Fitness freaks fake friends,
Who want wit weighs war...
Against age and acts;
Hopeless help heightened.
Invalid aim fends,
A perfidious sore-
Words, deny its facts...
Memories sure tightened;
Slipping in-out sight,
Of shameless mind's frame
Beeping off insight,
Wishing faults reclaim:
Peaceful glumly past,
Now endures contrast.
Wind outside my tiny home, wreaking chaos on its porch
Wicker chairs and potted plants, stand firmly against its force
Finely tuned chimes sound loudly, sending sweetly toned notes into the night
A candle I’ve lit flickers, with the flow of cool currents through aging wooden panes
As the warm glow from the fire, now comforting, fends off the chill from a cool springtime rain
Tuxedo cats hardly notice a thing, intertwined into something resembling a fine sable
Opening one eye on occasion, then quickly returning to twilight
The fire logs let out a soft sounding hiss, as they shrink into hot glowing embers
Fixing my gaze towards its vibrant colors. Comforting, Hypnotic
Drift off to sleep with sounds of a storm. Who’s sharp pitches and tones
Guiding me gently like binaural beats and theta waves
Into another state, created by conscious choice. A world of making all my own
The old male lion awakes,
lifts his great head,
but it is midday and so he sleeps yet more.
Come the night his lionesses will hunt
while the king fends off
other male pretenders to his throne.
The female lions perhaps wonder,
(as they stalk and leap),
how soon will the old lion weaken and die,
how soon will the pride have
a new and stronger leader?
At this point some may wonder
what to do with the notion of love?
The night is long, blood -hungers
hunt a passionate intimacy,
and few escape that kind of love.
Love itself is kept for the cubs
that in turn one day
may drive away their mothers.
Keeper of the Flame
Flame born in Genesis’ labors
Springs from the eternal parent’s word,
Image of the ever present truth,
Soars above impotent earth
Lost in the swirling numb abyss
Fragile fire kindled by a vision’s flint
Bright vow intoned grows a fiery flower
Set upon a high rising hill in trust
Until the Keeper, born from dust,
Stands watch
Raptured sentinel face set against
Howling hurricanes,
That rise like screaming phantoms,
And the siroccos plan to shatter fire
Into embers with its jagged breath;
Cloaked by the chrysalis protection
The Keeper thwarts designs
To kidnap from the mountain fortress
Celestial inspiration’s blaze of grace -
And the wild Kerry dances intent to steal
Then slay bright fire
In the foul air of wicked conflagration -
With shields forged in eternity’s tinder grace,
Keeper, Guardian,
Fends off fiends of stalking chants;
A smokeless incense of inspiration rises
Forever young
A blessing kindled for the Keeper’s heart
Ambassador anointed - guardian of the eternal flame.
3-24-22
Contest: This or That
Title chosen Keeper of the Flame
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
My heart knows …… what’s comes in
From joy to sorrow, its feelings follow,
Sorts them out, makes them blend
Wounds to pain, sews to repair.
My heart knows ….. what it takes to be strong
Fends off blows, heals scars that oppose
Praises the righteous, forgives the wrong
Calms the mind, softens the unkind.
My heart knows….. what to save and feel
Treasures the gifts God gave that lifts
Keeps faith to heal, denies the unreal
Memories to erase, welcomes a warm embrace.
My heart knew…. what kept it alive
Locked the coldness out, its faith devout
Lets in love that thrives, its vitality survives
I now know…. what my heart knew
My heart knows …… what comes in
From joy to sorrow, its feelings follow,
Sorts them out, makes them blend
Wounds to pain, mends to regain
My heart knows ….. what it takes to be strong
Fends off blows, heals scars that oppose
Praises the righteous, forgives the wrong
Calms the mind, softens the unkind.
My heart knows….. what to save and feel
Treasures the gifts God gave that lifts
Keeps faith to heal, denies the unreal
Memories to erase, welcomes a warm embrace.
My heart knew…. what kept it alive
Locked the coldness out, its faith devout
Lets in love that thrives, its vitality survives
I now know…. what my heart knew
So pretty wrapped in thorns, my dearest rose.
A dish, adorable, a pitbull — small.
She fends off fiends with nettled hands propose.
All pluck, with red stripe lips, sparks Springlike drawl.
Afresh in scent and velvet soft array,
blue bruise of her ornamental chamber.
This Cleopatra tease does make men bay.
This wild wine rose no pet prince can tame her.
The cut came quick, the snip of sharpened glass.
The former blushing queen of humble green.
The bucolic roar spreads, the plucked red lass
surrendered to the vase — a dauntless teen.
Ever after lasts but an hourglass bit.
The sunset quick — the sand that sinks her wit.
8/1/2018
Mark Massey’s Not Just Any Rose Poetry Contest
Whilst darkness cradles passing hours,
In vaulted rooms the mind had built
Leaving just a glimpse of twilight
Of dreams that heart and soul had spilt.
When stones and mortar form the shawl
That fends the soul from ice and chill
The healing yet begins again
It always has, it always will
She's only 9 years old and cries out in despair.
All she wants is for her mum to be there.
Her dad has remarried and doesn't give a damn,
But he puts on this façade that he's a great man.
“Dear God,” she's asked, “why me?” as tears stream down.
“What have I done to deserve this, please take me to mum!”
