The Crown,
Where roost the winged idyllic dream
Diadem of power and the eternal gleam
Worn aloft the heart and mind
Marking such wayward vessels refined
Raising awareness of a being ascended
Today and henceforth befitting of a throne
No longer the stuff of mere flesh and bone
But the whim of divine law descended
Transcending mortal throw
Beacon of the people's heart
Banner of the people's mind
Flagged Pinnacle of their highest hope
The almighty triadic circlet of kings
Where sleeps the rarer compassion of loving queens
Carrying the weighty burden of prosperity
Bearing it ever forward and into eternity
At twenty-six, a gentle flame,
A golden heart, a glowing name.
With grace she walks, with light she stands,
A scholar's mind, with helping hands.
What once began with drinks and cheer,
Evolved into a bond so dear.
Not bound by blood, but something more,
A kindred soul I now adore.
She’s laughter in the darkest night,
She’s wisdom when the path’s not right.
An honour student, bright and true,
Yet humble in all that she’ll do.
You're brilliant, bold, and brave through all,
Yet still you answer every call—
To help, to serve, to be the one
Who shows compassion is never done.
Through tears and talks, the highs and lows,
She stayed—when few would dare or chose.
Understanding, patient, kind,
A rarer soul you’ll never find.
Though "fake" is what the title reads,
She fills so many real-life needs.
A daughter not by birth or name,
But loved all just the same.
So here's to her—this heart of gold,
With stories shared and hands to hold.
A special place she’ll always own,
In this old heart she calls her own.
Scott W
The Gardener
I thought, could I
shape the clouds,
Those ones on high,
With hand and mind
What greater blossoms then
would come to eye!? Beauty of
some rarer orchid, or rose?
Or just the tip of my protruding
nose, sniffing for scents where
they are not…? Botany my
heart!
It's easy to find those who'll sprint,
To the end, with a heroic gleam,
But to run the long race,
With a steady, patient pace,
Is a rarer and more noble dream.
The Crow
(A lone voice whispers)
No happiness for me and my best friend
Tony the pony today
For we lost our beloved muse
At 2 pm
One minute she was in full view
Perched on our old Oak tree
Watching us with beady black eyes like a true devotee
Then just like the uptake in poetry
In the 21st Century
By the younger generation
We were old news
She must have flew away to better things, we both thought
As we walked home
Past the village post office
Thinking of our old muse
With the crow like black hair
Lost to us forever
After getting us addicted to reading writing and listening to poetry
Underneath that old Oak tree
Now flying alone
Somewhere
Out there
Looking down below
For a new home
Like it once had
With Tony the pony
And me
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Foundation.
Is poetry like a bird flying around looking for somewhere new to land, after introducing others to its mysterious pleasures?
But as the newer generations get addicted to gaming platforms, and social media.
Will it eventually find landing, harder and more and more rarer?
People love the rolling ladder in our store.
We use it to shelve some of our rarer sets of books.
Many people who enter tell us how great that ladder looks.
But to me that ladder is much more than a 10,000 year old innovation.
It is a symbol…a gesture…a stairway to ones imagination.
Our store is filled with people who climbed the ladder of their imagination
and when they stopped to take a look…
Wrote down or drew everything they saw
and shared with us their book.
And we get to go along with them as they climb that ladder
all the way up to the moon…
As they ride whales, befriend dragons, or ride in a big balloon.
As they talk to animals, storm castles, feast with queens and kings…
or from the comfort of their bedroom visit the land of wild things.
Yes, the bookstore is filled with stories other people wrote
as they climbed the ladder of their imagination…
and we love to read their words and visit the lands of their creation.
But the ladder in our bookstore stands as a reminder…
that our own ladder of imagination is with us all the time…
standing proud and tall and ready…
for us to begin the climb…
Seeking and saving the lost have been parts of your story.
Passion, death, and resurrection must pave paths for glory.
How could you be rarer than all if you don't die and rise?
For the crimes of the souls of the world, you must pay the price.
Did your disciples want this? They wished you to be the king.
You knew, yet, blood should overflow from you like a wellspring.
Your ways were unique in the world. They could not understand.
Your mocking at and flogging at could they ever withstand?
The grain that springs, grows, and bears fruits stays within the earth's womb.
