Scents of sea, historical townships and seafood
Thrilled like vacations not just a dinner destination.
Each trip to Chesapeake Bay staid that fine mood.
As we rode, my family's blend got on its finest silly
Making jokes, singing, bro and I loved Dad’s riddles.
Eyes all turned somber passing the barn site where
Destiny once heard JW Booth say, ‘useless, useless ...’
Crackers, hammers, picks, butter sat on brown paper with
Randomly scattered crabs piled high excited my family.
Although not novices, Dad would inspect our dissects,
Brag to Moma about how strong his shellfish genes
Swam, huh?
A community of poets,
from all over the world,
with cultures, beliefs,
and faiths, though different,
can participate in this contest
contributing their viewpoints.
As a common platform,
it treats amateur, professional,
famous and budding poets alike.
Inspired by the flawless poems
written by the luminaries,
the novices try their hand,
so innovatively, giving colors
to their thoughts, feelings and ideas.
Encouraged by the comments
posted by the fellow Soupers,
beginners, through their poems, tell us,
how to make our lives so sublime.
The saying, “A poet can see
what the Sun can’t”, seems right,
if we glance at the poems of every Souper.
If we venture to peep into the Soup,
poems of different genres,
as if soldiers doing march-past,
parade before our eyes, at one place,
quenching the thirsts of
the readers around the globe.
His workshop looked neat.
Unlike many others who prefer dusty feat
His tools are arranged in order.
Within a tool-line with a border
He took one at a time.
And placed back in a manner sublime.
Many novices around him he had
To learn from him, they were glad...
Put Youself In Their Shoes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Placed 1st
______________________________________________________
It was late August, during summer break,
We went to our grandma’s village called Snake.
She had a small house beside a big lake;
She was known to people as Mrs. Blake.
She liked to live in the village alone;
There she loved to live a life of her own.
In her little field, corn seeds, she had sown;
That time to its full size the crop had grown.
Around the field, there was a mountain range…
There we went for harvesting for a change,
Not expecting anything in exchange.
As we were novices the work looked strange!
We worked since morning till evening untired;
The art of harvesting we had acquired.
Our work in the fields everyone admired;
The children of the village got inspired.
After the work, we returned from the field;
People welcomed us with smiles unconcealed.
And honored us by giving us a shield;
To them our whereabouts grandma revealed.
Picture: 3
Date of posting the poem: 8/16/2023
Some days are soft and pretty, like pale lilac
Others - cold as ice and dark like charcoal black
While some days preserve your peace of mind
Melancholy takes over some, leaving you in a bind
Today, your high spirits might be serving the perfect afterglow
Fears, rage, and uncertainties might hold your soul hostage tomorrow
One day, you could be imagining yourself on the final stepping stone to success
Achieving that dream might feel like boiling the ocean on the next
But that's life - a carousel of perspectives and sentiments
Some training the novices, some draining even the toughest presidents
Here's where you remind yourself of how you made it this far;
About how many bad days you fought through without a scar
And how you didn't ever surrender - being an unsung superstar
So, collect these triumphs to build yourself stronger than ever before
And remember - you must live the bad days to love the good ones even more
Everyone thinks they can write a poem
Like almost everyone has a story to tell,
And many think writing is a way to fame
To them, I say with sarcasm, “Oh, well!”
Talented writers are like match to flame
Words and phrases flow like a stream,
And even after, require thorough editing
Separating the gasp from the scream.
Far be it from me to go about discrediting
Sincere efforts of novices and fledglings,
But reading new “poems” can be daunting
With aspiring poets trying out their wings.
My advice is practice, practice, practice
Then show your work to family and a friend
If you are met with smiles and approval,
Pay attention to what they’ll recommend.
Poetry Soup is an excellent place to begin
For “soupers” are friendly and helpful,
They will be gentle and kind, I have found,
Helping you get your feet on the ground.
Written August 18, 2022
Never Neglect 2022 Financial Goals
Miracle Man’s Opinion
12/29/2021
It was that time of year, while thinking resolutions,
we surveyed our problems seeking possible solutions.
We thought anything’s possible, if together, we had a plan,
We made goals not wishes covering a long term span.
On one bathroom mirror I once listed these goals,
both were reminded daily as each played our roles.
We checked net worth yearly, leaving no areas gray,
still thinking early retirement at an opportune day.
But early retirement would require more than saving,
so as novices we started investing money made slaving.
