Long Discontinued Poems
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Sometimes our attention will turn toward some of God's special creations that may cause our hearts to skip a beat or take one's breath away. Such was the case with me when one of God's choicest roses left me speechless and staring.
While chatting with a friend, I looked to our right and saw a mobilized rose bush* moving in our direction. It appears that I was more startled and enchanted by the beauty of the roses than by the animated movement. The roses were much lovelier than any that I had ever seen and were most beautiful, full of color, and downright stunning.
I did not speak to the rose but wanted to, nor it to me, but I heard it well in unutterable tones, and as I stared at it with wonderment, it watched me sheepishly. I was to some extent spellbound and for a while, I could not look away. There were also other flowers standing and some coming and going in a most orderly fashion, but none was as noticeable as the roses that came in our direction.
Indeed, for a few seconds, I forgot that my friend was standing there, and lest I be embarrassed, I discontinued staring at the one particular rose that had spell bounded me. I then turned toward the less eye-catching flowers, but that special rose continued moving toward my friend and stood next to him as I walked away. By then it was clear to me that they knew each other, but it was also clear to me that the rose was not available to me for acquisition, nor was I in a position to acquire that priceless rose.
It's been many a year since first seeing that mesmerizing rose of impeccable purity and refinement, so arresting and captivating of me as no rose, violet, lily, or lilac ever had before. Never had I encountered a flower so adorable and embracing.
I tell you, roses are my favorite flower, and many of them have graced my home for more than 22 years. I must confess that there have been times I have denied them proper care and adequate water supply due to drought conditions, but I love my long-standing roses dearly. Moreover, for a long season and more, I cannot forget that overwhelming rose that fixated and left me speechless more than 10 years ago.
120219PoSoup, (entry 072820)July NA HM Poetry, Constance La France. Your Best New Poem, Emile Pinet. NA . *fiction. 2nd contest(7/9/20), Strand Completely New 7, Brian Strand. NA
Twas like every November before it,
But this one came with an air of uncertainty,
For the drums of celebrations had halted in may.
When Owen celebrated his second birthday.
Fate was finally smiling at Evbareke
Those around her had thought,
For indeed she, the child whose mother abandoned just nine months after her birth.
And left in the care of her sick father,
Aged grand mother,
Family members who cared less
For her existence.
Had grown to become a beautiful girl,
Whose nature was fair,
Like the back of a ripe alimo fruit
Which falls bountifully in the Month of March.
She, the girl whose childhood
Was characterize by total neglect and
Destitution had out of nothing found favour,
In the eyes of a decorated soja man.
Fast forward to 1989.
Her civil servant father died of an eerie
Circumstance; a live fish was removed
From his stomach.
Her life regained some sanity when
The soja man married her,
Immediately after Her father's burial.
He had promised to stay with her forever
And make her happy.
But nightmares also do come to pass.
Oga soja had a first wife at home,who
discontinued child birth after two children.
Her every action brought doom
To every one that crossed her path.
Fast forward to August 93,
The pressure from oga soja's first wife
Became unbearable, but oga soja in his kind
Nature, comforted her.
After all, she has given him
Three boys with another one on the way.
Death would strike again
But this time it came in form of a mere cold.
A cold that started on a very hot afternoon
All means and measures to quell the cold were abortive.
So death was inevitable,
It came that morning when oga soja told her to
Forgive him because he had worsen her plight.
"Look after our children" were his last words.
That November she was told to marry
Oga Soja's younger brother,
Who promised to cater for her
And her children.
She refused and decided to go her way
And raise her children all by herself.
Interjection;
Do not take it too seriously
Life will happen to her and her children,
Who defied all odds to live a good life.
And when she is asked what her biggest
Regret in life is?
She would say November 1993.
