Skittles

Skittles

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Does every canvas
start white?
Potential
evident;

hopefulness
bright?

Crawling around
what's sought
by our eyes?

Brilliant sparkles
glittery ties that kept us grasping;

happily hypnotized?

Our memories
from our beginnings
gray shadows
that slipped through--

hot or cold oil
down a hollowed

vacant
steely silver
mysterious
tube.

Yet,
gradually
we encounter blue skies

and sheer darkness is dispersed.

Red Robins sang
happy chirp tunes.
A yellow ball
rolled on an endless horizon.

Then metalized

lightening
argrily
ensued.

Zigzagging in intensity.

Striking randomly
hitting
soft fragile clay;

causing excruciatingly intense pain
in it's dense piercing.

Purple, red and black

left stained cloth remnants
on the tarnished metal tray.

Will a rosy constitution
rise to lift this ugly hue?

Well,

in time words remembered
black and white
upon yellowed tint

smoothed the path
of brown broken gravel.
Paved a road to golden
spun treads

and ancient bullions
found and spent.

Purchased: wisdom
from vast heavens
long past provided;

A bouquet of exquisite florals

lovingly,
thoughtfully

generously
sent.

So now a carousel
of adventure
spins around
this thankful me.

A plan:
To absorb each gift of our Creator--

nature
and each given day...
A juicy peach.

Isn't Life Grand?
This is my motto.

A bag of colored skittles
painted artfully
upon my canvas,

hopeful
framed silvery
in its dispense

as flavorful truths
to honest-hearted.

A goal:
rainbowed multitudes
to reach.

© Lucretia Mccloud, 19 minutes ago

they say one is the artist in their own life with that being said if you had a canvas in front of you what would you paint to describe your life what colors would you use? red, blue, perhaps white for hope? what style or technique would you use? perhaps you will paint what you saw in a dream?  maybe it wont include colors but be in black and white? perhaps you will change the colors to your current canvas? if you had a canvas in  front of you would you be proud of painting a piece of who you have become?


these are some questions to get you started,

if you had a canvas in front of you what would you paint to describe and reflect your life in colors?

-any style is permitted

- no line length requirement so write away


- no adult or profanity

- have fun

Hope • Love • Family • Death • Friendship

Prepped For Survival

Prepped For Survival

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Survival of the fittest, a quoted motto on self-centered demand. Able members of a kingdom be it animal or man vehemently fight non-verbal assent; some even viciously hand-to-hand.

Classrooms become a landmine causing nervousness
and stress when social friendships determine futures
and fashionistas--who knows best.

Please, don't forget the workplace for which to provide most basic needs. A daily dungeon to face fierce dragons trampling one's conscious with dishonest greed.

These scenes denote our battles carried out most every land. But with aptitude, instruction, wisdom too will help us stand.

Till a final war impending everyday we prep to endure. For sure survival let's cleanse our minds and hearts. Remove bad qualities impure. Anchor our hope to God's Kingdom for our future to be secure.

Take out time for Bible study, meditation on God's Word. For therein lies the answer on how to wield this dual-edged sword.

And when praying for the spirit, with which humble ones chose to connect to our Creator's thoughts, His guidance, one can expect promised sure success.

No need for mortal warfare. No extreme anxiety or fright. For the Day of vengeance is not our business. Judgement is not our legal right.

The victory that will be given to those righteously inclined on a earth cleansed of wicked badness will be a grand provision to an unnumbered of all mankind.

A Gift from God ... Truly sublime.

Survival of the meekest--Reading actions: Almighty Divine.

*****

Written for Contest Survival shown below:

Write a poem for contest Survival<br>
Write me a poem about survival. It could be survival out in the wilderness, surviving hard times in life, or another kind of survivalist situation.<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
      -NO ADULT<br>
<br>
      -NO PROFANITY<br>
<br>
      -30 LINES OR LESS<br>
<br>
      -GOOD LUCK EVERYONE!

