023
Ninth Place
*VIDEO of San Francisco by Scott McKenzie, Cheers to Tony Bennett.
City of Hearts and Home by the Bay
Day star's mist yields to its grip of a bridge,
Span steel strands, harp-like, golden tags a smidge,
Light drapes the streetcars, up and down the hills,
Chimes, mass speeches, music, and painted stills,
Juggling pantomimes, street fair atmosphere,
Haight and Ashbury crossing yesteryear,
Fisherman's Wharf nearby Pier 39,
Seafood platters and fine dining with wine,
Downtown Union Square, lunching alfresco,
Market Street, Tiffany's, a Broadway show,
San Franciscans, whenever we're in Rome,
Ideal for some, but we call this home.
2022 December 31
*2nd Place*
Take Me There
~~Margarita Lillico: Judged 2023 January 21
*RZ & HMS.
Will I regret not taking this one chance
each day is a gamble on life;
I don't want to live in a trance!
Will I regret- not taking this one chance-
giving life's joy only a glance,
or will I be stabbed with life's knife !
Will I regret 'not' taking this one chance-
each day ... is a gamble on life!
__________________________
December 31, 2022
Poetry/Triolet/Taking a Chance
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1513-502-31
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Chance
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 01/14/2023
I woke up new and sound,
This freshness I have found,
Resonates from deep within.
And reflects in my rising and sitting.
I'll revel in this bliss,
Not a moment I'll miss,
Walk in the light of my fresh starters,
For nothing else matters.
I see myself with new eyes,
Mornings are haloed with colours,
As I journey I edge out all contours,
Gloom gradually loses its size.
I have sickled every old way,
A different lad I see in the mirror,
I close my eyes and pray,
That dawn chauffeurs no more terror.
December 31, 2022.
Brian Strand No.1165 Poetry Contest,
Brian Strand.
Life, itself, seems but merely chance.
As it consumes each day when done.
We seldom pause for second glance.
Life, itself, seems but merely chance.
But, then we pause and look askance,
and wish more wisely it was spun.
Life, itself, seems but merely chance.
As it consumes each day when done.
December 31, 2022
for Chance Poetry Contest
by Julia Ward
My heart is broken in a thousand pieces,
shattered and jagged they lay at my feet;
yet, I pick up every fragmented shard for tomorrow,
and place each carefully in my pocket.
Will they ever be whole again in my life? I wonder,
but for today ... I have folded my wings.
_____________________
December 31, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/A Thousand Shattered Pieces
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1513-351-31
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Posted to Facebook, 01/24/2023
Written for the contest, Bite Size Poem, No. 58
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 01/08/2023
First Place
Submitted to the Premiere contest, Premier Choice, No. 1190
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/24/2023
There was a time we loved with passion
but lost it over trivial misunderstandings.
My heart has never stopped loving you
and hopes we can rekindle our fire.
I want to mend the fences torn down.
My darling, please tell me you are willing
to hear the words my heart longs to express.
Our romance should not remain a memory
echoing in the whispers of doleful goodbyes.
No longer do I watch the stars without you,
and still hold dear, the dreams we shared.
Please take the hand I so lovingly offer,
and trust I'll be at your side forever more.
I miss your smiling eyes and tender lips,
the way your touch filled me with desire.
The flames of love still burn within me,
an ember smoldering, waiting to spark
if you will be my Valentine once more.
December 31, 2022
Valentine Gift Card Creation Contest
Sponsored by Bobby May
The smoky sky serenades serenely
The winter’s freezing song
The tune whistled with lacerating chill
By the wafting arctic wind.
The stilled clumps of charcoal cloud
Disperse with the dancing frozen flakes
The feathers of fleeting snow float
On the pulsating waves of the cross breeze.
The skeletons of the stripped trees
Can’t bear the burden of the snow stack
As the branches crash under the load
The cracking sound splits the icy silence.
The blowing blizzard breaks asunder
The pervading congealed stillness
That grips the desolate white landscape
Battered by the sleet of the winter storm.
________________
December 31, 2022
Contest : Winter Storm
Sponsored by : Kim Rodrigues
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