Write Eleven Beautiful Lines Poetry Contest
Constance La France
"A rush of excitement fills the air as their maiden voyage comes to a climax."
By author
Up in the sky, baby seagulls leave the crib
Taking virgin wings to the blue skies and puffs of clouds
The siblings' baby steps come without a rattle
Only a blanket of wind at their backs
As they glide from their playbox in search of silver
Below, they see their mother lode
A pacifier, a fishermen's boat netting jumping sardines
Together, the seagulls fall from their highchair
And dive towards their food chain
That they'll hang on their dinner table with all the silverware
With their catches, the seagulls return home with their calling
Behold the Good that is already there,
But! Give one’s nod,
In Thanking G-d the “Sharer!”
Because ‘tis truly odd,
To receive care,
Despite being a “Dud”,
Even naked & bare,
Without a merit “Mother Lode”,
“Thanks!” is song, a soulful “Aire”,
Keeping us “Solid!”,
If “Thanks!” be rare,
We take for granted, grow “Stolid”,
Breathe callous air,
Paying debts is a lid,
Which opens fare,
Ticket to Hearts 14 karat gold,
“Thanks!” Non-coexistent with despair,
Nor arrogance, nor a selfish “Id”,
Gratitude rain blossoms “Life Fertile!”
It was during the early 80s when I struck gold in California.
I saw 'fool's gold' on the banks of The American River,
but my first citing of genuine California gold, the kind that
is forever treasured and never spent, was discovered on
the streets of San Francisco.
It took a while before I recognized it as gold. A closer look
and more frequent encounters were required before I saw
the gold because it was enameled with much dirt and Drin.
His name was Reuben, a harmless, homeless, and hungry man.
My next 'find' of pure gold was a 'real mother lode'
in the person of a beautiful lady named Estelle.
Estelle was the shield that God provided as
we sought shelter from one of life's storms.
Just thinking about her draws tears of love.
And then, there were the saintly trio.
Ron, Ester, and her sister Peggy. This
trio was my fuel in flight; my inspiration.
These five human 'pearls of great price'
were among the choicest, rarest,
and most precious of souls.
Real California gold.
Musk has deployed a mother lode
Trump’s tariffs can't ever erode!
His influence gift
Means we get short shrift
And Earth is his private commode
Rifts bred of lonely invitations
Tastes of iron and limitations
ringing down the boulevard
Soldiers drop
Fickle relationships feel alive
Turmoil predestined for failure
An injured excitement
Permission for freedom
Like a dog off leash
A finite social comfort
A floral dread trickles down
Hungry separation drives
A division in the night
That could, toss it out
Allow its definition
Whats with inevitability
Its all a lode
Talking to myself again
A sadness unique to who
A deserved solitude
Unequivocal
Shared ringing under lonelinesses umbrella
Rip out my intestines
Dont need them
The worst comes right out of me
Spending life up
But its a good deal with you
innumerable miniature bliss bubbles explode
illuminating fully the head ovoid
methinks dear heart, we’ve struck the mother lode
reality as we once knew it is destroyed
the Bindu point becomes the source of God’s power
crystallised within feeble form
Divine Mother plays the harp along our supple spine
with the will of God we conform
Written: March 13, 2024 For Andrea Dietrich Contest
_______________________________________
Happiness is the epitome of love and affection,
Happiness, a thrill bliss, soulful, with excitation.
Happiness must be sought, not idle, a lofty vow,
To love and be loved is the ultimate Elysian glow.
Happiness loop on a string, scented by divine love,
Scarlet roses, auric happiness from above.
Happiness from bliss inspires untapped reverence,
Elegant colors of true love and thrilled evidence.
Happiness in love embrace, hearts bear flight,
A symphony of joy, pure and bright.
Happiness in our existence we hold so dear,
To love and be loved is always, forever near.
Happiness is a garden of blooms in a dwarf abode,
Crimson shine dazzles each whirling blood lode.
Happiness is a waltz on emerald meadow view,
Uttering songs to those blooms of turquoise too.
