WEEKLY POETRY CONTEST WINNERS

J.Mark Press Sample of Past Weekly
Online Poetry Contest Winners
A guide to read before entering your poem

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It’s the blush of time in a sunset,
the dance of roses in a glance.
It’s the persimmon fire on a hill,
the meteors within a man.

It’s the comets of illusion,
the jazz of rain.
It’s the poetry of seagulls,
the chant of the chains.

It’s the new bride glimpsed in a snowstorm,
the perfume of summer dusk.
It’s the peeling of gypsy paint
on walls too shaky to touch.

It’s the twisting of the moonbeams,
the flavors of the dew.
It’s the pulse of the ages
that I offer now to you.

     by Darrell Lindsey

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Battles

There were battles here.
I don’t know what they were about,
One side didn’t like the other?
One side wanted what the other had?


I only know both sides are gone

now.
They wiped each other out.
Someone else has taken there place,
To go and fight more battles.

This area is peaceful now.
But only after twenty, forty, a hundred
battles?

Maybe its gotten too bloody to fight
here?
Maybe the sides are too scared of
the many lost battles?

 

The signs of battle are gone.
The ground is healed of the scars;
The village is rebuilt.
But the many cemeteries
are full of bones.
     Dan Clarke

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Soul Search

The journey towards a sense of “self”
Began with a single step.
The unexpected pleasures found
In dreams within the depth.

As the river of emotion flows
And races quickly by…
Comes an abstract understanding
Of the view from my minds eye.

I ride the wake of feelings to
The shores of fantasy…
A reflection of my inner self,
Exposed for all to see.

So, I search the corners of my soul
In hopes that I may find…
The comfort I’ve felt dwelling there,
In the colors of my mind.
    Mad Moon

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Nature’s Way

Nature’s light is shorter
it’s darkness is long
limbs trembling
from the cold
where has the day gone
tears wailing in the wind
looking for a place to land
soon they will be covered
with snow from
natures hand
  Lisa Gladue

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The Canvas

A myriad of paint splotches, a vast array of
intricate colors, patterns and designs;
each one distinctly unique and yet similar,
interwoven on an ever-expanding constantly
changing canvas forming one comely portrait
called humanity.

Multitudes of grains of sand on a roller-
coaster ride, daily tried and tested by the
crashing waves of life; placed here for a
purpose not known to most but of no less
importance, all sharing common needs,
emotions and desires.

Billions of actors on a multi-faceted set,
each playing out daily a separate role;
contributing their skills, individuality and
commonality to the beautiful canvas of life.
  Ken C . Blair

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Ours to Open

Can we really see
What life passes before us?
In a constant daze,
we often fail to see
exactly what’s at hand.

Time and time again
There comes a knocking on the door.
But still being only infants,
The knob we cannot reach.

The glory, oh the precious glory
of what we’ve yet to see.
If only to stretch a little bit
To grasp and turn the knob.
To open and accept the power waiting there.

Do we have the strength or capacity
To really understand
Or will the experience
be too baffling to comprehend.
   M.L. Lauer

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A Bid Farewell

Shadowmoon
falling dreams
white-capped waves
broken wings
scattered seashells
hope abounds
futile efforts
wind dies down
frenzied thoughts
fearful eyes
mournful songs
emblazoned skies!
Slowly slip the silent sands
Quiet now, peace is at hand.
   S. D. Ward

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Oh! Beautiful sun
who sets so royally on the horizon.
giving off hues of turquoise,crimson and gold.
Who gives you the time of day
to take your presence away,
and bid us goodnight until morning.
Vida McCulloch

 

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LONELY AND ALONE

Quiet, it’s much too quiet
Silence screams out
She stares out the window
Searching about
Praying for a visitor
The voice of someone
But deep down inside
Knows family won’t come

Lonely are the aged
Forgotten and sad
Sitting in old chairs
Remembering what they had
      Betty E. Fleming

 

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Prayer of Desperation

Bring me back from desperation,
from the wrath of those before.
Set me free to help those in need
and lead them from Hell’s door.

Let me wipe their tears of fear
and calm their inner fury.
Show me how to guide their souls
and teach them not to worry.

Help me show them their future is
full of love and hopes and dreams.
Let them know that happiness
isn’t just for people of means.

For a life of desperation
can bring us to our knees.
All I’m asking is for your guidance.
Won’t you help me please.

   Sharon Karl

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Forest Night
The wolf cries on the lonely night
Not a soul anywhere in sight
The moon then slowly does arise
To intensify the mournful cries

The mist goes up,the sun goes down
The night overcome by the mournful sound
The towering pines block out the moon
The end is come,it shall be soon

The wondrous light the forest desires
Is in the wolves’ eyes of fire
When the sun begins to peep
It is finally safe to speak.

     Rachael High

 

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The Day I Touched An Angel

I touched a little angel…one cold winter day.
And deep down inside my heart…I knew she couldn’t stay.
So small and fragile…this little angel seemed.
The only things missing…were her halo and soft white wings.
For a short precious moment…I held this angel near.
And I rocked her gently…as I brushed away my tears.
As long as I shall live…I’ll never forget the day.
The day I touched an angel…before she flew away.

