Long Wasted Poems
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for Shadows Of The Valley Poetry Contest -sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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the wasted years of running free
becomes a drifter in the shadows of the valley
..in the shadows of despair
a place built upon rage and anger
that sees a soul descend
in the darkest hour the lord of light is consumed
the darkness, a prowler, until all goodness is surrendered
becoming a prisoner trapped inside his own purgatory
...the abuser of grace, arises
standing at the edge of darkness
sees the revelations of madness appears
unveiling itself to a conscious mind
the alchemist within whispers laments
to the realisation of the apparition of fears
...fears that consumes the soul
across the lands darkness, sun dawns
it`s light shines...
burning nightmare beasts
along with the temptations they bring
shed no tears
...penance is no crime
yesterday's sorrows are now tomorrow's shame
the will has survived and into the book all is written
freedom is this new frontier
and sees the glow within
the chains are broken
releasing imaginations delusions
...reality sees the light
flying upon an angel's wing
soaring into skies of blue
over rainbows made from El Dorado's gold
eternity....empire in the clouds
An old Norwegian folktale called Per Gynt was written into a five act play by another Norwegian, Henrik Ibsen, which he called Peer Gynt, to which composer Edvard Grieg wrote his Suites to accompany the play (some of my favorite classical music). This suite of poems is an interpretation of what three of these compositions accompanied in the play itself. From Grieg's Suite #1 op. 46, though the order was switched in the play and reflected here. Further explanation is exhaustive, I doubt a Crown of Sonnets could do it justice. The suite will consist of a Couplet, a Quatrain, and a Haiku.
In the Hall of the Mountain King (Couplets)
What is this nightmare - this cursed place
where evil troll has evil face
and shouts and yells louder and louder
to slice me up, then boiled in chowder!
This place of goblins, gnomes and trolls
is made of me ... the King's my soul!
The Death of Ase's - Quatrain (his mother)
Dear Mother, we are not of the same brand,
on the one hand a lullaby, on the other a beating?
What wasted time on the cusp of love,
when instead, from that love retreating.
But now, I look upon and kiss your cold brow
and find peace in that always troubled face;
I see hope there, to someday find the same -
for this mortal life I gladly will replace.
Morning Mood - Haiku
on this desert morn
robbed by friends and sought by beasts ~
a peaceful sunrise
When I was a lad growing up in the small village of Wakenda, I would sometimes sit on the back porch and watch the stars move across the night sky. I would listen to the tune of the birds and farm animals calling to me every morning. A choir of a hundred different voices singing their praises to a new day. I spent my days doing exactly what I wanted to do. Now I am retired, and we moved to the hills in the Ozarks of Missouri. I sit on the back porch and watch the stars move across the night sky. I listen to the tune of the birds and farm animals calling to me every morning. A choir of a hundred different voices singing their praises to a new day. I spend my days doing exactly what I want to do. Why didn’t I leave well enough alone?
Why did I chase life
through so many wasted years—
just to get back home
Courage comes from facing your fears
•We fear tomorrow at the expense of today
•Fear can confuse the mind; fear can paralyze the heart
•Fear about tomorrow costs us the joy of today
•Fear can conquer evil; fear can falter in its own shadow.
•Fear causes the “fight or flight” conflict to arise
•Fear can cause cowardness in the face of danger
•Fear can make the danger seem greater than it is
Courage comes from speaking truth to power
•Whether that power be political or ecclesiastical
•Power can confuse knowledge for truth
•Power can know a problem but offer no answer
•Power can see pain in people but seek no cure
•Power can seek to eliminate its adversaries
•Power often seeks domination and manipulation
•Power can see need but be blind to want
•Power corrupted is power wasted
•Power can see people as fodder for its use
•Power can become immune to compassion and care
•Power can lie without feeling moral accountability
•Power often wants admiration rather than confrontation
•Power can do good; power can do evil
Courage comes from trusting in God
Proverbs 3:5–6: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths".
Psalm 62:8: "Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge."
Joshua 1:7–9: "Be strong and very courageous.
Psalm 91: 1-2: Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”
John 14:1. 1 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.
Matthew 6:25–27: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your life?”
In Jesus, we don’t have to be afraid, for perfect love casts out fear
Ma'am, it's time. I have to accompanied you. I can't be late either
and you can't miss the meeting either
we are expected. and the Styx is quiet, without a storm
See, young man, I will stay a little longer.
all my life I waited for my prince to appear. on a white horse
I can't leave right now. I would feel wasted. abandoned. ignored
Ma'am! time does not wait. everyone has a moment of hesitation, but at the end they cooperate
I can not. I have no more tears to impress you. I'm empty, dry,
but I'm not ready yet. I can't give up. I decline. My Prince…
It's a deep night. Nobody's coming. Ma'am, please let me to help you
The horse is old and blind, but even so he feel your insecurity
so I didn't wait in vain. thank you young man
Sometimes my pen glides ever so smoothly down these old and worn out pages
Where blots of an ink of careless treading left me anxious and vigilant for my next line of perfect cursive.