WHO WE ARE AT OUR CORE
Are we who we think we are
Or more likely what others think
Perhaps multifaceted, we may be
Or neither, always a mystery
Taking self-analysis to the brink
But in the end, just raise the bar
At our core, whatever that may be
Some sort of an inherent disposition
Or just acting out our genetic code
Delving deep to find the mother lode
When psychoanalysis is an imposition
Will anyone ever know the real me
“Off went the Postman, Toodle-oo! In his uniform of postal blue…”
—Allan Ahlberg, The Jolly Postman
RED CARDINAL
The
heavy bird landing
on his heart,
with joyful wings -
an angel’s.
As the dearly departed,
her name was uttered
in golden pen,
pronounced…
and it began.
The miracle, bright red!
The postal delivery
fed
the imagination
of the brave little postman,
not so little, instead,
not so unsteady -
his legs fed
by miles of mourning,
but he kept on going,
not looking back.
BUT
here he pauses,
admiring
the plumage
of this healthy bird,
its claws,
like a ruby ring,
round his finger - the
mother lode
comforting
to a
heartbroken soul.
Exorcists under a big dome
Power unleashed over the hailed home
Walls of two and one Illuminati
Knights of great graffiti
Eight century mystifying
Eleventh century glorifying
Bank of hidden treasure
Rank of forbidden measure
Faith is sanctuary to the Great Eye
Death is coventry to the Fallen Sky
Murals and paints of historic site
Intramurals of haints in heaven's smite
Creed is not my code
Breed is my unknown lode
I went to the orchard to pick a pear.
I picked another so I’d have a pair.
But now their skins I’d have to pare.
One was all I had gone there for
but soon I had a basket with four.
For room, I moved them to the fore.
It got late and I had quite the load.
The hens roosted and the cattle lowed.
As I was leaving, I hit the Mother lode!
Well, now I had enough pears to sell.
Maybe I could even have a pear sale
or send them overseas by para sail.
Okay, I’m finished with my tall tale.
Oh, and about your day, please do tell!
I’m outta here – I’m draggin’ my tail.
Such is our meditation art
We invite God into our heart
Then we shift into his abode
On feeling bliss ignition start
This path’s pathless, there is no road
Each breath we take, to God an ode
Standing still, we be to become
The bliss flame, striking mother lode
Bliss beats strum, hark the cosmic drum
Heart’s door open bids love welcome
Our delight, hidden in plain sight
With nary a care for outcome
Teleported to zenith height
By bliss cascading day and night
Vaporised self is one with God
In His domain of love and light
02-September-2022
BLOCKAGE
A flow of words might slow to a trickle
Especially as inspiration can be so fickle
Emotional bubbles may burst and explode
As phrases tumble from the mother lode
And rhymes and devices fall into place
It won’t take too long to fill that space
They say words flow from the heart
Yet the brain has a role at the start
The priority is to get it on the page
It’s a slower process at a certain age
But the well might one day run dry
And may mean no tears left to cry
It’s always the point to share meaning
Hiding messages should deny preening
If only every verse spoke out clearly
Maybe saying, I do love you dearly
Multiple stanzas is the usual convention
And like any good plot, it builds tension
Sometimes the right word just won’t play
Le mot juste, as the French would say
A verse might pivot on such a locus
As the writer struggles to maintain focus
Then, like placing a missing jigsaw piece
It fits the gap neatly to then bring peace
Part One
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/mid-summer_night_dream_1482320
Concluded
Elves, dwarves, mini giants, and hobbits all performed.
But last was Fili as he strutted to the middle of the glen.
Secretly clutching his alexandrite lode, he flew
Straight up ten feet with a view for all to see.
Fireflies flew erratically around him, a ghostly shine.
As Fili moved his clutched hand, he turned.
Somersaulted, spun and returned to his standing stance.
Below the people of the glen clapped in awe.
But now Fili was worried, how was he to descend
And thus receive his well merited prize?
It was the River-maid who rescued him, as she flew
And whispered in his ear. Change the lode to the left hand
She whispered, giving him a luscious kiss.
Soon Fili landed and the Fairy Queen beckoned him.
You can take your first midnight skinny dipping and eat all
The strawberries you like so much, she graciously said.
She took his lode, put it on a crown and on his head it sat.
And now Fili, the hero, was annoyed no more.
Menu ishq da roog lagya
Meri izzat lag gai Loray...
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