of our own company if we be bored ~
we’re not in the boat which is by God oared
Lake view, far off, smooth of complexion
With eve's allure powdered on.
Man and woman, two-seated, twin-oared.
Burdens boated. To eyelines moored.
In wake of moon's syrupy-dipped glance
Of romantic binding substance
Forgetfulness, as pure escapade.
Frothless sped out on. Undismayed.
short drizzle of rain
splash window and grain
cleaning
flowers gleam post drain
clouds' gathered again
venting
rumble roused the sprain
shake hard the terrain
stirring
vibrant smidgen sward
not pleasant toward
softy
daffodils were oared
glossiest bright ward
lovely.
worker bees discord
care for hive concord
duty
1st PLACE CONTEST WINNER
The Lay is a very old French form of poetry. Its format is fairly simple:
9 lines per stanza, with a rhyming scheme of AAB AAB AAB and a syllable count pattern of 552 552 552.
Written: March 17, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND 1091 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Fresh in my mind,
After all these years.
The lullabies
He sang to me
Every night, but I never heard completely.
Roared when he sang before dark.
Soft as a feather after.
Dare I listen to one full lullaby.
Amid life, I hope not.
Years, many years would have to pass by.
29 May 2021
A TRIBUTE TO FATHERS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
BE CAREFUL
Be careful what you ask for
One day life is simple, you ask
a female colleague at a partnering
organization not to call you “doctor”,
“professor” and such, then she says
your name the way a symphony orchestra
tears into the finale of a spirited overture
by Tchaikovsky or Rossini and suddenly
your feeling like the primus pilus, the
first violin, the anchor baton, the broad-
shouldered stroke in an eight-oared shell
or the seminal man with genes of genius
in his jeans: powerful, confident, perhaps
dangerously exposed – a burden you
don’t need
If you’re only doing business,
let formality play its role!
Black, Blue’s dream of knowing
Today, eyes heavenward, an unclouded
blue unto eternity. Look up. Swim
this fathomless sea far as perspective
can carry. Leave behind L.A. Leave used
shores brown as inversion’s earthbound air. Out
past even the strongest of gulls. Beyond
the reaching dust of wings, beyond soundings.
Here, no news of polluted bays; no news
of consequence of run-off. Treated
effluvium of the massed means nothing
to us oared, masted with eyes unbroken.
Night, quiet eddy of the day’s blinking,
is not the domain of dreams for nothing.
Here, eyes unfocus fearless of shipwrecks.
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com/
Cat waked up early
brought hook and line at the sea,
and oared to hook fish.
It missed Geometry,
then, science, prose and poetry,
just to catch some fish.
It oared back for miles,
went home and school with prime smile,
'coz it hooked some fish.
~ This poem is written in the 8686 syllable count style of one of my favorite Emily Dickenson poems, 'I Felt a Funeral in My Brain.'
'pon roiling sea a fierce storm brewed
waves crashed within my veins
fueled by heady winds, they pursued
to drown my life with rains
With tympani beat, thunder roared
bold lightning flicked and flashed
we pulled, we pulled, oh how we oared
with nature's ire we clashed
Then came a clamor from astern
our ship had split in two
in my veins, swells still pound and churn
until the moon breaks through
Calmed now, the vile tempest from Hell
sky riveted with stars
Man holds no power to dispel
nature's wrath when she spars
~ For Chris
I read the words on the little screen
without any thought, without any feeling
they mean nada, nothing to me
that door closed--no reopening
doors I close without a pause
not to make you feel you had flaws
not a vendetta, I'm not your cause
if you can read this, you know who you are
never an answer to any of my dreams
a one-oared boat on a quick stream
remember way back when once you screamed
a little overboard.. a little to extreme
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