A carefree child once scribbled her thoughts and plans like she has endless pages in her wake
without any fear of what the world holds...
not realising that monuments of an established law would bind her dreams on mere canvas.
Now the tip of my pen tread these pages like how we, barefooted, would tread on broken glass
For every blunder would lead to a page wasted or a broken nip
And we're running out of time...
They say I still have many years left
But the sands of my hourglass run so fast gobbling along with it all my thoughts and dreams that ends up in a cauldron of useless mess.
Is all this intelligence I'm blessed with a curse?
I know nothing at all.
Many a fruit I have tasted,
And wasted,
Many a fruit I have flirted with,
And soon broken up with.
Many a fruit I have refused a dance,
And never given a second glance.
Many a fruit has scent that still sucks me in
And its perfect skin forbidding me to throw it in the bin.
My tastes have matured now,
And Guavas in a can, are all I desire now,
My only regret I did not taste a Guava in a can sooner,
And plant my guava tree a few years sooner.
I will be ever grateful to the one who first put fruit in a can,
As fresh guava down under,
I may never taste, try as I can,
As fresh guava never seems to cross our border down under.
Never mind I have my strawberry patch,
And the peach trees will bear fruit next year,
Never will fresh cream be too far away for me to fetch,
And as there are always ships at sea full of bananas,
Never will I have to say "yes we have no bananas".
are you with me, you drowsy pen?…this world is a
freakin’ distorted place. we are scribbling
like mites in pillow fights: dirty nails we have become ,
contagious as micro germs trying to make
sense of all the fake reality clinging to sleek fuzz,
pizzaz and all that jazz… ‘cmon, we are all fragile.
we’re all gonna die. so why be drugged by
penning a Lindsay Lohan kind of intoxication?
look at you, ink! swiveling like whims of tipsy lines.
far too many blots on your made-up tip…
geez, those pop culture digs scanning cosmo hours
with whisky gulps of idle entertainment, you know,
the scratch of feeble hands sucking materialistic
greed. do you think you’re rotten smart in hurried
thoughts of instant gratification? this is for real, for real.
and listen up: have you written about the will of
a spirit for true love of self, of flowers and others?
nope, not the kind you feel when intoxicated phrases
are riddled with booze shots… life goes on, every second,
every written word. there's something
unspeakably beautiful about it all...if only you and i
can share the flow of some kind of wonder without greed.
you’re wasted! pik-bam-boom, take my alcoholic
breaths to the top; see that there is no before or after.
just one rare, pure “ now” moment: damn it’s for real, for real…
our lives are a good freakin’ thing, isn’t it? hey, you’re dozing off !
©
by nette onclaud
for Elliott Bowe’s Drink Drunken Pen
Hand a pen ,break the silence.
Let the world hear our voice.
Write a song, create a poem.
Hand the tool for our future.
This is the high time to act, to react.
Too many people, too many lives.
Had wasted and gone so fast.
Through terrorism's act,attack.
Hand a pen, tell the world.
Children are suffering around the globe.
No food, no shelter,no clothes.
Will there be a future,where is hope?
Nation stands over nations.
No clear visions, full of illusions.
Poverty seems has no solution.
Industries causing pollution.
Hand a pen, speak your mind.
Royals are ruling,ruining lives.
Dictators,parliaments,ministries.
Why they can't solve these miseries?
No division, fair consumption.
Spread the wealth in proper distribution.
No partiality, kill crabmentallity.
Pull each other hands to serenity, equality.
Light the torch, spread the news.
This is the moment to hear our views.
Wear the weapon of restoration.
Hand a pen, make a new dimension.
Let us escape our space and time
Let mine go forward and yours unwind
And let us meet on even plain
Just for a day each others claim
Before the dawn we both awake
Aware we only have this date
To you I give what I promised death
From earthly being all I have left
The last act of love given this breath
A gift for your existence and poetrys depth
The sweet magic you spent
in shed tears
When your eyes were filled
with starlight
Found ther was no room
for surprise
As we harnessed the hours
in delight
Take me through the wind
swept storm
In the maddness that romance
entrance
In your arms so deliciously warm
Is where love hysterically dances
I'll come to you man of the maze
Through the night hours hiding
the sun
when the sunset wraps up
your days
We'll be wasted and wild
but we'll be one
And love counts no more
the years
(Collaboration between Elizibeth Wesley and John Loving III)