    Debbie Bain Williams

 

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:

THE GUELDER ROSE

Motionless timed in the midst of lovers’ folly
breathing hearts did capture the scent of the Guelder rose
for like the summer sun, it bespoke a ray of utopia
none to adulating for the ritual of the court

Began in winter’s arms,
when heat from the body warmed
that lasted through the spring and
the early morning chorus
’till the flower did appear, upon
the seventh day
pure as silk the petal, that opened
up it’s heart

Eyes that gazed incessantly, across
that whitest flower
seeking perfect unity, from within
their bonded throne
life so gently swaying in the breeze
of contented lungs
far from burning castles, that violate
this sacred law

And soon thy rose did spread, to give
life to another life
and the precious cycle evolved, in the
wake of new lovers to unfold
motionless timed in the midst of lovers’
folly
breathing hearts did capture the
scent of the Guelder rose…

    James Ryan

 

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Dusty Keys

Drifting to my heart,
Sweet strains of a forgotten piano
Under soft young fingers playing
Her heart to no one but herself
And the stars seen through emerald
Eyes out her bedroom window.
Mourning tones travel her sorrow
Each note a tear drop
In an ocean of her love.
Joyful tones travel her happiness
Each note a petal
In a blanket hiding
An undiscovered valley.
I glance at my unpracticed hands
One solitary tear sliding from emerald eyes
Turning, all I see
Is a shadow
And dusty keys.

     Jennifer  Nicole Batson

 

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CAB RIDE

I saw mountains of desert
In his dry, cracked smile.
–(Where to, miss?)–
Long lines on his face stretched
Like afternoon shadows on asphalt.
But shadows still- Changing position
As the day wears on
Or as thought changes direction.
–(Left at the light, please)–
Stoic, unyielding city.
Smelling of big city success
And bad take out food.
We must move! Must rush!
Blindly like bats- run over by quick,
Rusty pick-up trucks (of the mind).
While zephyrs of destiny,
(My destiny), paint visions
In the moonless, smog filled sky.
I see shape forming consciousness!
Deep, dark, mysteriously complacent.
Then the car door opens…
And my enlightenment is as fleeting
As my five dollar bill.
Carla Whittingham

 

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And I said,
Let there be a pillow
To ease the pain of my memory
For I have starved,
Been beat,raped and my soul left to die
I have cried
And where the tear fell
A rose grew
A beautiful red rose
And I shall cry again
For more rose will grow
Grow for the past
Grow for the future
And let there be pillows,
To ease the hurt’s memory
       Sherri Marie Chachere

 

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Just To Let You Know

Your life was far too short
to see all that he has done,
To grow into the man
you wished he would become.

He is a father and a husband now
fixes anything that breaks,
Kisses little hands and dirty knees,
Heals the tiny cuts and scrapes.

You smile down from Heaven
when he visits where you rest.
He still strives for your approval,
it keeps him at his best.

What he wants,he cannot have
gentle words,your loving touch
The words “son,I’m proud of you”
he needs to hear so much.

So,I’m writing you this poem
just to let you know,
he is everything a father dreams of,
and he misses you so.
Missy Blakley

 

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APPALOOSA
Your hoof beats turn soft, pallid earth
to splendor.
rising dust-clouds (you create) spell this
day’s secret on canvas of blue sky.
a magnificent history book-
(memoirs written like verse in the sand).
…appaloosa…
stolen from the spanish,
native america gave you soul.
nez perce spirit! able to soar
on eagle’s wings, or tread silently
with the hoof of the fawn.
so much mystery (just beyond touch)
beneath that spotted skin.
…appaloosa…
your call greets us-
as we step into your world.
you entrance us with your magic.
then capture our souls (for eternity)
with your warm heart.
carla whiting

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the door
time crawls,
like an infant…
but age is a swift steed-
running,
pounding,
quickly on all fours,
trying to get through the door
before it closes.
Carla Whiting


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Who am I ?
A mist am I
So gentle, so shy
Growing in density
Floating with intensity
Reflecting the light
Which shines unnaturally bright
Moving in and out of places
Caressing searching faces
You may think you are lost
But I have found you
Trust your instinct
I’m all around you
Intent on making
My presence felt
Creating deliberate chaos
Before I melt
The wind is my friend
That carries me around
The sun is the enemy
With it’s deadly burn
If left to drift
I will eventually lift
Comes now the sun
With that silly smile
Until another time
The fog am I
ENTITY

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THE NOTE
He sends me the sun

on a silver platter
Bright and shining
smiling
no strings
on soft wings
it carries me
into the light
and I am amused,
warmed
by the charm of his
… words, like
little sparrows sitting
on my window sill
They greet me.
I enjoy the sweet song
They bring
before they fly away
and I think–
how, for
one moment–
his thoughts…
were turned to me.

MINSTREL

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Thank You to all our weekly entrants who remind us how
pleasurable it is to read truly creative poetry.

©2000 J.Mark Press  All poetry and information appearing on pages jmcutlery.com
is the  property of J.Mark Press and its authors.Poets own all rights to their poetry.
No part may be used in any manner without written permission of the poet or publisher.

Weekly first place winners get a surprise gift, and
award certificate,

All Poets who win our weekly contests are eligible to be published in our upcoming
exquisite hard cover anthologies. Where we normally permit only 1 poem per
poet, poets who win weekly contests can have all their winning poetry included
in an anthology if they wish to.