Poem based upon: Isa. 61:2;  2 Pe. 3:9-13; Gal. 5:19-26; Mal. 3:18; Heb. 10:23-25; 11:6, 7; 1 Tim. 4:16; Matt. 24:13, 21.

Dewdrops

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

A fleeting mist
mortals appear
on any given day;

though,sadly
as this sweet fragile mist
clay too faces decay;

still behind us
exists a trail
amazingly we lay--

remnants of our presence

as dew drops
sparkling

on a blade
of grass lifted by a brilliant sun
then gently laid
as whispers play

by breezes softly blowing;

blessed momentoes moistening
our thirsty spirits
groaning within

as we attain as eagles
wisdom.

Since questions boggle
curious minds
leave limbs a barrow weighted

a spoken or a scripted word
can clear deep doubts
and raise real hopes
anxieties and fears abated.

Winsome pins impressed as ink
on parched or woven pages
as windmills to a seeded plain
promote growth to endure the ages,

help explain
hidden hurts
these puzzles
which aggravate us.

They reach inside
a solid chest
and give a gentle squeeze

to caress
a saddened frozen heart
into pumping again with ease.

So don't dismiss
these dew drops
as small, by any means

for God watches
even weary teardrops.
In His memory
they do remain

till He erases
forever

our constant unending pain
from thieving enemy: Death.

This lovely faith
we must maintain.

© Lucretia Mccloud, 22 hours ago

1. please be inspired by a poem of your choosing written by one of the deceased AP poets 2. provide the link of the poem in your A/N 3. if the poet is not listed in the two links above, provide the author page link in your A/N as well 4. this contest isn't about the poet, it's about their work thanks Outside My Window

outside my window

mother earth
spins awake
with sleep-heavy eyes
a global inventory
she does take

outside my window

the sun's
almighty light
breaks
the hold of night
bringing promises
that promise to end
this darkness
I have been living in

outside my window

daffodils yawn and stretch
from their earthly beds
the wind whispers
as they raise their
somniferous little heads

outside my window

love's hand reaches in
pulls back the curtain
lets the knowing shine in
illuminating this house
and all that dwells within

outside my window

permission has been given
to question everything
to start all over again
blind faith
no longer holds the key
to this knowledge
inside of me

outside my window

a new day is dawning
a distant voice is calling
incorruption rides on the wind
I open up and let it in...

© Copyright 2009 Kendal Palmer All rights reserved.

© Kendal Palmer, 6 years ago

my poem based upon this and James 4:14: Psalm 6:6-9; Isaiah 25:8; Rev. 21: 3, 4.

Death • Hope • Sad • Pain • Spiritual

A Certainty

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

A certainty; as air I breathe,
polluted, true. I can agree. Though,
still-in-all, a necessity.

Yes, this I know...
the path of souls
in which they go.

A commonality
of mammal and man,
in life a span,
sadly, short of hand,
like kite yanked loose
by forceful wind;

yet in the end
under mournful mounds
of variant soils

true treasures dispersed
ardent works and toils
for you in vain
since on this plain of dust or rain
no love, no thoughts
still minds retain.

For who has really shown to you
a solid form of past renewed?
Wouldn't war victims who
once loved so true
assuredly reassure
their loved ones too?

A spirit once spitefully spoke this lie:
you eat this fruit, you will not die.
To thus continue this deceit
elusive visuals fraudulently conceived
hapless hearts innocently

choose to believe.

Though peaceful, yes indeed they lay
in darkened tombs and hollowed graves
their memories
precious gems lovingly kept
as for a time
tragic tears many wept.

Absolute truths thankfully unveil
the covered pits
removes the scales
that blind and bind most humankind;
reveals waters of a source Divine.

From pure life-giving clear rivers
once dead ones will drink
beside happy earthly families
who chose to think

upon a glorious elevated name.

This One
fights injustice;

lies and hypocrisy
eternally

foretold:

Slain.

