I believe the newscaster
Is making stuff up
I recall in the “70’s
Harvard Square
Intellectuals hanging
THE WORLD WILL END
ON OCT 17th
Signs that neglected
To give the year
Does anybody
REALLY KNOW
What time it is
Dogs are not
Furry children
They do, however,
Have better health care
What if a stalker
Shows up at a séance
Dogs will look sad
After chewing up the couch
Cats have no conscience
I have a shirt that reads
IF I LOOK LOST
JUST TURN ME AROUND
Coffee’s ready
Have a ______ day
Does a broken mirror reflect again?
Are we shadowed by our past and sins?
Can fallen flowers return to branches?
Are our traumas rippling avalanches?
Is fate a tightrope we must follow?
Can we control our chain of morrows?
Is our past a ball and chain we drag?
Is it a burden or a flag?
What is faith and what is soul?
Do they restrain our lives and goals?
What is God? Is He near?
Does He even know we’re here?
Why do these questions cloud our mind?
Are they common to man and womankind?
Oh do, let us dream, Lord, of a peaceful and shining, promising day.
To realize the value of poets we know, and incude the ignored or unknown!
Refusing the faces of negativity, humbly walking in your ways, shown.
Always remind us, please, to go to the light, where thy glory, doth lay!
I realize that not all of us have a family to sit down and have a dinner to share.
But if you do, light your candles to make this confused world, radiantly bright!
After dinner, go to the family window forthwith, inhale Spring’s sweetest night.
See your silhouettes in the moonlight, on a tender carpet on this evening rare!
Poem 1
3/9/2024
stroll beneath His oaks,
leaves listening to shadows,
waltzing with angels
dreaming, dancing, death
stirring signs of yearning souls,
artists of light, songs
music bleeds through minds,
erasing the distance, roads
leading home, through fear
laughing, they let go,
tunes of faith, feeling, futures
in the eyes of night
melodies risking
bold reasons for healing, hope
lifts silence at last
Year’s end approaches. Thoughts of coming days
Excite me. More than ever, love of friends
And family sustains me. God, I praise.
Redeemed, I’m Heaven-bound when life here ends.
So, I conclude there’s GOLD in life’s late phase.
May 5, 2023
Contest Name: Bite Size Contest no 63
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
A LOOK AT NONSENSE
I cannot write a poem today
So why should I even try
It's snowing outdoors right now
And I am not sure just why
I don't have the answers
To all my questionings
But if I try to think it through
I might learn a thing or two
About life's many ponderings
And how they puzzle you
I might learn why strong men cry
When you least expect they will
And why that tiny bird I saw
Perches on my grill
Why do wonders still exist
E'n when things go wrong
Why do I hear a little child
Sing a brand new song
Why can't humans fly around
And save their tired feet
Why do words that make no sense
Often give relief
Maybe so I can write a poem
That relieves my tired mind
So I can then enjoy the snow
With its refreshing sign
Copyright, Kathryn Search
Upon my bare bent boughs, the blossoms itch,
‘Tis the high season when pollen count rises,
So much better when I wore not a stitch,
Now one's nerve jumps at nasal surprises
Humans emerge from their winter abode,
In awe of the plush panoramic rush,
Foregoing instinctual rambling code,
Flora slowly chokes below feet that crush
A summit of Bards I steadfast embark,
Beneath acrid acidic fall of rain,
Mini Beasts vie to bite deep through my bark,
As strained soil struggles to feed its gaunt grain
We ponder, Is Spring not all it may seem?
Spring with wise Sapiens would be a dream.
Date: 19 February 2023
Spring is not all Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Easter approaches on tender, Lily-white feet!
Most think only of chocolate Easter bunnies, a most delicious treat!
Or, of going Easter shopping in lovely, spacious malls.
They know not, the significance of what Easter means at all.
A man hung on a cross, and died to save humanity.
But the move is on to discredit Christ, who died on that tree!
Some children, of Him, only lies do parents tell!
They are told there is no God, no Heaven and no Hell.
The goal .....to make man, a god?
