Long Evident Poems
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With a touch of tender and grace
profound image she portrays
Her kind words instilled in my mind
As she is a warrior who stands
strong on her ground
like a beaming light
shining through the
darkness of night
contain with a pure joy of love
She reigns with the supreme
of wisdom guidance
bring the truth of the testament evident
of life-learning lessons
She carries herself like the moonlight
exude in a brilliance trace
rise above the ocean tide
showing fearless of disastrous
Her presence provides a
sense of hope and solace
leading with endless and boundless
that no jewelry can compare
She gives without request
for a return with all the
unconditional sacrifices
Her smile sparks a radiant of hope
brighten up the sorrow of the day
Through each struggle
and triumph she inspires
to emulate
Her name claims
a legacy to remember
that remains in the heart
convey with an everlasting
of memory forever
She comes to know
as my loving mother
Here we are just jars of old clay
so lumpy and hard nothing to look at
being God's purpose showing the power
is totally of God, not us or another stat
Affliction comes to us on every side
stand firm never give in to despair
persecution comes to attack us
we think this is not fair
Carrying upon us Jesus death
in our bodies applied redemption
so Jesus life evident in ours
shows godly character by sanctification
This treasure in jars of clay
reveals God's power working
in our lowly bodies so frail
Jesus alive His grace in us emerging
('But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.)
2 Corinthians 4: 7-10 (ESV)
SURREALITY
the fantastic
absurd
emphasised
into
the everyday
unexpected
dreamscapes
tableaux
juxtaposed
snapshots
nuggets
unseen
throughout
yet
evident
attitudes
notions
faded
stereotype
in focus
influence
displayed
to
focus
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
The wire mesh gauntlet made an unusual whistling sound,
Before making contact with the old man’s face.
The power invested in the swing was evident by the distance,
He flew, which possessed a certain element of grace.
Blood splattered all over the jester, who mimicked the action,
Of the king’s beaten subject.
The clown laughed and rolled on the floor portraying the
Events with foolish special effects
The king rose to his feet and tightened his grip on the gauntlet;
It made a crunching raspy sound
Red faced he ordered “Take him away, beat him, then cut off his head.”
The guards lifted the old man, like a limp rag doll from the ground,
The king shouted “Not him the Clown you fools.”
They picked up the jester and dropped the old man with a thud of a sound
He called his trusty knights and made a decree, “Like this iron hand,”
“Scourge the curse from our land,”
“Kill every witch may it be woman, child or man”
Show no mercy until the curse is lifted to its end and from whence it began”
A year past and the curse was rife,
It exercised its power claiming a multitude of life.
The knights returned at the king’s request
“ Me Lard our efforts were extinguished, we tried our best”
“Your subjects await outside the walls,”
A great rebellion which cry, “Today the king shall fall.”
“The weak the strong, great and small,”
“Your merciless scourge in the land, for this it is your blood that they call.”
The king called for the old man a prophet,
And asked the origin of this curse.
“It has grown powerful throughout my land,”
“Now speak up old man least you die by my hand.”
The old man smiled a toothless grin,
“The curse is not out there.”
“It is here with in,”
“The curse is you my king, by your blood I swear.”
The crowd smashed the fortified doors,
and stood before the king,
“His blood is required,”
Their voices in unison did sing.
The Knights, heavily armoured stood before the crowd,
As one of them read the kings decree out loud.
An as he did so, the others circled the king,
And executed the decree, and its final sting.
They beat the king till every bone was broke,
Then cut off his head, the crowd cheered as they heard his head gasp and choke...
We run squealing into our cabin, and grab bunks.
I don't want a top, but end up on one, being compliant.
I am from a small town, and a church. Being flexible is what I do.
It is evident that some girls came together. Two or three of us did not.
I feel like we had better bond, because they are not including us.
We do, and we learn much about each other. We are all eleven.
We have summer birthdays, we secretly like boys.
We are having a great time now. Laughing.
The others begin in include us; I guess we seem more normal.
One of the girls is a bit older at twelve. She has been here before.
She warns us which sports we will like, and which ones we won't.
I know I will love canoeing, so I ignore her suggestions.
She seems a bit arrogant, but I will give her a chance.
We sit by a campfire in the evening, and everyone looks mystical.
