Poetry Contest

I hope you don't mind if I post this. I found it in our local newspaper today and thought some of you might be interested.

Poetry Contest
$100,000 in Prizes Awarded Annually!
We are now accepting poetry for the Open Amateur Poetry Contest. The contest is open to everyone and entry is free. However, you must hurry, the deadline for entering your poem is September 30, 2008.

All of those who enter will receive a personal critique of their poem. Most of the prize money will be awarded to new and unpublished poets, many of whom have never entered a poetry competition before. To enter, mail one original poem, 24 lines or less, on any subject and in any style, to:
Poetry Contest
Editor 246-1
305 Madison Avenue
Suite 449
New York, NY 10165

There is a picture of a ribbon that says -- Reader's Choice Ranked #1

I don't know anything about this other than it was in our local newpaper. Try it if you like. Who knows, you might actually get paid.. :)
Anyway, good luck to any of you that try...

My Creed

Too many years ago to remember, while some of the events in the "Story of Stories" were unfolding, I needed to work out who I was and would be about. No current bow existed to trace the source of my arrow of life, thus came a calling to define a target so the arrow would have a place to land. So the following is...My Creed.

It is my right to be decidedly me;
not a creation of those around me -- provided I will!
I look for chances to explore -- rather than to snore.
I want to risk; to dream and to build,
to fail and to succeed.
I refuse to trade favors for favors in order to get ahead.
I prefer the challenge of life to the guaranteed existence;
the thrill of accomplishment to the stale calm utopia.
I will not trade my dignity for a handout.
I will never cower before any master,
yet offer all praise, glory and respect to my God in Heaven.
It is my decision to stand erect, proud and unafraid;
to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit
of God's creations and those created through my hands,
and to face the world boldly and say, this I have done.
All this is what it means to be me.

Mother

Several years ago, I had a serious disease and other related health problems, I was in a nasty divorce situation and had no job or money and a child to support. Mothers day was coming up and I just didn't have a thing for my mom. The following poem was all I had for her. She still has the original tucked away in what she calls her "treasure drawer"

MOTHER

As a young girl from the country you came,

You met a young boy and walked down the lane.

Excitement and love filled your head,

You and the young boy were wed.

There was a place for more love in your home,

You wanted children of your very own.

First came Sally with eyes of blue,

Oh my, if then you only knew.

Second came Harry with curly hair,

With all curiosity he really does care.

Third came Daniel so big, gentle and meek,

A handsome little baby when he was asleep.

Ma-ma, the first word of these three,

What a joyful sound it came to be.

Nothing for ourselves could we do,

All our needs were met by you.

As days went by like turning gears,

We grew into our teenage years.

Our trials and troubles came by the miles,

But we were always met with loving smiles.

With questions and problems to you we came,

No matter how big or small you answered us just the same.

Our mistakes and failures you are not at fault,

If we had just listened like we had ought.

Your deep devoted friendship and love,

Came to us, through you, from God above.

The struggles and sacrifices you have made,

Has surely a crown in glory laid.

The values of life that we have been taught,

To our children we pray have been brought.

Our childhood years have long been gone,

Most of your grandchildren are now grown.

Even some have children of their own,

We are so thankful for you they have known.

On this one most celebrated day,

To give you due thanks, there just is no way.

Your love, guidance, leadership and total giving,

Made all our lives worth living.

I am very hesitant about hitting this publish post, I feel as though I will bare my soul. I know this isn't professional writing but it's just a little something I have done. I hope you enjoy reading this. Well here goes the publish post button..............

Ann Garci Poem

Ann Garci is in the same boat as a lot of us "older" (clears throat) computer users in that this blog "thing" is all new (the only reason I know what little I do is to try and barely keep up with my godchildren who, I swear, were born knowing how to do these sorts of things!). Anyway, she posted a beautiful poem in the comments section of GU's poem posted below. I hope she doesn't mind, but I thought I would add it as a blog entry so we can all enjoy it!

A Single Tulip Worshiped In The Wind

I watched a tulip as it danced in the wind
It seemed to be dancing to an audience of one
It knew not that I watched, as it swayed to and fro
Lost in the essence of its creation, it worshiped all alone
Not a care, not a matter for it knew of its beauty
And its purpose in that field
To worship its creator till its last petal withered.

Oh how I longed to be that tulip
So sure and so perfect
It had no fear of lack
It worshiped without hindrance
It worshiped without doubt
To be lost in the presence of God
I could only imagine.

To what is my purpose as I stand here alone?
To be lost in the essence of my creation
To know of my beauty
To worship my creator until my last breath taken
Ah, I begin to sway to and fro and release my soul
For now I know, the tulip is but a secondary thought made for me
For I am the marvel that God himself has breathed.

(A.G....I hope I have this formatted correctly. I ran into a couple of problems with cut and paste!)

Green

Oh, pray I, that when I've been,
I'll naught have missed the color green,
Her hue's of life when brought in spring,
Cause even the rocks to sing.
She tells us true when winter ends,
And gallantly the browns defend,
Her undergirth of strength they be,
Though ne're as beautiful as She.
So, say I, now that I've gone,
Live, you, to adore her lovely gown,
For though a promise She may not be,
A sign of a keeping, that is She.

I wrote this in 1993 one early April morning when I was awestruck by the greens of Spring. Its always been one of my favorites, and thought I'd introduce with a question as to how much interest there is in poetry here, too. Let 'er rip, folks, I'm ripe for comments.

GU