Every Poet
is a dealer in hope
His words of betrothal
with feelings elope
He stands at the vista
of many denied
And changes forever
— what history will cry
(The New Room: July, 2026)
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!
Buoyed up by the syntheses of the past,
idyllic murals of green hills open paths
to a healing truth.
What say the brown camels of Casablanca
to assassins nursing festered wounds of
new Karma?
Yesteryears recline on the shoulders of
a greying age, chanting songs to a
departing future — quicker on the heels of potentates.
Drums fade atop lonesome, hollow-crested
landscapes, accompanied by the invoked,
naked past.
her mind
a box of
melted crayons
her hands
a vista of fire
magic wands
raked over
the coals
an eyeful array of blossoms embroidered on the garden linen
Placed: 1st
the round foothill tops
cradled in the drifting fog ~
a soaring vista
Chocolate bourbon sweet potatoes pie with honey and gramhan crackers in the crust!
A myth! Witches and Chalteons! He proclaimed. Than one said of the witches renderings of
a pork belly and turkey groundation! He called her unholy and uncaring.Might the people of now respect those of then! What respect comes in doubt ;that each who wishes not to support;prejudgment supports those in opposition. Ode to neither, and support of peace that might and power only speaks of the servers of the pkate'! Each plate differs, but for one to comply, he must render the ignorance of a uncertain future.stumble in the grass to fall. That she has boobytrapped the edges. Stand tall in your swell Ng that even your opposition understand your grips.
Dezentaine the Prophet
The shadows of the sun, turn the clouds to antique gold.
Dripping with silver linings, that they will call the sunset.
The climbing moon awaits its turn, to light the darkness.
With twilight comes the circadian dance of the evening.
The spirits of minstrels conduct their silent symphonies.
Youth laughs at the devil, ignoring the approaching void.
Protesters fill the streets, marching with their blank signs.
The people sit under the holy trees, that provide no shade.
The eagles make nests, in the ruins of the old skyscrapers.
The sounds of suffering, echo the time of the great dying.
The bells of St. Francis, call out the names of the old ones.
Lightning illumines the unfinished towers, built to heaven.
Robot disciples with their iron boots, guard the cathedrals.
The crowds countdown the minutes, to the next end of time.
The flags of nations fly tattered, over the scorched badlands.
The gods congregate and ask themselves, now whose image?
soft mist falls silent, gentle as a prayer on the dreaming mountains
breath of hope arrayed in luminous light beckons the gleaming mountains
graceful praise lifts to the skies, poetry rousing the heart
pouring faith through the oaks and pines, treasures alive on the screaming mountains
darkness fades into melancholy and recedes into the moon's dance with the stars
rising in a fog that whispers through the night, enchanting the scheming mountains
shimmering leaves waltz with the cries of a colorful display promising serenity
lighting the soul with comforting thoughts built by the flames of these redeeming mountains
cloudless skies in hues of azure welcome the love bouncing to life in the McIntosh spirit
her burning smile, both tender and wild, brightening with esteeming mountains
A figurine par excellence
An angel with brilliance
Dusky looks heavenly
Couture cools celestially
Damsel or diva delighting
Belle boldly bewitching
Svelte, slender and stylish
Dwells in a den so lavish
Luscious lips and aroma
Enticing is Lord Minerva
Dazzles in buttoned shirt
Glitters in gown and skirt
Any garment suits superb
Brassiere bikini or just garb..!!
What a graceful venusian divine belle..!
Resembling Lotus Goddess in tale
Floral festival and her fabulous fervour
Dancing with zeal and vigour
Shows her being vibrant full
Radiant countenance just cheerful
When stands amidst the bevy
She steals my attention heavy
All this rhyming fool needs much
Her benedictions in tons such..!!
Perennial grace belongs to my mother
Stunned to look at her charm shower
Evergreen pose has stories plentiful
Ok kid, war and life blissful
Lotus gives its glorious presence
Rosy lips prove their essence
Eyes speak volumes of emotion
Attitude is full of passion
Sub-continental norms umpteen
Belong to this diva in teen
Towering beauty with traditional outlook
Compells me verse by hook or crook
May I get power to write
Words to extoll her charm bright..!!
Besides being a wife to soldier
She nurtured life skills in her daughter
How to overcome odds and upsets
Only to reach the collosal heights
Trained her doting doll cute
Thus being her first pedagogue astute
Not an easy task of
Being an army man's better half
But she did with elan and finesse
Symbolic of Her Highness
Making her kid very successful
She did her job simply powerful
I yearn to be her son in next
Birth so that I have her love best..!!
The Buena Vista
We met innocently, yet always at the famous,
crowded, Buena Vista Cafe.
Renowned for Irish coffee and it's view
of the spectacular, San Francisco Bay.
Over Irish coffees, we shared our days.
You, the journalist and I, the teacher.
After awhile the jabbering ceases.
We are now out in the Sam Francisco
foggy night.
Kisses blessed by the moistness of the fog,
It feels so tenderly, touchingly right!
A magical cable car appears and whisks us away.
Up, up, up, those picturesque hills.
Then romantically down,down, down,
Into a candlelit night of delectable night of
Osso Buco and risotto.
The scent of aromatic garlic and oregano,
Pungently slithers through the thyme-filled,
still night,Bay Area air.
Panagiota Romios
4/13/2018
roaring
rumbling
bubbling
cascading
gurgling
effervescent
curls
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
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