Long Severest Poems
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The mat outside my door says folks are welcome.
How many months will pass before that’s true?
Though some who make predictions have great knowledge,
they've nothing concrete to support their view.
This epidemic spreading through the nations
has changed our lives. Each day seems more surreal,
but my small inconveniences are minor
compared to heartbreak many millions feel.
I ache for those whose loved ones have been taken
by this pandemic and those gravely ill,
the ones who risk their lives each day for others,
and those who lost their jobs and can’t pay bills.
I feel for working parents and the children
who never failed a class until this year,
those used to being taught inside a classroom,
now home, on I-pads, due to wide-spread fear.
I praise those who give time, supplies, and money
to those in need. Such times bring out the best
in many. Volunteers prove pure compassion
brings joy and peace in life’s severest tests.
*UPDATE: Our parking-lot stay-in-vehicle services occurred a few
months back. We're back inside, but some haven't attended since March.
Date: April 4, 2020
Contest Title: Quarantine Poems placed 1st
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
December 11, 2020
entered in Nina Parmenter's It Feels Surreal Contest
Hippy, could I say? Or rogue, rascal or roughneck?
Who, his and lives of others, does knowingly wreck;
These are 'born with a silver spoon in the mouth', sure,
In their mind and heart, yet, are these noble and pure...?
Though looked respectable, in verity, spoiled brats,
They hide from honesty like rats from frenzied cats;
Magnificent meals they majestically host,
As though accomplishing austere missions they boast...!
Wreckage, sabotage, torment, torture, loot and kill,
Watching others dying inch by inch - is their thrill;
Fighting against the good, is like playing football,
Their hearts never melt seeing severest death toll...!
As any association that gets started,
With principles noble and goodness wholehearted;
Bullingdon Boys too had objectives virtuous,
Living of which gradually grew arduous...!
17 March 2023
Bullingdon boys Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
I remember that day, my friend when you said: I will lead,
I left my leadership as a tree untimely leaves shed;
I was happy indeed, just like holding my father's arm,
What's more happiness than that of knowing there is no harm?
Such was my true existence, as fine a fluent folklore,
None gains it; none loses; everyone is in highest soar!
You might remember that day when you needed assistance,
And me rushing to your home as haste as an ambulance!
You sent me with tyrants, who I never knew in my life,
My friend, are you in some mythical realm of fluting fife?
When you commanded me to kick, I did not know what to do,
In severest of wars, crooked techniques, we never knew!
When you turned a battalion against me, I simply thought:
My friend is a warrior; he's learning some tricks for his art...!
Where did this high-headedness come from, I do not know, yet,
Like the beautiful stories of the fights old ever said;
Where did they start? Where did they end? All seem mysteries;
Yet, such is, today, of all great glamorous stories!
I know, like cattle, I worked plowing sowing,
Putting manure, irrigating, and caring for the plants;
As a potter molding the mud and making new,
Or as a builder raising structures brick by brick;
You are ready to harvest; as though the owner,
Unthinking what role at all you had in the labor!
I do not regret yet; I go on delightfully, rather,
Just with the sheer joy of your internal genuine pleasure;
Does the scaffolding feel pained to be redone?
Doesn’t it, rather, feel happy at the construction?
Does it not lie patiently until that day dawns,
When does it meet with the luck of being used for other plans?
The building may smile and laugh and say,
It’s on its own it stood up as a high scraper of the sky!
The crops might not remember the laborers,
Nor the pitcher might its potter, yet the truth remains…!
24 October 2021
The High Road Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
My constant fall during my boyhood,
(Between age of eight to nine), stood;
A concern for my father who thought,
There’s something lacking from my part;
Proteins? Vitamins? Calcium? Iron?
He did not know what could be done,
Balanced diet, he thought, might end;
Making bones and flesh greatly blend,
I ate, slept, woke, coyly played around;
Like a calf untied with happiness abound,
And fell; Lo, there my father had to feel;
Has the illness not got a proper heal?
He did not relent, yet; increased the effort,
Though, within him, he got a little hurt;
A strong young man of royal decorum,
Was what he wished to see in my bosom;
He did not give up though he was upset,
He knew strength within children gets set;
It’s then he saw me learning to rise,
Amidst severest of falls, with no cries;
He, slowly, left me to rise from my falls,
He’s happy for this; success this he calls…
06 December 2021
All for the black liquid underground
Stealing riches fact to face
An elitist group of people
an illumatti condemns a nation falsely
without just cause or evidence
to back up actions or such vile deeds
against another race
Now for me that shades the colour
Shadows of their rotting souls hidden agendas
sending the rest of the world into chaos
creating hate and sickness when poverty stikes
speaks volumes to one's heart and soul
a disgrace to modern day democracy
going backwards
Shame on your war and genocide inflicted
Pride based on space filled with filthy lies
Sending hundreds of thousands to death
deceiving people in this modern day
Hitlers with blood on their hands
Justice has not been served
as the shoe is on the wrong foot
Bogus trials executing witnesses
Aired as snuff videos
A hanging barbaric truth
for a world to see the demon at work
Soldiers torturing prisoners and Rape
The break down of law and order in peace
They who should be prosecuted
under high treason nothing less
Facing the severest penalty
of this world and it's many lands
Countless women and children
have died at your ugly hands
Pride people of this modern world
see your weakness and beast
As suffering is continuing to grow
Envy and greed drives that engine
God is not your ambassador
Peace and love is truly understanding
When the good speak ugly about the bad
In looking upon abominations carried out
Written: May 15, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
**********************
I’m neither harmonious nor a hidden hymn
Who said I'm wedded to whimsy, lilac looks?
to all those who gifted me
countless worries through the years.
Simply silhouettes in my rear—view mirror.
