Written: November 3rd, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
************
winter roses stand
beauty is not warmth, but will~
to grow in quiet
snow burdens petals
not enough to break the stem~
just enough to coach
wind omits beauty
the rose still remembers, though~
how red riddles white
roots in ground frozen
whisper to the sleepy buds~
"pain is not the end."
sunlight, slim as thread
festoons the thorn with gold lace~
a crown for those brave
rose has no accent
its quiet song is louder~
than a thousand springs
Thunder only comes calling
When the fervor has has hit it's zenith roar
And one forgets to remember
He omits testament is not testator
Nor he grantor of municipal adage
Until it seems, always, mid-December
Once the cold has set in and the timbers
Are far too wet to stoke and more
His children have all but left therefore
Nothing left
Appalling, yes, and nothing more.
They said this strange man ate his squirrel:
such a lovely arboreal rodent, a creature that nibbles.
First he eats its legs, then its body,
but omits the heart. That is precious.
What? We do not eat a squirrel?
Boiled, broiled, roasted or raw? With sprinkles?
There are strange people who choose
certain creatures of fur. But never one that gnaws?
And those spirited, spunky sprinkles?
There are strange folk who resist a pitter-patter,
with or without a squirrel, whether it be boiled or broiled,
even roasted or raw - without those sprinkles
and, of course, those spatters.
There are funny folk.
They don’t eat an arboreal gnawer?
And do we think of Gnawer and his ark - with squirrels?
So odd how we ponder
on creatures of fur, with or without
those spirited, spunky sprinkles.
Brains do the oddest of things.
(20 Sep 2024)
Let me start without an apology
Because you, honey, need not be in apiculture
Every second you bee apiece apiary
As I fall for your rich honey droop apace
Take me to space if you must but never cause apathy
Because you dug in my heart with a never closing aperture
And when in your presence I fumble on words like one with aphasia
Darling the gospel you preach to me makes you an apotheosis of an apostle
Sometimes your therapy I take like you were an apothecary
Or maybe you are but again you make me aplomb
Knowing fully well you're the apostrophe
That omits my imperfections like an apparition
Let me make an appeal
Because if I don't all this might not be applicable
So I appreciate your every applause
As I apprehend
This love you shower me with a posteriori
Come with me to St Matthews cemetery
a flock of culpability
What are red faces for ?
The incidence of pious Rosetta
At the graves edge
he was returned
An avalanche of prayers
omits forgiveness
A life unworthily lived
unmatching the reverend
The bats resume their business
The uneasiness of the pews
Feathers are the sinews of hope
Their curved plumage
thinks well of an English Hill
can you work out quickly
what this script omits?
I'll drop a hint to assist you
so you don't fall to bits
your vision is focusing
upon this wordy scroll
mind working frantically
taking a mighty toll
I will not laugh at you
if you cannot fathom it
a unit of 26 is missing...
just look at what I've writ
if this conundrums solution
is simply far too obvious to you
I will bow down to your skill
and colossally high IQ!
3 Jan 2023
Lipogram poetry contest
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Light fading across charming mountains,
Sunlight bold, hasty indigo clouds…
Whimsical, wistful raindrops, drizzling
Upon brilliant colors, crisp gold and auburn
Shadows laughing through the firm vows,
Sanctifying inhabitants who normally trust
In spiritual passions, soul stirring - moods
All that brings doubt to its finish and faith
To its arising – world in accord, goodwill
Commonly known as His abiding favor, His
Inspirational truth – a Savior who is living
Proof that God brings His offspring sanctions
From His word, the vision – the wisdom
The amazing conviction that warrants souls
With the ability to know what it is…
To honor a Savior who is worthy of all our worship
A Savior who is worthy of all our adoration
A Savior who is worthy of all our gifts – unconditional
Gifts from truthful, trusting souls, who know…
His glorious light glows from within our own souls!
Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
January 1, 2023
A lipogram is a composition from which the writer systematically omits a specific letter or letters of the alphabet; in this case, the letter chosen to be omitted is (E)
Do your fingers ever write faster
Than your brain thinks of the words?
You discover incomplete sentences
That do not mean what you thought.
You find that you’ve omitted a verb
And so, your phrase has no action,
A modifier left unsaid, no traction.
In a comment, or, in writing a blurb
Proofread before sharing what's wrote.
As for you, I can think of instances
Where inadvertent omits were hazards
More often for me, they’re a disaster.
