ego recounts
fears surmounted
yet counts not grace
I’m like, “Yo!”,
and he’s like, “Woh!”,
and I’m like, “Good to meet,”
and he’s like, “Yeah, real neat,”
and I’m like, “Jungle sucks,”
and he’s like, “It’s big bucks,”
and I’m like, “It’s the pits,”
and he’s like, “What a ditz!”,
and I’m like, “Where’s the beer?”,
and he’s like, “Why you here?”,
and I’m like, “I got sent,”
and he’s like, “Excellent!”,
and I’m like, “Let’s shoot pool,”
and he’s like, “That’s way cool,”
and he’s like, “You from Alaska?”,
and I’m like, “Nah – Nebraska”,
and he’s like, “Go Huskers!”,
and I’m like, “No tuskers?”
and he’s like, “Had a cull, for food”,
and I’m like, “Radical, dude
(In Paris in 1904, Lily - deserted wife
of composer Claude Debussy - recounts
her suicide attempt among the statues.)
What do you do?
I couldn't bring myself
to write a "you're untrue"
type letter. It wouldn't do.
They're coming
back from Jersey now,
he and his fat old woman.
What did I do?
How did I let him down?
I would take him back
in a heartbeat,
despite this indiscreet
and ugly business,
the talk of the town.
What did I lack?
Next Wednesday marks five.
If I'm still alive,
I'll pass it alone.
He's got his old crone.
How did it come to this?
How did I miss?
He begged me
to be his wife.
If not, he'd take his life.
What does anything mean?
I didn't have a plan.
Just insupportable pain.
I wandered about in the rain,
nursing the revolver in my purse.
I passed the Madeleine
and Strasbourg, in black,
and knew I wasn't going back.
Between the Obelisk and Brest
I held the damn thing
to my chest.
The rest's a blur.
I woke up here in the Hotel Dieu.
They said it's lodged,
the lump of lead,
behind my heart.
It has to stay there.
Far too near
a vertebra to operate.
At any rate,
I'll wear his souvenir
until I'm dead.
The Mirror is my forbode
It shows fragility in my face
but my mental self preservation
still resides
I am dancing with light
Rim and Refractive light interludes
bringing her reflective nature to fore
I am rewarded with both fear and delight
But I come without tears
Questions come to me
What should and could I have been
An Academic or A Police Officer
but my mirror comes without preconceptions
I am a drowned Man
The ghost of the future
Unthinkable odds descriptive recounts,
The Venus Flytrap, U.S.A, amounts.
Unique to Carolina's, north and south,
triggers sensory hairs in its hinged mouth.
Small insect or arachnid alerts trap,
then leafy draws down close up tight till snap.
Carnivorous plants like soft and sober
subtropical wetlands southeast seaboard.
The Venus Flytrap is the most active
of such species. Sweet nectar's retractive
luring potential prey into its clout
closed-door policy, check-in don't check out.
Some Venus Flytraps make place most hostile
bug-free surroundings are most possible.
Or nearby country lanes and quaint front yards,
are the Eucalyptus Rainbow, streaked trees,
found in Southeast Asia island countries.
Two hundred twenty-foot tall tree safeguards,
its ninety-four-inch smooth orange-tint trunk,
growing in the lowlands and rainforest,
wood makes paper and cosmetics cherished.
It's pale green, red, grey, and puce, a slam dunk,
breathtaking wonderment countryside greats,
eye-catching kaleidoscopic spectrum,
arrangement stretched far away, no breadcrumb.
The advocate of nature illustrates,
through collective documents and accounts,
unthinkable odds descriptive recounts.
Do you think I can save all ships in distress?
How wrong you are! Times when I sorely pressed,
Times when my beacon was snuffed out of its glory.
Oh, I can tell you many an adventurous story,
Exciting exploits on the tumultuous and stormy seas
High waves span all around me, ugly with a heavy breeze.
Still, there’s one I would sincerely like to show,
Although it happened a long time ago.
The Greyhound had a young master, rich and mean,
And he dared cross the sea, oh what a scene.
The winds were high and the sky was overcast
Waves were high and terrible. The ship could not last.
Aboard the vessel, I saw the master of the merchant ship,
Carrying slaves and other goods, was a doomed deplorable trip.
Above the dim of wicked waves, clangs of iron I heard,
And screams intermixed with every offensive word.
The man drenched held to the mast, knelt and prayed
Let them be saved, he would renounce his trade.
Years passed and the man gladly his faith he did embrace.
He vowed he’d fight slavery with his “Amazing Grace”.
The night sky sways,
Like a cobra
And ensnares me in its web
Bidding me to dream of
The eyes of the one who waits for me
In a heavenly abode
Too magnificent for me to even dream of!
The night sky lays itself out
And recounts to me
Of endless poetic odes,
All written in love drenched ink and
Each one more melting than the other
Having me glide down in ecstatic lanes
Breathless,
At the mere thought of how deep
Must be the eyes of my own love poet!
In its silence,
I hear its songs being played,
Solely for me,
Songs so empowering that they push
Strength in my lonely heart
Bidding me to want to live, even if
Neither this world nor this life
Shall ever be mine!
The night sky hides from me
That which I yearn for,
My love, whose deep and dark eyes
Reflect the bottomless fathoms
Of the abyss in which I was thrown in,
And in its shades
Do I passionately wish to indulge
In uncontrolled acts of sin
So that the love that flows from me
And the one that gets thrust in me
Reaps the admiration of one and all
Merely by just being recounted of it!