We understood that risk was commensurate with reward,
so we invested weekly in those things once explored.
Soon we were investing in things having more risk,
checking progress monthly storing on a floppy disk.
Often things went against us and didn’t make money,
but we stayed with our goals until they turned sunny.
The stock market is like baseball, some days produce doubt,
“You win some, lose some, and some are rained out.”
God has blessed us greatly and we’ve learned a few tricks,
enabling both to retire early, me at age fifty six.
*Image of Boys Become Buddhist Novices by The Asian Age.
The Dry Umbrella
I must recreate myself, foremost, strides hold best, I feel energized,
totally wandering by my lonesome, amongst nature I did stray,
abruptly, I felt perturbed, I forgot to pray, I just realized,
rapidly the sky, reignited, my umbrella too, not ok.
2021 August 15
Forecast assault finds escape from clouds
Inclement mergings sign paper in silver
Falling endeavour from a Heaven endowed
Immense amassing released with rigor
Swept sheets of net beaded curtain search
Momentum saturates parched pasture
Stage dim when naive characters rehearse
Mammoth roles next act has parts for
Novices devise novels with nurture of rain
License to listen for unscripted spirit
Ripens chapters via brimming quill sustain
Built where subtle begets significant
7th December
- Conception -
... because it rhymes with 7 -
- check my running theme...
He says he won't leave office
Even if he loses, we must be cautious
Bodily if necessary
Big Macs, orange hair
Plus a spelling book for novices
Great pianists play only some keys in a song, quite aware of the "others"
Only novices will hate the black or white keys, or ones they do not need
Do you know music is both sound and silence, foreground and background?
Flying is booming
planes are crashing
everywhere, anywhere, anytime
What is safe about it?!
men and women locked in a faulty box
young and old, profs and novices
trapped with their dreams
slashed and burnt into ashes
yet it's exotic, yet it's the fastest
while the world is losing its finest
it's not mere accidents
it's more accidents
most times, it's a miniature fault
the engineers never say it's elaborate
perhaps to disarm the blames
and then, retain business
on the blood of those who pay for the business
but it's always the black box
that bears the brunt
a lifeless machine
of the deaths of hundreds
in a twinkle of an eye
so lets take it away from the gigantic box
or instead paint it white
let the engineers replace the small box
with a life who can accept blames
and go to jail
for letting innocent souls be buried
in the graves they never envisaged
COVID-19
A Sequel To 9-11
Written: by Tom Wright
10/19/01- 4/3/2020
During trying times,
We often search our dark lonely passageways.
Finding scant light
To help us through our days;
As faith's novices,
We often consider that sight
With anguish, fear, and utter disdain;
Faith, prompts us to believe the glow at tunnel's end,
Is our ray of hope, not the last train?
“He who has health has hope,
And he who has hope has everything”
Arab Proverb
A lovely lady beguiles a luckless lad
Of unwitting others she might have had
The fairest face may be foul of heart
Deft deceit is how now it shall start
Like fated moths drawn to the light
Novices can't tell wrong from right
This lady then connives confusing witch's what
Spins spells that do convince what is not
She conjures him to shirk sacred duty
So sure he's blinded by her beauty
She coyly coddles this beamish boy
His twisted thinking in frabjous joy
He peers deeply down into her soul
Seeing darkness finding blackest coal
It hearkens back to Eden's first sin
Stirs silent shadows sunk long within
Beware that all's not as it seems
Beauty's illusion can change what it means
Purpose or pulchritude which will impress
When next we witness a damsel's distress
Ash
Existence has turned into ash.
The day has become night;
There are no stars in the sky
And the chapel rings no sound at all.
Everything is sad in my world.
The haunting voice of the man with the scythe;
There is no light in these darkest of times.
No butterflies; only flies.
The train slowly rolls along the lines.
No people to be seen;
Is this all a bad dream?
Or a place where I have nowhere else to go?
I am left hopeless without my hope.
There is smoke in the air;
The smell sinks into my lungs.
No radio message; no song to be sung.
Just a requiem written on a wall;
Graffiti art spells out ‘A lifetime is so short.’
When I think of my time, just a second in creation;
Another second of life, a final second and then an ocean,
Where all is sinking away.
Everything is lost to never be seen again.
At the bottom of this ocean there are only bones,
Of those who sailed; they never made it home.
Princes and pirates;
Novices and navigators.
None know the answers;
Nobody to say see you later.
In the end all things they must go…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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