A voice that sharpens in debate’s embrace,
Feet that once danced now quicken the chase.
Pages and gavels, the world's in my hands,
Bound by the law but free where I stand.
Dreaming of justice, unshaken, unchained.
Dove
Remembering what was,
in the hope of could be.
The sword of my being
rises up within the wake of destruction.
No more lead by heart. No more cluttered mind.
Only truth, light
and now belief.
A soiled dove.
Broken within brokenness.
Has sought, with broken wing.
Only to learn to guard, to learn to be.
To fly within darkness.
Tainted-ness
remains to haunt.
Seeds of disarray. Huddled now, awaiting light,
below the blistering winds and repetitive gavels.
No two are alike, they say.
Mating for life within a devotion unknown to man.
Yet, radiant, none the less.
Remembering what was,
hoping for could be.
Willow
Carla Cy Thurston
April 15, 2020
Contest 10-13-20
Lonely traveler
Searched for light in dark of night
Toes, like gavels, pound
ice covered asphalt. Poignant
cry echoes behind closed doors…
Inside, warm bodies
nibble cake and sip hot tea
as sojourner seeks
a smidgen of sympathy.
Lights on, but its dark inside…
Bill stands firm to overturn DOMA
Trying to avoid Congressional Coma
Bring in "Supreme" gavels strong
The fate of Love sings new song!
Well said, my poetically challenged friend...
Your insight is deep and telling of your sage,
Even if I can not understand your poetic wage,
Tell us more of your triumphs and travels,
And don't leave out the blotter and gavels,
For it is your frailty which entices,
The calling of the soul,
And unlocking of the mind...
For when we read of your glorious battle,
And become the fodder of which you prattle,
Remember that these are the days,
We relished the great dreams you gave,
Soon you will be left to your own devices,
Karma so apropos,
Balancing over time...
Then with great pride I will be able to say,
That I once met a poet untamed,
A free verse poet like you who has belched,
With nonconforming musings, true and heartfelt,
Oh what great cost the poets price is,
Always watching yet always alone,
All to capture truth sublime,
Again well said, my poetically challenged friend!
We must do better inspite
of many who might
wish to impose
their fiefdom on those
with a new resolution to press
in the halls of congress.
We have to get better at
conference reports that
only bring more confusion
to our hallowed institution
as gavels bang to supress
little dictators who digress
in the halls ...
Stuffed shirts compete
with suitwomen replete
in conversations from the floor
who must revise and extend their remarks out the door
of all this frenetic energy, thought,
hard work to plot
adding up to nothing in the end
as a mighty pen
will veto any hope again
for the halls in the hinterland.
Well said, my poetically challenged friend...
Your insight is deep and telling of your sage,
Even if I can not understand your poetic wage,
Tell us more of your triumphs and travels,
And don't leave out the blotter and gavels,
For it is your frailty which entices,
The calling of the soul,
And unlocking of the mind...
For when we read of your glorious battle,
And become the fodder of which you prattle,
Remember that these are are the days,
We relished the great dreams you gave,
Soon you will be left to your own devices,
Kharma so apropos,
Balancing over time...
Then with great pride I will be able to say,
That I once met a poet untamed,
A free verse poet called Robert Reid Welch,
With nonconforming musings, true and heartfelt,
Oh what great cost the poets price is,
Always watching yet always alone,
All to capture truth sublime,
Again well said, my poetically challenged friend.
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