Time stops for no one Poetry Contest
Sara Jama
From the first heartbeat to the very last
From the first cry to the last gasp
Life and time rise and then fall
The hands on the external clock never pausing
As the legs of the day keep moving
From dashing sunrises to dashing sunsets
To the everlasting stars and moons in the sky
To the gravitation pull of the tides
Life keeps marching on
Orchestrated like and infinite
To the rhythm of the seasons
To the spins of the earth
Time never sits
Time never sits for anyone
Even when we're gone
As the sands of time
Funnel through our hourglass
Methodically, esoteric, and destined
Each pebble is a milestone in our lives
Each pebble adds purpose to our internal clocks
These heaps of pebbles lead us up the hill and down
From the first baby steps, childhood to adulthood
And to the lifetime of discoveries
From baby blues to aging greys
These stepping stones mark time
And our existence though short-lived
Where our internal clocks naturally yield in the end
As light begets darkness
And only then does the time sit inside our window
Outside nature continues its course
She Sits In Her Little Room
-
She sits in her little room
Dried flowers and jasmine scent
And writes the words of promise
Hoping to transcend
She often paints in memory
Upon the walls of dream
Where specs of stardust glisten
Upon a sea of love
She roams the woods of fairytale
On twilight's misty eve
And tumbles with the Autumn leaves
To plant a sacred seed
She often paints in memory
Upon the walls of dream
Where endless fires burn untouched
Within a heart redeemed
From the window of white veil promise
Soft moonlight upon her face
She lights a candle within her heart
Of flowers and silken lace
The visitors arrive and I must bear
Their comments are not that I really care.
I stare at them as they would stare at me;
Until they break the ice, act so beastly.
Listen to their litany of abuse,
"Look well, her eyes are closed, having a snooze?"
"Isn't this an invert of a known painting?"
"Nice auburn hair though she looks like fainting."
"Not as good as Mona, now that's a dear."
I cannot understand why they come here.
They dare compare me to that wanton lass
How many men know she was sick, alas?
Finally, they leave except for one man.
I know that I can return his love for me.
If it were in my power down I'd come
Leave this mural, on his lips and kiss him some.
The painter draws our love and endeavour,
Happy; we'll be each other forever.
I had heard about the new gardener down the road for years.
She had been unwelcomed by neighbors because of their fears.
Has a lion for a pet, and sits on him too, one of them told me.
I brought over a welcome basket of fruit and some peach tea.
I would have been here sooner, but I used to work I said.
Now I am retired, and do not care if I wash a dish or make my bed.
She introduced me to her lion, he was docile, his name was Fred.
Strong feelings about getting away came quickly to my head.
He has never bitten anyone, the gardener told me that day.
But we love each other, and he really likes to play.
Would you like to play hide-and-go-seek with us?
I have to go see my cousin, I lied. His name is Gus.
Scottish dog sits on his Celtic mama’s lap
Barking, growling, and lunging at every sap
Who dares to try to court his mama, Miss LaBlap.
You’ll never get married, says her Grandpa Rap.
That may be says his granddaughter, who likes to clap.
But I need my doggie, he keeps suiters from annoying me during my nap.
You are the only woman I know who likes being single said Grandma Rap.
Scottish dog began growling at her too, and lunged at her lap.
There sits the City Gold
Where robbers ne'er grab hold,
Nor rot, nor moth, nor mold.
There sits a lava moat
Not passable by boat
Nor rope, nor writ, nor hope.
Outside the people scheme
As wise as any seem,
To enter, distant dream.
And there the doctors sly,
Sell passage to passers by.
Yet all who purchase, die.
This city, see, is truth.
Those lofty minds in booth,
They're selling dreams as proof.
And yet the saddest part,
When science falls apart,
And might, and math, and art,
Is entrance granted free
To all who'll come and see
This Hebrew on the tree.
