Lanterne: A Champion Nag

horse
stomping
solid-hoofed
led the attack
tired

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Cinquain: Point of Honor

Deadly
Weapons combat
Brother against brother
Skillful nineteenth century men
Dueling.

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Cinquain: Camelot

Torches
Locked chamber doors
Many-tower’d stronghold
A magnificent cathedral
Romance.

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Lanterne: Poor-Trait (Ekphrasis)

swank
voguish
high fashion
portraitures look
smart

like
costume's
modifie d
color swap—hides
same

cloned
females
wi thin one
picture story
matched

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Rhyme: The Amen

Holy one, God's only Son,
The Author of Salvation;
Slumbering as angels sing,
Little Lamb save our nation.
Teacher, Preacher, Messenger,
Chief Shepherd, Arm of the Lord;
Come quickly bring the good news
Use God's words like a sharp sword.
Eternal Bundle of Myrrh
Your name's like soothing ointment;
Believers whisper Jesus
And receive your healing treatment.
Prince of Life and Prince of Peace,
Wonderful Rose of Sharon;
Son of God and son of man,
Are titles we call God's Son.
Messiah, Savior, Priest, King,
You paid the price for our sin;
After all's been said and done,
We will call you 'The Amen.'

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Rhyme: Close The Door

Remember the simple life
When students bowed heads to pray?
If asked why teachers answered,
'That's the American way! '
Brothers walked dirt roads to school,
Carried lunch in a brown bag.
Small right hands covered big hearts,
Pledged allegiance to our flag.
Parents helped with homework and
Taught their children right from wrong.
'God Bless America' was
Our countrymen's freedom song.
Sunday was a day of rest
Set aside for families.
Fried chicken and apple pie
Graced tables and men said please.
On Monday the school bell rang,
Calling the youngsters once more.
Schoolrooms bring back memories—
Come inside and close the door.

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Rhyme: Bury Your Dead

Grieving is a divine healing;
God's helping you bury your dead.
There's peace in the palm of His hand,
Let go now take His hand instead.
We feel despair, we sob, we cry,
It's what we do when people die.
We feel sadness, we weep, we sigh,
It's what we do when we say, goodbye!
We dig through boxes of keepsakes,
Mementos, music, and old mail.
A sentimental picture comes
From a sound, a touch, or a smell.
We feel despair, we sob, we cry,
It's what we do when people die.
We feel sadness, we weep, we sigh,
It's what we do when we say, goodbye!
We go back, revisit their home,
The place we can see them so clear.
We remember the things we shared—
All the tears, all the joys, all the years.

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Couplet: A Place To Stay

There was a stingy, hateful man named Old Jack that died uncaring;
Too mean to pass through heaven's gates—he missed hearing angels singing.

Jack was sent to the Devil's Pit that roars with redhot, burning coals;
The smoke's too dark, the heat's too hot—the devil lives there with lost souls.

And after all promised rewards for living each devilish day;
One hot coal was Jack's lifetime prize—Jack was burned and sent on his way.

Jack found an oversized turnip, carved creepy eyes and a weird face;
Into the dried up turnip shell—one hot coal lit it's inside space.

Now Jack wanders the countryside, his coal burns to this very day;
Inside Jack's old Jack-O-Lantern—while he scouts for a place to stay.

Author's Note: A story about a Halloween “Jack-O-Lantern” Legend. Jack is not
real but the Devil and his dark pit are real.

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Couplet: Come With Me (Ekphrasis)

This door was cut from the same tree
that held Me up for all to see.
There's no latch, bolt, padlock, or key,
swing it open, (your name) come with Me.

Follow My lead. Stay close behind.
The path's narrow. See how it winds?
Pace yourself and don't make a sound—
we're passing over hallowed ground.

Not many have ventured this way.
They don't like the small gate they say.
Most prefer that wide road over there;
it's large, red gates are a matched pair.

Look up ahead. See that bright light?
That's My signal. An angel's in flight.
Not to worry we'll be safe now—
we're near My Father's house anyhow.

[...] Read more

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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Couplet: Turn The Lights Up High

Four pair of hard eyes guide eight-legs that sway
‘Neath web making hunters in search of prey.

Instant vibrations—even light traces
Alert predators in deep, dark places.

Twining, twisting through hollow-hillside caves
Surface skipping murky, watery graves.

Tiptoeing athwart dusty desert floors
Lurking behind moldering cellar doors.

Catch wind flying open skies, on silk strings
Oozing fatal fluids—pokes, poisons, stings.

Sticky, silk-spun, thick jumble deception
Wraping, entraping in cunning fashion.

Ambushing insects, jawing side to side
Feeding off mice and small birds that can’t hide.

[...] Read more

poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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