Tranquil sands of a fallen land,
Held no place within an empty hand.
Tyrannical birds, with bombs in flight,
Riddling the air, on souls alight.
"We, the prey of this haughty reign,"
Offering no space for the cooking flame—
Hungry bones that crave for justice,
Blind, the vultures—drowned in malice.
Medals on frames stood upright and straight,
Like guns marching on bloody road to Death March
At eighteen, he bore the pellets of war’s cause
Fingers wounded by splinters from a grenade
Spawned by raw courage for freedom’s glory
He counted black hours guarding his troops;
Piloting aircraft and landing on muddy swamp
Worse was the order to kick his dead friend, Paul.
Black nights fed thinner ribs with brisk attacks
Riddling air with roulette of mortar sounds,
Yet country’s honor soared higher than gray winds
A testament for a man of lofty ideals.
Tales of grit, battle scars wrapped in dignity
A body resting on heroes’ graveyard, our flag rising;
Until the end, code of gallantry filled life’s moments
Of one general, dear Dad, your spirit walks with me.
2nd place
Beneath the shade of a tree
On a blanket handed down
In shoes that are too big still
And a yard with untouched ground
Someday you will stand
To take your first steps here
Someday you will reach
And climb the branches near
Atop the canopy of leaves
When you’re looking low
Peer upon a flower bed
With springtime seeds to sew
Soil riddling our nails
Someday you and I will plant
You’ll offer to help with dinner
But I’ll still help you wash your hands
Plagued by sleepless nights,
Cursed by endless days.
The Devil now delights,
In my hopeless ways.
Trampling on my dreams,
Riddling me with doubt.
Laughing at my screams,
Within and from without.
Shackled here in chains,
A shadow now in Hell.
Giddy by my pains,
While in this prison cell.
Paralyzed with fear,
Haunted by my past.
Grinning ear to ear,
One of many cast.
A lock without a key,
No one here is blessed.
His eternal glee,
Here as Satan's guest.
Ere Kyser
was Kaiser
or Söze
the records
a german
germaine
an immigrant
they granted him
a pass
some eight generations past
first, depressing
later, repressing
regressing
turning generational curse to blessing
and now messing
and fiddling
with rhyming and riddling
for an extended verbal stint
roger that
with another Jeff
and all the
usual suspects
Apricot Trees
David J Walker
My mother randomly spoke of the beauty
She saw in trees that lined
The streets in town
The boughs and branches placed
in parks and esplanades on Arbor days in the
all but forgotten past now hidden in the ether
Of dementia that was literally riddling her mind
But If I listened carefully
There was a story connected in
Every 3rd or 4th word about her
Childhood on a prairie farm
with a large garden and
Fowl of every kind
Where her mother
Planted apricot trees in line
by the dirt road leading to their
Front door
and plans to make jam
that fall
I stood by the bed as
mother lay dying
Reaching with her right hand
I imagined her as a
Young girl picking apricots
Near the farmhouse
Taking her time
Going down the line
tree to tree
Carefully placing the ripened fruit
in her apron pockets
I imagined her smiling again
in a youthful glow
That I had never seen before
The day she had to go and
Help make jam
We are all poets
In the same boat
The reason we write
Just to stay afloat
There's no other reason
Of that, I know
For us as poets
To stay afloat
So draw the anchor
Hoist the sail
We'll all rhyme our way
Clear outta here
Sailing the pantoum oceans
On sonnet seas
Casting our lot
In the poetic breeze
Steering riddling rudders
Across verses in waves
Until the very last day
We're made to walk the plank
As we are all poets
In the same boat
Trying our best
Just to stay afloat
We are all poets
In the same boat
The reason we write
Just to stay afloat
There's no other reason
Of that I know
For us as poets
To stay afloat
So draw the anchor
Hoist the sail
We'll all rhyme our way
Clear outta here
Sailing the pantoum oceans
With the sonnet seas
Casting our lot
In the poetic breeze
Steering riddling rudders
Across verses in waves
Until the very last day
We're made to walk the plank
As we are all poets
In the same boat
Trying our best
Just to stay afloat
Mumbo gumbo's
blind faith
deepening cynicism
in metaphorical
meaninglessness
of judicious social
twaddle's protocol,
they ask, “have you
found Jesus yet??”
