Long Steven Poems
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Two young, red hair ladies, were talking in a sunny afternoon at the beach, about first love and marriage. Salty residues linger on her long wavy hairs. Samantha, the blue dressed girl, was recently engaged with her fiancé Steven. Grace, the red dressed girl with a scarlet parasol, would be the bridesmaid.
The wedding will be celebrated in four months. The white dressed girl, in the background, was Chloe. She was Grace's sister, who was admiring the azure beach.
Air was imbued with the illusion of romanticism. Samantha was deeply in love with her fiance.
She wore with pride the diamond engagement ring she received from Steven as a promise of true love. Beach was a haven for the three young ladies. They visited the place every weekend since they were little girls. A sincere friendship would be felt between the friends.
Walking in the beach made me remember the romance novels that end with a happy ending. The young ladies shared with me their anecdotes, so they were painted in a canvas by a famous painter and written as a novel by a famous writer. Five months later, I returned to the beach, and found the young ladies talking about Samantha wedding.
For Red Parasol by Alfred Glendening Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Second Place
6-21-2016
Dynamic Biblical Duos:
Adam and Eve:
First created pair.
Forbidden fruit they did share.
Cain and Able:
Cain was a tiller of the land.
Able murdered by his brother’s hand.
Jacob and Esau:
Twins in their mother’s womb did fight.
The wrong one got the birth right.
David and Johnathon:
David played the harp for the troubles Johnathon’s dad had.
His songs of praise and joy were the opposite of sad.
Esther and Mochadi:
Orphan Jewish girl in the land
Kept her heritage a secret at her cousin’s command.
Joseph and Mary:
Pregnant with the holiest child.
Onto Bethlehem on the donkey mild.
Saul and Steven:
Steven an early Christian of the day.
Saul threw stones to ruin his way.
Saul to Paul:
Saul did what he thought was oh so right,
Till he was blinded and changed by the light.
(to Mittens)
Schrödinger’s Cat is where it’s at,
nor live, nor dead, nor purring.
With half a chance she’ll live to prance
the worst may be occurring.
There must be something I can do
that Nature says is not taboo
to rescue this poor Russian Blue.
But if I’d look I’d lock her fate.
Dare I disturb her quantum state
when spooky action at-a-distance
could conclude poor cat’s existence?
Somehow unseen I need to see
behind that curious curtain,
where “God plays dice” with cats and mice,
where Heisenberg was uncertain.
Where large meets small, and cause effect,
where fact finds science fiction …
It boggles my small intellect,
each way I think of to protect
her has some contradiction.
Where simple seeming Maxwell’s Demon,
if programmed to assist …
To no avail, he’s doomed to fail,
he clearly can’t exist.
Where mighty minds have failed before,
what chance have I to best Niels Bohr?
Poor Einstein nearly fried his noggin
when he tried at Copenhagen.
Then, at the Solvay Congress, rambling,
suffered his cerebrum’s scrambling.
Each clever loophole that he “found”
failed, for Bohr shot each one down.
Where the world’s four known forces and all its best minds,
couldn’t save kitty lest they Unified.
So, he tried and he tried, and he tried and he tried,
still, we weren’t Unified on the day Einstein died.
Then followed footsteps, Steven Hawking.
Though he didn’t do much walking,
wowed us with his brilliant squawking:
“Black holes have “hair?!”
Could information
in pairs of virtual creation,
entangled but with separation
by a great wall of gravitation
as “hairs” of “Hawking Radiation,”
repair in Grand Unification
to spare this long-hair’s ruination?
Might yet unwritten cosmic laws
apply behind those blurry walls
to spare her furry feline paws?
I can’t remember if I cried
when I read that Steven Hawking died.
Such sadness touched me deep inside,
still, we were not Unified.
So, confidence I can’t exude.
The only thing I can conclude:
Alas, I lack ability
to tinker probability.
But I will give you even odds that all our odds are even.
This odd result results because we’ve mixed our rhymes with reason.
So be it odd to play at God … by God there’s a solution!
I have free will and will by God will out her execution.
So, by stroke of this pen I do decree:
This story ends here. Happily!
She sat huddled up in fleecy blanket
shaking and trembling, mutters to her self
it has not yet sunk in, this painful loss
that sears her breaking heart with terrible grief
A solitary teardrop falling down
She thought of the fun and love they shared
the strolls they had enjoyed in leafy woods
the way he had snuggled up close to her
his warm breath brushing her ear as they slept
A solitary teardrop falling down
Over in the kitchen corner his bowls
along with a comfy bed seldom used
she needed to put them away out of sight
yet devastated she had little strength
A solitary teardrop falling down
She wished the tears would flow healing her
yet though they trembled within her eye lids
she could not seem to release them but they stung
just one escaped and rolled down her face
A solitary teardrop falling down
this was inspired by a poem called Once upon A Teardrop by Steven Davies from Wales
the upshot constituted a figurative straw
that broke the virtual camels back
where yours truly fingered as scape goat,
who meekly, passively, and subserviently
felt the stinging crack
of wooden, smooth,
and oblong paddle and stands pat,
asper innocence, though now
(myself more than two score years
orbitz around sun) remains more defiant
for purportedly causing Roberta -
not her real name flack
and clears that blot (now a composite
of petrified spitballs) as a hack
writer of poetry, feels jilted like Jack
donning many major protagonistic ruffian knack
nursery rhyme roles, which fables never didst lack
for upstart precocious, kickstarters impish grin,
as if he just wolfed down a swiped Bic Mac
and goose that laid more than one golden egg
McMuffin running from the Giant,
with spindle shank for each leg,
and sliding down the beanstalk, which didst peg
world wide web Marathon record
suddenly the envy of Queequeg,
which way word ness
far off course from the theme of this work,
hence hold tight
to hazmat bag of poop pin jay dreck,
while poetic license allows me to twerk
intended story aye (captain...
oh captain) moost not shirk,
lemme reel yar attention
back to the classroom of missus Labosh,
hood didst whistle and perk
unbeknownst to me, my scrawny derriere
unaware what quaint, hence danger didst lurk
for letting passivity
find me singled out as the bona fide jerk
wishing Moby Dick could swallow
hook, line and sinker
with a slight even Steven crane
of his neck, every mother plucking bird brain classmate
deemed Scott free, and Chutzpah didst gain
while this smart ass wannabe took a crash course,
sans weltanschauung "Artful Dodging
Spitball Shooting Maven" in the main
quite heavy on Physics and Trigonometry as became plane.
