Following night's tenebrous sheen
on this aging lake-
humped seashells drifted on aimlessly;
I Iaid forlorn by an old palm tree
needing to connect with anyone, anyone
until turbulent waves slapped my face..
How bitter this stab of aloneness
....gripping the hidden lament without relief
and eve's naked rays were gone
upon my chilling pores...
and no one cared about my misery.
Insolent ripples drowned my grate of angst
where bleary eyes grieved like a widow:
I moaned in hushes yet not even
a restless wind heard
my internal oration, my calls for reprieve ---
begging for a timber of sound
beneath a shawl of dimming stars ,
no one , not even the silence
of a saintly breeze
cared to listen ...not now.
4th place
Season of violet grief
A day of navy oaths
The weather a dim pink hush—
ghosts of past, my muse.
I accidentally wrote a letter
scrawled on pale paper—
Guess, my June, what spills forth
when your blade slips through—
—not me, the envelope.
Perhaps a carol, yes—
or an oration (how proud I was!)—
or—
no, not that—
—perhaps just a thin red thread,
words sealed in failing breath.
Ruins of
all I dared offer.
Don’t blame me, love—
and oh, don’t fear me,
for all is said
as the letter burns—
in its pyre of regret.
Once stripped of my Kazakh identity,
Mockery was all they gave my country.
But we will still claim our liberty,
And we will still achieve our sovereignty!
We are a proud and gifted nation,
Masters of seventy arts, with fiery oration.
Others don’t see the depth of this land,
Our piercing strength in our gaze so grand.
Each pulls their cart, their own way leading,
Yet truth I must speak, the moment pleading:
Let us not become foes to one another,
May the unity of people remain unbothered.
I saw the youth ablaze with fiery might,
Their will unyielding, hearts burning bright.
Kazakh youth perished, their dreams undone,
For no true leader rose to lead as one.
WHEN SILENCE SPEAKS
There’s a role for quiet contemplation
No need for loud opinion or speeches
More is said without prepared oration
Sensing the depths that stillness reaches
And understanding that silence teaches
Confusion, if a peaceful state is broken
Yet hesitation is no more than a token
From loose lips, perhaps a secret leaks
Words are just words if left unspoken
One should listen when silence speaks
Male wearers it makes women by half,
Even the man with a bulky calf;
In my office won’t be excused staff
Save female ones, “You save me your scarf!”
Quickly change their sex some men can,
Wise debates on what one should wear ban;
No more hunger to answer A Man:
Gender-blind has been a Dick Dan!
But does Dan need this decoration
That does affect male restoration,
Kick-starting female adoration:
Dan’s great speech: a female oration…
To masculinity a scar
And Dick Dan has with it gone quite far:
Lots of Scarf in his scarf-tired car;
Round his neck one with a wench like star.
If only I could
Write excellent verses
With finest words whose meanings
Would tug at your heartstrings,
Make every sinew in your body
Tingle with excitement,
And your hair to bristle
As if a heavenly presence
Had brushed your skin.
If only I could
Extol your virtues
In delightful tones
With unforgettable melodies
And lyrics that would remain
Long after they had been sung
Until they were etched
Deep into the very fabric
Of the hearer’s soul.
If only I could
Paint your likeness
In a dazzling play of lights and shadows
In pure colors that would fuse
Into the canvas until your form
Seemed to breathe, and your portrait would defy
The long-held dictum
That beauty
Was in the beholder’s eye.
If only I could
Declaim my love for you
In an orator’s voice
That leaves an audience spellbound,
Anticipating each rise and fall
Of syllables in measured intonation
That engulfs the hall
And makes the crowd,
Even after the oration,
Cry for more.
If only I could….
March 28, 2023
Among 1st Place
This or That, Vol 17 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
The Rodents’ Bane
Sphynx cats
jinx rats
A Most Unlikely Scenario
Shorthairs
court bears
Cat Catalogers
Shorthairs
sort wares
When Cats Go Formal
Bombay
Prom Day
Tranquil Lost Feline
Calm stray
Bombay
Detain the Cat
Waylay
Bombay
What Gangsta Cats Do
Rag Dolls
Snag Molls
A Cat Oration
Birman
Sermon
The Howling Sensations
*Main Coons
Feign tunes
Wet Mongrel Cat
Soggy
moggy
Sept. 15, 2022
for a Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
*Note: This is name for a strong, large longhaired cat that is also very sweet. Maybe it's only known about in the USA??