She doesn’t believe in fairy-tales, they never come true,
as her life is a fairy-tale in reverse, stuck with morose views.
I look up and questioned God “why is life so unfair?
This innocent child feels that no one cares.
Talking about death at this young age.
What has frightened this child to get to this stage?”
Her dad cares about money and status all the time
While his beautiful daughter just gets let behind.
Forgetting that she just needs his love and care
Instead she fends for herself with silent tears.
She’s only nine years old yet growing up so fast.
Wondering how long this dreadful life will last.
“Dear God,” She prays, “Please take me away.
I want to be with mum than live another day.”
Contest: It shouldn't hurt to be a child
Sponsor: Becca Teagan
Date: 06-04-2016
Jubilation filled the room and lit my mother’s face on her 80th birthday.
Everyone she loved, both friends and family, had come from near and far away.
A huge surprise, the secret was well kept by all, even by her children, all seven!
Never had she felt such joy; through tears she said,“This is how it must be in Heaven."
For Line Gauthier's 'Bite Size Poem no13' Poetry Contest
Written 3/20/2015 and dedicated to a beautifully spiritual and strong woman who raised eight children, one that died in the 80's, and who lost her husband to Alzheimer's over a decade ago. Today she lives alone in our Iowa home town and fends for herself. Spry and independent, she will be 90 next March (2022).
Please check out the slide show (see above) of the wonderful family reunion we had in 2013!
Those Left Behind
Woe, the days have come undone
Many people on the run
Everyone fends for himself
Caution stashed upon the shelf
Rockets crashing, gunshot sound
Where’s the peace that I had found
Seeing, knowing what’s in store
Conflict, fighting growing more
Every day a brand new test
We cannot run with all the rest
Make a plan and say a prayer
He’s prepared a place way over there
Can you hear the family call?
Resting safe behind the wall
With nothing as it was before
We’re always looking for the door
Where friendship, safety and some rest
Will get us through the latest mess
We can’t buy food without the mark
The days and nights are both so dark
Left behind to find our way
Will we live another day?
Expectations brimming.
Nostalgia of my hurt.
Dismantling my mind.
My love was sincere.
I did not know to loll.
Just simple minded me.
The earth my solitude fends.
Sky my dreams suspend.
Breeze consoles my soul.
Gently catching my fall.
Tears forget to weep.
Heart's memory asleep.
My heart continues to beat.
An involuntary feat.
I shall survive my life’s revelry.
Its just a matter of wild debauchery.
Orgy of love a dance with lust.
Tryst with life reasoning, I cannot control.
If by living, I can even touch one soul.
Then, there may not be anything more.
I would have achieved, something that I adore.
A tragedy of my life, a litany of my soul.
Like sun burnt leaves crushed under my feet.
Sleepeth thou darkling,
fade....
How privy thy existence made,
to shade the feathered extremity
thy plumage gave;
a kiss unto pools sleeping
white at noon....
neath bowers in waking rain,
through arbors, dripping and brawn
The black swan returns again,
('tis no shame to love him so)
Seeker of the serfs;
with slow power he fends her,
such flight to beating wing,
to dawn never ending
(seizing watery throne)
Thou art royal among the waters
and scarlet skies make pink
thy billowed white hues;
Little boats of lovers sigh
your white-spirit near
How good omen fosters good cheer ----
How blessed they feel your presence
here,
grace upon the gentle waves
There is black among the pond,
sable Lord from Melbourne;
his speech unruly and red,
Likened his beak with surly scarlet
throngs,
how honest his nature bequeathed
(how darkling his arbors met)
floating in the nestles, watching
with spring-fed breeze
And she to him, a Queen of fair hope:
" Shall I call thee white love? "
said he
Keith O.J. Hunt (C) 2014
Life was holier then when younger,
opened gifts at Christmas, I toyed
beside the shelter of my father.
Faith in the world was stronger
when what little I knew, relied
upon the lies he told me when younger,
For as the hand of God, come under
a cloud to part the sea for a boy,
I walked proudly through the crowds with my father.
But now, his iconic loom no longer
fends, like prometheus, the plight
of man from one no longer younger.
For I see in the winter of his growing older,
this frail mortal of him, that destroys
the hope I would hold his hand forever.
Empty by fact of having grown colder,
Christmas goes quietly without the joy
so omnipresent when I was younger-
and still knew God by the shape of my father.
A defenseless seed planted in spring's tempestuous furrow
Nourished with fertile juices; warmed in caressing burrow
Escaping subterranean cavern into formative strand, roots still
shallow
Sprouting into a strappling seedling that doth hope, promise bellow
In sweltering, summer haze; tender stem bows and bends
Strong, directionless winds blow; the fragile stalk spins
Froward pests snip at the intestinal fiber, productive growth
ammends
Heavy torrents of doubt seep inward drowning the hidden tentacles
on which outward growth depends
After arduous spring travails end, summer's balmy season begins
Long, dry days with timid growth to begin
Steadying anchor balasts the green adolescent, promise to portend
Stronger constitution allows the fecund shoots against blight,
predators defend
Stiff resistance, ample growth produces fruitful dividend
Late summer, vibrant plant reaches it's zenith, ripening fruit
suspends
Toils of younger days along with the growing pain ends
Mellower-toned follicles displaying strong genetic traits from each
stem extends
Acclimated to unforgiving environment, with spare fuel, for its
place ardently fends
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