© Lucretia Mccloud, 22 minutes ago

Prompts

I have randomly selected 32 of my own poems.
I have tried to mix up styles, content and form as much as possible.
For this competition I need you to select a poem, read it, then write a poem of your own in response.
Details below.

REQUIREMENTS

Select a poem and message me with your selection.
Once I have responded the poem will be reserved for you and removed from the list.
Write a poem in response to mine. This can be a like-minded poem, a poem disagreeing with mine, supporting mine, lambasting mine ... whatever you want, as long as the poem is referenced in some way.
Please place my poem link in your AN.
The contest will only end when all spots have been filled.
Selected poems are included beneath the "JUDGING" section.

RULES

I want good writing, good grammar and good spelling, please.
NO pictures of any kind.
NO messy backgrounds or artsy fonts or sticky keys, please.
Your poem can be any length, any style except prose, and please keep it below 100 lines.
If Adult, please mark as such.
Selected poems are included beneath the "JUDGING" section.

(OPTIONAL) It would be interesting for me if you included an interpretation of my poem in your AN. This is not a requirement and no points will be added or subtracted if you do / don't do this. This is just to pique my curiosity. If you decide to do this remember there is no such thing as an "incorrect" interpretation.

My interpretation: I feel, in one instance, it is discussing death as being not final...don't sweat it, so-to-speak, and also it tells of the futility of war.
My poem based upon 2 Kings 22:20; Eccl. 9:5, 10; Rev. 21: 3, 4; Psalm 37:10, 11, 29 ; John 5:28, 29.
They are not dead
I tell you, they are not dead,
Hands holding back the curtain
To your dread, uncertainty,
Calamity rescinding
All, a pall, more fate than faith.

A wraith is all your hates are,
Scars mated with disaster,
Plaster cast of silver threads.

The bed you made not the same
As the one you lie on, son;
A song sung with no music,
A tunic without buttons,
Mutton dressed as lamb, they came.

Lame, each horse you rode in on,
Cotillion for too many,
Red and gray the coffin flags
That drag upon the stone mounds.

Sounds, your silence forsaken,
Taken to another place
Where sense and space insensate.

Have You Ever Wondered....

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

Constant pounding and proclaiming.
Lord Almighty! His words so draining.
There's a party everywhere. 
Why such dire words said to scare?

Can one man proceed so strong
amidst this mighty vicious throng?
Does his family even care
their reputations thus to spare?

Surely, who is he to see
a future dark through prophecy?
Look around you, who does shutter
at these thoughts you choose to mutter?

If I enter that wooden door
just to take a little peek
all my friends and even strangers
will consider me as weak.

But as I watch him carry onward
in intensity he does perform
an enormous occupation
as if for this case he were born.

Could his work, his proclamation
really fill our needs, this void?
Rid the land of degradation?
Can destruction I too avoid?

If I wait closely in shadows
listening for the final horn...

No, I'd much rather chance a deluge
than face their ridicule and scorn.

© Lucretia Mccloud, 4 minutes ago

Prompts

the title is your prompt 

rules 

Please read my poem 
have you ever stopped to think? 

I want a poem that makes me stop and think 

Have fun 

Good luck

Jazz Runs the Rails

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

A concrete core
feared
as a diminutive Dante's den
tainted and feral--
a sordid tunnel world.

Stepping timidly, knowingly
or mechanically descending
into its burping belly

various ages, stages
of diverse activities
among
converging scents:
perfumes,
alcohol,
body odor
train fumes;

yet I slayed
the beast
bested, settled to rest
the butterflies

As skippy melodies fly
to staccato highs and consoling lows
tapping? Dirty sneakers, pointed leather toes
lowering upturned or covered noses.

Posed... me with she
a harmonious extension
of my body;

held once cradled weightless
while trains sped for hours.

Warm—her notes, spiting cold keys
a frigid metal frame
caressed by loving fingers.

Her returning sounds?
So smooth
though porcelain shines
and tinted lips
vibrate woodwind reed.

