I extend my humble hand
out toward its delicate glow
Sparse, inky bristles await
note I will ask them to paint
The message is sweetly short
Dear blank page: brighten our night
Shine on! shadows swirled with light
Bookwell Primary
scratched scribbles on a slate
a poem for Mum
A clean facial slate
no blemishes to be hid
a beautiful face
A room's whites cry loud
Still sound fills it with endless echo
No thought, no audible breath, no
Perspective
This view too is
Outside perceivable depth
Only a snowy canvas
Full of emptiness to reveal
The plan
Grab a roller
Pour the can, and
Paint myself eggshell
Now I am the blank slate
Man
I don't wish to die
For I have yet to fly
I have just begun
Life really has not been that fun
But to go on down the path called the way
I must be careful choosing the words I say
An unkind word can set back the day
Watch for the games they play
So much beauty is never witnessed by an unseen eye
They shall never truly fly
To the deaf , a kind word,
Is never heard
So I pass my time
Playing with some rhythm
Trying to spread some hope
To those at the end of their rope
It is not the end of the day but beginning of one new
Time to step beyond the days you blew
Face your fears
Dry those tears
Face the day with a clean slate
Cause it's not to late
To change your fate
Reaching for your star
Can only take you so far
At some point you must grab on and hold on tight
You know I'm right
cross of blue grey slate
salutes the mountain
a red kite hovers
Quote: Free from preconceptions and biases, He never judges us
though we constantly mess up, He never does keep count.
A life of prostitution taught her never to take
anything for granted;
Numerous were her sins, far greater was her guilt
but she never sang inside that iron cage of hers
She considered herself to be the lowest of the lowest
until one day
She found herself crawling up to an altar
in the middle of the night.
Hungering for more than flesh, the power of the cross consumed her
igniting flames inside of her, and allowing her to feel her own brokenness
An unrest came upon her and she decided to flee,
but just before she reached the doors a tender voice spoke
through the walls of the cathedral
"My child, why do you run from me. Do you not know, that the moment
you came to me, you became a newborn Dove, cleaner than snow"
The End.
Feb 22, 2023
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: Blank Slate
Contest Name This or That, Vol 16
My mind is a blank slate,
Each time I sit to write,
Words come from my heart straight,
As poems to delight,
Words of deepest insight.
~~
My heart is a blank slate,
Waiting for that love true,
Hoping that my life mate
Finds me with no ado,
When will this love break through?
~~
My soul is a blank slate,
Cleansed with Jesus Christ's blood,
A fountain of joy great
Overflows like a flood,
God's grace is my lifeblood.
~~
My life is a blank slate,
Each day, a new story,
Each step, God does dictate,
Living for His glory,
Till my head turns hoary.
~~
23rd February 2023
Topic chosen: Blank Slate
For Edward Ibeh's "This or that Vol 16" contest
She was once a clean sheet of paper;
A gleaming gold with pristine luster.
Her glow could charm the sun to shine.
Her pure allure could best the sunshine.
Like a scent of a perfume potion,
she could stir a tame emotion.
The allure of her innocence
could charm the hearts without her presence.
But like a moth, her curiosity
unveiled her eyes from obscurity.
The blooming heart that was pure and chaste
plunged her soul in deep distaste.
But even a heavenly angel
in a world bounded by hell
may need a dagger to survive;
She could wield blade to stay alive.
May the hands of liberation
save her soul from obliteration.
May the young soul that was once spotless
draw her heart away from darkness.
February 23, 2023
This Or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest (1st place)
Sponsored By: Edward Ibeh
I dream of having a blank slate,
a rebirth and chance to create;
create a completely new start,
a perfect life built by my heart.
I wish to dwell in unknown fate!
Find paths to an open life gate,
a unique me to cultivate;
I will make a story and chart.
The past banished!
The new-born me will captivate,
and each dawn I will celebrate;
this sweet place where grief has no part,
oh, Lord this time I will be smart.
The past banished!
_________________________
February 15, 2023
Poetry/Rondeau/Blank Slate
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1525-699-15
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, This or That, Vol. 16
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Theme, Blank Slate, Judged 03/03/2023
Third Place
Yesterday the mice had full reigns of the house
In every corner a set of beady eyes looked on
The rodeo of mice soon grew up to be a bad mouse
We tried lassoing them but all they do is spawn
Nothing could stop the womanizer to cease
We'd put traps and cages out throughout the floor
But the big bad mouse would steal the cheese
And look back at our family, laughing for more
The kids gave nickname to the king and queen
Their names were Squeaky and Freaky for sure
For both were noisy and ugly and kept causing a scene
Yet if only there was a cure to make our home secure
We needed professional help to stop the nightmares
We needed to escape the wild wild west at our feet
Please, please mice find another rodeo and musical chairs
For we plead in regaining our good dreams and be complete
The ordeal finally came to a screeching stop and blockade
For the pros came to our house and put out some bait
It may have cost dearly to settle, for I have paid
Today the dust has cleared and we have a blank slate
2/15/23
This or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Edward Ibeh
No inspiration or divine intervention.
It’s just another night filled with apprehension.
All these straight black lines
Burn into my mind.
And I’ve no new ideas to break the tension.
My poor imagination just lies there, dormant.
My brain is screaming and my soul in torment.
And this blank white page
Filling me with rage.
And I feel sweat pouring off me in a torrent.
What do I say? And how do I say it?
It's in my guitar, how do I play it?
I fear that it's gone... I'll never write again...
I am told to just hold on to perseverance.
But I keep drifting back into incoherence.
I pick up the pen
Try to start again.
But my imagination makes no appearance.
My body is so tired but my mind is frantic.
I want to give up, I want to yell, scream and kick.
I should go to bed
My poor aching head
Don't let me hear you say writing is romantic.
This is my art! I fear I betray it!
My head’s a blank slate, I but obey it…
I fear that it’s gone… I’ll never write again…
This or That, Vol 16 Poetry contest
2/10/2023 Blank Slate
sponsored by Edward Ibeh
With each blank slate
You test your fate:
You screw up once?
Still stand a chance!
You screw up twice?
Comes with a price!
The fourth, the fifth?
You're screwed therewith!
Your strikes go on?
You get withdrawn
From taking part
In a fresh start!
Despite all thanks
There’re no more blanks!
Chances you blew
Will now screw you!
February 7, 2023
Tabula rasa, pristine way
To start afresh each nascent day;
Turn your back on toils and troubles,
Spurn old struggles, burst their bubbles,
Cast off shackles, unfurl your wings,
Free the puppet, cut off all strings,
Lighten the load, write off the weight,
Embrace each dawn with a blank slate.
February 6, 2023
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Contest: Blank Slate
What a wonder! Nothing was written! Absolutely free!
Bee, sea, tree - I can create whatever I want to see.
Receptively blank as the almighty designed it well,
It can in each sketch His miraculous mysteries spell...!
Tabula rasa, John Locke calls it - no readymade concepts,
Like nectar in a flower, facts fill in all its contents;
The environment like my mother nurses my actions,
My caring and rearing enable all my attractions...!
I am like a natural child, devoid of compulsions,
My growing intelligence expulses all convulsions;
The Blank Slate - nature's hardware - analyzes all awareness,
My contemplations - software - set them rightly in fairness...!!!
06 February 2023
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