In life’s din and bustle
As I search for peace in scuffle
Lone spaces and nooks I desire
And calm stillness I greatly adore
Then silence is my solemn mate
And noise is what I dourly hate
Closing my eyes to outer space,
A window opens to inner space.
I find solace in solitude.
Look up to God in gratitude.
Fueled with visions pleasurable,
Enter a realm delectable
The vault of the Heaven so bright
Earth and sea overwhelmed in light
The disquiet within subsides
An ethereal calm descends!
Placed First
For Strand (1071) Poetry Contest
21. Jan. 2022
C Form- Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Syllable count- 8 syllables in each line
Categories:
dourly, beauty, peace,
Form: Couplet
vixen ...
it defies sense
that such fetid phrase
and coarse, careless curses
can drift so dourly from plump little bows
perfect, pouty, chili pepper lips
dripping with dangled prepositions
and dangerous propositions
so, love ... what wish?
what shiny champagne-notioned bauble
will twist that naughty purse
into a sweet, sassy ...
yes?
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand Pick 2, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
dourly, kiss, lust, passion, sensual,
Form: Free verse
It was not the sound of babies crying
Or anger,
fear
Old folks dourly discussing
Nor disputes,
debates
Strident voices of cussing
It was not the sound of children weeping
Or taunts,
doubts
Young people rowdily ruminating
Nor oppression
craftiness,
Ungrateful tones of murmuring
It was not the sound of grown ups mourning
Or dementia
regrets,
Middle age crisis managing
Nor depression,
unforgiveness
Poisonous tongues of viper stings
The last sound heard was the sound of death dying
Categories:
dourly, hope, sound, spiritual, visionary,
Form: Verse
An innocence we used to know
As morning dourly turns to night
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
A cell phone yearning for hello
With hopes of answer growing slight
An innocence we used to know
Within a stampede’s torrid flow
Bifocals lost in jostled fright
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
A playbill from three days ago
Once read with wonder and delight
An innocence we used to know
Pillars raised in commerce glow
Now broken pencils thrown in spite
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
So many hearts in fervent throes
So many souls in heaven’s sight
An innocence we used to know
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
Chopped - Poetry Contest
Including:
Playbill dated 08 Sep 2001
Cell Phone
Broken Pencil
Bifocals
-23 Oct 2014-
Categories:
dourly, sad, september,
Form: Villanelle