The one who saves all should sleep within the womb of the tomb.
Fulfilling the laws and the prophets should be done by death.
By dying on the cross for all, you should spread your life's breath.
The gift and the giver—you're the lamb who took sins away.
Kingdoms and kingships of this world could not stand on your way.
O’ I sea! Kaleidoscopes pageantry beige dew of specks of sands
Sun shines powerful midst the high day mass;
Mine eyes sees is a smooth and rounded pieces of glass;
Sparkled weathered and polished by the waters, waves and sand;
Mine eyes spies as it sees from the watery sea;
Distinguished smooth, rounded shapes,
Frosted surface texture, and unique color variations debris;
O’ I sea! The color of sea glass deepens none phosphate;
Also known as beach glass;
By the action of waves and sand;
It is a popular collectible beautiful catch;
And can be found on beaches all over the world lands;
"Genuine sea glass” Common colors include by lots;
Of white, brown, green, and blue, while rarer colors like red, orange,
And yellow are highly sought after by collector’s connoisseurs;
Tumbled in the ocean for years broken glass tumbled broken rounded pretty to the amateur
7/17/24
Sea Glass Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Take me through what you desire,
Those memories that burn like fire,
All the qualities that you admire,
And all those dreams that backfire,
Walk me through all that pain,
Those monsters you tried to tame,
All those secrets that are aflame,
And all the demons you can't sustain,
Lead me through your darkened mind,
Those hidden boxes that you've designed,
All those issues you've yet to find,
And all the times that you were blind,
Show me how many times you tried,
Those quiet moments where you cried,
All those times you could have died,
And every moment you broke inside,
Walk me to the pits of your dispare,
Those people that pretended to care,
All those times into nothing you'd stare,
And every betrayal that left you unaware,
Lead me to that trap deep in your soul,
Those desires that are as black as coal,
All those chances you should have stole,
And every nightmare you can't control,
Now take my hand, let me show you,
That special light, shining through,
All those storms, yet stronger you grew,
Overcome and battle, it's what warriors do,
You have not an idea, not even a clue,
Your rarer than stardust, if only you knew.
Here I sit
composing juices spurting
spewing, gushing, splashing,
dripping every wall!
like Mount Etna awakened
my mind erupting with poetic
genius
like Roman Candles
on 4th of July
up hops lover, the cat
he tangles my hands
mounts the keyboard
demanding, purring
I say, "lover, have you no
respect for art, for my
exquisite, rarer singular mind producing --
he meows
needfully reminds me
"nothing more important than
petting" --
Sitting all alone,
sipping tea, munching a scone;
elderly woman
in a quiet coffeehouse
looking for conversation.
"That was delicious",
she says to the young server
seemingly busy.
She tries to make eye contact;
the young one averts her gaze.
It's like that most days...
staring at windows and walls.
Human connection:
a rarer commodity
for those who so need it most.
Today is the 29th of February. It only happens every 4 years.
Your Soul
By Michelle Morris
29/02/2024
I am rare
I come by every 4 years
Reminding you of special moments
To celebrate them fearlessly
You are rarer
There's only one of you
Your Soul's memories remind you
That you are born to live your Truth
The Universe keeps expanding
New stars born while others die
And through it all your Soul moves
A blessing through space and time
© Michelle Morris, 2024
Four-leaf clovers are rare
Commitments are rarer
I found her a clover
She's sure it's an error
Today's not one of my better days
Even I have 'em every so often
Believe me mine are rarer than most
Will be chuckling even in my coffin
Sure hope it doesn't freak someone out
And another kicks the bucket as well
A single coffin for the price of two
It sure would be cramped as hell
Don't mind sharing but just imagine
If this sweetie was from the opposite sex
Some hanky panky would likely ensue
Some real rockin' 'n rollin' by heck
Mourners would scatter pretty damn quick
As we try our damnedest to get out
Nobody's staying for the final word
Lowering us they'd play “Twist And Shout!”
What silly nonsense can you imagine
That this could actually take place
Certainly they'd give us a box of our own
Or at least place us face to face!
Rad non-duality
Is simply the notion
That there is no one:
No separate one
To do or to think..
In other versions
That one seems to
Linger..albeit in
Rarer and rarer forms
To finally disappear..
A story of lingering
And disappearance
Playing in prime time...
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