Having finally gotten through
The AI sentries
Dismissed all the references
Quoted from old books
Shaken the scent of incense
The diversion of bells
The echoed reverberance
Of traffic jammed words
I finally got through to GOD
Asked him what I should do
He replied “stop thinking about ME”
And how I can help YOU “
“stop telling people that I love them
If you don’t”
“and stop using MY WILL
As an excuse for not using
Your will…I gave it to you
For a reason.
I suggested he should have a Podcast
He chuckled mumbling
“satan’s got that covered”
“from both sides”
A Quiet Soul — in Ordered Speech —
Unnerved — by Loud Accuse —
Stood trembling — where the Gavel fell —
A Life — they could not use —
For Minds that move in Gentle Lines —
Are strange to Courts of Noise —
Where Power plays its Shadowed Game —
And Terror steals my Voice —
The Bench — a solemn Citadel —
Yet cold — when Truth is near —
Its sentries knowing Innocence —
Encouraged by my Fear —
Cynthia Heir— with A Paper bag—
The jury never Saw —
The subtle Signs — my Rising Pulse —
Without Integrity —
And so — the Heart — to End the Pain —
Would bow to any Word —
A Plea — became their Refuge then —
And Justice was Denied —
But still — the Soul — so bruised by them —
Retains its quiet Flame —
Where God — and Truth — and Inner Light —
Outshine the Courts through Him —
Traveling along the Grapevine
soft green hills look like earthy fabric
folded into velvet shadow crevices.
Layers of rich, luxurious shapes
form the mountainous terrain.
As we make our way along the highway
the golden glow of the afternoon sun
caresses the flowing hillsides
oh so gently
on this cool winter’s day.
Sparse oaks flash their amber leaves
over the muted landscape
loudly interrupting introverted hues
that linger quietly over the grassy fields.
Against a whitewashed sky
hints of snow can be seen
amongst the scarce pines
while in the valley, sagebrush whip around
on a random road near run down barns
where ravens hide.
A linear network of power lines appear
marching like steel sentries
transformers conquering fields
while a formidable army of cars and trucks
hurry towards their endless destinations
unaware of the quiet beauty that surrounds.
A master of the macabre and the night,
Whose somber verses chill the very bone,
He dipped his quill in shadows, dark and bright,
And gave the world a terror all its own.
With “Nevermore,” he etched eternal gloom,
A tortured soul in bleak despair confined;
His haunted tales still rise from out the tomb,
To stir the depths of every thinking mind.
A life of sorrow, lost in drink and pain,
He walked a path of melancholy deep;
Yet through his words, his spirit will remain,
While silent, restless, watchful sentries keep.
Though fate was cruel and life a bitter plea,
His dark domain endures eternally.
Lost within the haunting howls
of a wild west wind
I savor the island’s isolation
its barren, rocky crags
its undulating seas below.
The ocean expands outward
as whitecaps whip frantically
while the beady eyes of seabirds
peer out from their stony perches.
Stoic sentries of the sea
pelicans and seagulls flock
along the rugged shoreline
purposefully perched in rows
or drafting wind currents in flight.
Still other seabirds skim silently
above the silky waves
great hunters of fish
their feathery wings spread wide
as if to capture the ocean itself.
A timeless rhythm prevails
as effortless as breathing pure salt air
in a place where land and sea convene
a place where seabirds reign
as vigilant watchers
within the endless cycle of life.
YELLOW
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yellow stars are quickly receding, as I’ve always known they would.
Yellow is the sun touching the eastern sky adding color to the neighborhood.
Yellow is the warmth of mellow sunshine, mid woodland songs and cries.
Yellow is the egg yolk and buttery toast I eat on the porch watching butterflies.
Yellow is the morning of marigolds and sun, watching as the magenta finally fades.
Yellow is the frenzied canary who sits upon my rooftop and stays.
Yellow are the wheat fields underneath transparent, cerulean skies.
Yellow are the gigantic sunflowers standing at attention, vigilant sentries with black eyes.
Yellow are those scented hours, wishing they would never end,
Yellow is the beauty of seasonal colors upon which I’ve learnt to depend.
Yellow are nature’s melodies played on a loop celebrating the rising sun.
Yellow is this memorable day of days with its treasured life hardly begun.