She sits on the outer looking in
As the party is in full swing
Another family gathering
With all the happiness and laughter it brings
Her family….children and grandchildren
Her reason since their birth
Nurturing, worrying and loving them
Her purpose on this earth
She reflects back on their younger years
The days of prams, parks and play
Of afternoon naps and cuddles
Forever sharing their days
Always being needed
The apple of their eyes
Knowing their lives entirely
There to comfort their cries
Adults and teenagers now
The years have brought changes
No longer knowing them as she did
Absent are the daily exchanges
Without question their love for her has not altered
Yet the circle of life forever turns
She sits on the outer looking in
A stifled tear falls as her heart yearns
Sitting by your side he sits
“His arm around you and says,
It's okay to let go,
I'll always walk beside you
And lay my head by yours.
Never worry, for I'll always be with you. “
1/28/2023
Haven’t sorted this years poems
And another year is looming
Yet my fingers dance and play
Upon the keyboard every day
Some say the poems that I write
Are seamless, flowing, very tight
Others pass them, look away
Refer to them as cliched, trite
Yet being “kind” I don’t reply
Just shake my head and sadly sigh
For they have missed the subtle twists
Of metaphoric word play trysts
So carry on you daring digits
Whilst the muse sits idle, fidgets
Write on, write on, add one more poem
To last years ever growing tome
John G. Lawless
©12/22/2022
Across the living room
Quietly sits a chair
In glum despair
With no one sitting in it anymore
It's cushion barely bruised nor used
Since it once patron has past on
And one can only hope he is as
comfortable now
As he was whence here sat upon
his favorite chair
Because that chair was in effect his
throne and so made him feel like a King
And that is why no one but he gets to
sit in it and it shall ever be replaced
So across the living room it still sits
in state retired untill this very day
A fitting tribute to the King
Who not only left the building
But his chair behind as well
To remind us all of his legacy and
what he taught us was that comfort
is love
The fire within her burning bright,
her eyes, now dry, once overflowed.
She sits alone and waits to write.
It nearly snuffed her inner light;
his passing seems so long ago,
the fire within her burning bright.
They don’t know grief, but that’s alright.
She braves a smile, puts on a show.
She sits alone and waits to write.
She feels his presence every night,
her heart, an ember all aglow,
the fire within her burning bright…
She longs to hold her small one tight;
the cancer, cruel, took him slow.
She sits alone and waits to write.
And so she waits; she doesn’t fight.
The words and tears, a tidal flow.
The fire within her burning bright,
she sits alone and writes and writes.
—————
for the Third-Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
sponsored by L Milton Hankins
written on 10/30/22
There’s a voice that hides
with message plain
“IT STILL IS NOT ENOUGH”
No matter how the
phrases turn
“THEY LACK THE FINER STUFF”
It sits in judgment
undeterred
to flame and scold unbound
To speak when I’m
inopportune
—and turn me inside out
(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)
In darkness she sits
Her existence now revolving around mind created horrors.
Her child, not at home.
Has been away for weeks, perhaps months, for she has lost sense of time.
She feels the anger, the rage.
She does however understand the purpose, the cause, the reason
But her mind is overwhelmed by the feelings of the heart.
Confused and disheartened, she continues to sit alone
While tears run down her face etching deep scars within her soul
As she pleads and hopes that her only child will soon return.
Former President Trump
Sat on his awesome "yhuge"rump,
Dreaming of having his ultimate revenge
While on a drug and vengeance Benge.
note: misspelled huge as "Yhuge" because the former President mispronounced it that way and comedians mocked him for it for years.
Bogdan Chmielnicki sits astride a horse
A magnificent statue in Central Kiev
To a monumental Ukrainian figure
A George Washtington-style liberator
He took it to the Poles in the 1600's
A lone Jew glances at Bogdan on his horse
Forgive him his disgust, of course, for
That Cossack and his army murdered
Nearly every Jew in Kiev -- on their way
To killing 600,000 Jews, one-third
Of the Jews then in Europe, during an
Unprecedented Reign of Terror...*
Leave Chmielnicki astride his horse
Let Ukraine celebrate Bogdan
~ without one ounce of remorse
_________________________________
*Chmielnicki's Reign of Terror is known
by the abbreviation 'Tach v'Tat,' which is
short form for the Hebrew calendar year
corresponding to 1648-49. The Cossacks'
genocidal campaign lasted through 1660.
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