I sail past rhyming reefs,
of my quest faintly reflecting
Why should I let them define me anymore?
I make mistakes; so what?
my heart is full of love and ambrosian words—
it shines with rhapsody.
my hands can heal amidst the severest pain.
my mind envision cures
for sparkling vanilla—algae tears.
Tidal teals whisper tales that truly transform.
Despite doubts in glittering, grape-colored gales,
I'll face them as the north star kisses the sea.
I will rise and face them head on,
while history hisses at my heels.
I'll sustain my anxieties for what they are — illusions
with a clairvoyant cape and rivulets unraveled
what matters is now
what matters is my striving
what matters is the rise
toward rebellious rainbows
and what I require,
as a necklace of seashells
worn and stained with sepia
The stars have descended a little lower, to keep us —
My kinsmen and I —company on this night watch
On a newly roused African night.
We filch a little bit of the effulgence of the waking moon,
Reluctant, with the invasion of jealous clouds, their plumes
Fragile with inconsistency.
We rely on the luminescence of each other’s eyes and the trust
In our hearts
Tinder, broken by flying flickers of fireflies,
Shine through the breath of darkness, dis-virgining the chunky yolk
Of secrets and the clout of night, so corvine.
Every breath keeps us warm and frightens the monsters lurking
Around the lean corridors of the enchanted thresholds.
The heavens stare downward —witnesses to a stifling explosion of
Will; so are the crepitating crickets and cicadas —in prayers they
Egg us on, and through borrowed liturgy of nocturnal canticles.
The heartbeats in us make silenced music —loud only by the essence of
Gaiety and humming drums lightly tapped by ancestral fingers,
Helping to warm our hearts and will in the face of the severest darkness
Made lighter by the glows of slow-running lights — the broad painting of
Dawn.
It was almost at the middle of my teen-age days,
When mind, like a horse without bridle, found rough ways;
Inner laissez-faire, like snake in dilapidated crack, set in,
Legs, the way they found, aimlessly, anywhere broke-in;
Parents and relatives resembled villains, who gave me grief,
Warnings of elders seemed shell blown into ears of deaf,
Bunking classes I went roaming with loafers just like me,
At night, to movie theaters, second-shows, I went to see;
Sessions of beer and wine too spontaneously started,
Stronger among us tried to puff marijuana, whole-hearted;
Church-going and prayers got stopped, like drying streams,
Scruples troubled the nights, filling with deadly dreams;
Peripheral flamboyancy exhibited many extravaganzas,
Life, yet, often seemed empty like vague poetic stanzas;
Youth, like that of Francis Thompson, in waywardness went-by,
Till one day, boozed heavy, like a dead I had happened to lie;
Compulsory confession and conversion was all suggested,
Inner mind (as it thought) to these idiocies, protested;
It's, then, when personal monetary bankruptcy crept,
When friends, like migratory birds, my company left;
My fiancé, finding me no more glamorous and glee,
Dared to flee, with my extremely execrable enemy;
Existence, like that of the prodigal son, fell absurd,
With severest of stress and misery; insight blurred;
Bike-accident appeared as last straw on camel's back,
Hospitalizing me all my playful activities it did hijack;
With weak limps when the brink of the grave I did reach,
Wisdom, like epiphany, new morals to me did preach;
Convictions coerced me to leave Sodom and Gomorrah,
Be inspired perpetually by the enchanting divine aura;
Repented; sins confessed; I am, then, a man reborn,
Walk upright; my fidelity on the scriptures being sworn...!
17 August 2022
The Epiphany That Changed Your Life Forever Poetry Contest
Should National Security be compromised from emails of privacy?
I say to you, NO it should not, but you can blame that darn Hillary!
Quid-pro-quo Clinton Foundation during ten years of Secretary of State,
spreading lies and deceit, so much controversy did she create.
Failing to protect Americans about the nature of the Benghazi attack,
corruption to the severest degree, so much dignity she does lack.
How about the “Uranium One Deal” with the Russians overseas?
Intimidating women to stay quiet while her husband spreads disease.
She has a “dead pool list” with strange disappearances and suicides,
and then when confronted she runs like a spoiled baby and hides.
Seriously? Murdering babies at seven months in the womb?
Little do we hear about the people she has sent to a tomb!
No there’s nothing on earth that could make me earn her respect-
but after all, look who she’s married to…what more could I expect?
A Realistic Hillary Clinton Poem (it is NOT positive) Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Michael Wegman
April 7, 2019
*Awesome idea for a contest, just sayin'. Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it*
Ponds paint greenish portraits in rural Indian landscape,
Docile duck rafts do dive-tricks, teasing whale-like buffaloes,
Salmon and tilapia tickle skaters and shrunk snails,
Tadpoles and fries from deadly algae and skaters escape...
Girls in petticoats and boys with no clothes, here, somersault,
Naughty ones among these push inside those don't know swimming,
Troop of youth, like villains, enter and exhibit pole-vault,
Women, like trained washers, busy themselves in cloth-washing...
Java plum trees, posing around willows, like green phantoms,
Shadow around, frightening the passersby, late evening,
Mangroves plowing the water make noises like ghost-groaning,
Bullfrogs to their mates seem sending love-memorandums...
Sun rays penetrating the dense leaves-embroidered branches,
Crack tracks of golden routes, as though connecting to sky-skirts,
Reflects, toward moon, like images on mirrors with clown-shirts,
Summon dark angels of dusk, to play about the ranches...
Do not get dried up amid severest of droughts, dear pond,
Or get swollen up, destructing lives, puffed up by the rains;
May lives in you and around, your healing touch ever gain,
And heaven and earth enjoy your perennial love bond...
19 December 2021
A STRAND (1044) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand