Falling in love is easy
Staying in love is hard.
Healing is believing
you will be healed.
Faith cannot be seen
but it can be felt.
Democrats are so intolerant
comply or die.
Prayers and thoughts are power
a nation united with them can heal.
Hate s quick
Love is slow.
The red clay is thick and the earth thirst
rains bead off and flow away into the creeks
stubborn soil wont drink.
Growth is slow for the prairie
but still a beauty in life that survives.
Wondrous grassland dotted with wildflowers
a pale moon and a canvas of night stars
The dawn and the dusk brilliant colors brush the sky
Souls remain embedded in this land.
There is much beauty in simplicity.
Trudging down the same path
Present equals past
Red clay
My problems outlast
The runes have been cast
Astray
A delayed forecast
Emotion outcast
I failed
I, looking in the mirror yesterday,
witnessed distorted eyes replacing mine;
and, too, the lips and nose, as if a sign,
seemed bent crooked, misaligned in some way.
And, as I, squinting, gazed on that display,
an unheeding hand groped at the outline
of the coldly reflective glass confine.
I watched it slowly mangle the red-clay
body which, lifeless, answered my dead stare.
Tearing tripe from stomach, and from breast
the heart, those fingers worked maliciously,
dismembering each inch of skin less fair.—
I know not who it was who flayed my chest:
I? or that demon called Society?
Red clay clings to the heels of the lost,
Drifting through streets where the past still lingers,
A heat that hums like a preacher's pause—
Heavy with memory, thick with regret.
Bourbon pools in the cracked-glass dusk,
As magnolia ghosts whisper through fences,
Their petals wilting in the weight of time.
The train wails lonely across the river,
Carrying ghosts and gamblers alike,
Their debts unpaid, their voices drowned
Beneath the hush of cypress shade.
Cicadas chant their dry-lipped hymns,
The neon flickers, the jukebox groans,
A hymn half-drowned in static and smoke—
Somewhere a dog howls at nothing at all.
And the night, thick as molasses, sways.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
red clay muddy creek
crab grass eating brown bare feet
willow launches dreams
Take a look
Read me like a book
Fill my brown pages
If you find them empty
Write in me feel at ease
Make me happy sad good bad
I’m a mirror of your imagination
Like an Etch a Sketch
I’m easily reset
I’m here for your emancipation
I am the art of your heart
Paint me if that is your spark
Speak me if you have winged words
Sing me if you prefer like black bird
Make me firmed of red clay if you can
Play me like music with your very own hand
Do with me your hearts desire
Only burning within your fire
I’m that idea you had last night
Waiting to be set free to ignite
I awaken with inordinate maturate on my face. Stripping my skin away disinters a face made of red clay I then claw and strip it away to show the face of a roseate mask and once unmasked revealed the black star.
Behind me in line
breathing heavy, often,
the man kicks red clay
from his boots.
The day outside is hot,
humidity strangling,
but in line, the cool
industrial air blows.
My heart begins to beat
in time with each of his
ragged, work-worn
breaths.
He steps up to the counter
ordering an Italian
with absolutely
no tomato.
Red clay lies in his wake,
waiting for the sweet release
of a push broom death.
Asleep on a pile of hay
my dreams are waiting for the day
when summer relinquishes her ray
to a re-canvassed season of red clay ;
Burgundy leaves in the wind sway,
as September returns like a Jay
Sponsor Line Gauthier
Contest Name Bite Size Poem no51 |
Moment after moment
Time drained into the void
The water waned dry
As drought vehemently annoyed
...plenty
The juxtaposition of the River
Sliced reason to bleed
Garments of value
Snagged on a broken reed
...trust
HAH!!!
Space between sorrow and suffering
Are plinks of relief away
Never lasting to create
False safety in a glorious day
...'round
FLAT...FLAT...Freakin' fat
Every dream, every vision
Lies on this drained River bed
Every hope, every promise
Are resources, unattainable, natural
...but, I'm lead
A stone, bright, baffled, like earth
Lying in the red, clay, silt
I gather my tools about the jewel
Digging, lifting, seeing what LOVE built
...in me
AGATE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-21-2022
Rusty cans and unknown skeletons
Once useful in structure and convenience
Now sculpture the red clay and pine knots
Of the hidden gateway to the backwoods
My memory loses the battle
With a toy cash register whose numbers
Still shine black on white and flash higher
As they display, and the bells jingle
Tires and more tires carry worn treads
With water greasy from time and nature’s
Slow and steady return to her own way
Sloshing willingly into my shoes
Mats of old shingles once weathering
Storms and sunshine now lie quietly
Clinging to one another like lost children
Cowering in their barren vacuum of loneliness
Old men with tales of battles
And stories of crops, and cattle, and kings
Probably sat in that old chair
With whittled arms and broken legs
Sporadic visits teach a wondering history
More mystical and convincing
Than the fact-riddled pages of tomorrow’s assignment
Or the tainted explanations of our teachers
Slipping away
A granite pillow placed above my head
Red clay covers my six-foot bed
Several relatives beside me long laid to rest
Another family reunion, I'm the newest guest
I've joined the past my names carved in stone
My body has reached its final home
It's the quietest crowd I've been around
No more voices, no more sound
To all of my friends, I'm just a thought
I've checked into one-room lodging called a vault
My soul departs heaven bound
My bodies shell remains underground
Minute by minute, all thoughts disappear
I can no longer think; minds been cleared
Quiet here; there's no sound
The final resting place is what I've found
Please think of me often as we were friends
My aging life has come to an end
Now things are quiet I utter no sound
Laid to rest six feet underground
Lpickard
IRL Olympic Gold
Beneath Olympic fire
On a track of red clay
Runner’s feet tangled – scene so dire
Lifelong dreams stumble – tumble to the track –
Honor outshines gold quest delayed
Hands reach down - lift higher
Dashed hopes transformed this day.
In the 800 meter race on August 1st Isiah Jewett was tripped by another runner as he was about to cross the finish line. Both went down. Instead of going off, Jewett offered the runner from Botswana his hand. They crossed the finish line together.
8-6-21
Contest: Julyme
Sponsor: William Kekaula
In the 2016 Olympic games
IRL - real life
Rhyme scheme: a-b-a-b-c-b-a-b
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