Godwin Henry Osaigbovo (Pa Shakespeare)
Retrospective
By Laura Dee Battle
January 14, 2015
Looking back at the Crimson shades of hell
The days where I couldn't bear to face my own reality
Showroom shines of smiles concealing secrets I would never tell
Not that I could tell them about the catastrophes I couldn't see
I had dreams where I was the man and she was the wife
A nice white picket fence with a green yard in my life
But the harder I tried the more my soul burned inside
My heart swelled with blood that never reached my eyes
I was young and I made my family so proud
But lurking inside was a storm in the white, fluffy clouds
I wanted to die and shut off the agony of being alive
I was a type-cast actor, but my delivery was contrived
Nobody was fooled by my life-long stream of refracted truths
They just didn't know where I began and the lies discontinued
If you were lucky, you saw me as the girl I really was
You saw the care-free way I said things, just because
They tried to ask questions they knew the answers to
They tried to tell me the truth I never even knew
I was so lost in that prison of a hundred thousand lies
Life was just to hard for me to defy the endless sea of judging eyes
It's hard to think that I never stood a chance
It's like I learned all the steps but never how to dance
How could I wage a war with no enemies to fight?
How could I find my way out of the darkness without light?
I'm still not very sure how this will end for me
Some days I just feel like digging a hole six feet deep
I just don't know what to say to you today
Soon I'll find the words to explain my exile where I stay
All apologies, but what else can I say?
The life that I was meant to live just happened yesterday
It's great that you're still here where things are crystal clear
Too many things to fear for me to hold my tears
Reflected is the past in eyes like broken glass
Im looking to the past for memories to hold
I guess my fate was set in motion 30 years ago
I'm told that I am still alive...somehow I didn't die
So maybe I'll just go with the flow
At least this time, I'll do it for me
I only hope it shows...
Day Sounds
On one recorded morning in June of ‘08, my ears tuned in to the sound of the mild banging of a hammer from somewhere close by. I heard the leaves in the trees, as they swayed just a little from the flow of the soft and gentle wind. I knew that I was not in heaven, when I heard the sound of traffic from a major street. Moments later, there was the sound of an airplane in the distant sky.
There is a train rail line near our home, and there was a time when they would blow their horn both night and day. I do not recall that there was any particular time, but I rather think there was. What ever the time of day or night, it was never a pleasant sound. Moreover, the sound of trains blowing their horn at night was both ridiculous and disturbing. To our delight, the night blows discontinued.
After the horn blows of the day trains, we can count on the sound of automobiles racing to work. Of course these are people due at work earlier than the rest of us.
Make no mistake about it, we all have our wake up calls, whether by birds, clocks, phones, planes, or trains. Fortunately, life does bring to us an amazing sense of balance, like the beautiful and soothing sounds of singing birds. I am often entertained by a happy bird or two, whistling like they usually do. I must say, that the things they speak about, whistle about, chirp about, and sing about, are most beautiful to my ears. However, let none be misled; bird sounds are not wake up calls. At best, they could pass as snooze buttons.
Some days we are startled by flashes of lighting and rolling thunder.
Furthermore, there are wind storms; the likes of which can knock down fences and trees. Occasionally, we are blessed to be rained upon,
sometimes in the form of a drenching shower, and other times, a pleasing melodious slow and intermittent rain. Either way, the sound is a thing of beauty and peace. In addition, there are those inviting whispering winds that join the chimes and orchestrate music of their own.
06182016 PS Contest, Sounds of The Day by Nayda Ivette Negron
My God can budge mountains and if you’re thirsty for his knowledge here’s a fountain
Quit being filthy, it’s clear your starving
Failures are unfamiliar in behalf of your behavior my preaching to you is pray to my Savior
Quit the procrastination, it’s clear your starving
The Lord is my shepherd bear fruit assemble a herd and God will repay you for your labor
Quit scheming evil, it’s clear your starving
Heavy times cleanse away like sins our cleansed away but not as long as you stay this evil way
Quit being filthy, it’s clear your starving
Go straight through misery with love and faith your God is beyond space and he’ll always keep you safe
Quit the procrastination, it’s clear your starving
Repent, a new spirit in you is the new invent, but know the profane spiritual world will curse you for who you represent
Quit scheming evil, it’s clear your starving
Temptations one day expand in amounts augmentation, but as long as you digested the Holy Spirit you want crumble with starvation
Quit being filthy, it’s clear your starving
Humble yourself I know life can be a savage jungle where it seems like all the animals was lions who rumble
Quit the procrastination, it’s clear your starving
Right is to supply seed to the sower to enlarge the harvest of your righteousness,
For God is love and he reveals kindness
Quit scheming evil, it’s obvious your starving
Job had a job temptation knocked on his door and not all could challenge what was on the reverse side of the door when you twist that knob
Quit being filthy, it’s clear your starving
When your born you’re a sinner to no degree a winner, flee with endurance be a sprinter, I suppose you come to your senses an get baptized be a swimmer
Quit the procrastination, it’s clear your starving
Let a communion be my reunion at a altar with angels probably a million and that sounds brilliant and all of this is my opinion
I discontinued scheming evil, I’m stuffed of a Christian Spirit
- Loverboi
Darling, will you love me still if I weren't a poet?
