I
awake,
to movement
up the stairway,
along the hallway,
stealthily to my door.
I cower, crouch down, hidden.
Then hear the bedroom door unlatch,
hold tight my breath through purs-ed lips.
I know what's next, what's coming soon,
heart leaping from inside my chest,
air stagnant, thick with fears' emblaze.
Softly rocking back and forth,
eyes fixed toward the ground,
now, most surely found.
Beaten, knocked down,
yet still I -
choose to
STAND
MY
GROUND.
23/12/2022
#_#O ccassionally, #h ard lives inspire targets
#_#G rowing #a rdent influence time, ore
#_#U pon #p ainted vows 'mid grace
#_#N ature #p resents evermore search readiness
#_#K een #y our life strength obvious
#_#A cting #b een entertained undrape winning
#_#N ever #i gnite above captivity impatiently
#_#M is-spelt #r isks renew hitherto nurtured
#_#I mprove #t hy nimble age gig
#_#O f #h uge leisure forethought swiftly
#_#L o, #d ays of enummerating viaduct
#_#A ffluence #a chievements via e-books come
#_#M ore #y ears emblaze ligth ceasing
#_#I nmost #m oment flowering image engrave
#_#D early #a dore unending never-ceasing secret
#_#E piphany #n oble nirvana's glories saved
#longliveiscertainbro
"From green, tender buds to full burnished art-
the seasons take pause amid weathered leaves."
_by Poet
To weathered leaves of fall, the seasons turned.
Once buds unfurled in springtime April rain-
to verdant greenness; now red-orange burned-
dried, curled, and crumpled- ending summer reign.
No longer green, but brilliant hues again
drape seasoned shawls of golden browns and rust
that soon crisp autumn winds, to ground, will thrust
and carpet well the faded grass below;
the last hurrah- emblaze the earthen crust-
then sink, full-weathered, neath the winter snow.
November 24, 2021
Premiere Strand Contest No. 1096
Sponsor: Brian Strand
To read old poems now scattered debris
Drifting through time on its slow-turning wheel
Written secrets emblaze spokes that turn free
To leave deeper tracks the mind can't conceal
The road is traveled with its selfish means
The journey is spent with a looking glass
Pain will befall emotional extremes
To be a withering lonely morass
How many love poems were never found?
This search to fill emptiness from love's worth
The staging, the set, the music, the sound
Loneliness will attempt to value its birth
These echos from time, from each lover's frown
Time fades and rips away poems thrown down
9/14/21
contest L-new or old
sponsor Constance La France
We do not despise
What God gave us
We do not dislike
Our countless flaws
We whom wonder hastily
Clinching to life after life
Hanging on with no purposes
Just the desired selfishness
To be alive
Claiming to be depressed
Claiming to be out ruled
Outlived
But who is it to blame
When one tries continually and repeatedly
And the thing one desires
Is not to be set in claim?
To live is to be alive
Cling to life
Outspread life
And contaminate life
But when one has the false desire
To terminate life
One has gotten the opposite meaning of living
And other ones must help this one
Give him a better understanding
A better view
A brighter view of life
Or perhaps how foolish one could be to end such grace
How illogic and insane
Or perhaps ungrateful
One could be to the creator
To God
To Allah
To live fully
Is to truly extinguish
The bleak fire of one’s destruction
And to emblazon the torch of existing gratitude
Russell Smith
For inspired contest
My Keep
I feel that I have burrowed away
The outside world is held at bay
For it is here that I can play
Smell of candles in the air
In this place I do repair
And think the grandest thoughts my dears
To laugh or cry my many tears
No judge no jury of my peers
Snug on the cool sheets I may laze
To find the words that will emblaze
Feelings about our world so fair
Or perhaps I’ll write from true despair
This is my room my palace my keep
My place for joy my place to weep
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