She leaned on her stick like the Tower of Pisa
Her bones, porous and brittle, might break any day
She’s all alone, her husband dead and gone
Her only son, years before, shot down by a gun
Sombre shadows now darken her path
Still there is a rare glow in her eyes
When young lovers’ clasp and their fingers twine
She happily recalls the time she was with him
She lived a life of love, coloured in enduring tints
Looking back, she has no cause for remorse!
Her spine’s bent, unable to straighten itself
Still there is a rare glow in her eyes
She oft recounts her youth’s glitter and glow
That takes her back to life’s bygone splendour
She lived content, her tasks as wife and mother, fulfilled
Now she is a garment no longer fit to wear
Will soon be reaped by the scythe of fate
Still there is a rare glow in her eyes
Now that her days are numbered,
Before her, the sole image of a beauteous form
The loving hands of God waiting to embrace her
This aged pilgrim focuses only on that goal in view
To the grave she quickly treads, never to return
And there is a rare glow in her eyes!
Placed First in the poetry Contest
Strand's (1054) Poetry Contest
absence of sound is the deepest void,
where silence reigns farthest spots,
in that silence is heart beat of thought,
swirling colours of hope, mist of dreams
the din of noise like a turbulent gale,
sweeps away benevolence of such purity,
seedlings of truth germinate in quiet,
when eyes are closed and mind at rest,
when breath recounts the value of life,
mind remembers the time that is lost,
time that only clocks the material,
because in the void there is no time,
so void it was when it all began,
void it will be when it all shall end,
between the voids is myth of presence,
absolute reality is total absence of all!
find that void that binds us all together,
in that void is silence and voice of God!
Premier contest winner (6)
written 8/08/2021
The Void poetry contest
free verse
Unseeking Seeker sponsored
CHOOSING A BOOK
Every book in the profusion on our shelves
Tells a story that invites us to engage
Draws us with wonderment to turn the page
But yet more, recounts some truths about ourselves
Seeking new diversion for the darkening hour
I surveyed the library for my selection
Saw named categories - large and small confections
And discerned the genres readers most devour
Not of endless peace and love to lull the mind
Nor of sweetness and of light the favoured theme
Though we claim to yearn for heaven as our dream
For the longest row of books was labelled: CRIME
While we may deplore environments precarious
They provide us with an endless fascination
(In observing this I make no deprecation)
We embrace them if not first hand then vicarious
Thus let’s not choose total safety as our vice
With an anaesthetic cloud the chosen medium
That could be a state of unrelenting tedium
Since the food of souls requires a dash of spice
For the human spirit has a deep desire
For adventure and a life that is replete
With challenges and perils to defeat
And become the hero that we would admire
3 May 2021
The clarinet waves touched the moon.
He walked like a rooster in the moonlight,
bewitched by the music and the light. The
caparisoned elephants swayed their heads
to the drumbeats. A dozen half-naked virgins
danced around a bronze devil. “Human smell!”
Everything vanished in the blackout. That
escaped fisherman appeased the dark deity…
With a wavering voice and goose-bumps,
my wizened neighbor recounts thus the
myth behind the coastal festival. I enjoy
the false beauty. There is no analyzer in
his thinking system. Superstition is highly
inflammable in his illiterate inland. Such
beliefs flourish here in the thick Fantasy
Forest, where the reason rays never fall.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
Dem Tiff Our Pikin
Child Trafficking
Her echoing screams
pierced the night
unreeling an impending woe
rousing every slumbering soul
prompting a sudden madness
The other sits then strains
looking out with earnest yearnings
scarcely seeing the distance
streaming out the tears
remembering many sorrows
as she recounts her story
This one grows weary
as her mind wanders off
overly flustered
by the seemly misty dust
stirred by roaming feet
scantily clothed
barely holding on
bemused by this troubling reality
grasping weakly
to her unbroken will
The other held on to fate
even as she alter her faith
squatting with a furrowed face
staring blankly at the beaming sun
regurgitating their last words
visualizing her lost world
I remember this day as if it were yesterday
Red lips, Red dress, White smile painted across your beautiful face
Your dark eyes spoke kindness laughter and joy
A heady combination for the devil to destroy
You took life in a stride
Leaving sadness, tears and disappointments aside
Your voice resonated with happy recounts
Even in your last breath, sickness couldn’t taunt
Oh yes, it tried but failed
You were too positive to let it assail
You laughed when we cried
You lived while we died
Beautiful Marie
Goodbye
Languishing within seed was a gigantic tree,
interned through genetic code by the almighty,
furtive, stay buried, to withstand time’s vagary,
ever can human tasks equal this mystery?
streams of ants, leaf flags,will not pause till job done!
Moon shines bright and white, travels over dark night sky,
year recounts seasons as earth spins around the Sun,
streaks of lights like meteors, stop! admire! firefly!
tiny pollens make fruits, invite bees with nectar!
eggs with flimsy shells! but withstand a heavy storm!
rivers hold million lives, flowing miles, mountains far,
innumerable are these wonders out us to charm!
each of us like specks of dust in this universe,
souls unseen tied to God, creation so diverse!
2nd placement
written 05/Dec/ 2020
reformatted to 12 syllables for the contest! 12/12/2020
Life’s Mysteries acrostic poetry contest
John Hamilton sponsored
14 lines with abab, cdcd, efef, gg 12 syllables each line!
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.