'I hadn't a figgy scooby doo
he was lost...'
nothing happens
for a reason
aside from the seasons - -
children starving,
wars in the name
of ungodly religions,
poverty
exponentially rising,
mother earth is crying
middle class is dying,
whilst dogmatism
& the nefarious
masses thrive
there are virtually &
literally nor otherwise,
zero, zippo, nada, concrete
reasons why_
'hear no evil',
mere riddling
rhymes make naught
a minuscule bit
of sense
A tale of riddling truths and theories of lies,
Humbled by the whispers and cries,
For an epic tragedy holds the key,
Of lessons and wisdoms through eternity,
This empty, barren cave tells a story,
Of Life, Love and Light.
A place so magical and lovely,
Where a Phoenix once resides.
A festive warmth once filled these halls,
With cries and roars of triumph,
What was then a blissful thrall,
Now a desolate and haunting asylum,
In this gloaming abyss lays a grave,
Remains of what was once a majestic being,
Hidden, only a spark remain ablaze,
Through blackened rocks, no lights fleeing,
A bold explorer, stumbles and crash,
So brisk and determined, unearthing this cave,
As light enters and beamed, illuminating rocks and buoyant ash,
Light attracted to light, the spark, unveiled and saved.
Despite the darkness and lost,
An immortal spark stays true,
All we need is the courage and cause,
For the Phoenix to emerge anew.
Carrying Birds, Chirping in ears
The sound of Music, A vulture hears
Sing of despair, A storm brewing near
Death taking a toll, Rivers overflow
Earthquakes causing Shakes, Tsunamis in which they create
Time telling a story, Of a land washed away
Buildings of rubble, Body's they Shovel
A loss looking to the sky, Victims wondering why
The world having swallowed, Their love ones becoming hallow
Rising to a new day, Strength for which they pray
Gathering all, Lost memories in a fall
Seasons create change, Birds return for gain
Camouflaging to a time, The color in trees
Photosynthesis causing vibrance, Pollinating the bees
Despite pollutants, Riddling the air
Forever carried in the wind, Wings of an affair
Moving forward in a loss, despite being unfair
Remembering a time, Birds silenced with fear
^^^^^^^^Unexpected Storm^^^^^^^^^^
LIQUID THREAD
reed thin sluggish thread
moves toward poolmouth
an oblique dry wet that
slithers into my head
thick tiredtongue paste
watered down dissolves
sweat turns—then returns
a burning corrosive taste
carefrayed threadbare
shrinking ripples
righteous writes
unpoemed unpictured
on white page glare
I, Venus a hotred
Orange
blistered planet
blimp and wave
in day mourning
pools
riddling
8
Syllables
Or
Metaphors
Of
6
tablets blank hues
swallow gushrush
waterfalls
tanked up rancid
overflows
sounds and sights
psychewit waiting
to release
Streaming liquid thread
Screaming in my head
© Kim van Breda—18 September 2015
Severed starlight, brief lanterns
Truncate tingles, sugar burns
pen puzzling in oily ink
Dark dots on papyrus slink
Metre measure on tongue tip
Riddling rhymes gaining their grip
Cursive verses in past tense
---
Trying a new form tonight. Hope you enjoy
Beneath dotted stars with soft campfire
as ally, lone cowboy’s pondering meanders
through the sand dunes and night-saloons
thumb marked by his blazed rides for
pistol quests and fist thugs, as rowdy duels
and women’s sighs so adored climb
unto a red of greeting sunset.
Recalling those dusty trails--pungent and bold--
he descends like a magic bat from nowhere
riddling his foes way down the desert floor.
Many at times, the sawdust boots
reeked from the heat of bandits’ glare
as if to pierce his chest one hell of a shot
with tassels flowing high unto smoky air.
Edifying as he seems, beneath dotted stars,
a lone cowboy is simply this: a tender wind
mild as his strumming guitar
calling for prairies’ honeyed life while a tough
leather vest hides his simple, warm nobleness.
Howdy Pard Contest of Shadow Hamilton
5/5/2014
THUNDERSTORM
Thick oppressive sultriness all day
Then cool breezes, a cloud signals
The sails of a fighting Armada,
With massed grey galleons
Swelling with threatening guns -
The flashing of their watery cannon beats
Their terrifying cacophony
In the cross-trees and shivering sheets -
Hurled balls of rain, rain, rain
So thick the air is opaque;
Rain without end, Noah’s rain,
Making deck drain and scupper shake
Riddling the sea with bullet-hole spray.
Now empty cannon fall still and silent:
The Armada has drifted away.
The air is dry and clear and spent.
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