“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”
—Langston Hughes
Cream of Crop Showers
The world seems smaller, inside within quarters, no sun.
But the yellow wonder is like lightning outside, not done.
Inside there is the brightness of the youngest grand.
Consuming all the rays of sunshine, each grain of sand.
The community park would burn within minutes our skin,
so the schoolager finds friends, swings his arms to win.
The VR helps a bit on closeted days that aren’t cooled by rain.
Those greedy clouds won’t spill their shimmering champagne.
With “cream of crop” showers, I imagine us stomping, making pies
with mud, running through the streets, splashing, loving the rise.
Dare the lightning to strike, we’d grab our swords and fight.
We’d reduce its commotion locomotion to a wee little light.
All wet, with flip flops flying like frisbees into puddles deep.
We’d be like fish, who don’t care if they’re slippery, and leap.
The skies today hold promise, covering over the brightness.
Will the heavens lie to us today or do they hold forthrightness.
Searching vainly, the dark enthralled with death,
Moral fervor and forthrightness deep breath.
In utter silence, stealth into its depths
Drawing breath, soon all His knowledge in breadth.
Amidst the Garden of Gethsemane,
Distraught His strength falter growing angst pain;
Looking up to the heavens in discourse
On bend knees in unspoken end recourse.
Jesus stretched out on the cross gazed at their grief.
Scarlet sorrow; all they could see, His brief
Passion of life and crimson tainted cross.
Whilst soldiers toss dice, but blind by their loss.
Why? Please, let his suffering come to an end.
They loved Him yesterday, cannot comprehend.
4/9/2020
Sonnet's Salutation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
How does one interpret,
Everyday moments
We all want clarity and forthrightness,
So why the discombobulated torment
Of words that distort the facts,
Untruthful twisted personal attacks
The world is a grand stage,
Where reputations can be made
Or lost,
By words tossed
Without validity,
Or connection to reality
Yet the guilty play the victim,
For others truth is the conviction
Or is incarceration their demand,
For the one in command
Tragically demeaning opinions,
Only further divisions
Where red and blue,
Have divergent views
About black and brown,
And the color of their town
Political power seeks to secede,
Caretaking what people and the environment need
For all that was inclusive,
Destruction is their motive
Targeting personal freedoms,
Empowered by hypocritical Christians
Exclusionary and perverse,
Because of a bible verse
Tolerance only for that which is white,
In America that’s not right
Change only happens if parties can agree,
I am wondering what our future will be.
Sepia photo hides a face
With creased lines that could not retrace;
The details of Grandma’s allure
As tints cover those outlines pure--
Blemished by wartime, its grim tales
Dark the image of life’s travails
Severing her forgotten youth:
Through my lamp's pearlescent brightness
Her keen eyes depict forthrightness
An aura mildly intense...soft
While her glances raise them aloft,
And in my thoughts, lips gold as moon
Seem to hum a brave woman's tune...
I clean this old token again
Savoring her warmth, her own pain,
For though dull Gram’s portrait may be
Rare this keepsake which speaks to me.
Contest 555 of Brian Strand
The Birth of life
I was born by a woman, this because I`m human
and not a horse, my mother had many faults as a housewife
but she instilled in our honesty and forthrightness
and not stay silent if you have an opinion that is not what
everybody else believes, and I have followed her rules.
I happen to think that abortion is in principle a crime against
nature to end a pregnancy for any reason that is not medical.
I`m the lucky one we lived in poverty yet my mother gave me life.
When pre-born my soul had lived aeons of time and
seen how countries had withered and taken over
because people lived in luxury where wine, sex and lust was
more important than giving life
nations who had forgotten their future and imported
children from afar lands which altered a culture
and replaced it with chaos and failure.
The slave is stronger than the master.
Now it is happening again; women have been lured into
thinking that they are not equal to a man if they
bear children, which is the highest anyone can reach.
Women are our future let us not forget this simple truth.
A pugilist and a whistle-blower
I never thought much of boxing
but I liked Muhammad Ali`s forthrightness
steadfast stood against the storm of
hatred and vilification when he didn`t want
to join the Vietnam war even though
he was banned from pursuing his craft for
three years, the best years of his age.
It took a long time for me to embrace his courage.
It took time to untangle myself from the net
of lies and propaganda spewed by a submissive
press and find the truth and ill will behind
the mendacities of politics.
Now that the great on good hail him and mourn
his demise perhaps it is time to pardon
Edward Snowdon who exposed the dishonesties
of the establishment.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.