Will you hold my hand if I hypothetically happened
to pause my pen from poesy?
If I didn't use alluring alliterations to express my emotions?
If my soul stayed silent with no more stimulating similes?
Will you respect me if I refrain from rhyming ruminations?
Will you really care for me if I didn't use
imaginary imagism in our intimate interactions?
Will you share my worries if I were to withhold myself from writing?
Will you miss me manufacturing meticulous metaphors?
Will you caress and comfort me
if I cease to construct colourful canticles?
My handsome hero, will you accept me if I were a normal girl,
And not your special sweetheart with spectacular songs?
Will you tolerate my tantrums if my tongue terminated those tugging tunes?
Will you hold and hug me if I were to halt my hand
from creating clever, catchy compositions?
Will you value me verily if my verses vanish and vaporise?
If my muse turned morose and mum, will you still stay by my side?
If my moods metamorphosed into melancholic mysteries,
will you be mad at me or motivate me?
Will you still find me mesmerizing if making melodies escape my memory?
If I discontinued my ditties, will you discard me or defend me?
Will you be fond of me if I freeze my fingers from fashioning your fanciful fantasies?
Dearly beloved, will you still lavish me with love forever
if I were not a person to present my poetic preparations?
If I were to discontinue my direct declarations, will you still delight in me?
Oh! Will you appreciate me anyway if I abandoned my artistic abilities?
Tell me, my dear and I will stop my stuttering soul and muttering mind...
Will you prohibit my passion for poems...
or accept me as I am?
2000 miles is a long way, and 50 plus years is a very long time.
It spells the time and space that have separated me and my two best
childhood friends. Back then, whether it was hay, ammonia, cowboys,
sling shots, or rubber tires, somewhere in the mix were my two friends.
Presently, there is a loving memory of Dennis and Johnnie. They were
absolutely my best childhood friends and everyday playmates. Dennis
was called "My terrible looking friend" because he never kept clean.
Johnnie was the toughest of the three of us.
One of the beautiful things about friendship is that 'the institution
of friendship' ever grows and thrives. That is to say that we lose some
and gain others. The losses are not by design but simply a fact of life.
My friendship with Dennis and Johnnie, by no plan or purpose, discontinued.
Life happens and forces us in different directions. But new friends appear.
Relatively new friends like Ruhtra Serrot, who is a very good friend.
Compared to Dennis and Johnnie, I have not known him for very long.
I think that I have known Ruhtra less than ten years.
Some friendships develop and mature over time.
Some others seem to defy the very essence of time.
They form and fashion themselves into 'deep roots'.
That's the type of friendship that I am experiencing
with my friend Ruhtra. I'd say that he is 'Rare Air'.
All due respect for those who believe in luck, but I believe that friends
are a blessing from God, and still others are 'Special Gifts' from God.
I and my family have been gifted with such friends, and they are rare.
080222PSCtest,
LAUGH IT OFF
BERNITA THE BOLIVIAN COUGER
BERNITA SHUFFLES OVER TO THE MAKEUP COUNTER, WITH GLASSES SLIDING OFF HER NOSE AND EYES PINNED TO THE SALES GIRL LIKE A TAIL ON A DONKEY. " I'D LIKE TO RETURN THIS CHEEK POWDER MISSY, IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE A TART ! I GET CHASED AFTER BY YOUNG MEN AND AT MY AGE I'M LIABLE TO BREAK A HIP OR WORSE, DISLOCATE MY KNEE CAP!"
