Judging poetry contests is as easy as comparing a hog to a car
Or a tub of lard to a gasoline engine and a movie star
Trying to be objective is not in the equation at all
comparing unlike things to each other is a likely fall
some are witty, others do not follow a single contest rule
I laugh at some, others are so well written they make me drool
Rght away I sort them into piles of two – one good, one not so much.
Cannot divulge my secret, but it would infuriate my Aunt Dutch
She likes everything to fit into a tidy little clean box up high
Judging poems against each other makes me roll an eye
How do you say this one is good, and that one is not
When none share a purpose, is that all you’ve got?
I used to moan and wail and torment myself with the result.
Now when I second guess my finalists, I yell “Halt!”
Just put the top three in a shake up order and try again.
The gold always rises to the top no matter what shape I’m in.
Latter life is special. Blessings come when visiting a parent. They are not a burden - those who raised you up, if indeed you had a good one.
My Dad is almost 88 and I am thankful he is still here. He loves his kids to visit, a good meal and is always thankful. I am thankful for him and also my husband who is generous to help me load and unload the car and join in with conversation. It has been 4 ½ years of almost weekly visits.
— by Poet
chatting:::cooking:::cleaning
praying:::eating:::clearing
washing:::gathering:::hugging
three
:::
different
:::
highways
:::
home:::sweet:::home
together:::alone:::separate
time:::goes so:::fast
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
Just once in my life,
I saw the real moon
And that moon was you.
(In silent thought, I wonder)
Did bad luck suddenly
Turn into a good one?
My soul drifts afar,
bathed in moonlight
Madly, I fall for the moon,
And madly, I fall for you.
Just once in my life,
I saw the real moon
And that moon was you.
The politicians speak and act out in pure oxymoron.
By that I mean say one thing or promise one thing and do a next or the opposite. Some friends also do.
With warm cruelty and in a very nice and seemingly gentle sinister pretentious intentions.
Pure bare cold sweetly favoured and spicy nothings.....nothingnesses,
They promise you a great and propserous year.
But then they do absolutely nothing to improve your life in the slightest.
There is such a cold malignant mliciousness in the kindly promises.
The sweetest and most polished and sincerest sounding Bull you can ever imagine.
Trust them at your own damn risk, to your relaxed sleepy opium filled detriment.
Almost seems like all of them are the same.
No distinct difference.
As the Guyanese say maybe the only good one is dead.
Meaning that good comes with their bad death.
Don't get me wrong though, there have been and always will be a few really good and sincere ones Like my friend Dugu Gordon.
But most of them just live a disgusting honey money lie......they drown in a dirty legacy cesspool of rich bitter sweet mango jam irony and useless unnecessary excess wealth.
I sat next the guy who sat to that"ole Gal"
that night that they talked it over.
Over and Over again
they talked about it.
I heard words of love
and endearing concerns.
They talked about everything
from frustations to ferns
they spoke of the need to understand
and a bneed to know more
one things for sure
they talked it out.
See what is worth mentioning
in all this constant tentioning
were it needed explaination
it turned up straightened
they talked it over
they talked it over
so that all could understand
hold on Mister
the lady has a point
stand up for
yourself
get out in front
don't hide behind your woman
her needs have been addressed
you got the first part
now lt's finsh this rest
the contract is negocated
so to all concerned
we have one signuture
it's the other parties turn
there it
we should all stand and appluad
thank you all for your
pateince
now lets thank the LOrd!
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
Water dripping from the faucet
I wish to tap in to it and flow
Like red river from indigo soul
Writing something that grows
Like a seed esteemed and springing
In each reader who is a believer
And even those who are deceivers
A word so good one salivates
A poem so inspiring it breaks chains
Chains of doubt
Chains of caste
Chains of illness
Chains of blocks of all kinds
Let the waters wash away strongholds
And create in me in you a new thing
Good Morning!
Good Morning! I said.
Now I have a good one.
Answered a lady, a shop assistant.
Sunday morning, I understand you. I said.
Yes, it is. But now I feel better. She answered
– Morning sunlight shone in the shop, and black eyes, sparkling
After shopping, I left the store
The May light greeted me with love
Spring, nature, fresh air, singing birds, sparkling black eyes…
Black eyes
Watching far
Good Morning
Sunday Love
Good Morning
New Spring Love
Suicidal
Ohh little one
The world knew not for you let no one,
Not to find out, but kept your woes.
Your thoughts became your biggest foes.
You belittled yourself if not fitted.
Where is your voice hidden?
That all at once you just quitted,
The life so good one would be smitten.
You woke the alarms of death,
And broke the hearts of your dear ones.
Who would have gone depths,
For life without you I loathe.
If hearts were sold in the market,
People would stand in queue
Fighting for buying the good one
Without realising that
the best in the world is inside them.
-Thaqiya/lazybirdnest
It's good to be a good person
But I have to be a good one
Dare to say what should be said
Dare to defend yourself when taken advantage
Dare to say no if you feel unfair
Choose well with the right person
Everything has to have a limit on comfort
It's enough to give your heart
To someone who is sincere to you
No need to be beautiful in the world
Don't be afraid that no one will be with you
If you can't find sincerity from others
No need to be in a relationship with anyone
If you feel so comfortable of being single.
Out with the old year,
In with the new.
Will this be a good one?
Haven’t a clue.
All we can do is
Wake up every day
And see just what stuff
Will be heading our way.
Make no predictions;
Time has to tell
If life treats us badly
Or if we do well.
Wishing is useless,
More likely than not,
But have a good new year.
(I’ll give it a shot.)
The story of a Criminal Grandma
Not a good one
A crime spree old lady
One that is witty, Grandma Dynamite
An Old lady who robs and steals
She uses dynamite to explode
Stealing from banks
Never saying thanks
Even Police warrants her arrest
Grandma Dynamite has a way to contest
It’s all about steal
She doesn’t conceal
Grandma Dynamite follows through on her robbing desire
It’s dynamite acting like fire
Her voice always says,” STAND BACK”
She has a spreadsheet having a numerous criminal track
Grandma Dynamite might capture one’s heart from the start
Take it from Police, she knows how to make her mark
She gets what she steals
Dynamite becomes the Police ordeal
Grandma Dynamite is known around the world
Grandma Dynamite being a criminal celebrity
Explosions in the aftermath.
Wow that was a good one or was it number twelve?
Why is it that my inner critic sounds so much like Mark Imortell?
That’s the animal mint I’d guess
Just a loft in the spirits to put me in a slightly
twisted sort of perspective
and while I’m on the subject, can we please bring filth back as a contronym?
I just love the way that I can use it to describe a choclate brownie fudge sundae
or a slasher horror movie with hory teenagers in the woods
it’s filth
and somehow it defies all definition…
Decadence
somehow
synonomus
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