Painting Poetry

Over winter break I decided to submit poetry to various free entry competitions around the United States. Some are being published online and a few others are being published in magazines. Although I'm still waiting on some results, the poetry below was sent to a competition with specific guidelines, including topics and rhyming. Although I did not win, one is being published in The Society of Classical Poets; and, I receieved feedback from a professional, which is extremely helpful. I was so grateful for his constructive criticism and compliments. Yes, I wrote these in a few days, but I also know I have much to improve on. More to come, but I hope you enjoy!

Hera’s Bent Hammer

Cast down your haughty eyes on one you bore

by your own graces from desolate hate;

Hera, your womb sealed a god’s course of fate

without father, but you? You did abhor

flesh and blood of power and deemed monstrous.

Did he fall to the earth, or was he sought

by hand, tossed the dice of life Thetis caught

and made him to dwell safely on Lemnos.

What queen despised, a sea-goddess took note

passion amidst pain, but without bloodlust.

He toiled to find favor with kindred trust

and thus gave enemies weapons made raw,

And Olympus welcomed his esteemed gift,

rather than godlike qualities adore;

With a passion for beauty he asked for

Athena, but was left well broken – miffed.

A lustful wanderer made to cover

but Aprhodite was beaten, soon known

by trapped passion; wit and revenge, alone,

sprung humored ropes of shame upon lovers.

He was unamused, for love entangled

his heart to craft a beautiful, masked sin,

and Pandora rose to grieve earthly men

by a scarred soul; a cracked past being filled,

being born from the absence of love made

him pure – with talent; And, one can connote

it was you, Hera, of which Homer wrote

failed to see value in a son now praised.

It was not Ares or Hebes you named

“A shame and disgrace to me in heaven”,

yet who is more esteemed by gods, by men?

But the passionate, crippled Hephaestus.

Behind Times

They tweet like a bird, have books of your face, and Kindle who?

I can hardly remember which TV button to touch.

I simply don’t understand how to google or text you,

or send instant telegrams in seconds; it’s just too much!

So, it’s better if I keep to my newspapers and such.

Wheel of Dharma

Thousands and hundreds more, where have you gone?

Do walls of dirt give freedom, and those vile,

are they not eating rich out in the sun?

Even so, energy turns the wheel while

Li Hongzhi finds safety in bright billboards;

Abdomen is tight from clenched rage, for rash

power once turned to fear by spoken words;

Now exercise the discipline to lash

at laws void of physical renewal;

Meditation cannot fight iron bars

that cage uprising; for systems to fall

one must cultivate past actions at odds.

What is the center Falun Dafa knew?

For some, still mist settling into dew.

Without Binoculars

A bass drum beats steadily; distant, but

it’s drowned out by a snare drum’s gentle roll;

Marvelous wings move up and down – and up

at a rapid pace one tends to extol.

A tuft of color floating through lush vines;

Small, yet mighty amidst beauty – so rare;

Moving to and fro in search of stillness

while it flits about with uneasy care.

Trading song for humble seconds in time,

a fruitlike perfume waffling through the breeze

as it craves the honey tasting liquid;

To blossomed petals just as noisy bees.

Yet to hold the heart-shaped bird in hand’s palm

and stroke gently; the warmth of its breast known.

But its nature declares separation;

We are left to witness from the window.

#Poetry #Write #Paint #Quotes