VIGILANTES
The elder trees stretch skyward in a lace of silent bark. Wands of rising branches become dancing silhouettes in the pale moonlight. The wind dies, and the limbs cease their movement. Then, like sentries they stand perfectly still, silencing the clocks.
trees their vigil keep
whisper secrets to the wind
moonlight filters down
Humanity suffers, totalitarianism reigns,
Vanity crushes our personal gains,
Mankind is weeping and working as slaves,
Those who refuse are remembered in graves.
This is the fate of the people who cry,
How do they rate if they do or they die?
How do you choose what to do with your life?
Most people can't who succumb to the strife.
What does it take to be free of it all?
How do you win or be ready to fall?
What do you do when you don't have a gun?
Where do you flee if there's nowhere to run?
We've got the numbers to do as we must,
Even though people are lacking in trust,
Who do you turn to and when should you speak?
What do you hide or be ready to leak?
Suddenly angels appear in their strength,
Prayers of the righteous are answered at length,
People are saved by the sentries of good,
Mankind is spared when we do as we should.
If you asked I would tell you of my secrets
Soft furry things that comfort weary souls
Harsh thorns rebuffing prying doubts
Stoic sentries peering through stone eyes
Cold lips that scorn the warmth of love
Soft thoughts that dare not venture far
Whispered witticisms wielded as a sword
Secrets locked within the edge of tears unshed
Languishing in the loneliness of now
Fearful of the shadows of a distant then
Unable to admit they have but one longing
And that – to shout my secrets to the wind
John G. Lawless
©3/29/24
Freshly liberated from an overgrown bushy trail,
I saw myself skimming waist-deep in Lavender,
Sentries to the rear, Hollyhocks, and Foxgloves,
Bougainvillea to the left and, to the right of me,
Chose a meadow of Prairie Smoke and Daisies,
Held at a water lily pond airs Rainbow butterfly.
Beth And Happiness
*
Beth lay in her bed
Waiting for a good night
Sleep to begin.
*
Her adorable feline
Guardians Sophie and Kisa
Her endearing canine
Guardian Meika
They are with Beth keeping watch
Sleeping comfortably
*
She gently strokes their fur
Whispers good night
And closes her eyes.
*
In the twilight of her life
Blessed with the
Unconditional Love around her
Beth welcomes a good night's sleep.
*
In the morning
She awakes
To an empty bed.
*
Her guardians
Have abandoned her
For the food
They know is to come.
*
Beth is all smiles
As she makes her way
To the kitchen
To feed her ever-faithful sentries.
*
She sits and watches
So content are they.
And with them
Beth is delighted and grateful
To start another day.
*
crystal, clear, blue skies
grace ermine laden birch trees…
silent, bowed sentries
Some birds are sentries to the sky
others are earth- or water-bound
some bumble about the lifeless rye
others are cherubs of the clouds-
Some are regal and soundless
others tend to echo from the grate
dictating to others how to sing
while cawing and poaching eggs-
Some build nests of grass or leaf
sacrifice everything for their babies
some birds play the mating game
then just as quickly up and leave-
I'm convinced most birds are heaven-scented.
uplifting and enriching our lives
some are but rhinestone buzzards
plucking others until they're blind-
Most fliers are garnish for the ages
some live to crap on liberty's bust
a few are fated for mental cages
birds are a lot like us-
As night descends, the heavens celebrate,
The birth of stars
Through the tossing trees,
They send down their toothless smiles
The Moon too smiles with glee,
Like a pleased mother.
The Earth in darkness,
Looking at the illumined sky,
Follows suit and lights up
Street lamps open their eyes,
Flooding the cobalt streets.
Neon bulbs blink from hidden homes
Car lights dazzle like lightning
Glow worms, like night sentries,
Parade round with mini torches
The roads ring with the sound of returning feet
Fairies roam round for their nightly gambols
Day laborers coil lazily to rest
Letting their barbed distractions melt slowly away
The dead in their sepulchers sleep peaceful!
Among the muted murmurs,
The cicadas’ sounds alone swell.
This is the time for life and strife
To lay their heads pillowed for serene sleep
Under the blanket of a dim lit night!
Nov.15. 2022
~ Placed First~
Beauty of Night Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
towering cliffs dark
carved sculptures frozen in time~
the unpaid sentries
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.