Breakthrough begins
Where my excuses end (1)
No reason to pretend
When given a way to amend
Division was bought
Unity is what we got
Crushing all doubt
Abba love pours out
Faith in a measure
Love is the treasure
We seek in the mystery
We praise the unseen
When tares rise in me
Collected and cast in fire
Even when I see the storm
Wheat is stored in my barn
I can’t ever imagine
I might never dream
The depth of God’s love
How much he loves me
The love that is so true
So I pour out to others
footnote: (1) "Where Breakthrough Begins" sermon by Steven Furtick
(A poem by ScottM 5/7/2025,
as written while attending church service,
praise tapdig com)
Craving took over
Twisted her neck like a soda cap
The woods were silent
All you heard was the snap
Dragged her body
Through the remains of the party
She was a lonely girl
Drank herself numb with Bacardi
She confessed to suicidal thoughts
As I slid my hand up her thigh
Her shy smile invited me in
Waking up thoughts I couldn’t deny
Pressed her up against the tree
With her throat in my hand
Felt her pulse under my fingers
The thoughts I could no longer stand
To see everything inside
That lies underneath her skin
Bones, intestines
The tongue behind her grin
Tied her limbs
To that old wooden gate
Behind it is a shed
I helped build when I was eight
It houses my possessions
Ribs of animals, jars of human remains
A bloodstained shirt from a hitchhiker
I think Steven was his name
Decorated the grass
With her intestines and fingertips
Created a stream of her blood
That started from her lips
With acid
I separated her flesh from bones
Put it into garbage bags
Hid it in the basement of my home
In the shed is a piece of her
In a jar locked away
I can still hear it beating
Whenever the craving wants to play
Love feast by Steven Hudson
I have looked upon too many scarred, sullen and hard faces these many days.
Loud, crude, gruff men who take and push and fight.
This ship has run its course, sleepless, tossed about,
Every port and harbor, sea and foreign land.
My companions smell and to look at them would make you turn down.
I’m pretty sure I have a tapeworm and my piss is the wrong color.
So my love, when here at last I see your face,
You’re smile, piercing eyes, and silky long hair,
To gaze at you now is a love feast to behold,
And from now and forever you will always be…..
The most captivating golden retriever I have ever seen.
I have a child;
I have some children;
And though I didn't
Didn't co create them;
Always be there when they cry;
My children have beautiful eyes;
I choose to honor;
You to should honor;
No, not the negative behavior;
Just continually LOVE them;
Always be there when they ASK WHY;
My children have beautiful eyes;
My child,
My children
they have beautiful eyes;
My child
My children
Come from our Father God
He loans them to us;
So adults all around let's get it right;
Embrace and hold them
As adults let us all raise them
teach them to love
look into, look into their eyes
teach them not to hate
when it's all said and done
and we are gone
Do you want to answer to God
And say you've done your best
When your best not good enough
Allow yourself to trust in Christ
Always be there when they cry;
My children have beautiful eyes;
teach them to love
look into, look into their eyes
teach them not to hate
look past their eyes
Which are the gateway to their souls;
Love them
Believe them
Be more than a friend to them
Hold them, mold them
Tell them you love them
Forgive always... for every little wrong they did
when it's all said and done
and we are gone
Do you want to answer to God
And say you've done your best
When your best not good enough
Allow yourself to trust in Christ
Always be there when they cry;
My children have beautiful eyes;
5/22/19
A dedication to students..
~Steven David*Taevyn Watson*Breckinridge Parra*
Jaden Stabler*
Tiaharraylnn Cole*Christian Wood*Jaden Sorensen*
Colton Turek*
Andrew Moffit*Joe Williams*Ronnie Cross*Amber Barnes*
Phoebe Klimek*
Luis Novelo*~
I came across an old cemetery today while exploring,
Full of broken, toppled headstones and tangled weeds;
There was a deep hush, a whisper and a sigh, I felt tears,
My tears were falling for long dead souls forgotten.
A tree's roots are entwined around an old, tilted stone,
In loving memory of my husband George, born Feb, 1882;
Oh, George you were loved very much once upon a time,
God took him, but he will not be forgotten, engraved.
And I am of the age of Aquarius too, just like you,
I love violets and everything purple, and I am so mellow;
Oh, George were you a deep thinker, sensitive, creative,
I get hurt easily and I always want to help people.
Be at peace George in your decay and ravaged grave,
Listen to the twittering of birds this bright sunny day;
Promise, promise, I will be back to lay some purple violets,
Forever now, dear soul, you will dwell in my heart.
Now, be still George, I heard your whisper . . .
____________________________
April 28, 2016
Poetry/Elegy/Whispering Old Cemetery
Copyright Protected, ID 16-783-587-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Any Poem Written in April 2016
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
_____________________________________________
Written for a contest
sponsor, Steven Henderson
First Place