This is going to be a magical wonderful exciting week!
Her eyes is full of sorrow
seems losing hope for tomorrow
She try to force a smile
One that never goes out of style
How are you?
I asked her silently
She just nods at me
as she sits down carefully
She fix her dress
She moves with grace
But sadness is evident
on her pretty face
I want to talk to her
want to offer a hug
I want to tell her it’s okay
And gently pat her back
As I look at her intently
I realize she’s familiar
her eyes, nose, her mouth and lips
even her hair colour
I feel attached to her
Like a friend I’ve known for long
I wonder if I’ve seen her before
And then I hear a little voice
“Mom, how long have you been staring in the mirror?”
Pale Shelter Poem
Empty and Alone
As I sit and wonder where it was that I went wrong
I see you and me
Forever
Apart.
My humility is evident in the lines I write to you
From the shelter of my bedroom
In silence
Alone.
The cold is colder without you
Here with me
In my bed
Deserted.
I struggle with the ideas of moving forward
In this world of uncertainty
As I walk by myself
Through the days
Forlorn.
I ask you to take me back in your arms
For this is a safe place
I would stay
Forever.
I will wait for you until you know
That we are meant
to be together
Always.
As if standing in the halls of justice,
stoically stood six sable souls—the sun
reflecting off their smooth feathered robed
coverings—a supreme regal sight indeed.
The eminence of the chief was evident
as he royally stood in front of the others
as they pondered the hour of decision.
No need to rush—theirs—a life-time deed
in upholding the purity of the laws of nature.
Above, glided three ebony hued comrades;
their stealth-like fashion as if to ensure
the security of the scene below.
The chief slowly approaches the case;
and hopping atop, he inspects the whole pile.
When his roving eyes met the stilled ones,
three waves of his feathered arms filled the air.
In response, the waiting five tip-toed to the pile;
the three hovering stealth-like companions
glided to the ground; gracefully, the feast began.
As the sunset closed down another day,
the law of nature had again been executed.
Colors dance on the canvass of my life
In an intricate interplay of hues
Intensifying and weakening at different stages
Fluid colors in constant motion
As I age, different colors take precedence
While others slowly recede
Still present, yet less visible
Some colors are all time favorites
Ever strong, ever making their presence seen
The color of Beauty forever captivates me
I immerse myself in this hue
Letting its brilliance ravish my thoughts
Beautifying my life in every way
Truth is another color that graces this canvas
For without it, I cannot live
I need to see broad strokes of this hue
For it revives my heart
The brilliance of the color of Compassion
Pulsating with emotions of oneness...
With the world, with all that inhabits it
It ever moves me to reach, to feel, to belong
Hope, the color of dreams
For my dreams are saturated
In this vivid color
That makes the canvass spring to life
Hope, for a masterpiece to be
Passion, the most prominent color
Seen splashed everywhere on my canvass
The color deepening, ever deepening
Dark and rich, drawing the observing eye
To the wet colors that never dry
Always freshly painted
Bold, brash, audacious, alluring
Pronounced color overpowering every other shade
Passion, shows off her true self
Confident that she is the artist's most loved color
And then there is the color of Love
Capricious
Flitting
Transient
Erratic
Inconstant
Gracing the canvass now and then
Lightly splaying itself across the painting
Bright splashes of rich Gold
I try to focus my eyes on this hue
Wanting it to be evident
In every single image
In every single stroke
A tinge of gold
And yet I know
I know
The color of gold
Is “the hardest hue to hold”
I know this to be true
For my eyes brimming with tears have seen
The “dawn...[of love go]...down to day.”
On this canvass of my life
This truth is clearly displayed....
“Nothing gold can stay.”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A variation on the poem by Robert Frost, Nothing Gold can Stay
How do I measure this period in time?
as only my mind can hold it close
like buds from a rose in silent climb
to crumble through days, evoking pathos
dare I visit the shadows of this place
and search its streets of chaotic deluge
to find nothing changed only time and space
this opened door, of sacrificed refuge
to pause and reflect on this place of lights
and dance with reason of self-content
to understand this world of such delights
and know I'm bewildered is evident
to find this future beyond my concern
would deny all knowledge I came to learn
1/11/23
contest Shakespeare 2023