Long Smoothing Poems
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Some were born to be show horses.
Pampered and fussed over to the extreme.
Accolades outperforming accomplishment
Living for tin-can applause.
Some are born thoroughbreds.
living for glory and the golden oats
blinders ablaze- racing through life
oblivious to the rattle of time...
Then there's the humble plow horse.
Overworked, underfed, underappreciated
Swaybacked from society's harsh gaze
smoothing the way for both sashay and racer
forever looked down upon-never any applause
bending over for the ones
that will eventually eat them....
The plow horse will bury the stillborn in the fields
and crows will give it a name-
When words build up as raging storms
When we unleash a can of worms
Such a heavy weight can't be erased
If I had seen beyond the cloud
If I had smiled, just let it go
Would the silence be so loud?
If angry words would leisurely fall
Quietly into submission to the ground
Smoothing the edges, sharp to round
Until the landing makes no sound
I wish my words had been like pebbles
Lying in a quiet pool
Where flowing waters smooth and blue
Had let them rest, let them them cool
What I gave were angry words
I should not have crossed that bridge that spans
The raging, angry river
A moment's wait to calm my pride
I would not feel it might be over
Where friendship fades to never, never
_____________________________________________
For the Contest: Sponsored By Sheri Fresonke Harper
7/3/14
The second coming of age,
is like the
softened beauty
of the color s a g e;
rich in Indian summer warmth
graced with shades and shines
of too many noons and moons to count
savvy and savory… seasoned
with salted depth and perception.
No longer a blur of girlish green...
rather,
the continuum of time,
has weathered colors;
fine-tuning mindful hues -
balancing contrasts and intensities,
blending and smoothing
the not-so-gently honed edges
of life's tints and tones.
Continuance creates a mature perspective
worthy of viewing a canvas
painted from a palette of gold and rust.
Yes,
the burnished beauty
of the color s a g e,
like the second coming of age,
is easy to take.
The grass green pigments of colorful youth
are muted by mistakes.
For wisdom gained,
the price is paid
in the aged
and ripened patina
of the color
s a g e ~
my second coming of age.
Susan Ashley
July 20, 2017
~ Eighth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Patina
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
In the secret night, where silence is surrounded by unknown eternities,
Under star-studded celestial vaults and dreams chained by the moon’s silver,
Through the poet's words, bounded mortals gain divine senses,
In an ancestral ritual, the mystery of the chalice and the boundless host.
Can you not feel the weight of eternity, poured through his words,
Like a drop of the blood of infinity, flowing into the ephemeral heart?
Can you not see the immortal sculpture, as life passes by,
Bearing smiles and tears, like a cluster of ephemeral stars?
The poet, the messenger of silent gods, brings their whispers among us,
With each verse smoothing the paths to the unknown,
Making immortality tangible, his words the cornerstone,
In a world where everything is fleeting, a dusk spectacle.
The master of shadows and hidden lights, in his heart lies eternity,
For the gods have fallen silent, and he speaks in their name and spirit,
Molding unexpressed thoughts into clear images and endless sculptures,
So that we, blind mortals, can feel the glory of divinity.
Through him, the blood of infinity pours into words, the divine body takes form,
Each syllable painting infinity on the mortal canvas,
A mirror of dreams, where we can see the faces of the silent gods,
And feel the heaviness of their desire, in sunrises and sunsets.
In the flow of his consciousness, moving like an uninterrupted river of thoughts,
Lazy mortals find symbolic experiences of the divine,
In the mystery of the sacred and the profane, through his words, eternity flows,
In a dance of life, where each word is a step towards infinity.
When everything withers and sets, poetry remains,
A guide to the essence of the eternal, a sculpture of the imperishable,
In a life where everything seems to be but a fleeting gust,
In the face of time’s mercilessness, the poet’s word triumphs, eternal.
In my old age
I thought I’d have such yarns to tell,
of derring-do when I was hale and hearty.
Looking back, I wonder now just what befell
me in those years
and did I miss the party?
Distant echoes further fade
as all the days slip by.
An aproned lady combs my hair
and tells me I should try
once more to do the jigsaw,
but I really don’t know why.
They tell me I have new friends now,
sitting in a circle, wiggling toes,
or neatly slipper-clad, arranged in rows,
we sing “We”ll meet again”
at bedtime with our cocoa,
smoothing out the pain.