“My Daddy’s profession is the highest!”…
bragged a boy during oration contest
“…He soars up above the sky
and that we cannot deny---
since he does fly as pilot in his best.”
“Indeed, my Father’s work ranks the greatest!”…
boasted next lad with his gesturing zest
“Pilots seek him --- not defy
they can’t lift their heads to sigh
favoring his barber’s cut, so finest.”
With our heavenly Father*, we are blest
Being His children, lovingly dearest
Never bidding us good bye
Lifting faith, trust and hope high
Settled in His compassion’s gracious nest.
*Ephesians 1:3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ. (Third stanza added on March 2, 2022.)
March 2, 2021
4th place, "Two Limericks - Let's have some Fun!" Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin; judged on 3/19/2021.
A surrender by the face of its brightness,
Worried legs avoiding the closest:
On once-proud shoulders, a pronounced lightness
And self-biting lips pursed not in pretext.
A restraining of body movements
By one willing to make improvements
Cheap tasks stretching beyond momentary completion
Deigning to outlast a fever-pitch oration.
One’s eyes no more can challenge lingered gazes,
Either pair easily picking suspicious praises;
A head never failing to fly low,
One’s heart shedding much of its accustomed glory.
It’s a dreadfully itching right eyelid
That won’t make light of what one did:
With storming considerations of an open confession
But also its ruins of a rosy profession!
This is, by and by, guilt:
A mood in which, we’d half-wilt,
Thriving when one’s conscience isn’t rusty
Or normal human feeling frosty…
Or the pages of one’s Bible dusty:
One’s morals still standing bolt upright
And one strives to do all things right.
Don't stop me now, on a roll my friends
Destined for greatness wearing my Depends
As I accept congratulations
Squirming during my oration
Hope no one notices and my speech transcends
Black Rat;
Laying on your stomach in the grass.
Looking so alive by the ant-hill;
Looking so fine by the ant-hill,
With your shiny black coat.
Black Rat;
In silent meditation,
Dear Black Rat;
With such a fine pink tail.
Such a long, fine, pink tail.
Black rat;
Looking at me with little dark eyes;
Sad little rat eyes.
Ever open in the death stare;
Already turned to glass.
Black Rat;
So fine and fat,
Teach me your solemn wisdom.
Rotting lonely by the ant-hill.
You have just begun to stink.
Black Rat;
Lead me ever through the darkness,
Protect me from the foes that vex me.
House me and protect my children.
Teach me how to eat cheese.
Black Rat;
So much wiser than the live ones,
Speaking reams of quiet oration
In your silent meditation;
You have just begun to stink.
Black Rat;
Oh exalted leader.
Resting there beside the ant-hills
Your dead eyes full of so much wisdom.
Where is my cheese.
Should mortification
be justification
for your fortification
Then you need
a long vacation
'Judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts...'
Marc Antony's 'Funeral Oration' in Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar"
Marc Antony's funeral oration
Masterpiece of shrewd persuasion
Igniting sundry Romans' fierce desire
To douse 'noble Brutus' life with fire
I stand here in front of a fractured mirror
Tracing veined lines and blemished pores,
That in my waif-like outline I dream
About spring’s young complexion…ripe virginal
The glint of nubile aura humbling dawn's luster.
Pity this lady; she’ll never understand
How her portraits are becoming duller now…
The texture of a hollow cheekbone, a saggy neck
Reflects all the vanity disguised as anguish;
My fear slowly withering under piled rouge
Only to crack along a theatrical stage of old reruns,
Blurring eye- mascara with heartbreaks concealed
Against twilight's kept illusions.
Pity this lady, a backstage prop , anonymous
Reliving her glamorous world lost in time’s curtain call—
Within a verbose oration across a dim looking-glass,
I stand farther away, paint my famed mouth
And wave at a vacant arena,
Consumed by an explosion of stars pouring on my face.
10/10/2018
-----------------------
Contest of Craig Cornish: I Stand Here
A linguistic symphony composed of superior vocabulary intricately braided into a formidable fabric of such dimensions as to consume the accessible volume approaching a coherent and comprehensive declaration without convergence and with sufficient obfuscation, redirection and commentary to frustrate attempts to ascertain the essential conceptual content, the oration masquerading as a professional discourse, existing as virtual fluctuations of an internal vacuum that are appreciated only when recognized as improvisational performance art of which it is a unique expression of the intrinsic beauty of nothing.
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