Long Skilfully Poems
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Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet?
Would you love me if I wasn’t a poet?
Writing between the rhymes
Building beautifully a wonder from words
Sculpting skilfully
What in you
A mesmerising mirth stirs..
Would you love me?
As I dip my whole
In the depth of the silence of words
And have you hover
In the width of my world
Impatiently, passionately
Pursuing the pounding of my heart..
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
The realm I reign
Rarely do I take reins
A time, attaining the zenith
Dazzled and dazed on cloud nine
One other time
Lost in the dark of my tower
Seeking sensibility in a hyper sensitivity
And once in a while
Daring dimensions
Deafening fright
Willing to sip
From the ocean of valiant hearts..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t own a magic wand
And the sacred power to wave on words
Weave a fairy tale
Of true love at first sight..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t master the mysteries of words
Compose a meaningful music
With every beat of the word
And paint portraits and landscapes
From the realms of fantasy..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t for you
Mount mountains
Dive seas
Dig caves
Plough lands
Plant trees
Wake the sun to stretch her rays
And brighten the chambers of your heart
And when you crave for a dream
I would for you
Draw a fascinating golden hour view
And choose a rainbow of colours
Just for you
To behold the glow of the twilight..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t erase “memory “ from my glossary
And have you the sole ubiquitous muse
Stop the flow of time
As I have you in my verse and rhymes
And reach for every single word
And turn it into a rare gem!
Just for you!
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Silent One
September 4th, 2023
About the end of times when
Carts were hauled by Shires,
Coal was king and homes
Were heated by open fires,
A seemingly huge dark figure
From my early childhood days
As he drove his horse and cart
Through the country byways
From village to village to village
Delivering sacks of coal
To feed our coal fires, then
Each home’s heart and soul.
One hundredweight of coal
Measured into each heavy sack
Which they’d hoist off the cart
Onto a waiting broad back
To be carried to the coal shed
To be skilfully slipped
And with ease of movement
Very carefully tipped
Not a black lump wasted
As it piled on the coal heap8
For money was tight
And coal wasn’t cheap.
His horse patiently standing
By each house’s kerb side
Waiting to be led on or
For him to climb up and ride.
Hours they must have spent
Huddled on that cart seat
Muffled up for winter’s cold
Or soaking up summer’s heat.
One day suddenly, progress,
The Shire retired out to grass
The second hand liveried lorry
Shelter behind steel and glass.
Still a hard dirty job but warmer
As the world moved slowly on
King Coal was coldly murdered
And the job was virtually gone.
Just a figure from history
From a simpler, slower age
Not even meriting a foot note
On a social history primer’s page.
Is there a niche in time and space
Where a coal man and his horse,
Waggon piled with sacks, eternally
Trundles his once essential course
Squirts of pure wool are soaring above,
I wallow in the stand of a Neolithic sky,
Actively growing while being inventive,
As a kaleidoscope, mind and body sway.
A striving act is akin to reviewing a theory,
A wish that is an abstract burden of making,
I feel lifted as it drifts toward me gently,
Usher me to land if I quite am reverting.
A wish is just the onset, the first domino,
Ponder or crave, then heave your space,
Stars that twinkle always flicker modulo,
And every plea I convey is given a place.
Those goals lead to two distinct tracks,
Ways of rest are shrewd, fixing then fealty,
When I rally into the azure, I ignite sparks,
What will my wish be? A flying start for me
My intention might be for a world treaty,
What if hunger did not exist in real life?
What toward kids who never die hungry?
What if all plagues abort without strife?
Or that hate crimes would simply fall?
Conflicts and lives lost would subside,
One star sparkle stronger at nightfall,
Its silver hue gleams the dull sky wide.
A well, a vague wish, or a ripped toy?
Sunk ship? An ideal at our disposal?
Mystery? Renewal? A dupe decoy?
Holy jar? A hope? The nip of an apple?
The candle wish was agreed eternally,
Aside from one, may all wishes come true,
Thus, you will have plenty to aim skilfully,
Fine fortune is a result of effort subdue.
2nd Place Contest Winner
Written: May 30, 2022
If only my wish would come true Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
In neatly lined up pots in a row
Flaming red and purple balsams in clusters grow
A visual treat to adoring eyes
A haunt frequented by the bees
Do not need much care, but may fade
If not allowed a little shade
Flimsy they are of delicate stems
With light green leaves of serrated hems
Planted in my skilfully laid up yard
They invariably make me glad
Gleaming in the first rays of the sun
By their simple beauty, my heart they won
When the flowers wither, pods appear
In time, for self dissemination, they prepare
When fully ripe, the pods explode
And seeds fly as birdies from their nest to explore!
Thus Nature’s ways are so amazing
Even in plants is an inherent training,
For seeds to leave the comfort of their pods
And find their own space fighting all odds!
___________________________________
June.2.2022
~Placed First~
Purple Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
??Wisdom of Solomon 13:11 KJVAAE??