But well we know, when it’s time to go,
it’s our “au revoir” refrain.
Footsteps
Footsteps
On the ground…..
Lightly
Stepping
Without a sound…..
Tears are
Falling
As oceans sigh…..
The sun is
Descending
In her eyes…
The waters stretched their surrounding arms
Caressing her precious prints with their saline charms
Smoothing her past—an exhalation at last
As legacy lavishes the flight of her path
Withering and draining, absorbed in the sand
Are the tears she once shed—no longer does she stand
In kneeled acceptance her deep pulse unwinds
As her melodious voice falters in the plague that binds
In her serenest solitude have I kept her close
As those streams do crash upon my heart-burdened coast
I listened to her sing—as the sickness rose
Like the tide’s sudden descent, oh how life suddenly goes!
Footsteps
Footsteps
Heavy now……….
Carry her
To bury her
In the ground……….
Oceans
In motions
WAVES//COLLIDE
…..Someone beautiful…..
…..…..now has died……….
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Written: November 20, 2023, For Joseph May Contest
________________________________________________
How pointless to fight for global friendship.
We scatter sand, catch the wind, and waste life.
We could gain a faint peak or bright red ship.
We slide further as shades withdraw the strife.
Despite our confusion, we hound our quest.
The sound venture perseveres to renew.
Nonetheless, the grave gateway is behest.
We grunt a hive to our shock to pursue.
Yet whose charitable tide is smoothing?
Is akin to the vast, unknown ocean.
Deep into our souls, your love is soothing.
That would be requesting your direction.
You are being heard, your palm is raised wide.
Who would be keen on an erroneous guide?
*Image of Tennyson Cross, Isle of Wight provided by Pixabay.
Forlorn Hope
Poetic Form: Sonnet
Divined amassed, thinly advance their scope
bloodlines warrant one soul's intended quest
persuades enhanced history, constants hope
pastoral guides sculptors essence is blessed
Readiness spurs insights, smoothing passion
unforeseen tests that fool-hearted, not them
their unbidden stare on death's face, cash in
pushed e'er determined, tensing a rose stem
Unchecked horses, intrepid horsemen burst
barrage relents as foe feared those affirmed
lurked rears castle shadows most accursed
chance lights an afront darken all confirmed
Bold few opinions charged submits warlords
fruition won swords gained Heaven rewards
2021 May 08
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS (May 18): Judged 2021 May 18
~~Brian Strand
*2nd Place*
This or That, Vol 2
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2021 May 13
*HMS checked 10 syllables x 14 lines.
I LOVE YOU AS A LOVE SONNET-
I want to fall in love with you more so.
My soft sonnet, you inspire me to write.
In love I write this sonnet from my heart soul.
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the vision.
I love the way you respond and rhythm,
Let me compare you to a light balloon
You are more smoothing, lovely yet so fierce.
How do I love you?all so many the ways.
I love your responsive charm, wit and style.
Thinking of your aloft wit fills my days.
My love for you is the assembler isle.
Now I must away with an intense heart,
Remember my calm words whilst we're apart.
11/25/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Join me with glee in my marvelous baby educational spree
To study human body, also called anatomy
Midst simple biology along humble theology:
Praising God* for being disease-free, praying for His nod-decree.
Tantalizing eyes I have to witness against vandalizing guys
Nose to smell the awesomely nice – oh, "wowsomely" fries
Mouth that will soon beauteously advise midst the odiously unwise
Tongue thriving for truth to rise, striving despite lies.
I thank God for a relieved heart pressure thru my Mom's care-gesture
Relaxing neck pleasure follows good spine posture
My stomach in love’s enclosure shows my Dad's hand aid-feature
Likewise, I enjoy hair-smoothing leisure midst head rub’s stature.
I thank and praise God since I can stretch and shake my quirky feet
With my parents' help, I can bend my knees as I take my seat
While they tickle my toes along fellowship-heat
Their warm love thrills me; "good day, Sweet, Baby" they greet!
*Psalm 139:14 "I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well."
October 23, 2018
Fully edited on January 18, 2019
1st place "Baby Face What's You THINKIN'" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr.; judged on 2/5/2019.