THE SOFT SPOKEN GIRL LIVES ON STRINGBEAN PATIENCE EACH TIME MRS.B. REAPPEARS TO IRK HER WITH HER OLD ANTICS. WITH A SIGH SHE CREDITS HER THE PRODUCT THEN WATCHES, AS SHE PICKS UP A QUAD CANE AND HEADS FOR THE INCONTINENCE DEPT. IN A BOLIVIAN ACCENT THAT REFUSES TO LOSE ITS PATRIOT TONGUAMALASH SHE SAYS, "I'M OFF TO FIND DEPENDS. NOT A WORD ABOUT THIS TO ANYONE MISSY. A LADY SHOULD NEVER SHOW SIGNS OF LOSING HER TINKLES OR SPILLING HER BOWELS !" (HER THIN PURSED LIPS TELL ANOTHER STORY STILL, THE SALESGIRL OBLIGES)
A WEEK PRIOR, MRS. B. RETURNED A 24 HOUR LIPSTICK. THE SALES GIRL TRIED A LITTLE HUMOR THAT DAY, "IT WILL RUB OFF AFTER A FEW KISSES MRS. B., DON'T FRET, JUST ENJOY THE LIPSTICK !" (HALAS IT FELL ON DEAF EARS) MRS. B. WAS ALREADY HEADING FOR THE SOAP ISLE MUMBLING IN SOLIDARITY... "A LITTLE LYE, CAN FIXES EVERYTHING "
NEVER MIND TELLING HER THAT LYE SOAP WAS ONLY SOLD ON AMAZON THESE DAYS. THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN AS USELESS AS TELLING HER THAT "EVENING IN PARIS PERFUME" HAD BEEN DISCONTINUED SINCE 1969. "HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY MRS. B." SHE SAYS, AS SHE HEADS FOR THE COFFEE SHOP AND ORDERS HERSELF A WELL DESERVED, DOUBLE DOUBLE.
WRITTEN BY: VIENNA BOMBARDIERI AKA MYSTIC ROSE
This site has been my haven, where I’ve met
so many poets; neither do I lack
for friends, and some I never will forget
although I know they won’t be coming back.
I’m blessed in that the best friends that I knew
who left the Soup still linger in my mind -
like Nikko, Red or Kash - to name a few,
and these are friends whom I can always find.
I offer one name as example of
a girl who left us, why, and where she went.
Dear Black-eyed Susan, who I came to love,
is one sweet poet who was heaven-sent.
In such a short time that we knew her here,
she sponsored lots of contests, which for me,
were so inspiring, then in about a year,
she discontinued posting poetry.
I know the reasons why she left. One was,
though active here, she soon grew to believe
few cared to comment back, and it’s because
of this, I think that others also leave.
She’d put in so much time with contests for
us all; it seems a shame she didn’t get
more thanks for all that she had done, or
more people taking notice when she left.
Now Susan’s writing poems, but not in rhyme.
She’s joined some groups of tanka and haiku.
She’s published now and spends a lot of time
with entering and winning contests too.
She’s flourishing in that community.
I miss her, but I email her and know
that she’s just fine, so Friends in poetry,
be kind! I hate to see good poets go!
( Repost )
Somehow, her eyes expand with the disobedient sky
and there, she senses urchins filling water on the lake
her feet and thighs slide up changing hues,
with receding incarnations of the moon.
She bends down gazing at images on the lake
as limbs turn into seaweeds, a mermaid in pain
changing hues in the crystal white of sky…
and the moon with slices of split mirrors burn
on wiggles of unscented tresses in water.
She dips her hands to catch the sleek tail in a plunge
knowing not a word to describe the reflection on the lake,
and witness the need to flow randomly in its
entrance through the expanse of one silver sky…
trying to recover glimpses reflected in the water.
Without point of reference to unknown images,
she vaguely remembers how transparently liquid
the changing hues of the moon become watery
like a hint of coagulated blood on a mermaid’s lake...
and the laughter of the sky drips into imaginings.
.......................................
* Written for a fantasy contest that was discontinued;
its theme required entrants to describe one's mirrored
image of the self. Few comments ranged from " Nice, but I
didn't get it" to " You seemed to have overused the word
"water?" In hindsight, I asked myself," what
were you thinking? This is sloppy!"
Jerry T Curtis' This Poem S***s Contest