While our only end, is to lie dead, beneath that cold sod.
For believers, their eternal future is both divine and glorious.
Singing with the Angels in God’s chosen, golden chorus!
4-6-2022
Rosey wore rings
in ears, toes, nose,
on all fingers at once
Despite their appeal
they were all silent.
Seen, but never heard,
Ring tones, in silent mode,
quelled,
mute.
David Bowie told us, though I haven’t seen it yet
It puts it in your mouth when it takes a cigarette *
It’s important in the kitchen
It can even have a stitch in
Most of us are hoping for as much as we can get
*
Sometimes you have less than you need
For it can run out at such speed
You cannot inspect it
You cannot collect it
But wanting some more isn’t greed
*
You cannot have this on your legs,
your face or on your toothy pegs
An idle man stands
With this on his hands
His workmate for more of it begs
*
Albert Einstein had a really good trick
It will reverse if you whizz round real quick
I spun on the spot
Just dizzy I got
Was Albert Einstein a little bit thick
*
In order to gauge it man invented clocks
Each chronograph got a decorative box
I cannot say who
Made some go cuckoo
There’s one in my kitchen, it ticks and it tocks
[* ‘Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth’, from Rock n Roll Suicide by David Bowie]
Ponderings
The Geese were milling around
honking incessantly
asking for directions
the swans paced
regal egg sitters
awaiting their shift
the beaver gritted his teeth
soft wood
hard winter
the river sighed
cold water
edged with ice
spring sun
challenged
the grip of winter
log sitting turtles
cheered it on
the osprey eyed
his do it yourself nest
a distant woodpecker
plays
taps at sunset
John G. Lawless
3/25/2021
If I am my truest, most pure and complete Self
when I feel happy, light hearted, and free,
when I feel depressed, heavy hearted, and stuck,
who am I?
If this is the end of a few years' stint of feeling real - of being real-ly alive...
What does that now make me?
If it can be this easy
to fall away from mySelf -
to lose mySelf,
how do I get back to Me?
If I'm not here,
where am I?..
How strongly do I believe
in my own existence,
if I don't believe
in only existing..?
That's all I'm barely doing right now..
I really don't want to be a dead-weight on the World.
I want to be a part of its buoyancy..
I see occasional glimmers of
Me on a good day,
twinkling like a hopeful star
through a brief gap in a grey night's cloud..
I don't know if that gives me hope
that I've not gone too far,
or makes me sadder that
I'm rarely around..
If it can be this easy to lose Me,
can I also be easily found?..
Popped in again here at the Soup
I'd spent too long out of the loop
I skimmed the blogs to find the scoop
of what's been dished among this troupe
Checked in to see a friend or two
Read lovely rhymes, on list of "new"
My own muse, dead! not much to do
In need of welcome of the crew
When words won't come, and heart is weak
and days are colored grey and bleak
when silence triumphs need to speak
You long for just a little peek
To read a poem, colored fair
and see the souls who dare to bare
their joys and sorrows without care
I long to tell them, "I'll be there."
I long to write and share my soul
this urge, at times above control
to be immersed and not to scroll
though lines of yours than can console
And so I stop my work to write
My uncle passed away last night
this sadness suffocates the light
Yet, life goes on with speed and might
A word, a thought, a single line
that all is well, a little sign
Poetic rest at friendship's shrine
I'll carry on; all will be fine.
Eileen Manassian
I look around and what do I see
Nothing more or less will be
I look for meaning to it all
And not just pondering my final call
For life moves on all the time
Now and then to pause and entwine
For we can’t live as only one
We touch each other in our run
So I sit and contemplate
What’s in store as I wait
And time’s the master or so it seems
Only hoping the future is not too extreme.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Sometimes, it descends like a warm night breeze
A blanket. At once comforting and disturbing...
The sense knocks. A vague, uneasy membrane just outside of feeling
Too many years, too far along
Too much water under so many bridges
The house changes, transmogrified from cosy fustiness into something altogether sadder
It carries weight, occupies space, colours the green screen
Perhaps we are all just blank black books waiting for an author
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