I sway effortlessly,
even gracefully,
with the melancholy rhythm

stay the moment
in this domain of ecstasy;
pure bliss

mesmerized by long alluring tones
cascading
via my sax
into an otherwise unearthly silence
of the underground's entails.

My senses soar
brain waves implore: More
for mere sheer enjoyment of heaven's release

the trills of songbirds
reverberating back to me
lyrical and ethereal.

© Lucretia Mccloud, 19 minutes ago

  I would like you to write your own poem after reading " Concert at the station" by the Russian poet Osip Mandelshtam. Thank you!

Concert at the station


Breathing is forbidden, heaven teems
with worms — and not a star to testify —
but God sees, there is music overhead,
the station shivers, the Aonides are singing,
once again, the violins — their air fused — merging
with explosions of the locomotives’ whistles.

An enormous park. A station’s ball of glass.
Once more the iron world twists, bound in a spell.
Toward a nebulous Elysium — to a feast of sound —
the festive carriage sweeps away,
the peacock shrieks, the grand-piano thunders —
I am late. Afraid. This is a dream.

I enter the glass forest of the station, penetrate
the violin’s arrangement in confusion, tears, in turbulence.
Shy and savage, the night chorus’s wild opening,
and the smell of roses in decaying seed-beds
where a dear, familiar shadow spent the nights
beneath the glass sky, in the wandering crowds.


And I imagine that the iron world is shivering
like a beggar in the music and the foam.
I lean against the passages of glass.
From violin bows the hot steam breathes and blinds the eyes.
Where are you going? Here, at the funeral
of a kind-hearted shadow, for us, for the last time, music rises.

1921
BY Osip Mandelshtam TRANSLATED BY Tony Brinkley & Raina Kostova

My poem excerpt and edited for contest from my novel: Is She On To Me... Chapter Eleven

1914

by Seah Greenhorn

(Poem with copyright)

"Arch Duke Ferdinand held
international center stage.
His instantaneous tragic death captured
historical front page.
Held an entire world hostage
While I kept peace at bay.
My cronies, true princes of darkness--a third
like me angrily ousted from our once
designated heavenly home
by over righteous older brother
favored. Now enthroned.
Well I will show all
(heaven and earth)
who really rules the roost.
Why God gave me birth
to choose. Free-will. Ha! Everyone will me follow.
God Almighty, your mistake. You lose!
You just can't overlook my glorious beauty
my intelligence, though true, me you gave.
But mankind wants my guidance,
as it leads to the grave.
For I give what they want
independence and power.
See how they willingly fight each other
blood spilling to their final hour.
I've got them all hooked.
As Dracula they don't even believe.
Yet through my horrors daily performed
a cloak of intense dark fear
their hearts will adorn.
To the death they prefer me
Eternally."

SATAN

1: As always, subject matter must be of historical significance. Make sure we know what you are writing about.


2: The most important thing about history is that it involves people. To illustrate this, pick an historical event and a person (real or imagined) who was at that event and in the first person, describe the event from that individual’s point of view. (For instance, a person in the audience at Lincoln’s assassination.)

Don’t be afraid to use dialogue but don’t let the language get too loose and prosaic. It may be difficult to work in metaphors or excessively poetic language.

You want a believable, everyday (for the times) voice. Use slang, have fun with language. (Example) You will be judged on historical accuracy. Pre-writes now being accepted. Enjoy.



This contest has no rules regarding rhyme, length, or form, but it must be poetic in nature. We're not looking for a prose story. If you enter or not, we hope you will consider joining our group. History is an exciting subject to write about and we hope we can expand your appreciation and imagination concerning this topic.





Thank you.



Marcia Ellen Beevre


As war raged in heaven, the earth felt its affects, but attention was caught up in the international diversion of WWI. Satan was there and the cause of lack of peace in both places. Revelation 12:12; 1 John 2:17; Matt. 24: 3, 4; 2 Timothy 3:1-5

Sad • Death • Pain