Written April 1, 2022
[Verso-Rhyme]
What we badly miss
When we don’t at all kiss
We can’t neatly guess,
Until denied spouses audibly hiss
And to their partners simple request deny their “Yes”…
Until even the shadows vanish
Of true marital bliss
And a couple’ true-to-form, a mere varnish:
Until on your most priceless treasure
Your hurt partner begins to piss
And only at his or her leisure
Omits to do this…
What you could oddly suffer
When you sparingly kiss
Should never be on offer,
As sometimes it does shatter peace,
Never thinking it should doing so cease.
Emile’s set a poetry contest
in which the poet omits one vowel
It’s hard to write this exacting form
yet I will not throw in the towel!
So I’m tasked to write a poem
I’ve got myself into the groove
to try and write a brilliant ditty
and hope the sponsor will approve
I started a Shakespearian sonnet
and I grappled with the rhyme
My poem didn’t make any sense
badly penned work is a crime!
I threw away my first attempt
now I’ve grasped my silver pen
determined to enter the contest
alas, I’m devoid of ideas again
If I write of the spring season
and lambs gamboling in the field
With the mother ‘ewe’ watching them
my missing vowel can be revealed!
Hoping the poem can be removed from contest as U is not one of the permitted vowels
06/11/21
I'd find nirvana, if I could,
on distant coast by lapping bay,
far from all strain of daunting day.
Sustain no drama, as I should,
an ataraxis of my mind
that is a spot I'd wish to find.
If I ask you to join, you would
find full placidity flows not
from finding an idyllic spot.
Unlock this truth that long has stood:
it's good to know tranquility,
pursuing kind civility.
Concordant harmony is good;
it's worth our diamonds and bankroll
to own it in our inmost soul.
I'd find nirvana, if I could,
sustain no drama, as I should.
If I ask you to join, you would
unlock this truth that long has stood:
concordant harmony is good.
Lipogram
A lipogram is a composition from which the writer systematically omits a certain letter or letters of the alphabet (in this case, the letter 'e').
Constanza
Created by Soup's own Connie Marcum Wong, a Constanza consists of 3-line stanzas of 8-syllable lines, where the first lines of each stanza are monorhymed and combined to form the final stanza. The remaining lines of each stanza are rhymed couplets.
An age of convenience
Brutal and unyielding
Omits true compassion
Relating to human rights
Treating the unborn baby
In a murderous fashion
On the pretence of being "pro-choice,"
Named as such to promote an evil agenda.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2019.
22/8/19
Brexit Sonnet No. 41
‘Austria, not Australia!’
I’m Mad to the Max, brimmed full with deep disgust.
So who’s on the bike and who’s in the car with the grunt?
Who’s the guy that is good, is it he that is heavily trussed,
Or shot in the leg, or dragged down the road for a stunt?
This violent dystopian vision we’ve seen acted out,
Let’s not play it for real with choices we now have to make.
No leather clad hero our Minister with Exiting shout,
His workaday car, no vibrating V8 doth shake.
Rockatansky’s our man, whilst beastly beast doth prowl,
This Brexit Road, paved not with gold, but hate.
So maybe Mad Max is not our future foul.
So dear Uncle Max, tell now of future fate?
‘Your Sound of Brexit Music will end just like mine,
In a world maxed on evil, where the sun omits to shine.’
©Keith Murphy
Confetti trickles like running water.
Trickle, trickle, trickle—
I hear trickling...
Sound barrier insulation omits tones.
The party carries on.
Bits of pieces remain stagnant.
But I can still hear trickling . . .
May 28, 2017
Cant lift my eyes beyond half past seven anymore
Nay! I do not wish to see...
Past hyphens and inverted commas
Lies and more catastrophe
Ambidextrous clock with appalling brevity
The second hand throws away society
Caught on the hook of an apostrophe
Hit and run humanity
With what shall I beseech thee?
Amix with soot and grime am I today
I painted me....! I mascara'd me!
Not this... warpaint for smudges
A discard of society
Sunk in dank mediocrity
Left to dream on the periphery
Sacked and sold with all their niceties
And pensioned off into obscurity
Cascading through the fingers of our hands
Groans the running Namib sands
Camel plods along ignoring facts
Dali's clock is molten wax - a mystery
Certain as Terrabyte and Megabitten memory
Omits to call- forgets to visit me
Sub Categories
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