St Patrick's Day Poetry Contest
Oliver Mckeithan
It's St. Patrick's Day and the night is hopping
A young women joins the revelers for a toast and a beer
She takes in a bar that has good window shopping
And after a few rounds she’s dancing to the cheer
The band is rocking and drumming the night
As she sails with the sea of green on the dance floors
She sterns to the beat and bows to a knight
For he's a gorgeous catch that she reels in to her shores
Love is in the air and Cupid's arrow hits her Leprechaun
There's an instant chemistry that's boiling over
For is her pot of gold at the end of the rainbow about to spawn
Or did she hopelessly find another three leaf clover
Her lucky charms were answered when he took her hand
And promised romance and courtship before they land
Categories:
sterns, love, romance,
Form: Rhyme
Missouri's Thomas Sterns Eliot
loved the English life quite a lot*
His style remained American
as a very poetical craftsman
Categories:
sterns, people, poetry,
Form: Clerihew
The many boats around sit in the harbour
One tailing the other now and then
Serried lined and flanked with one another
They pause for thought gathering day before them
The ferrous water sits so still in motion
As plankton line the sterns and afts like moluscs
Peeping over ropes and bobbing under
Waiting out the storming rain and thunder
They never see a passer by or vendor
Instead their vision remains steady on the water
Where promises of undulating sea throngs
Bring mystery to ocean faring wonder
Categories:
sterns, boat, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A damsel looked at me , she said
"Jerome hi," and I just said "hello" but she isn't letting go her eyes lash off me. I don't know why she comes around often,
Though am good at maths a little, Lola she is fondly called.
She made me believe I had tiny heirs on my upper lip, they call
It mustache. Lola's father sterns at me, her momma smiles at me,
my momma frowns at her, my Dada smiles at her.
I thought I liked Lola, then Junior came and she left with him.
I cried a little then Momma said" forget about her, Nene will come."
So with bleeding heart, emotional tattoos inscribed on my neural,
I bubbled out like a golden Tilapia fish from the deep & dived
into the third phaze.
I found myself in a very big hall, no uniform like former times. "What! Why?" Rhetorics
Categories:
sterns, absence, adventure, bereavement, best
Form: Prose Poetry
*Image of Childhood Memories by WordPress.
On the Good Ship Bubble-Pop
Bubbles, see-throughs, delicate floats,
of voyaged sailless boats,
her captain gauge the air around,
blue cast where none e'er drown,
farther distance -- misspoke, rising,
shapeless bows devising,
now turned admiral, sees her fleet,
eyes rounded sterns complete,
some sway starboard, others go port,
she ventures drafts to sort,
she waits till all had left her view,
ere scuttling added crew,
lifts her makeshift pier container,
blows whistle, no-brainer,
toneless wizardry expresses,
anew fleet progresses,
dreams to be, part of the magic,
fit in spheres? a tough trick!
2021 September 23
*1st Place*
rhyme me rhyme me a poem
~~Eve Roper: Judged 2021 October 05
*RZ checked
Picture #2
Categories:
sterns, childhood, fantasy, imagination, metaphor,
Form: Rhyme
Incomprehensible! (A Brief Critique)
Monomaniacally, Thomas Sterns Elliot
wrote in The Waste Land a Lyrical Lay
Sadly for those of us hollow like other men
Incomprehensible! Take it away!
Categories:
sterns, humorous,
Form: Double Dactyl
Sickle moon gray above the waves
The quiet directionless wind
On the earth, and in the sky above
A veil is drawn, cutting into dark spots
Slowly round and round,
Murals are etched into the sand
The statue waits with eyes unblinking
Silent wonder, solitary armless stone
Twisted, counter-pose, forever fixed,
Wonder, what does she see under water?
Rusty bows and sterns, shipwrecks,
Silvery fish fluttering in and out of hulls, a
graveyard outside hallowed ground
Archway, the great doors dark and closed
Murky, wet light pours in vaulted windows
Through water-worn edges of stained glass
Seaweed tendrils curl around an altar
Once, quiet processions marched up the aisle
They are now only filtered ghosts,
Murmuring, wavy impressions of what was
Forever, the tide calls upon the great steeple
And the lonely under-toe,
Pulls a mote in the sand around her,
To protect the bastion in the sea,
Dark, lovely, lost forever to those above
Categories:
sterns, art, confusion, introspection, philosophy,
Form: Free verse