[11] Now a carpenter that felleth timber, after he hath sawn down a tree meet for the purpose, and taken off all the bark skilfully round about, and hath wrought it handsomely, and made a vessel thereof fit for the service of man's life;
??Ecclesiasticus 38:27 KJVAAE??
[27] So every carpenter and workmaster, that laboreth night and day: and they that cut and grave seals, and are diligent to make great variety, and give themselves to counterfeit imagery, and watch to finish a work:
??Isaiah 41:7 KJVAAE??
[7] So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, saying, It is ready for the soldering: and he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
??Isaiah 44:13 KJVAAE??
[13] The carpenter stretcheth out his rule; he marketh it out with a line; he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh it out with the compass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, according to the beauty of a man; that it may remain in the house.
??Matthew 13:55 KJVAAE??
[55] Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?
??Colossians 2:14-15 KJVAAE??
[14] blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; [15] and having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it.
Nine moons buoyant in your matrix,
Silently alive in dark mystery,
Unfathomable, unsurpassed -
And so close to that heart -
Skilfully, wonderfully, fearfully –
Wrought in dark sustenance,
Warmed by love par Agape,
Then at water burst for will to breathe,
You, on death’s borderline, that will to be,
Blood, flesh, cords and life draining screams,
To hear a cry and feel those limbs,
When so and pain forgotten -
Your eyes so eagerly search,
That infancy, that joy unbound –
So alive and more beautiful than:
A thousand seasons of Spring,
A stretching verdure of matchless flowers,
A resounding harmony of singing birds,
An unmatched beauty of anything beautiful,
Tissue cut and then to suckle born free,
Safe in your arms of strength as eternity,
And only those arms can be -
Tender, Loving, Caring -
That even for the Tomb Born Logos –
The Ancient of Days by Wisdom chose -
To miss not this miracle –
For deaths’ Conqueror to -
In that secret place as yours to be –
And she, Mary was deemed blessed –
And yes!
As much as she, so you too –
Of all races, tongues and tribes –
To you Tender, Loving, Caring ones
My soul sings my spirit’s words –
From a throbbing heart,
Flushed by this miracle –
“Woman you are beautiful!”
My lovely grandma taught me how to bake apple pie
I helped her in the kitchen from when I was knee high
Old family recipes were written down in a book
Cakes, cookies and pies were all so skilfully made
When grandma gave instructions I quickly obeyed
We’d pour over the pages deciding what we would cook
I recall those childhood days and I often look
At its stained pages and the knowledge she conveyed
Baking was such fun
Precious memories remain
I remember happy times
Every time I bake
I put on her blue apron
And teach my son how to cook
Fictional write - Sadly I didn't have a maternal or paternal grandmother and feel I missed out so much as a child
Contest Three Style II
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Rules
1. One couplet : A-A
2. One stanza with rhyme scheme: A-B-B-A-A-B
3. One sedoka: syllable count: 5-7-7-5-7-7 (Checked with how many syllables)
09~27~16
Bringing love and peace
Yes bringing to the table,
All that’s good for understood-
you're hot to trot and able…
To gather all that’s right
use it for what’s just,
Then share to make all healthy
when meeting you just must…
For you are kind and all so fine
skilfully real neat,
Assigning you great work to do
to strengthen all the meek.
Prosperity your destiny
potential from the birth,
Live this opportunity
to better all your worth.
With peace and love from up above
you're worthy and you're wise,
To speak what’s true connecting through
for others utilise...
Positivity, Enlightenment
encouragement, support,
Advancement is enhancement
via optimistic thought.
Actions are essential
though powerful the voice,
Teach to those so others know
our will is given choice….
To bring love and peace to increase
greater higher virtue,
For future great to serve ones plate
when presently we nurture.
We are living in a world where many have lost touch within their primary senses
denying the truth where hell is skilfully cruel judging and condemning righteousness
It presents itself as the conflict fighting against sacred rights
primitive by nature its intentions towards reasoning is diabolical
when life began we started of perfectly innocent
Influenced by others the world began spinning around morals
temptations began to get a grip naked hiding behind sin
it all began to form through dishonesty forming this blindness
Caves of a beggar always telling lies hiding in darkness
the general rule in line with conduct lowered by these standards
shows how false science can clearly leave its mark deeply rooted
Just because you have a p,h,d when promoting evil makes you stupid
wisdom has a way of educating those willing to learn right from wrong
The honeybee skilfully builds her cell.
She graciously secrete the wax,
Labours hard to store it well
And blesses others with the honey she makes.
The honey bee blesses each hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every shining flower
And sweetens hearts everyday.
Her smiles sweeten
When the heart get bitter.
Her words sweeten
When the heart get sour.
She is the Honey bee;
Garnished with mellifluous teeth;
Whose personality is like that of a Queen bee;
Whose presence is as a cool stream to weary feet.
Oh, come and have a sublime taste of honey;
A gift you can't buy with money.
Come and behold the eyes dripping with honey;
From morning until evening.
Dedicated to Oyindamola Tayo