Perfect Poet Award

Thanks to Hyde Park Poetry for giving me a Perfect Poet Award this week. Who wouldn't be thrilled to win a handsome green robot?

Zest

when I was young, I didn’t think

I acted knowing I couldn’t die

so sure of myself, brimming

with confidence I moved

sometimes in the wrong direction

ruled by whims and emotions

my heart won over my head

yet I had all the answers

or so I thought

until one day I awoke

to find I’d grown old

and understood

I did not

now I have questions

but no solid answers

none that satisfy

nothing I can point to

or say this is so

and I can prove it

I do think these days

I wonder about everything

I know life is fragile

fleeting

almost gone

that is why I know

these moments are precious

so I will live out

my remaining years

with unstoppable

        ZEST

 

 

 

The Crumpled White Paper

The crumpled white paper was tightly wadded,

And thrown to the spotless hardwood floor.

The appearance of it was unseemly and out of place,

Considering the tidiness of everything else,

Contained within the four walls of the room.

What was I doing in someone else’s study?

It was wrong to read it, but I picked it up anyway,

And carefully smoothed out the deep creases.

The words were written in meticulous script,

With crimson red ink that reminded me of blood.

I began to tremble as I read what was written there.

I found the salutation alarming to say the least,

Because she was writing to the love of my life.

I was spellbound by what she revealed.

A chapter in my friend’s life had come to a close,

And it involved the one I dearly loved.

I thought at least she has given him up,

And he is still mine; that is what matters.

That is when she entered the room and saw me.

She smiled perversely and said, “So you’ve read it.”

I didn’t answer for I was stunned, especially by her smile.

The letter fell from my hand and floated to the floor.

“That paper was thrown on the floor for a reason,” said she.

“It is because I have changed my mind. I won’t give him up.”

She laughed derisively and tossed her blonde hair.

I hit her hard on the temple with the paper weight,

That I hastily grabbed up from her desk.

She fell to the floor with blood trickling from the wound.

The crimson droplets mingled with the red ink,

On the thin white parchment with the elegant script.

Why did I ever read that damnable piece of paper?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tanka String

no one knows the depth

no one understands the breadth

no one comprehends

the true essence of real love

it must be experienced

 

it can’t be drummed up

it is proven by actions

love means commitment

and strong determination

nothing will sway the vows made

 

embrace loving deeds

never speak in angry haste

honor your lover

with respect and praise each day

and what you sow you shall reap

 

a harvest of love

bounteous and abundant

will return to you

there won’t be room hold it

in the chambers of your heart

 

 

 

 

 

 

Self-assessment Test

In the stillness, I sit and contemplate,

All that happened during the busy day.

Constantly toiling and striving to do my best,

Brings an uncanny dissatisfaction with life.

Why struggle so hard for temporal rewards?

I wonder if my heart stopped beating,

And I was no more to walk the earth,

Would it make a bit of difference?

That is one of many questions that burn within.

Yet the answers are found in other sources.

Have I brought peace to a troubled heart?

Did I say the right words at the right time?

Was I quick to forgive when offenses came?

Did I show love and compassion to others?

Did I refuse to allow a root of bitterness to grow?

Was I honest enough to admit being wrong?

Did I speak the truth in love or brush it aside?

Have I used my gifts wisely or squandered them?

Have I defended those who are defenseless?

Was I willing to take a stand for what I believe?

Did I kowtow to people unworthy of respect?

Was I willing to be true to myself,

Or did I bend to the constant demands,

And will of those who manipulate others,

In an effort to remake them into their own image?

Taking a self- assessment test is painful.

I have a lot of work to do on me.

 

Firefly Show

In the nocturnal landscape, fireflies traverse the meadow,

Flittering and flickering with light, like glittering diamonds,

Sparkling in the night, as I watch with sheer delight,

With rapt attention like an enchanted child; I’m beguiled.

I am as one trapped in a wizard’s spell and by my face,

You can plainly tell that I’m lost within the scene,

As though I am sleep walking in a wide eyed dream.

Summer nights seem to recapture lost youthful ways,

When at the end of long, hot days, I would sit on the porch,

In the cool of the evening and dream of things yet to be,

And thought long about what I wanted to become,

When I would at last grow into what I am now.

Now I am here again watching the same show,

Pondering anew what I will be and do.

I think about blazing different trails.

I wonder if I will prevail or simply fail.

Whichever way it goes, I can always lay back,

And watch the firefly show in the meadow.

Mistress

Flawless skin, flawless hair,

No imperfections anywhere,

Perfect clothes, perfect looks,

The type you see in picture books,

Slender waist, slender thighs,

Her body can’t be disguised.

People stop, people stare.

Her beauty is beyond compare.

Shiny car, shiny shoes,

Someone else has paid her dues.

Perky breasts, perky nose,

Someone funded all of those.

She is kept, she is concealed.

He prays she won’t be revealed.

She’s his fling, he loves his wife.

He hopes this affair won’t wreck his life.

He is Alive

I went there on the first day of the week.

It was still dark so I walked carefully.

As I drew near the tomb to take a peek,

The day dawned and I approached fearfully.

The stone that sealed the tomb was rolled away,

And inside the sepulcher were two men,

Dressed in dazzling white bright as the new day.

They were sitting where Jesus Christ had been.

I wept and cried because I was so forlorn.

They asked me why I was sad and weeping.

I said, “My Lord was here, but now He’s gone.

Who removed His body for safe keeping?”

“I don’t know where they’ve lain Him, please tell me.”

Then I turned and saw the gardener standing there.

I asked, “I must find my Lord, where is He?”

My grief was strong with not a soul to share.

When the gardener called me saying, "Mary,"

I knew it was the Lord and He was alive.

I tried to hold Him, but He couldn’t tarry.

He must ascend to be at the Father’s side.

I ran to tell the disciples this good news.

Jesus arose exactly as He’d said.

They went to the tomb and saw it was true.

He is alive forever from the dead.